CXXVIII. THE HOSTILE MEETING――A DUEL TO THE DEATH…

CXXVIII. THE HOSTILE MEETING――A DUEL TO THE DEATH

It was pretty plainly demonstrated in our last chapter that the interview between the rivals was working up to a climax, and, to say the truth, it could not possibly be otherwise, unless Lord Ethalwood had agreed to a compromise, by declaring his intention of espousing Theresa Trieste.

This declaration would have at once disarmed Chanet, who had only the interest of his affianced at heart, but it was not to be.

The earl, when he fell in love with the French maiden, forgot the promise made to his ancestor――a promise he held sacred beyond all else.

“So,” exclaimed Chanet, “you have chosen to dishonour me by a vile and cowardly blow; but it is, perhaps, just as well, for it must end in the death of one of us.”

“Indeed, sir! pray explain yourself.”

“I demand satisfaction,” cried the mountaineer.

“The Ethalwoods have been accustomed to fight with their equals.”

“Do you refuse then? Are you so base?”

“I do not refuse――I am at your disposal. I have brought this upon myself――that I freely admit.”

The young earl bitterly regretted his rash act. Not that he was indisposed to any hostile meeting, but he felt both shame and remorse at the action which rage had driven him to commit.

An action which he recognised as being one of odious and unjustifiable brutality. But pride, which was at the bottom of the nature of every member of the race to which he belonged, forbade him from temporising with his adversary.

[Sidenote: No. 67.]

“You demand satisfaction, Monsieur Chanet――so be it. Name your conditions. I will agree to anything you propose.”

“I suppose by that you mean to confer a favour.”

“Nothing of the sort. It is but justice. You are the offended party.”

“I am, in more ways than one.”

“Admitted; we will not discuss that question. You feel yourself aggrieved or injured, which you will.”

“Deeply injured.”

“That is understood. What do you desire, then?”

“The conditions I propose will be very simple, and will be as fair to you as they are to me.”

“It is simply a question of appointing seconds.”

“We do not want any.”

“Absurd! A duel without seconds! It is not to be thought of for a moment.”

“I hope I am dealing with an honourable gentleman.”

“I am sure you are――that’s better.”

“Well, then, we can trust each other.”

“We can do so, of course, but it is not the usual course of procedure; and I strongly object to a hostile meeting under such circumstances.”

“But I understood you to say that you were willing to accede to any terms I chose to propose.”

“Any reasonable terms. I do not want you to be charged with murder, or myself either, which most assuredly we, one of us, should be, unless we had seconds. Custom dictates that this should be done.”

“What do I care for custom, or what I may be charged with?”

“That may be so; but the case is very different as far as I am concerned. I must have some regard for my own reputation, and, therefore, decline to meet you upon the conditions you propose.”

“Would you have me brand you as a coward?”

“I must again inform you, Monsieur Chanet, that you would do well by being more guarded in your expressions. As a matter of courtesy I waive all distinctions, and am willing to give you the satisfaction you require, provided the arrangements are in accordance with the recognised rules which are invariably adopted in such cases. Do not for a moment imagine I have any desire to shrink from the performance of what, after all, must be deemed only an act of justice.”

“When a duel takes place between two Corsicans,” said Chanet, “each of the adversaries places himself at the opposite end of a newly-dug pit, and whenever one of them falls rolls into this grave dug by himself. Doubtless, you know, that in obedience to a physical law――which I will not attempt to explain――a man struck by a bullet in the front of the head or chest falls face forward.”

“Very likely. I will not dispute your theory, but I am not a Corsican; neither are you, I presume.”

“No, I am not.”

“Well, then, this being so, we are governed by the rules adopted by our own countrymen, and therefore is it that I insist upon having seconds.”

“I do not wish my dear Theresa to be compromised, and I would, therefore, prefer dispensing with witnesses; but if you insist――――”

“I do insist. So there ends the matter.”

“You shall have your own way then. You bring a second, and I will do the same. Will that satisfy you?”

“Certainly; and now please to name the time and the place.”

“The place must be where you struck me; on that spot must the battle be fought, and one of us must not leave the ground alive.”

“Agreed, let that be understood. Now the weapons.”

“Six-chambered revolvers――have you one?”

“Yes.”

“So have I. We will charge all barrels. If the first shot produces no effect we will fire till one of us falls dead.”

“This may be all very well, but it does not accord with the practice of civilised communities,” said the earl, carelessly. “It seems to me more like deliberate murder than anything else.”

“It is not murder. It is a duel to the death――that is all.”

“Oh, I see, a mere trifle, of course, in your estimation, perhaps. Have a care, young man――be not so relentless.”

“The injury I have received from your hands admits of no atonement. I am resolved,” replied Chanet.

“Well, if that be the case, I will not offer any opposition. Now about the hour?”

“At six o’clock to-morrow evening――will that suit you?”

“I am master of my own time――say six then.”

“You will keep your word?”

“There is no fear of that. I will be on the spot at that time with my second, if I can procure one.”

“If? Do you doubt being able to do so?”

“No! I believe there will not be much difficulty as far as that is concerned, and so our conference is at an end, monsieur.”

The earl bowed, turned on his heel, and took his departure.

“Agatha was quite right,” he ejaculated, when far removed from the spot where the strange interview had taken place. “He’s a desperate, determined fellow, and means to send me to the next world if he possibly can; but there is no help for it now, I cannot retract: even if I were disposed to do so the chances are that I should be waylaid and murdered. I must meet this young ruffian and trust in Providence. I wish now I had not consented to have an interview with him, but one can never foresee these things until it is too late. Hang the fellow, what is the value of his life in comparison to mine?”

Hurrying on with rapid steps he soon came within sight of Madame Trieste’s chateau.

He paused, and endeavoured to assume as calm a demeanour as possible; but, despite his fortitude, he was greatly troubled at the issue of affairs.

He began to consider seriously whether the fascinating and beauteous Theresa was worth the sanguinary encounter which had been appointed to take place on the morrow.

Taking a common-sense view of the question, the conclusion would be that she was not, but hot-headed lovers have generally but a small modicum of common sense left in their whole composition, and such appeared to be the case with Lord Ethalwood, who had, in a great measure, brought himself into his present difficulty.

As to Chanet, he was so wild and furious that it was not possible for him to be brought under the influence of reason.

Upon entering the house of his hostess, Lord Ethalwood put a bold face on the matter, and succeded in being as cheerful and pleasant as heretofore, but, despite this, an air of melancholy seemed to hover over the little household.

Theresa said but little. She, however, ever and anon cast inquiring looks at the earl, who at such times whispered words of comfort in her ear.

It was not possible for him to determine whether any of them suspected that he had seen Gerome Chanet. If they did they were remarkably silent on the subject, and never in any way alluded to the young mountaineer.

When he retired to his chamber Madame Trieste bade him farewell as if he had been a traveller setting forth upon a journey from which he would in all probability never return. She kissed him affectionately on the forehead, and was more than usually demonstrative in her expressions of friendship.

Theresa had at this time betaken herself to her own apartment.

The earl was a little puzzled at the widow’s altered demeanour, but he said nothing beyond responding to the good wishes she expressed.

He was, as may be readily imagined, in no very enviable frame of mind, and on reaching his chamber he looked at his watch, and found that the night had not passed away.

He opened the window of his sleeping chamber, and looked out at the sky. The thought crossed his mind that possibly it might be the last night he had to pass in this world, and this was not a very agreeable reflection.

How different was the aspect of the sky on which his eyes now rested!

And oh, how different the circumstances! Instead of being lit by myriads of stars, the heavens were as sombre as his own thoughts. Nature seemed, as it were, shrouding itself in a mantle of darkness.

In spite of himself he fell into a reverie, and his reflections were tinged with a melancholy which he could not shake off.

What course could he adopt?

He deemed it expedient to sally forth in the morning and consult the chevalier whom he proposed to appoint his second.

He was a brave, gallant old gentleman, and as courteous as he was brave.

No one was better qualified to act in such a capacity, and he felt perfectly well assured that he could count upon his services on such an occasion.

The more he pondered the more convinced he was that there was now no possibility of retreating from the position in which he had been placed by the force of circumstances, conjointly, it must be admitted, with his own rashness and imprudence.

He felt that the position was a false one, and the fatal words, “it is too late,” fell from his lips again and again, and he could only resolve to drain the bitter cup which he had madly filled for himself.

He sat for an hour or two ruminating on the aspect of affairs, but the more he reflected the more distressed did he feel, until at length, worn out with bitter thoughts, he threw himself on his couch and sank into a fitful slumber.

On the following morning, immediately after his morning meal, he sallied forth and hastened at once to the house of the gentleman where the chevalier had taken up his quarters.

The man servant who admitted him said that the chevalier had not risen, but he would inform him of the earl’s presence, and in the course of a few minutes after this he was shown into an elegantly furnished bijou apartment, in which his friend was seated, sipping a cup of fragrant mocha. He professed to be overjoyed at seeing the earl, to whom he apologised for having kept waiting.

The old Frenchman looked jaded and worn, but he soon pulled himself together, and was as cheerful and vivacious as heretofore.

Lord Ethalwood was of course more than usually grave and thoughtful.

“It is a matter of business I have come upon, monsieur,” said he. “Indeed, I may say it is rather a serious business.”

“Ah, my worthy friend!” exclaimed the old Frenchman. “A little escapade, I suppose. Well, you may command both my advice and services. I need hardly intimate that.”

“I am perfectly well assured you will do your best to serve me,” returned the earl. “First and foremost let me put you in possession of all the facts connected with the case.”

The Frenchman bowed, and his companion proceeded. He gave him an unvarnished narrative of the events which led up to the proposed hostile meeting.

“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the chevalier. “Risk your life in a duel with a low-born peasant, that’s not discreet. Bah! It’s madness. Positive madness.”

“It can’t be helped――I must give him satisfaction, I have pledged my word, and my honour is at stake,” observed Ethalwood.

“You ought to have seen me before undertaking such a foolhardy enterprise. What, fight with a ruffian of that type! Bah, it’s monstrous.”

“It is very indiscreet, I admit, but as I before observed, I cannot refuse now, and therefore have come hither to ask you to be my second.”

“Oh, oui, certainly; if you are determined to carry out your promise given to this low-bred hound, well, I am at your service.”

“I am determined. So don’t upbraid me for my rashness and folly. Promise to be ready at the appointed time.”

“The fellow is half a savage, and would not scruple to murder you if he had a chance of doing so.”

“I do not think that. No, monsieur, he is not without honour.”

“Bah! Don’t you mislead yourself supposing anything of the sort. You don’t know what sort of a man you have to deal with. A duel with such a person――well, I won’t say any more, but the whole affair appears to me altogether incomprehensible.”

“Why so?”

“How? Why that you should have suffered yourself to fall into such a trap. But you must bring your man down. Now you are in the scrape you must get out of it in the best way possible.”

“Then you agree to accompany me, and see fair play?”

“I should not be worthy the name I bear if I refused,” cried the chevalier, with a flourish of his right hand, and a significant nod. “Oh, yes, you may rely upon my services in this business――in this unfortunate business. But, my dear young friend, I will not attempt to conceal from you that I am greatly concerned at the course of events――greatly concerned.”

“I am not very well pleased myself, to speak the truth, but this is between ourselves.”

“We must make the best of a bad job. You are a good shot, that’s one thing in your favour――an excellent shot.”

“So is he, I should imagine.”

“With a rifle,” observed the chevalier, carelessly.

“And with a pistol as well, I presume.”

“These fellows as a rule are not so good at handling a pistol as a gun. Oh, you’ll wing your man, I dare say. Sacre! You must do so; and by gar, you shall.”

Ethalwood laughed, and said: “You speak in a confident tone.”

“And mean it,” cried the old Frenchman. “And now about the place of meeting and the hour?”

“The hour is six o’clock this evening; the place is on the skirts of the forest. I will show you where it is, for we had better go together.”

“By all means. We can drive over in my post-chaise.”

“That might attract attention. Better walk.”

“No, we will drive there. Never mind about attracting attention. I don’t care about walking. Let us drive there.”

“But we must not have an attendant.”

“Well, so be it. I will drive myself. We don’t require a coachman. We will go by ourselves. Will you call here for me, or shall I call for you?”

“I had better call here.”

“As you please. Let that be understood then. Six o’clock in the evening, eh? It ought to be in the morning, that is the usual course.”

“It ought, but the time is named and agreed upon. It is to be this evening at the hour I have named.”

“Bah, it does not much matter whether a man is sent out of the world in the evening or the morning for the matter of that.”

“I have passed my word.”

“Certainly. Now you will find some fine old cognac by your side there. Just help yourself to a glass. It will steady your nerves.”

“No, I thank you, I will not take anything just now.”

“But you must――I insist, just one glass. You are now in my hands, and must do as I tell you. This is not the first affair of honour I have been engaged in by a good many, and I may say that I have been singularly fortunate bringing my men through. Before we start this evening you will have to take another glass of brandy with a few drops of laudanum in it. It will wind you up like a clock, and you will be able to see through a brick wall. That is my specific for duellists. It’s the finest thing to take under the circumstances.”

“But I don’t require any stimulant.”

“No matter whether you require it or not, I intend to have my own way, and you have but to passively submit to my dictation. Leave all to me, I am an old soldier, and know pretty well what is requisite in such cases. My dear young friend, valour is one quality, and a very important element it is, but experience is another. Be of good cheer, for although I say it myself you are in good hands.”

“I am perfectly well assured of that,” returned the earl, “and esteem myself fortunate in having the assistance and services of so valuable an ally as yourself.”

“I am not likely to allow this headstrong young man to ride roughshod over you. Act according to my instructions, and it will go hard with us if you don’t polish off your man. I intend you to do so, and that is sufficient for our purpose.”

The chevalier Gustave de Monpres was on this occasion, as he had been in many similar cases, determined to have his own way. To say the truth the earl could not possibly have enlisted the services of any one better adapted to befriend him than the chevalier.

He was duly impressed with this fact, and felicitated himself upon having applied to him on this trying occasion.

After some further conversation he took leave of his friend, with the understanding that he was to call for him on his way to the fatal spot.

Lord Reginald Ethalwood returned to the widow’s house, where he dined, and strove as best he could to assume an air of cheerfulness, which, to say the truth, he was far from feeling. The day wore on, not very brightly, it is true, but it passed over, nevertheless. On consulting his watch, the earl found that the appointed hour was fast approaching.

Unobserved by any of the inmates of Madame Trieste’s chateau he passed through the garden gate and sallied forth, and at once bent his steps in the direction of the house in which his friend the chevalier was anxiously awaiting him.

He was much pleased at being able to leave the widow’s residence without attracting the notice of any one, as he thought, but he had reckoned without his host. His movements had been watched; and he had not got more than a hundred and fifty yards or so from the chateau when he became aware that someone was behind him. His attention was attracted by footsteps. He stopped to listen, and then the sound ceased.

“I am full of idle fancies. No wonder,” he ejaculated, and once more he continued on his way.

But again the sound fell upon his ear. It was at this time nearer and more distinct.

“Umph, I was not mistaken after all,” he murmured. Upon turning round and looking behind him he observed a female which, much to his surprise, he found to be Theresa Trieste.

“You here, darling?” he ejaculated. “Whither are you bound for?”

“It is not a question of whither I am bound for,” returned the French maiden. “That is of no import. Where are you going, my lord?”

“Where am I going, Theresa?”

“Yes, where?”

“Well, if you must know, I am about to pay a visit to my friend, Monsieur de Monpres.”

“Don’t think to deceive me by such a shallow pretext,” cried Theresa.

“Deceive you, my sweet pet, it is not at all likely I should attempt to do so.”

“I wish I could bring myself to believe what you say is true.”

“But it is true. There, see I pledge my most solemn word it is. What more can you desire? Why, my dear girl, you are trembling like an aspen leaf shaken by the winter’s blast.”

“Oh, my lord, there is something afoot which you are keeping from me――I feel assured there is. A boy brought you a letter yesterday――who was it from?”

“Who? What matters? It was a private matter. I will tell you all about it when I return.”

“Tell me who sent that letter, and tell me also what business takes you from our home this evening.”

“I have already told you I am about to pay a visit to the chevalier.”

“Nothing else?”

“Well, I cannot tell what our movements may be. I am going direct to him now; that’s all I am able to say at present.”

“Come back with me, and go to the chevalier to-morrow evening instead.”

“It may not be. I have passed my word.”

“Passed your word?”

“Yes!”

“To meet Gerome Chanet. Is it not so?”

Lord Ethalwood started back in surprise.

“What could possibly have put that in your head?” he ejaculated.

“It matters not how it came into my head. I feel too well assured that such is the case. Oh, my lord, avoid that man; have naught to say to him, and, above all, do not give him a meeting.”

“I will bear in mind what you have said. I like him not; but at the same time, my dear Theresa, you must permit me to be master of my own actions.”

“I saw a boy deliver a letter to you yesterday at the garden gate. I judged who it was from――Gerome Chanet――and judged also its purport. He would speak to you. Is that not so?”

“Assuming it is, what of that? I am not afraid of Gerome Chanet.”

“I am sure you are not, but tell me where he is waiting for you?”

“Waiting! What idle fancy is this? Have I not already told you that I am going to see the chevalier? What more do you require?”

“You shall not go to meet Chanet! I say you shall not!” she cried, vehemently.

“Who will prevent me if I am so disposed?”

“I will.”

“You will! Why, my dear Theresa, surely you do not mean me to understand that I am to act under the control of you. By what right do you assume this position?”

“By what? By the right of my love――my love for you, wild, hopeless as it is――my love that hangs upon your life, though it may be as the drowning wretch who clings to a spar that will but lengthen his torment and desert him at last.”

“I am not complimented by the simile. It is not at all likely that I should desert you. Be reasonable, dearest. I have an appointment, and as a gentleman and a man of honour I must keep it.”

While this conversation had been taking place both the earl and Theresa had walked side by side, not very rapidly, it is true, but nevertheless, every step they took brought them nearer to the house in which the chevalier was located.

Theresa Trieste saw plainly enough that the earl was not to be turned from his purpose; entreaties and arguments were alike in vain――so she continued to walk by his side, in the hope of discovering if her suspicions were correct.

He on his part did not appear at all disinclined to have her as a companion, and this threw her a little off her guard.

When she accosted him at first she was under the impression that he was going direct to some appointed spot to meet Chanet.

She had no idea, however, that it was for the purpose of fighting a duel with the young mountaineer, but she dreaded a meeting under any circumstances, and had striven hard to prevail upon her aristocratic lover to return to her mother’s residence.

“You seem very suspicious, Theresa,” said the earl, in a tone of banter. “I don’t know what I have done to give rise to this feeling. However, we are now more than half-way towards the residence where the chevalier is at present sojourning. You will be satisfied, I suppose, if you see me there――see me enter the house.”

“Oh, I am satisfied that you are going there, if that is what you mean,” she returned. “Monsieur de Monpres is a stranger to me, and it would not be seemly for me to be introduced to him under the present circumstances. Perhaps I had better turn back, and make the best of my way home.”

“As you please, Be of good cheer, my darling,” exclaimed the earl. “I will return as soon as possible. Let me have a little license to night, and then we will pass a happy hour or so before bedtime. Come, Theresa, do not be so downcast.” He placed his arms round her shoulders and gave her a long embrace.

“Oh, my lord, this love of mine will be fatal to one or both of us,” she ejaculated. “But of what avail is it to repine? I do love you so.”

“I feel assured of that, Theresa; and so I must leave you to a lonely walk home.”

“Return as soon as possible.”

“I will――I promise that.”

And so the two parted.

Lord Ethalwood walked on with accelerated speed. He looked once more at his watch, and found there was ample time for him to be at the place of appointment.

Nevertheless, he was anxious and troubled. Most men are under similar circumstances.

He found upon his arrival the Chevalier de Monpres, dressed in his uniform, looking like an officer in the Old Guard.

“I am glad you have come thus early. Nothing like taking time by the forelock,” cried De Monpres, in high glee, for he made it a rule to be in the best of spirits and assume an air of confidence in all cases of this sort. “Why, mon Dieu, are you mad?” exclaimed the old Frenchman, glaring at his visitor.

“Mad, no! What’s amiss, then?”

“Amiss! Goodness me, you are never going to face your man in that costume?”

“Why not?”

“What――in a white waistcoat! It’s not to be thought of for a moment. The act of a lunatic, mon ami――a wild lunatic!”

“I do not understand you.”

“What, a white waistcoat. Why, it’s offering a mark for your adversary. I won’t have it. Certain death if the fellow is anything of a shot.”

“I never thought of that. I’ll button up my coat.”

“I won’t permit you to wear a white waistcoat, not under any circumstances. Sacre, it’s ridiculous. Take it off and wear one of mine. It won’t fit you very well I dare say, but that’s a matter of secondary importance. Off with your waistcoat without further ado; and an open white shirt front! Here is a waistcoat which will button up to the throat――that’s the garment to fight a duel in.”

Lord Ethalwood smiled, took off his waistcoat, and put on the one handed to him by the old officer.

“There,” said the latter, “that’s better. Offer no mark to the enemy; and now, mark you, we must bring down our man at the first shot, if that be possible. We’ll manage it, I have made up my mind as to that, but let me see. Oh, yes, the brandy.”

“I don’t want any.”

“You will have to take it nevertheless.”

De Monpres poured out a glass of cognac, into which he carefully let fall a few drops of laudanum.

“That will steady your nerves――make you as bold and fearless as a lion. Top it off.”

“Must I?”

“Yes you must, and what is more, you shall.”

Although the earl objected to such a course, he knew it was no use refusing; so he made a virtue of necessity, and swallowed the draught.

“That will put new life into you,” cried the Frenchman; “and now the weapon. Have your brought it with you?”

“Yes, here it is.”

De Monpres made a minute inspection of the revolver, which was a six-shot one.

“Yes, a good weapon,” said he; “very good. We shall have to load on the ground, that is the usual course adopted in affairs of this sort. The seconds load and the principals fire.”

“How about time?” said Ethalwood.

“We’ve loads of time. My postchaise is in the back yard, and can be driven off at a moment’s notice. Everything is prepared, and may you bring down your man at the first shot――it will save us a deal of trouble. By-the-way, don’t aim at the head――at the chest; that’s better. Mind, cover him well with your barrel before the word to fire is given, and stand as firm as a rock. Oh, we’ll polish the scoundrel off.”

“You seem very confident, monsieur――I wish I was the same.”

“You must be――you must be confident――it’s half the battle. Go in and win.”

The loquacious Frenchman rattled on, cheering up his companion by an animated conversation during the whole of the journey. He never suffered Lord Ethalwood’s spirits to droop, and certainly he was in all things considered a most invaluable adviser and ally in a case of this sort. Without him the earl would have been quite lost.

Upon arriving at the appointed place of meeting the earl and Monsieur de Monpres found Chanet and a young man awaiting them at the outskirts of the forest.

“You are punctual,” said Gerome. “I expected you would be so.”

“The Chevalier de Monpres,” returned the earl, introducing his friend. Chanet bowed and introduced the young man he had brought for a second as Monsieur Vasseralt. Then there was another exchange of courtesies and the chevalier and Vasseralt drew on one side and conversed in whispers; meanwhile the two principals stood silent and motionless.

“We had better proceed to the glade in the forest without further hesitation,” observed the chevalier; “by standing here we may probably attract attention. Forward, gentlemen,” added he, as he led the way. The three other gentlemen followed.

“Now, gentlemen, you had better take your positions.”

“Perhaps we had better charge the weapons first,” suggested Vasseralt.

“As you please, sir,” returned the chevalier, “it is not a matter of very great moment. We will charge them.”

“The six barrels are to be loaded,” said Gerome, “and we are to keep on firing till one of us falls. That is the understanding.”

“It is against all rules laid down in such cases,” observed the chevalier, “and it is a most murderous and un-Christianlike mode of procedure, but if it is an agreement, of course we must, I suppose, abide by it.”

“It is an agreement. Ask your friend,” cried Gerome.

“Let it be as Monsieur Chanet wishes; I offer no objection,” said the earl.

“I enter my protest against such a course, but will do as you desire me. So be it――the six chambers have to be charged.”

The seconds proceeded to carry out these instructions, after which the two principals were placed in position.

De Monpres walked up to the side of the earl and handed him his pistol.

“Be sure you stand firm and aim at his body――not at the head. You’ll bring down your man. That fellow has no idea of loading a pistol; in addition to which his powder is of the very worst description. You have every chance in your favour, and must come off victor.”

Having delivered himself of this speech the chevalier withdrew.

“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “it has been agreed upon that I am to give the signal for firing. It is this: one, two, three――fire! When the last of these words is uttered you discharge your weapons. How say you? Do you understand?”

Both the belligerents answered in the affirmative.

The chevalier glanced anxiously for a moment at his man; then he said in slow, deliberate voice――

“One, two, three――fire!”

Both weapons were discharged simultaneously. The earl was conscious of the fact that a bullet passed within an inch or two of his head.

Gerome Chanet staggered for a moment, threw up his arms, and then fell forward on his face.

“See to your man, Monsieur Vasseralt,” exclaimed the chevalier.

Advancing quickly, and in an evident state of trepidation, the young Swiss bent over the prostrate form of his friend, whom he called by name but received no answer. He then turned him over and observed a dark stream of blood oozing from his chest. The ill-fated Chanet breathed one last sigh and expired.

“He is dead! Gracious heaven, he is dead!” exclaimed the Swiss. “Come this way――for mercy’s sake come.”

The chevalier walked deliberately forward and looked in the face of the dead man.

“It is all over with him,” he ejaculated. “He has fallen at the first shot. Well, he brought it on himself, and he has paid the penalty.”

“I wish I had not had any hand in this business,” said Vasseralt. “I do most bitterly regret ever giving my consent to act as second. It is the first time I have been engaged in such a capacity, and I will take good care it shall be the last. Can nothing be done for him?”

“My good fellow, we cannot restore the dead to life,” return De Monpres. “If young men will be rash and hot-headed, and rush into affairs of this sort, they must abide the issue. Your friend is slain, but has died honourably――what more need be said?”

“Oh, but it’s very terrible.”

“Can I do anything to serve you?” said the courteous old Frenchman. “If so, command me.”

“Inform his family of this dreadful tragedy.”

“No, I cannot do that. It would not be in conformity with the usual course of events. It is your duty to apprise his friends of the manner of his death――not mine. Permit me as an old soldier to express my most unqualified satisfaction of your conduct throughout the whole of this painful affair, and so good night.”

He offered his hand to Vasseralt, which the latter accepted, and then withdrew from the ground in company with Earl Ethalwood, who, now that it was all over, fairly broke down.

“It is of no use your pulling a long face,” said de Monpres. “You have reason to be thankful, and I congratulate you. Didn’t I tell you how it would end? I knew you would put him to bed with the first shot, and my words were prophetic. Ah, mon ami, he meant mischief. A blood-thirsty scoundrel the world is well rid of! Come, here is the postchaise; let us drive off at once, before the affair gets wind. Jump in.”

The earl obeyed mechanically, for he appeared to be in a perfect state of bewilderment. It was the first time he had slain a fellow-creature, and he upbraided himself for the part he had played in the dark and sanguinary crime. He could not conceal from himself that his adversary had been deeply wronged, that he had during their interview in the forest displayed a nobleness of purpose in regard to Theresa, which could not fail to command the respect of all right-minded persons. He was willing to make any sacrifice for the woman he loved, even to giving her up to his rival, if he could thereby have ensured her happiness. The earl pondered over all these circumstances, and acknowledged to himself that he had committed a great wrong.

“It seems to me, my friend,” said the chevalier, “that you are letting this little affair disturb your equanimity. Why, Lord bless us, it is after all but an everyday occurrence. The fellow is better out of the world than in it. Cheer up――don’t look so cursedly miserable.”

“I don’t feel very well satisfied with myself, I candidly confess,” murmured Ethalwood. “It has been a most unfortunate business.”

“No such thing――not as far as you are concerned. On the contrary, it has, to my thinking, been most fortunate. You’ve got out of a scrape in a most satisfactory and I may say gallant manner. We’ll just have a bottle of sparkling hock and a choice cigar, and that will put you all right again.”

“Ah, my dear de Monpres, I am afraid it will take a great deal more than that to efface from my mind the fearful incidents of to-night. I feel myself to be a guilty wretch, an assassin, and murderer.”

“Mon Dieu, monsieur, you are talking in a wild, incoherent manner. Assassin and murderer――bah! Be reasonable if you please. Don’t talk in such a false and ridiculous strain. Come, here we are at our domicile. Jump out, and come in――ha, ha! and make your life happy. I won’t have you accuse yourself thus wrongfully. Murder――bah! it is ridiculous.”

The chevalier rattled on in his accustomed vivacious and loquacious manner, endeavouring as best he could to reassure the earl, who was, however, despite his friend’s playful pleasantries, greatly troubled at the tragic event of the evening. He, however, strove to play up to the exuberant Frenchman, and upon entering the house he drained off in rapid succession several glasses of champagne. Under the influence of the sparkling wine he became greatly exhilarated, and was enabled to listen with something like satisfaction to the lively discourse of his companion, the chevalier.

An hour or so passed away, and then the earl remembered the promise he had given to Theresa.

Making the best excuse he could, he rose to take his departure, but De Monpres did not feel disposed to part with him, and pressed him to remain at the chateau for the remainder of the night.

“You can return to the widow’s residence as early as you choose in the morning,” said the chevalier.

“I am under a pledge to be back early to-night,” answered Ethalwood, “and I am quite sure you will excuse me.”

“When a lady’s in the case all things must give place,” observed his companion, “and therefore I will let you have your own way――but I don’t care about your going alone, so with your permission I will drive you there, and see you safely housed. What say you?”

Ethalwood hesitated for a brief period, and then said――

“Perhaps you are right. All things considered it would, perhaps, be just as well for me to have a companion, and I cannot have a better one than yourself.”

The postchaise was once more brought into requisition, and the chevalier drove his friend home――or rather to the widow’s abode, where he had taken up his quarters. When the vehicle arrived in front of the garden-gate, the earl alighted and begged the chevalier to enter the house that he might be introduced to the inmates.

The chevalier, however, politely declined.

“No,” said he, “not now. I will be introduced to Madame Trieste on some other occasion――this certainly cannot be considered a favourable one. No, my lord, I will leave you now, and hope to see you some time to-morrow. Be of good cheer, and do not let this little affair dash your spirits, and so farewell for the present.”

The two gentlemen shook hands, and De Monpres drove off.

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CXXIX. AFTER THE TRAGEDY

Lord Ethalwood had some misgivings respecting the inmates of the chateau he was about to enter. He did not know very well what to say to the widow or her daughter. Being perfectly well assured the fatal deed would be the subject of conversation with everybody in the neighbourhood, and that the whole circumstances would on the following day become known to Theresa and her mother, it was not possible for him to remain silent on the subject. He therefore stood irresolute at the garden gate, not knowing very well what course to take.

To all appearance the inmates of the establishment had retired to rest, for he could not see any light gleam from the window of the sitting-room, and all was as silent as the grave.

The earl at this time felt like some guilty wretch who had returned red-handed from the perpetration of an act of violence.

He strove as best he could to muster an air of intrepidity to his brow, but his heart beat audibly as he passed into the little garden surrounding the house. He observed the faint glimmer of light over the doorway; this proceeded from the small window above the entrance.

He paused for a few moments, and then gently tapped at the door, which was opened by Agatha, who, pale as ashes, started back at beholding him.

“Agatha, dear, what ails you?” inquired the earl, not knowing at the time what to say. “You seem scared, my lass.”

“Oh, my lord,” exclaimed the maid, “you have returned. Heaven be praised for that!”

“Where is madame?” was the next question.

“She is out――gone to attend upon a neighbour who is dangerously ill. She will not return till the morning.”

The earl was thankful for this piece of information.

“Well, it is very good of her,” said he, entering the parlour.

“And you――――” cried the maid, glancing at him with a look of wonderment.

“I am right enough. Where is Mademoiselle Theresa?”

“She has retired to rest――has been watching and waiting for you till she is fairly worn out.”

“It is not so very late, Agatha.”

“I don’t say it is, but――”

“Well, what, girl?”

“My young mistress has passed a miserable time since you left.”

“And why, pray?”

“I cannot tell you any more than she has had a foreboding of evil――a presentiment that something dreadful would happen to-night.”

“And you?”

“I have been much the same. But you are safe?”

“Yes, and your fears are groundless, you see.”

The girl flung herself into the arms of Lord Ethalwood and burst into tears.

He strove as best he could to comfort her, and presently she dried her eyes and gave a faint smile.

“You should not give way to idle fancies, my darling,” said the earl. “What is the matter?”

“You seem so strange――your manner is so different――you do not appear to be like your former self.”

“Bah! mere fancies. I am just the same as I always have been since you first knew me.”

“Are you?” said Agatha, seating herself in a chair and endeavouring to collect her thoughts, which, to say the truth, at that particular period were in rather a deranged state.

The sound as of a low moan, sigh, or wail, fell upon the ears of the earl; it seemed to proceed from one of the upper rooms.

Upon the impulse of the moment he rushed upstairs. On reaching the first landing he stumbled over something. Upon recovering himself he discovered that it was a prostrate figure of a human being, and upon closer inspection he found it to be the senseless form of Theresa Trieste, who had from some cause or other swooned.

Lord Ethalwood stooped down and raised the senseless Theresa, whom he carried into an adjoining room. He was so overcome with terror and anxiety that he did not know very well how to act, but after a moment’s reflection he laid her on a sofa and then sought for some vessel containing water. When this was found he bathed her forehead and temples. She heaved two or three deep-drawn sighs, and then opened her eyes.

“It is you, my lord. The saints be praised you are alive and well,” she ejaculated.

“Yes, dearest――I have returned, as you see. And you?”

Ah, my lord――my dear Reginald, I have passed a miserable time, and thought some terrible misfortune had befallen you. For mercy’s sake tell me where you have been, and what has happened.”

“I have been to De Monpres, as I told you.”

“Ah! nowhere else?”

“Why do you ask? I am here by your side. Be satisfied.”

“I am more than satisfied.”

He knelt by her side, and gazed upon her wan features. He did not remember her ever looking so beautiful as she did at that time. He was absorbed in contemplating her expressive and charming face. The terrible incidents of the night were for a moment or so effaced from his memory――he thought only of Theresa.

He leant over her and embraced her tenderly.

Theresa’s large eyes were bent upon Lord Ethalwood, upon whom she gazed with an expression of dreamy astonishment, and at first he was half disposed to think that she intended to repulse him, but in this he was mistaken. Tears came to her relief, and in piteous accents she exclaimed――

“I have reason to be thankful, to rejoice――for you are safe. Gracious heaven! it is almost more than I have expected.”

Her companion made no reply, but wound his arms lovingly around her.

She entwined her arms about his neck with an abandon that proved her heedlessness of the peril in which she was placing herself, but her love for the English nobleman was so strong that she was thereby held in bondage, and prudence was forgotten.

It would indeed have been better for her had she been more circumspect and less demonstrative, but she was impulsive by nature and had not as yet learnt to put a restraint upon her actions.

She had been plunged into almost hopeless despair while he was away――now her spirit seemed to rebound, and she forgot all else save the happy present. The man she loved was by her side, and demonstrating the strongest affection for her.

Alas! a thousand times better had it been for her had her innocence been less perfect. How many tears of unavailing anguish might have remained unshed by her? How many years of bitter remorse might have been spared Lord Ethalwood?

But neither the young maiden nor her lover viewed the subject by the cold light of reason. It is true, however, that the earl had at this time some qualms of conscience he could not fail to acknowledge to himself estranging the affection of a young maiden whom he could not under any circumstances consent to view in the character of a lawful wife.

The earl was not at this time a heartless seducer, but he was so enamoured of the fair Theresa that passion got the better of his judgment and reason. The end may be readily imagined.

“You have not been candid,” said Theresa. “I feel assured that something dreadful has happened. Do not conceal anything from me; I charge you as you love me to tell me all. You have met Gerome Chanet, I feel assured of that.”

“Well, what if I have?” returned Lord Ethalwood, turning from her. “Suppose I admit it――what then?”

“You cannot do otherwise than admit it, my lord. What has happened?”

“We had a hostile meeting.”

“I knew it. I felt assured of that. And how did it end?”

Upon this the earl made a clean breast of it, and made Theresa acquainted with every minute particular connected with the tragedy in which he had played so conspicuous a part.

His companion listened to the harrowing details with forced calmness.

She did not betray outwardly any great emotion, but a heavy weight seemed to fall upon her, and she was supremely miserable.

“What a dreadful ending――what a terrible calamity! Poor Gerome! He was true to the last, then?”

“He was determined to have my life if possible; failing that, he was prepared to render up his own. The end was inevitable. Do not blame me, Theresa.”

“I do not blame you, but what a risk you have run! Alas, you did not know the sort of man you had to deal with. Gracious Heaven! how very terrible is all this! But you must not stay in this neighbourhood. His death will be avenged. There are those who will watch and wait for you――those who will not scruple to slay you without pity or remorse. Oh, my dear Reginald, beware in time. Take heed of what I say ere it is too late. Your life may be sacrificed without a moment’s notice. You do not know the sanguinary nature of those who watch and waylay unwary travellers in the mountain fastnesses. You are utterly heedless of the risk you run. They would not scruple to take your life to make reprisals for the loss of their comrade. You must not remain here. It would be madness to do so. But oh, how terribly hard it is for me to part with you. But it must be done, indeed it must, dearest. Consider――――”

“I have considered,” exclaimed the earl; “and I am well capable of taking care of myself.”

“You are powerless in such a case as this. No man can guard against treachery――not the most valiant. You must not――nay, you shall not――remain here.”

“Whither would you have me fly, then?”

“It matters not――your own country, or to France, anywhere you please, but don’t stay here. Oh, Reginald, for my sake promise me to go away.”

[Sidenote: No. 68.]

“You take a dark view of the aspect of affairs.”

“It is not more dark and dismal than actual reality. Oh, this fatal love! How will it end? In death!”

As she gave utterance to this last speech she burst into tears, and her limbs trembled with excitement.

“Do you hear what I have been saying?” she ejaculated with bitterness.

“Of course I have, my own sweet darling, and with me your wishes are law. I will leave the neighbourhood at my earliest convenience.”

“At your earliest convenience! At once! You must do so at once.”

“Well, at once, then. So be it; but not to-night.”

“No, not to-night. It is already morning.”

“To-morrow, then, if you desire me to do so.”

“I do desire it. Oh, mercy on me, I am overwhelmed with sorrow and sadness. I repent the past, and tremble for the future.”

“I will act in accordance with your expressed wishes. Do not give way to needless fear. Come, sweetest, cheer up――be not so downcast. It is a melancholy ending, but, as I before observed, it was inevitable.”

He strove as best he could to pacify the wretched Theresa, whose only thoughts were for his safety. He promised to fly on the following day.

They remained, exchanging words of love and vows of constancy, till the first few hours of the morning had passed away.

When Lord Ethalwood sought his own couch it was with an aching head and a heavy heart that he sought repose. His slumbers were disturbed by hideous dreams, and he arose hot, feverish, and excited.

Madame Trieste had returned, and was in the breakfast parlour when he presented himself. She tossed up her hands and heaved a deep sigh as her eyes lighted on him.

She told him she knew all――knew of the duel and the death of Gerome Chanet, but she did not upbraid him, or express any dissatisfaction at the line of conduct he had chosen to pursue. On the contrary, she said that she knew it had been forced upon him, and that he had no other alternative than to accept the challenge.

The Chevalier de Monpres had taken the precaution of sending to the earl’s residence, with the request that his groom should bring round one of his master’s saddle horses, and the man arrived at the widow’s chateau with a magnificent animal before the inmates of the establishment had finished breakfast.

“It is very kind and considerate of the chevalier,” cried Madame Trieste, “and redounds very much to his credit. He, like ourselves, my lord, knows the class of people we have to deal with.”

“Yes, I have good reason to be thankful for the active part the chevalier has taken. He has befriended me in a way I had no reason to expect from one whose acquaintance I had so recently made. I owe him a deep debt of gratitude.”

“To crown all,” cried the widow, “he must be a most worthy man in addition to being a remarkably clever and courteous one.”

“I should very much have liked to introduce him to you,” observed the earl; “and indeed it would be as well, perhaps, to do so now.”

“No, no――some other time. A more favourable opportunity will occur,” said Theresa. “Do not linger here for any such purpose.”

“Upon my word, mademoiselle, it seems to me that you are in a monstrous hurry to get rid of me,” said the earl, with a sickly smile.

“It is only out of consideration for you, my lord,” returned Madame Trieste. “My dear Theresa would not willingly part with you unless the urgency of the case demanded it.”

“I am well convinced of that, madame――at least, I flatter myself that such is the case,” returned Lord Ethalwood.

The groom informed his master that the Chevalier de Monpres had sent a message, requesting the earl to call at the chateau where he was staying as he proceeded on his road home.

“I will do so, Curtis,” said Lord Ethalwood. “Ride on and inform the chevalier that I will be with him in less than an hour from this time.”

The groom upon this started off, leaving Lord Ethalwood’s horse ready caparisoned at the garden-gate of the widow’s house.

“So you are going to ride over to your residence?” said Madame Trieste, “and without an attendant, it would seem.”

“Nay, not so,” observed the earl. “Curtis will attend me.”

“But he has gone on to Monsieur de Monpres.”

“True, I shall be by myself part of the way.”

“And do you not think that very bad policy?”

“Why so, madame?”

“Suppose two or three ruffians were to attack you――what then?”

“I should have to defend myself to the best of my ability――that is all,” returned the earl, with a smile.

“You make light of the matter, my lord. I look upon it from a different point of view. I consider your path beset with danger, and that you cannot be too cautious. You ought not to travel without an escort.”

“It would be as well, perhaps, to have company on the road, but it is, after all, of no very great moment. I dare say I shall be able to reach home in safety.”

“I hope so, I am sure,” said Madame Trieste, “but you don’t know the natives of these parts so well as we do.”

“Certainly not. I don’t pretend to do so.”

“They are by nature treacherous, and are not to be trusted.”

“I don’t intend to put any trust in them, and for this reason I have no confidence in any of the rascals. But, my very dear friend,” said Ethalwood, in an altered tone, “there is now an imperative necessity for me to take my departure. I am constrained by the force of circumstances to leave. Before doing so I have to express to you my deep sense of gratitude for all your kindness――which will be remembered for the remainder of my life. Let me, my dear Madame Trieste, assure you that, although from the force of circumstances I am constrained to take an abrupt leave of you, that I shall bear with me the most lively sense of your motherly kindness, and at the same time that I shall always look upon you as one of my most attached friends, for beneath your roof I have passed the happiest years of my life.”

“Oh, my lord,” exclaimed the widow, “I am indeed proud of the encomiums you are pleased to pass upon me; but although we part now from stern necessity we shall, I hope, meet again under happier circumstances.”

“I hope so, I am sure,” said the earl, bending over her and imprinting a kiss on her forehead. “And now, my dear Theresa,” he added, “do not think I shall forget you. I shall bear you in my remembrance, and long for the time when we may be reunited.”

“Oh, my lord, my heart is too full for me to express myself in words. Be cautious――be mindful of the great peril you are now in, and for the rest let me hear from you. You will not forget your poor unhappy Theresa?”

“Never――never! I swear it,” cried the earl, embracing the young maiden with fervour.

He was not disposed to prolong the scene, which, to say the truth, was a trying one. He therefore made at once for the garden-gate and mounted his steed; then with another embrace and a blessing on the inmates of the chateau, he trotted off.

Theresa Trieste watched the horse and its rider till both were out of sight――then she gave a faint scream and fell back into the arms of her mother.

Lord Ethalwood trotted on until he came to a steep hill, with the precipitous rocks on either side. He drew the rein and walked his horse up the acclivity. He was ruminating on past events, and for a short time was lost in a reverie, when all of a sudden he heard the sharp crack of a rifle, which reverberated with a thousand echoes through the rocks overhead. A bullet was flattened against a stone wall which stood within a few paces from him.

Aroused to a sense of the danger, which was so immediate, he clapped spurs to the flanks of his steed, and galloped up the hill.

“Ah,” he murmured, “a narrow escape. Theresa was right; there are murderous villains prowling about, and the chances are that this may not be the only shot that will be fired.”

He did not give much time for his assailant or assailants to take deliberate aim, but put out his high-mettled steed to the utmost, and was thankful when the house in which the chevalier was located came within view. He found his groom awaiting his appearance at the entrance gates, which were thrown open, whereupon the earl rode at once into the yard. The gates were then closed.

De Monpres presented himself, and was overjoyed to see his friend, whom he at once conducted into the interior of the chateau.

“Well,” said the old Frenchman, “what news? How goes it?”

“The scoundrels are afoot. I was fired at, and a bullet was flattened against the wall beside the road.”

“I guessed it would be so,” returned the chevalier. “I was a fool to let you come alone. My dear friend, you don’t know what those fellows are. The greatest caution is now needed, for I believe one or more of them have sworn to have your life, but we will baffle them. The worst is now over, and for the rest――――”

“Well, how about the rest?” inquired the earl.

“It’s just this――you must cut and run. Don’t imagine for a moment that such a course of action is discreditable to you; on the contrary, it is most wise and discreet. Of what avail is it seeking to hunt down or bring to justice a parcel of lawless miscreants who lie in ambush? My good fellow, I know what a guerilla war is――have gone through it: they pick you off before you know where you are; and, mind you, they would take a pride in making dogs’ meat of you. No, no, my lord, we won’t risk that, and to remain here to be a mark for sharp-shooting――why, it would be madness. They have sworn to have your life.”

“Have they?”

“Do you doubt it?”

“I don’t know what to say――am in perfect ignorance of their movements.”

“I think you have already had proof sufficient. I tell you that they lie concealed in all parts. The first question that occurs to me is, how you are to reach your chateau in safety.”

“I will ride there.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t let you――that’s why.”

“But what would you have me do then?”

“That depends upon circumstances. We will, if you please, hold a council of war.”

As the chevalier made this last observation, a stout, good-humoured-looking gentleman entered the room.

“Ah,” cried De Monpres, “I am glad you have come back, Monsieur. This is my friend, Earl Ethalwood, of whom you have heard me speak. My lord,” said he in continuation, addressing himself to the earl, “Monsieur Jantie, my friend and host.”

“I am proud to make your acquaintance,” said Jantie, “and have to express my regret that it is not under more favourable circumstances, as I shall not have the pleasure of your society for long.”

“No, no, not for long,” said the chevalier with a laugh, “you may rest assured of that. The wolves are prowling about, seeking whom they may devour, and my friend, Ethalwood, is a marked man.”

“Ah, surely you are taking an unfavourable view of the case,” remarked the earl.

“Bah! don’t be so dubious,” cried De Monpres. “I had it upon the best authority that a group of mountaineers――unscrupulous desperadoes――swore over the dead body of their comrade, Gerome Chanet, to have your life. What more do you need in confirmation of my statement?”

“Is it possible?”

“Possible――it is a fact beyond all controversy.”

“And how came this to your knowledge?”

“Well, I don’t know that I am bound to secrecy. Monsieur Vasseralt, who after all turns out to be a good fellow enough, gave me the information. Now are you satisfied?”

“Perfectly. Monsieur Vasseralt――eh?”

“Yes, he was my informant; but, mark you, this unholy and sanguinary proceeding was not countenanced or approved of by him. He has, however, given me a caution, a timely warning, which we shall do well to remember.”

“The infamous wretches!”

“Ah, but they think it a praiseworthy action. It all depends upon how men view these matters.”

“I am beset with difficulties, it would seem,” said the earl.

“We’ll pull you through――leave the matter in my hands. An old soldier like myself will prove too much for these fellows, I expect,” said De Monpres.

“You must place yourself in De Monpres’ hands,” observed Monsieur Jantie, addressing himself to the earl.

“I have the utmost confidence in the chevalier,” observed the latter――“I wish I had his experience and wisdom.”

The chevalier bowed courteously, and the conversation was continued in a lively strain. Monsieur Jantie treated the earl with marked politeness and attention, and begged of him as a personal favour to spend the remainder of the day with him. This honour, however, Lord Ethalwood declined, upon the plea that there was an imperative necessity for him to be at his own chateau.

It was ultimately arranged that Ethalwood and the chevalier were to be driven home in one of the close carriages of M. Jantie. The reason for this may be readily imagined.

The sharpshooters from the surrounding hills would be baffled. It was just possible, however, that an attempt might be made by a lawless band to stop the carriage. There was no telling how far the audacity of the men might carry them. It was, therefore, upon the advice of Vasseralt, Chanet’s second, that the carriage was drawn under the escort of some half-a-dozen lusty yeomen retainers of Monsieur Jantie. These persons carried loaded weapons, and were otherwise armed to the teeth, and so, with these precautionary measures, Earl Ethalwood and his friend the Chevalier de Monpres contrived to arrive home in safety.

On the following day the earl set out on his journey, and made the best of his way to his native country.

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Chapter CXXX

CHARLES PEACE AND HIS UNLAWFUL GAINS――A VISIT TO MR. SIMMONDS――A SURPRISE AND ESCAPE.

Once more we are constrained to return to the Evalina-road, for the purpose of seeing how it fares with the hero of this work.

Charles Peace had up to the present time not only escaped detection, but had managed his affairs with such success that not the faintest breath of suspicion fell upon him.

He was looked upon by his neighbours as the same easy-going, agreeable old gentleman of independent means as he had been deemed ever since the first few months of his life at Peckham.

His musical evenings were as frequent as of yore. He was seen occasionally in the garden and at the front entrance of his habitation, and appeared to be a quiet, discreet person, who to all appearance was what he professed to be――a man of thoughtful, studious habits, and the general impression was that there was no harm in him.

It is true that at times there were evidences of a storm within the house at No. 4, but this was attributable more to the irritable nature of the female residents than to the quiet and unobtrusive master of the establishment.

But Peace, during this interval of time was industriously pursuing his lawless practices. The number of burglaries that had been committed in the surrounding districts seemed perfectly incredible, but no one suspected that Mr. Thompson had any hand in them.

Peace’s house was crammed with articles of almost every conceivable description, which were, as may be easily conjectured, the produce of lawless depredations.

His two female companions must have been perfectly well aware that he was a wholesale and unscrupulous robber, although they both of them afterwards declared that they knew nothing about his numerous burglaries.

This upon the face of it appears to be altogether incredible, but it is perhaps just as well to give them the benefit of the doubt. They might have suspected, but possibly they were discreet enough to close their eyes to actual facts.

The house in the Evalina-road was at this time so crammed full of stolen goods that its occupant deemed it expedient to get rid of the greater portion of the articles.

If by any chance the place underwent an inspection by the police, there would be no possibility of Peace accounting for the possession of such a heterogeneous collection of property.

When in any difficulty he generally called into requisition his faithful comrade and ally, Bandy-legged Bill.

So one evening, when the sagacious Mr. William Rawton was engaged with a fragrant weed and a bit of music at the house in the Evalina-road, Charles Peace broached the subject.

The two women were at this time at the house of a neighbour, and Willie Ward had been sent on an errand.

“I say, Bill, old man,” observed Peace, “I am a bit lumbered up here with a lot of things which would be best out of the way. Do you see?”

“Well, I should just say I did see, and no flies,” cried Bill. “Why, Charlie, you’ve got what one might call a regular museum, a sort of old curiosity shop, stowed away in nooks and corners. It would not be particularly healthy for yer if the pleece were to take a review of all the blessed lot――not at all healthy.”

“I quite agree with you, Bill. So I’ve been thinking we had better have a clearance――get shut of the whole blooming lot, eh?”

“Right you are, guv’nor. Turn the whole blessed collection into ready money. Get as many quids as you can for them, and then snap your fingers at the blooming bobbies.”

“That’s just what I intend to do. So you see, Bill, we will, now the place is all to ourselves, set about the business at once.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just this. I’ve got two or three old hampers in the stable, and I want your assistance.”

“All right; I’m on.”

“Very well. We will at once proceed to fill the hampers, and to-morrow, please the pigs, will get them off to the East-end, to old Simmonds――he’ll give as much as anybody.”

“Don’t care a great deal about Simmonds――he’s not a square sort of chap, to my thinking.”

“It does not matter what ‘fence’ we take them to. All I want to do to-night is to get the goods ready for starting.”

Peace lighted a hand-lamp and bade his companion follow him. Then the two conveyed a number of articles to the stables, and when there they packed them up in as small a compass as possible in the hampers to which Peace had made allusion.

The greater portion of the property was safely stowed away in the hampers, which were afterwards tied down with long cord.

All this had been done in an incredibly short space of time. Then the burglar and his horsey companion sat down on the corded baskets and discussed the intended procedings of the morrow.

“Poor Tommy, my beautiful little pet, is gone!” said Peace, with something like sorrow in his tone. “I shan’t get another like him in a hurry, Bill. But it’s of no use grieving――it was to be, I suppose, and so there’s an end of that matter.”

“Ah, poor old Tommy! but lord bless you, nothing in the world would have saved him. But it ain’t of no use dwelling on that now. These precious hampers have to be got, somehow or other, to Whitechapel――that’s quite certain. There won’t be much difficulty about that ere. I’ll bring a trap round we can shove ’em in, and the rest is an easy matter. I shall be glad when we’ve got shut of them.”

“So shall I. Are you going to borrow a trap, then?”

“Ah, yes, Joe Starker will lend me one in a minute. There ain’t no manner of trouble about that. Say the word, Charlie. Tell me what time I am to be here, and it shall be done like a shot, and no flies.”

“Eight o’clock to-morrow evening will do very well, I think.”

“All right, guv’nor, eight o’clock let it be, then.”

“And drive round to the back yard, without saying a word to anyone.”

“I’m on; so be it, Charlie.”

This little matter having been thus satisfactorily arranged, Peace and the gipsy returned to the parlour.

Willie Ward had by this time returned, and he and our hero, as usual, began to play duets.

Presently the ladies of the establishment presented themselves, and a social and convivial evening was passed.

Rawton left at a little before twelve, with a promise to be there on the following evening.

Peace, of course, did not go out on a depredating excursion for that night.

Punctual to his appointment, Bandy-legged Bill drove into the back yard of No. 4 at about a quarter before eight on the succeeding night.

Peace was ready to receive him, and the hampers were quickly lifted into the cart, whereupon the two friends proceeded at once in the direction of Whitechapel.

“We’ll try Simmonds first,” said our hero. “Cunning Isaac, as we call him, is a rapacious old scoundrel, who wants things for next door to nothing. Simmonds is worth two of him.”

“I don’t like either of them, if the truth is to be told,” cried the gipsy; “but, lord, they aint any of them worth much, as far as that is concerned. The whole biling of them are a set of bloodsuckers, but there, I dare say you will ask what’s a cove to do.”

“Yes, that’s just where it is. We can’t do without them, Bill――there aint any mistake about that. I look upon it that men and women prey upon one another like wild beasts. The ‘fence’ preys upon the ‘cracksman,’ the cracksman――well, he preys upon the public――that is, the rich public――and they in most cases have made their money out of the poor. From the lowest to the highest it is one system of cheating and robbing――that’s my view of the matter.”

“Oh, you are not far off the mark, it’s right enough,” returned Bill. “You are never so happy as when you are moralising,” he added, with a laugh.

“Ah, you may laugh,” cried Peace, “but pray tell me how many persons you know in this world as you can trust――just you answer that question.”

“Jolly few, if that’s what you mean. You may count ’em on your fingers, and not want all on ’em to do so.”

“No. I should think not.”

“But, I say, what blooming crib are yer bound for?” said the gipsy; “for we are coming to close quarters, now.”

“Oh, we will see what Simmonds says. I shall leave you to strike the bargain. Take one hamper into him, and see what he offers.”

“I tell yer what it is, Charlie, I don’t care about the job, cos why――he don’t like me, and I’ve no affection for him. You’ll do a deal better with him than what I can――so just pop down upon the old rascal, and I think I shall be able to work Isaac.”

“Oh, you prefer Isaac, do you?”

“Well, yes I do. Every man has his fancy. Some can get along with one, which perhaps another cove wouldn’t be able to work not nohow whatsoever.”

Mr. Simmonds’s establishment stood in one of the streets which ran at right angles out of the Whitechapel-road.

It was not an aristocratic-looking shop, and the immediate neighbourhood surrounding it could not be considered either cleanly or odoriferous.

Mr. Simmonds himself was not altogether a pattern of cleanliness――neither could he be considered particularly handsome. His nose was long, and his mouth was wide. In short, his features, taken altogether, would lead a superficial observer to the conclusion that he was a gentleman of the Hebrew persuasion.

Still Mr. Simmonds had contrived to drive a very profitable trade. He was very well known, and always ready to purchase goods of every conceivable description, and it was not his practice to ask impertinent questions.

He therefore drove a profitable trade.

Charles Peace was very well acquainted with him, and had had with him many business transactions.

A well-known journalist, at the time Peace carried on his lawless practices in the Evalina-road, was desirous of knowing how he disposed of his plunder. “There is more in this question,” said he, “than the police were able to discover.”

In cases of common burglary the usual course is for the thief to make his way direct to some safe “fence” and drive the best bargain he can of the receiver. But Peace was no common burglar.

The more I enquire into the life and habits of those in his establishment at Peckham, the less disposed I am to believe that Mrs. Thompson acted as a “go-between.” Certainly the boy, “Willie Ward,” was not entrusted with such delicate missions, and I am pretty certain the services of Mrs. Ward would only be resorted to when things were growing desperate.

The impression at Peckham was, that Peace had a male accomplice, a clever unscrupulous fellow like himself, and not at all dissimilar physically, but even superior to Peace himself.

This surmise on the part of the journalist in question was correct, the accomplice in question being none other than “Bandy-legged Bill.”

Upon coming in front of Mr. Simmonds’s respectable establishment Peace alighted, and without further ado took one of the hampers into the Jew’s shop.

“I am happy and proud to see you,” cried Simmonds. “Anything in my way?”

“Yes,” returned Peace. “You can look over the articles in this hamper, and see what you can afford to give for them.”

“Yesh, yesh, my tear friend, I vill do so, but business is bad and money is tight――still I’ll do my best for you.”

“I am not going to be chiselled if I can help it,” returned Peace; “so don’t think to come any of your hanky-panky tricks over me.”

“Lord bless us, how suspicious you are! S’help me goodness, I do my best for all of you, my very best. But I say just bring the things into the back parlour, there’s a good fellow. Oh, you don’t know what risks we run.”

Peace dragged the hamper into the small room at the back of the shop. The Jew then began to make a careful inspection of the articles as he drew them forth. He approved them as he did so, putting them down on the tablet of his memory at fifty per cent. less than their intrinsic value.

While thus engaged he dodged and ducked his head, every now and then peering into the front shop through the dingy and dirt-begrimed glass of the door which separated the parlour from the outer shop.

There was, of course, the usual haggling――the price the Hebrew offered was too ridiculous for Peace to accept. Then followed the expletives and oaths, without which no bargain of this description could be concluded. At length, however, Peace consented to take seventy pounds for the goods, whereupon the Jew handed down a fifty pound note and twenty sovereigns to our hero, who pocketed the same.

The bargain had hardly been concluded when two persons entered the Jew’s shop. Mr. Simmonds looked through the curtain which hung over the window of the door of the parlour, and uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“What’s up?” cried Peace, in some alarm.

“Two detectives,” was the quick rejoinder.

“The devil!” exclaimed our hero, looking into the shop. “And one of them――――”

“Well, what?” ejaculated Simmonds.

“One of the blokes I know; and what is worse he knows me.”

“And wants you?”

Peace nodded significantly.

“Gracious! However, I would not have a customer of mine ‘copped’ in my place; no, not for the world.”

“What’s to be done,” said Peace. “Is there any means of escape? I must not be seen by the tall ones or I am a lost man.”

“Father, two gentlemen want to speak to you,” said a youth in the shop, who was Simmonds’s son.

“Fly up-stairs,” cried the Jew, “and hook it. I will keep them in conversation. Step it at once.”

Peace required no second bidding; he left the back parlour just as the Jew entered his shop.

“Your servant, gentlemen,” said he in oleaginous accents. “Vat can I do for you?”

“Have you purchased a watch to day or yesterday, bearing on its face the name of Velluming,” said one of the detectives.

“No! Haven’t purchased any watch for a week or more.”

“You are quite sure of that?”

“Oh, yes――certainly I am.”

“Wasn’t there a person in your back parlour when we entered?” said the taller of the two.

“Nobody but myself,” returned Simmonds, in a confident tone.

The detectives exchanged glances, and conversed in whispers.

“We have very good reasons for doubting your statement, Mr. Simmonds,” said one of them.

“Vell, gentlemen, I do hope you believe I wouldn’t tell you a deliberate lie. Please tell me your business.”

“If you are speaking the truth there cannot be any possible objection to your letting us search the premises.”

“But vat for? I haven’t done anything against the law?”

“No matter about that. Will you or will you not permit us to run over the premises?”

“I think it is very unbecoming of you to make such a request,” said Simmonds; “but I suppose you know your own business best. Search the house if you like.”

The two detectives entered the back parlour. Of course Charles Peace was not there. Then they passed out into the passage and began to ascend the stairs leading to the upper rooms.

“I don’t think yer acting in at all a proper manner, gentlemen,” exclained Simmonds, speaking as loud as he could, “and I must protest against such proceedings. Do you think I harbour thieves?”

“We don’t think,” observed the detectives.

“Well, I won’t say any more, as I shall be only subjecting myself to insults,” cried the Jew. “Rachel!” he said, in continuation, calling to his wife, who was in one of the upstair rooms. “Don’t be alarmed, tear. Two strange shentlemen are coming upstairs. They won’t hurt you. Don’t be alarmed――it’s all right, they know their business, and I know mine.”

“He must have got clear off by this time, I should suppose,” muttered the Jew to himself. “If he hasn’t, vell, the Lord help him, for I can’t.”

Charles Peace, after leaving the back parlour, at once made for the topmost story of the house. In one of the back rooms he found a double dormer window. He passed through this, closed it carefully after him, and then gained the roof.

He must have considered himself hardly pressed, for after going along the slates he got into another house through the window, which he also closed after him.

The room in which he now found himself was unoccupied, but upon descending below he came across a woman, who was the landlady of the habitation. She was greatly surprised at beholding Mr. Peace, who, however, put the best face on the matter.

“My dear madam,” said he, “I am sure from your appearance that you are not one to refuse succour to a persecuted man. The police are after me, and I have contrived to elude them for the present. Will you befriend me?”

“How can I do that?”

“By letting me remain here for awhile.”

“But you may have committed some dreadful crime, and if such be the case I shall get into trouble for harbouring you.”

“Do not be in any way alarmed――I have not committed any dreadful crime. Do I look a man likely to do such a thing?”

“I can’t say you do, but appearances are often deceptive. What are you charged with?”

“Oh, a mere trifle. Deserting my wife and children. The fact is, I have been out of work, but now I am doing very well, and intend to rejoin my family. But if I am caught it will be my ruin, for my employer will, in all probability, discharge me. I will pay you handsomely for the accommodation if you will only let me remain here.”

The woman, who was naturally kind-hearted, hesitated.

“It is a most extraordinary thing you entering the house in the way you have done. I don’t know what to say about it.”

“Take pity on me. You will not refuse. I am known to some of your neighbours, who will answer for my respectability.”

“Who do you know, then?”

“Mr. Simmonds; he will tell you all about me.”

“Ah, Mr. Simmonds――eh?” returned the woman, in dubious accents.

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“I know him as a near neighbour, that is all. Well, you had better come downstairs and sit in the front parlour for a time.”

“Oh, thank you kindly. You are a dear good creature. I was sure of that when I first saw you.”

“I would much prefer you going away at once.”

“So should I, if it were possible, but it is not, and you will let me remain till the coast is clear.”

“Come down into the front parlour. What will my lodgers think of me, talking to a perfect stranger in this way? Come down.”

“Ah, certainly, with the greatest pleasure.”

Peace descended, and was shown into the lady’s sitting-room.

“Now, sir,” said she, “you must make yourself as contented as possible. I cannot find it in my heart to give you up to the police. I hope and trust you have spoken the truth.”

“I swear――――”

“There is no necessity to do that. I will take your word, that is sufficient.”

“Quite so. I am sure you will never regret doing this act of kindness to a poor fellow in trouble.”

“I hope I never may have cause to regret it, but you certainly are a most extraordinary sort of man, and that’s the truth.”

“It will be all right if I succeed in concealing myself so that I may avoid needless exposure. I intend to return to my family to-morrow, and then there will be an end of the business.”

While Charles Peace was concealed in the parlour of the house into which he had so unceremoniously entered, the two detectives ran through the rooms of the Jew’s habitation, but they could not discover any stranger in any of the apartments which Mr. Simmonds opened obsequiously one after the other.

The detectives saw they were at fault, and they assumed an apologetic tone, and expressed their regret at having been so troublesome, stating, at the same time, that they had a duty to perform, and that they were in search of a gentleman who was “wanted.”

The Jew’s son, who had been left in charge of the shop, was a sharp-witted, precocious young gentleman, who, like his father, had an eye to business. He thought it just as well to take the articles, one by one, which his father had purchased of our hero, and place them under lock and key.

In their hurry to secure their man the detectives had forgotten to examine these contraband goods, some of which had the initials of their owner’s engraved on their face.

When Simmonds descended into the back parlour with the detectives, he noticed the absence of the goods from the place where he had left them, but he was by far too prudent a man to make any observation or allude in any way to the subject.

“Good lad,” he murmured to himself. “Ah, he’ll make a bright man――he has cleared all away. So much the better. He’s as good as gold――that’s what he is.”

The detectives remained for some time in the shop, conversing with the Israelite, who thought it just as well to be urbane and conciliatory in his manner.

He was, however, at this time not at all aware of the magnitude of Peace’s depredations or the grave charge which hung over his head; neither did he know that one of the detectives hailed from Sheffield.

Peace, in dealing with the Jew, had taken the precaution never to give his right name. The receiver of stolen goods, throughout his acquaintance with him, had been under the impression that he was a well-known London thief.

Bandy-legged Bill, who was waiting at the corner of the street for Peace, did not know very well how to act. He saw the detectives enter the Jew’s shop. He was seriously alarmed and trembled for his friend, but he had at the same time unlimited faith in the resources of “Charlie,” as he termed him.

Still he did not like to abandon him, and for a brief space of time he debated with himself as to what had best be done under the circumstances.

He was half inclined to alight, enter the shop, and see how matters stood; but upon second thoughts he came to the conclusion that it would be the worst possible policy for him to leave the trap, which contained so much stolen property.

After cogitating for some time he deemed it advisable to drive off without running risk of detection.

And so, while the coast was clear, off he drove.

Bill was very reluctant to abandon the field, but prudence dictated this course of action, and he argued that he could be of no service to Peace under any circumstances――so he drove off far away from the scene of action.

And for his own as well as for his friend’s safety it was as well, perhaps, that he did so.

But the detectives, after they left the Jew’s house, did not seem disposed to leave the neighbourhood. The Sheffield man was under the impression that he had seen some one in the back parlour of Simmonds’s establishment the features of whom were like those of Charles Peace.

But he was by no means sure of this: he had only caught a fugitive and transient glance of the face through the dingy windows of the door; but whoever it might have been, the man in question――if there was a second person in the little parlour, which he was by no means certain of――had been spirited away in a most extraordinary manner.

The two detectives walked up and down the street more than once, glancing as they passed along at the windows of the several houses, with no very satisfactory result.

It was not at all likely that Mr. Peace would at this time be looking out of the window of the one in which he was ensconced.

He was by far too clever a rascal for that, but the landlady of the establishment saw the officers pass and repass and described their appearance to our hero.

“Ah, it’s them safe enough,” cried Peace, “they are looking for me without a doubt, and be blowed to them. My dear madam, I don’t know how to sufficiently thank you for this timely shelter. You are my good angel, my protector.”

“I hope I am not doing wrong,” returned the woman, “but if I am it can’t be helped. I’m sure there is no telling who people are nowadays. My dear husband used to say so, and he was quite right――one never can tell.”

“Your husband,” said Peace, in some alarm――“where is he now?”

“Where is he?” cried the woman, with a shake of the head, “where, indeed? Who knows? In a happier world, let us hope.”

“Ah,” said Peace――“he is dead then?”

“Why, of course he is. Has been dead three years come next September.”

Peace was greatly relieved when he heard that the good gentleman had been removed to a happier sphere, since it would have been rather awkward if he had presented himself and not taken the same humane view of the case that his better half had done.

“Ah!” ejaculated our hero, “life is uncertain, and there is no telling how soon we may go.” Here he cast his eyes up towards the ceiling, and endeavoured to look sentimental. “The loss of a dear relative, and especially a husband, is a sad trial.”

“It is,” returned the widow; “especially when one has to mourn the loss of so good a husband as mine was.”

“I am pleased to hear you speak so well of him――it does you great credit,” observed Peace, in a sanctimonious manner. “By the way,” he added, “do you see those wretched men lurking about?”

“No, I don’t see anything of them now,” she answered as she peered through the window curtain. “They appear to have gone.”

“So much the better,” said Peace.

The two detectives, not being able to see anything of the man whom they had been so industriously seeking, went into several known houses which they knew to be the haunts of thieves, but were equally unsuccessful in their search. They lingered about the neighbourhood after this for some considerable time and then took their departure, being about as wise as they were when they first entered the house in the occupation of the astute Mr. Simmonds.

But Charles Peace, who was a tolerably good judge of the proceedings of detectives of every conceivable description, did not deem it advisable to sally forth just at present; he, therefore, continued in friendly discourse with the woman who had been of such essential service to him.

He placed a sovereign on the table, of which he begged her acceptance; but, although she was not by any means in affluent circumstances, she declined to accept of the gratuity.

Peace, however, would not take any denial, and said he should be greatly hurt and mortified if she did not permit him to prevail upon her to accept of some small recompense for services rendered.

The woman was by no means mercenary. What she had done was simply a matter of kindness and humanity on her part, and she had never for a moment contemplated the matter in any other light than a natural desire on her part to assist a fallen creature who was plunged into the depths of trouble. However, after much persuasion on the part of our hero, she reluctantly pocketted the sovereign.

“I should indeed be sorry if by any chance these men should find you when you leave this house,” said the widow, “and therefore I think you had better remain till after dark.”

“I am afraid I am in your way,” returned the burglar.

“Not at all, sir. You can have a bed and remain all night if you think it advisable to do so.”

“There will be no necessity for that,” said he――“not the slightest necessity. But I tell you what you can do to serve me.”

“What?”

“Have you got anybody who can be trusted to go round to Mr. Simmonds?”

“Dear me, yes. My little girl will go at once, if you wish it.”

“Let her go, then.”

“By the back way?”

“Yes――that would be better.”

The widow went into the passage, and called out in a loud voice the name of “Netty” once or twice.

A little girl of about eleven years of age made her appearance.

“Now, then, tell me what she is to do,” observed the widow.

Peace slipped sixpence into the hands of the child, and told her to go to Mr. Simmonds and say he wished to speak to him.

The child did as she was directed, and in a minute or so returned with the Jew.

“Ah, you are safe――eh?” cried Simmonds. “Vell, you’ve done the trick cleanly, old man. Given them the slip, s’help my goodness; but you’re down us a hammer, and no mistake. I’d have been ready to have gone clean mad if anything had happened to you in my place. All the years I’ve been in business I never had a customer ‘copped’ at my establishment.”

“Have they gone away do you think?” cried Peace.

“Ah, I hope so――and bad luck to ’em――but I won’t say for certain. There’s no telling what gentlemen of their kidney may be up to, but I think as how you are safe. Come with me, and I’ll show you how to get clean off.”

Thanking the widow for her kindness, Charles Peace went out of the back door of her residence in company with the Jew.

He found himself in a narrow blind alley.

The Jew led him through a labyrinth of narrrow courts, and they then emerged into a wide street. Peace had not at this time the faintest notion of where he was, but Simmonds led him into a house. In one of the rooms on the basement a group of persons were assembled.

It was evidently the resort of thieves of every description, and was an establishment much after the fashion of the one to which Laura Stanbridge took Alf Purvis when he was a mere lad.

The Jew appeared to be pretty well known to most of the persons who frequented this establishment, for many present spoke to him in a familiar and jocular manner.

Simmonds sent a leary-looking man for a four-wheeled cab, and when the vehicle drove up to the door of the house he bade Peace jump in without further ado.

This our hero did without hesitation, and then the cab was driven rapidly over the stones.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

CXXXI. THIEVES AND RECEIVERS

The receiver of stolen goods, from whose establishment Charles Peace had so cunningly contrived to make his escape, was an average sample of his class.

There are hundreds, and, indeed it may be said, thousands of persons of this description in the metropolis and the suburbs.

It has been remarked by many who have a pretty good knowledge of characters of this description that without receivers there would be no thieves, but we do not quite agree with this hypothesis. Thieves it is not possible to eradicate, but certainly the receivers offer every inducement for men to pursue dishonest courses, and it is most remarkable how few are ever brought to justice.

One of the most celebrated men of his time was a Jew, named “Ikey Solomons.”

He flourished some forty or fifty years ago, and his transactions with thieves of every description were of a magnitude which appeared at the time to be almost incredible and are said to have rivalled those of the famous Jonathan Wild.

When quite an old man “Ikey” came to grief. He had up to the time of his capture followed his nefarious calling for over half a century, and had managed some how or other to escape detection.

He was tried at the Old Bailey, but was, to the best of our belief, acquitted.

It has been said that Dickens drew his character of Fagin, in “Oliver Twist,” from the celebrated Ikey Solomons, but we are not disposed to give credence to this statement, as Ikey was, beyond the fact of his being a Jew “fence,” in every way dissimilar to Dickens’s hero.

When the name of Charles Peace was in every human mouth public interest was awakened by the spoils of a receiver of stolen property falling into the hands of the police.

The following paragraph, from a newspaper of the period, will, perhaps, interest the curious and inquisitive reader. It runs as follows:――

“There is at present, at the Bethnal-green Police-station, under the charge of Inspector Wildey, of the Criminal Investigation Department, attached to the K division, and Detective-sergeants Rolfe and Wallis, about one of the most extraordinary collections of stolen property ever seen in this metropolis.

“The goods are laid out in the library and reserve-room of the station, and consist of articles of almost every conceivable kind――at least as far as things of a portable nature are concerned.

[Sidenote: No. 69.]

“First come some dozen or so of gold watches, from the ordinary Geneva to the highly finished and expensive article from the shop of some first-class London maker; then come silver watches, gold bracelets, lockets, chains, and guards, rings set with precious stones, silver spoons, forks, and fruit-knives.

“On another table is a quantity of really good electro-plate――one set of forks, spoons, ladles, &c., being marked with the letter B, and are supposed to have been the proceeds of some burglary committed a year or two back.

“On a table in the middle of the room are strewn cigar-cases, meerschaum pipes, small fancy thermometers, mantel ornaments of a superior kind, opera glasses, books, photograph cases and albums, some with portraits and some without, a large family Bible, a silver snuff-box (‘presented to Sergeant Tierney by Mr. and Mrs. Maitland’), Crimean medal, with the Balaclava and Sebastopol clasps, the property of Private Wilson, of the Royal Marines; and three boxes, each containing a dozen silver thimbles.

“On the mantelpiece are some half-a-dozen clocks, some of them of a very expensive kind, and evidently taken from the house of well-to-do people.

“Around the room are scattered coats, jackets, capes, shawls, rolls of flannel, cloth, and linen, about fifty or sixty pairs of new boots, and any number of umbrellas.

“Piled up against the wall are some sixty or seventy workboxes of various sizes and kinds, from the humble article costing only a few shillings to the more expensive article, which probably cost five or ten guineas.

“Cases of claret, champagne, and brandy, railway and carriage rugs, and a host of other things much too numerous to mention, but which do not form a tithe of the bulk of property originally seized――the whole lot, indeed, filling three large vans.

“These things were seized about eight weeks ago by Inspector Wildey, in company with Sergeants Rolfe and Wallis, at a house in Thomas-street, Commercial-road, the proprietor of which has been, for the last twelve years, suspected by the police to be a receiver of stolen property, but so cleverly has he managed his business that until the last week there had been no chance of bringing anything home to him.

“The way in which he was caught at last was as follows:――Two men were apprehended on a charge of burglary, and one of them referred the police to this individual for a character. Inspector Wildey thereupon went to the house, and saw him, and he gave the man in question a most excellent character. From what he saw at the place, however, Mr. Wildey was induced to ask the magistrate for a search warrant, the result of which was that the whole of the property referred to was discovered there.

“Already articles relating to no less than thirty-two cases of burglary or housebreaking have been identified among the things, and fresh identifications are occurring daily.

“It is stated that seventeen years ago this modern Fagin was a poor labouring man, but he now owns some thirty houses in and about the district where he has been residing.”

It is not often, as we before observed, that persons of this class are compelled to disgorge their ill-gotten gains, or come within the meshes of the net the law has woven for them.

As a rule, they were by far too cautious and cunning to be caught napping.

But occasionally, and only occasionally, is it that one of the fraternity gets into trouble, and even then he generally manages to slip out of the hands of justice.

During the period between the trial and the execution of that eminent homicide and burglar the late Mr. Charles Peace, the public manifested a not unnatural curiosity to ascertain how he had managed to dispose of the great number of various articles which from time to time had come into his possession in the practice of a profitable but venturesome calling.

This anxious pursuit of knowledge――not altogether for its own sake――on the part of the payers of police-rates ultimately reached the ears of Mr. Peace himself, who, apart from his homicidal and acquisitive tendencies, was, like most other musical amateurs, an amiable and obliging person.

Finding there was not even a remote chance of breaking prison and escaping the attentions of Mr. Marwood, Mr. Peace supplied the police with a full and accurate list of purchasers of stolen property with whom he had had business transactions up and down the country.

If we recollect rightly, a subsequent conditional promise was made on behalf of the guardians of order that the convict’s allegations should be thoroughly investigated, and that, if these were found accurate, the persons pointed at should be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of the law.

Whether the promised inquiry was ever commenced we cannot say.

It is, however, an indisputable fact that but for the existence of the class of individuals to whom Peace disposed of his booty, that adroit criminal might have earned an honest livelihood as violinist in an operatic or theatrical orchestra. The receivers are always ready to the hands of the thief.

Even without the assistance of persons of Mr. Peace’s profession, the police know of their existence, their whereabouts, and their manner of prosecuting a most lucrative and not sufficiently dangerous trade; but, from a mistaken leniency in the spirit of our law, these worst of criminals are left undisturbed.

The police――often conveniently blind――are nothing if not arithmetical. Armed with a note-book and a pencil, they penetrate into the most secret recesses of a guilty commerce, and, having tabulated the number of “fences” in England and Wales, complacently suffer wrong-doing to take its course.

Either the crime of receiving stolen goods is on the increase, or the receivers are growing less fortunate; since the number of commitments for this specific offence was, according to the latest returns, four hundred and eighty in 1878, against four hundred and fifteen in 1877.

On the other hand, the known houses for the receipt of stolen goods slightly vary numerically from year to year, the average being about one thousand one hundred, and the known thieves and receivers of stolen goods and suspected persons may be roughly estimated at close upon forty-one thousand.

If the net of the law were spread, and these houses shut up and their occupants taken care of, crimes against property would at once fall to a minimum, the criminal courts would soon become idle, and respectable citizens might lie down to rest without fear of the “villainous centre-bit.”

Within the last few weeks another case has come under the notice of the police.

It would appear that, a great number of robberies having lately been committed in the Western suburbs of London, the attention of the police was called to the flourishing establishment of a marine-store dealer, of Pimlico.

We have no desire to prejudice the case of the person at present under remand. Marine-store dealers are not supposed to traffic in jewels and gold, in the settings of personal ornaments made of the precious metals, from which the gems seem to have been ruthlessly severed, or in household plate from which the crests appear to have been recently erased.

All the same, the marine-store man may have come by such objects of art and luxury in a perfectly lawful manner; and inasmuch as he stands remanded, without bail, on a charge of receiving a stolen silver medal, it is only fair to assume him innocent.

Unfortunately for him his recollection of certain late commercial transactions did not tally with the information of Inspector White and Sergeant Day, of the B Division of police.

It happened that these agents of the law, having occasion to call at the shop to inquire whether its owner purchased any plate that day, the marine-store keeper was so ill-advised, or of such uncertain memory, as to deny the soft impeachment.

Mr. White, however, proved too pressing for him, and, accompanied by his fellow-officer, followed him and his wife upstairs, where they came upon a store of treasure of more than Oriental splendour and variety.

There, upon tables and under beds, and strewn about in confusion, the police found gold coins, travelling bags, bank notes, blue serge, watches, chains, tablecloths, brooches, lockets, studs, silver plate, pieces of alpaca, cutlery, artificial teeth, slippers, shawls, lead, and brass, and articles of almost every description――among other things, certain stolen property traced directly from the prosecuting owner.

It is, of course, within the bounds of possibility that the marine-store dealer may have purchased the articles catalogued in the regular way of business; and he may rest assured that every opportunity will be afforded him to make his title clear, not only to the silver medal, but to every item so opportunely discovered on his premises.

The broken jewellery found at Pimlico may have been accidentally damaged by the manufacturers themselves.

It is possible that the late proprietor of the silver drinking-cup, in the shape of a thimble, with “Just a thimbleful” in blue round the rim, shocked at the temptation to dram-drinking which its possession hourly put in his way, may have adopted a peculiar form of local option and chosen to dispose of the bauble to the shopkeeper for value received.

The pair of gold solitaires engraved with “a cock in the act of crowing” may have offended the æsthetic tastes of their former holder; the gilt whistle may have been found too noisy by its late custodian, and the lockets fitted with hair and the portraits of children need not necessarily have been stolen to have passed into the hands of respectable tradesmen.

We sincerely trust that the accused may be able to prove his innocence to the satisfaction of a British jury.

At the same time, it may not be thought out of place to call attention to the crying evil involved in the existence of a class of persons――quite independently of individuals――who, although shrewdly suspected by the police to be buyers of stolen goods, are left undisturbed to their mischievous avocations.

Stolen goods are habitually disposed of through the medium of the pawnbroker, the leaving-shop, the marine-store dealer, the assayer or dealer in gold or silver, and the professional “fence,” the last of whom has reduced his calling to a regulated system, and has his agents in different parts of the country and on the Continent, to whom he consigns parcels of stolen property with all the forms of regular commerce.

If the police could be induced to speak they might recount the histories of individuals who, after long careers of moral infamy in this line of business, have blossomed into respectable retirement in surburban mansions.

They are among the most difficult sort of criminals to convict. The transactions of the firm are generally managed by a strong-minded, subtle rogue, who keeps the majority of those to whom he disposes of his ill-gotten gains in ignorance of his and their true character.

The pawnbroker is generally more sinned against than sinning; for, if stolen property can be traced to his possession, he is forced by law to restore it to the right owner without compensation.

While, however, the pawnbroker is licensed and subject to many disabilities in the prosecution of his calling, the keeper of the leaving shop is a mere unlicensed usurer in a small way, generally ready to advance petty sums on all sorts of portable property without asking questions as to its rightful possession.

Even when this sort of person is not a regular “fence” for the lowest class of thieves, he robs the very poor by taking exorbitant interest. He should be suppressed and eradicated root and branch.

When lead is stolen from the roofs of buildings, or metal fittings purloined from uninhabited houses, such plunder almost invariably finds its way to the den of the marine-store dealer, who also encourages servants to acts of wilful extravagance in the choice and rending down of fat meat by purchasing the residue, without comment or inquiry, as “kitchen stuff.”

The pretended assayer and dealer in gold and silver usually has his shop in some respectable part of the town, and in the neighbourhood of bonâ-fide establishments for the purchase and sale of the precious metals.

He makes little, if any, display of goods in his window, and the thief once inside his carefully-enclosed shop is safely screened from the gaze of the passers by.

This worthy tradesman has a spout at the back of his counter communicating with a floor above, in which is situated the “soup,” or melting, pot.

The thief may hand in for disposal, at well-understood prices, ornaments in the most precious of metals, possibly treasure trove in the shape of some great wrought Saxon collar of gold, or Queen Anne silver plate.

It is all “stock” that comes to the “soup” kettle of this sort of gentry. A few minutes after the chain or ladle, bracelet or salver, is handed across the counter the materials are reduced to their original state.

Form vanishes, and with it most of the chances of detection. These facts are not unknown to the police, and it may well be asked whether the suppression of an avoidable evil of great magnitude and importance would not fairly come within the duties of a public prosecutor.

In the stolen goods department of commerce, as in many other things, prevention is better than cure.

Subject to some few exceptions, a shop within the metropolitan district is a “market overt,” the keeper of which is free, without fear of the law, to buy or sell anything he pleases, from a malachite snuff-box to a Prayer-book bound in ivory, or from a cedar-wood workbox to a set of gold solitaires.

Browne has a right, no doubt, to claim that he must be held innocent until the offence with which he stands charged is actually proved.

But the commonest consideration must show the case to be one of very grave suspicion, and the sitting magistrate sufficiently showed his opinion of the facts as put before him when he refused to listen to any application for bail.

Without, however, impugning the innocence of the prisoner in the present instance, there can be no doubt that receiving stolen property, or “fencing,” as it is technically known at Scotland-yard, is largely practised in London by the class of tradesmen to which he belongs.

The difficulty the police always have with the “fence” is to bring the guilty knowledge home to him.

The skilled “fence” will purchase nothing the identity of which cannot be at once destroyed without very materially depreciating its value.

Some few years ago the Messrs. Hancock, of Bruton-street, discovered, at their stock-taking, that jewellery――principally consisting of brilliant diamond rings and bracelets――was missing to the value of several thousand pounds.

They said nothing, but put the police on the alert. A few days later a little boy offered a marine-store dealer a small mass of mis-shapen metal tied together with a string.

The boy was detained, and the metal proved to be the settings of the missing jewellery. The boy declared he had picked them up in the mud of the Thames off Battersea, and there was every reason to believe his story.

Evidently the whole of the plunder had come into the hands of a single receiver; the stones had been wrenched out of their setting, and the gold itself had been actually thrown away.

As for the stones, they no doubt found their way to Amsterdam, or the Hague, or Antwerp.

But the “fence” escaped detection, although it is possible that the thief himself was discovered in the person of one of the shopmen, who pleaded guilty to several small robberies, but obstinately denied all knowledge of the larger offence.

When Lady Ellesmere’s jewels, valued at fifteen thousand pounds, were stolen from the top of a cab in 1857, they came into the possession of a small shopkeeper and tallyman, who paid rather less than ten pounds for them.

The thieves were ignorant of the true value of their booty, and the “fence” represented that the articles were mere “Brummagem ornaments,” worth a few shillings at the most.

The purchase of stolen goods is a trade so lucrative, and offers so direct an incentive to crime in others, that, when it is fully brought home, the offender cannot, in the public interest, be too severely dealt with.

If there were no receivers there would be hardly any professional thieves. Their detection, as we have said, is difficult, for the simple reason that a detected and convicted thief knows, as a rule, that he has very little, if anything, to gain by putting such information as he can give at the disposal of the police.

Were pardons or remissions of sentences more frequently granted as the reward of Queen’s evidence, it ought to be perfectly possible to hunt down every professional receiver in the metropolis.

The law finds it at all times difficult to deal with receivers of stolen goods, who, as a rule, contrive somehow or other to baffle and elude its most vigilant and acute officers.

Thieves, however, are less fortunate than receivers: they are frequently brought to the bar of justice, and have to undergo various terms of imprisonment, but it is a most remarkable fact, that in most cases, after the habitual thief has served his time, he invariably returns to his dishonest practices.

It seems almost impossible to effect a reformation in such cases, and punishment is of no avail.

Some men pass two-thirds of their lives in prison, and yet are as hardened and callous as ever.

We do not believe it would have been possible to have effected a reformation in Charles Peace, no matter what mode of treatment had been adopted. He was so radically bad that he was past all cure, and there are at the present time, hundreds and thousands of ruffians preying upon the public, who are equally unreliable.

But Peace was a man of exceptional qualifications. He was steeped up to the very lips in crime, and we shall find it difficult to find a parallel to him either in this or any other country.

Some time since America furnished us with an example of a hardened offender, who in some respects resembled the hero of this work.

The man to whom we allude was twenty-one years a convict, and he is thus described by an American journalist:――

“The attention of many passers-by upon Main-street, in this city, on Tuesday afternoon, says the Jackson (Mich.) Citizen, of Dec. 8, was attracted by the somewhat striking appearance of an old man, of slight, wiry frame, but bent by age and toil; dressed neatly, but in plain, coarse garments, that had evidently been selected at random from a miscellaneous collection, and whose actions were rendered noticeable by that vague uncertainty and indecision so characteristic of those who have for many long years been isolated from the world within the walls of a penitentiary.

“As the old man wandered along, keenly observant of every passing object, scanning the features of hurrying pedestrians with a scrutinising gaze, as if in search of one familiar face――anon lifting his head to look upon the bright blue sky above him, and then turning with an interest almost childish in its eagerness, to the contemplation of some trivial scene or object upon which the busy, bustling throng would scarce bestow a passing glance, as he moved slowly along with his withered hand drawing the scanty coat more closely about his shoulders, and yet with an expression of happiness lighting up his countenance, which told that he was oblivious to age and poverty and cold――there were many who turned to look after him as he passed, and wonder who he was and what his history.

“Few they were, however, who knew that the old man was none less than Silas Doty――‘Old Sile Doty,’ as he is best known to the public-whose startling exploits as a daring, adroit, and skilful horse-thief, burglar, and gaol-breaker were once celebrated throughout the entire country.

“Twenty years, nine months, and twenty-six days of this singular man’s life have been passed in hard labour within the massive walls of the State prison in this city, and Tuesday his third term of imprisonment expired, and he came forth into the world once more, a free man.

“Silas Doty was born at St. Albans, Vt., on the 30th of May, 1800, and is therefore over seventy years of age, although his appearance would not indicate him to be a person of over fifty-five. He is a small, wiry-built man, about five feet seven inches in height, and probably weighing about 130 pounds, but still evidently possessed of unusual muscular power――quick and active as a cat, and with a mind evidently vigorous and unimpaired by his long retirement from the world.

“‘Old Sile’s’ personal appearance is rather prepossessing than otherwise, and when we look upon his pleasant, good-natured face, and observe the merry twinkle in his eye, we find it rather difficult to reconcile him with the reckless, dare-devil horse-thief of our imagination, conjured up by the thrilling tales related to us in our juvenile days.

“‘Old Sile’ has a very keen appreciation of humour; he dearly loves a joke, and never better than when the laugh is at his own expense.

“He is quite free to relate the experiences and vicissitudes which he has passed through, and the history of them would fill a volume, surpassing in thrilling interest, romantic situations, and striking events, many a work of fiction.

“The earlier years of Doty’s life were passed in the State of New York, and were not marked by anything of unusual interest or more than ordinary occurrence. He was brought up upon a farm, and followed agricultural pursuits for a long time after his removal to Lenawee county, in this State.

“He was known among his neighbours as a quiet, inoffensive, good-natured man, possessed of great activity and strength, which rendered him quite a local celebrity as a chopper, mower, &c.

“It was said at one time that he was the ‘champion cradler’ of the State――certainly of that section in which he resided. He was a man who was not (nor ever had been) addicted to the use of intoxicating liquor and tobacco; but while he was possessed of very many excellent traits, it was pretty generally understood that he didn’t have a fine appreciation of the rightful title of personal property, and was prone to convert to his own use any article which he might stand in need of, even though the ownership vested in some other party.

“Yet it must be acknowledged that there were some good points about ‘Old Sile’s’ stealing. He was a philanthropic thief; he would steal from his richer neighbours to aid those in destitute circumstances.

“In fact, there was something about his thefts akin to Claud Duval, Dick Turpin, and those other English knights of the road, whose exploits are handed down to posterity, through the medium of yellow-covered historical works of doubtful moral tendency.

“If one of Mr. Doty’s poor neighbours came over to his house and wanted to borrow a log chain, Sile would inform him that he would have one for him the next day, and he would; while some other one of his neighbours would be one log chain short.

“The first charge upon which he was arrested was that of horse-stealing in Lenawee county, in the latter part of 1841. He broke gaol soon after his arrest, but was recaptured and sentenced to the State prison for a term of two years, entering that institution for the first time April 9, 1842. Here he served his full term, and soon after his discharge went to New Orleans, where he engaged as body servant to Gen. Scott, at a salary of 45 dol. per month in gold. He went with that officer to Mexico, and stole Santa Anna’s army into a state of destitution wherever he went.

“A great variety of adventures, some of them of decided interest, were sustained by Doty while in Mexico, where he continued filling various positions as cook, waggon-driver, body-servant, &c., until the end of the war, when he returned to this State.

“For a little over seven years it is a statistical fact that he kept out of prison, but he good-humouredly excuses this off by the plea of absence from the State during the most of that time.

“Several times Doty was arrested, broke gaol, and escaped conviction in various ways. One of these cases was one of particular interest.

“Being arrested in the winter of 1850 on a charge of horse-stealing, he was confined in several gaols, but persisted in breaking right out again with such unceasing regularity that he was finally locked up in the Angola, Ind., gaol for safe keeping.

“These quarters, however, did not suit him, and although he was heavily ironed and carefully watched, he soon succeeded in effecting his escape by cutting the bar of his cell window with a small saw which he had manufactured out of the blade of an old case knife.

“At the time of his escape his ankles were fettered with irons weighing thirty-five pounds, but he succeeded in hobbling to the barn of the prosecuting attorney of the county, who lived near the gaol, and appropriated that functionary’s horse.

“A short distance from Angola he broke open a blacksmith’s shop, and procured therefrom a cold chisel and hammer, which he took with him to the woods and tried ineffectually to free himself from his fetters.

“Failing in this, he remounted and rode a distance of over thirty miles, when he left the horse and stole a fresh one, riding that for a considerable distance, and then abandoned it for another. In this way, and by dint of riding nights, and keeping in unfrequented roads and in the woods, he succeeded in reaching his former residence in Hillsdale county.

“Here, during the night, he went to the house of friends, and by them was accompanied into the woods, and while one held a tallow candle, another succeeded in striking the irons from Doty’s ankles.

“Being thus freed from his annoying incumbrance, he proceeded to pick out another horse (although Sile strenuously insists to this day that this animal was his own property), and started for Detroit, intending to cross into Canada, and there dispose of the steed, but upon arriving at Detroit, to his disappointment, he found that the river was but partially frozen, and that a crossing was impracticable.

“He therefore turned his horse’s head in the direction of Port Huron, intending to make his way into Canada from that point. Upon arriving at Port Huron, the attention of the officers there was attracted by the jaded, travel-worn appearance of both horse and rider, and Doty was arrested upon suspicion of having stolen the animal.

“This arrest, after all his struggles and escapes, and when his destination was so close at hand, was extremely discouraging, but Sile Doty was a man of iron will and indomitable purpose, and proved himself equal to the emergency.

“He was taken for safe keeping to one of the upper rooms of a hotel, and his hands secured with handcuffs, separated from each other by a heavy iron bar about twelve inches in length, which consequently kept his hands that distance apart. Of course Doty’s first move, when left alone, was to seek for some means of escape.

“He found with a proper tool he could unscrew the lock upon the door. He had nothing in his possession but an old spear, but he broke all the points from that in unavailing efforts to unfasten the lock.

“Soon after this the sheriff came to his room, and consented to take Doty down to the stable to look at ‘his’ horse.

“While in the stable Doty espied a mason’s trowel lying upon a box near him, and succeeded in slipping it unobserved into his side coat-pocket, and upon his returning to his room secreted it in the straw mattress of his bed.

“Feigning illness, Doty disrobed with the exception of his shirt, drawers, and socks, which he retained, and prepared for bed, after being handcuffed as before.

“The officers again left the room, but to Doty’s dismay they took his clothing with them, and gave him the comforting assurance that at nine o’clock――it was then just dark――an officer would return and remain during the night with him.

“No sooner had the officer reached the door below than Doty was at work at the lock with his trowel.

“Screw after screw fell upon the floor, and the door stood open. Stealthily making his way through the halls, and past the open doors of rooms where persons were sitting, he finally reached a lower floor, and following a rear passage-way, threw open an outer door, and started back almost in utter despair at the prospect before him――the prospect was certainly not an encouraging one.

“About three inches of snow had fallen, and the flakes were still rapidly descending. The situation was not a pleasant one for a man in pursuit of liberty――clad only in a thin shirt and drawers, with light socks――no coat, hat, pants, or boots――heavy irons upon his wrists, and a blank space of unbeaten snow before him to receive his tracks, and to enable the officers to follow him with unerring accuracy; but, as ‘Old Sile’ expressed it to our reporter, ‘a man can never tell what he can do until he makes a trial,’ and so he bravely accepted the chances, although they were so fearfully against him.

“Plunging out into the snow and darkness, he ran as rapidly as possible in the direction of a small blacksmith’s shop, which he remembered to have seen that morning a short distance from the village.

“Here he effected an entrance without much trouble, and fumbling around among the tools, he found a large file, which he screwed into a vice by the aid of his knees, and, alone in the dark, after repeated failures, he succeeded in disengaging his bruised and bleeding wrists from the irons, and once more started out into the stormy night.

“He thought that if he could conceal himself until after the stage passed by, he could then follow the tracks of that vehicle with less fear of detection. Near the roadside was a small marshy spot covered with high reeds, and here the fugitive secreted himself until the stage passed by, when he again took to the road.

“At the first opportunity he broke into a barn and secured a horse, with which he proceeded to Mount Clemens, in Macomb county.

“Here he effected an entrance to a hotel, with the premises of which he was familiar, and helped himself to a complete and comfortable suit of clothing, which he carefully selected from the wardrobes of the various guests with the utmost impartiality, and also procured some slight refreshment from the pantry.

“He then remounted and pursued his journey without interruption to within four miles of Detroit, when he stopped at the house of a friend and left the horse which he had ‘borrowed’ near Port Huron, with instructions to return it to the owner, which instructions were afterwards fully carried out.

“The indefatigable Doty then proceeded to Detroit, and while there he slipped into the United States Hotel――long since destroyed by fire――and made some necessary additions to his somewhat limited wardrobe.

“From thence it was an easy matter to get into Canada, where for some time he worked at shoemaking, which trade he had learned at the prison; but he soon became involved in a quarrel with his employer, and after thoroughly ‘licking’ that individual, he came back to this State.

“Several times after his return he narrowly escaped arrest, and became the recognised leader of a gang of thieves who infested the southern parts of the State.

“Soon afterwards he and several of his party were arrested for robbing the waggon of a Jew pedlar from Detroit, who was travelling through Hillsdale county. Doty was convicted upon this charge, and brought up before the venerable Judge Pratt, then of Marshall, for sentence.

“Nearly everyone has read or heard the story of how Judge Pratt, who was a man of very brusque manner, commanded the prisoner to stand up.

“‘Sile Doty,’ said the judge, ‘how old are you?’

“‘Fifty-three,’ responded Doty.

“‘The allotted age of man,’ said the judge, ‘is three score years and ten; beyond that this court has no jurisdiction, and therefore sentence you to confinement at hard labour, in the State prison at Jackson, for a term of seventeen years.’

“So, on the 18th day of April, 1851, ‘Old Sile’ donned the striped suit of a convict for a second time, and served for fifteen years five months and twenty-six days, when, having gained several months ‘good time,’ he was discharged.

“‘Old Sile’ then went to Coldwater, in Branch county, but in a few months he was again arrested on a charge of horse-stealing, and upon the 27th of July, 1867, commenced a third term at the prison, having been sentenced for four years.

“Having, by meritorious conduct, gained about eight; months ‘good time,’ he was discharged on Tuesday morning for the third, and, it is to be hoped, for the last time.

“There are scores of incidents in relation to ‘Old Sile’ that might be related, and would be of public interest, but space forbids their enumeration.

“Mr. Doty left for Coldwater, Branch county, yesterday morning, and intended to reside with his children in that place, and to follow his trade of shoemaking. May success attend him, and may the world deal gently with one who has suffered this severe punishment for his misdeeds.

“Almost twenty-one years of this man’s life were spent within those prison walls, and now, an old grey-headed man whose days are almost numbered, he goes forth to start anew in the world, and to endeavour to lead an honest life. This case is a most peculiar one.

“‘Old Sile’ does not appear to be a bad man at heart; indeed, there are many men occupying important positions and moving in the higher walks of society who are more deserving of the convict’s stripes than ‘Old Sile Doty.’

“It seems to be impossible for him to refrain from the wrongful conversion of property, and it is a grave question with many as to whether he is morally responsible for his acts.”

Charles Peace, when he had engaged the cab, told the driver thereof to set him down at the “Elephant and Castle”――he, from prudential motives, not deeming it expedient to be conveyed to his residence in the Evalina-road. It was his practice at all times to make a sort of break in the journey, that he might thereby baffle any attempt on the part of the police and detectives to trace him to his own residence.

Upon arriving at the “Elephant and Castle” he alighted, and took the cabman in front of the bar, where he stood a friendly glass. Drivers of cabs, as a rule, have a weakness for hot rum and water, and the one in question was not an exception――he elected to have a small modicum of that inspiring beverage; and after it had been consumed Peace paid the fare and discharged the knight of the whip. He remained in the house of public accommodation for some time after the departure of the cabman, and regarded the persons there assembled with a searching glance.

He could not see anyone whom he suspected to be an officer of the law, and concluded that no one was on his trail; but he was duly impressed with the fact of having had a narrow escape――indeed, the number of chances he had of being detected at this period of his career would, if they were all chronicled, appear to be more like a romance than an actual reality. But it is our purpose to sketch the most noticeable and leading events in his lawless and chequered career, and these will, of necessity, occupy sufficient space without entering into every minute detail.

Fortune had favoured him this time, as she had done on many other occasions.

He had succeeded in getting away from the Jew’s house, but he was greatly troubled when he thought of Bandy-legged Bill, whom he had missed sight of soon after his entrance into Mr. Simmonds’ respectable establishment.

“What had become of him?” was the question he asked himself when in front of the bar of the “Elephant and Castle.”

“Had he been captured; and if so, what followed?”

He had unlimited faith in Bill’s integrity. As far as he was concerned he was quite certain that the gipsy would never “peach” or turn approver. Still it was an ugly fact to reflect upon, that he had under his charge a mass of stolen goods, which, if discovered, might lead to his (Peace’s) detection.

This thought was by no means a pleasant one, and the more he reflected, the more seriously concerned did Peace become.

He was uncertain as to his mode of action, and felt a little reluctant to return home. He, therefore, went into the parlour of the establishment and read the paper, without taking any notice of the few persons who happened to be there at the time.

After this he hailed an omnibus, and made the best of his way to Peckham.

His two female companions saw that he was a little out of sorts, and when this was the case they did not pester him with any extraneous questions.

He was not a nice sort of man to deal with when put out, and he would not have hesitated to inflict personal chastisement on either of them, if they aggravated him.

They knew this perfectly well, and had the discretion to abstain from making any unnecessary observations.

But Peace was ill at ease, and as the evening drew on he put on his hat, and sallied forth for a walk in the neighbourhood.

He never had been what is termed a “public-house man,” and only had recourse to houses of that description either when plying his vocation as a violin player, or from necessity.

It is, however, a fact established beyond all controversy that he was not addicted to habits of intemperance. It was while strolling in the neighbourhood that he discovered, much to his delight, the well-known form of “Bandy-legged Bill.”

Nothing could be more propitious, for he wished to see the gipsy, beyond all other persons in the world, at that particular time.

As he caught sight of him his features were irradiated with a smile.

“Lord send I may live!” cried that worthy; “but this ’ere is a blessed sight.”

“What do you mean?” inquired Peace.

“What? Why to see you safe and sound. So you’ve managed to dodge them, Charlie, eh?”

“Yes; and you?”

“Well, you see, I thought it wasn’t of no manner of use my stopping outside that cursed crib. I wasn’t either of use or ornament, and so, thought I to myself, I shall only be making matters worse by hanging about, ’cause you see I had the stuff in the cart.”

“Quite right; it would have been madness to have remained there. So you hooked it, I suppose?”

“I did so. Don’t think I deserted you in the time of need; it wasn’t no fault of mine.”

“You did the best you could under the circumstances. Don’t imagine for a moment that I blame you.”

“S’help my taters, but I have been in muck and no mistake. Didn’t know how it fared with you, and I was in consequence knocked clean silly. Couldn’t tell what to be up to.”

“What did you do, then?”

“Drove off as fast as I could, and got clean out of the neighbourhood. What would you have had me do?”

“Just what you have, old stick-in-the-mud. And how about the baskets?”

“Ah, that’s where it is. That was what cornered me. I thought it best anyhow to take a circumbendebus route, so I had a pretty little drive in the country, all through the buttercups and daisies; but, Lord bless you, Charlie, I didn’t enjoy the bootiful scenery, for I was thinking all the while of the mess you had got into, and thinking at the same time what chance you had of getting out of it. So, you see, it wasn’t at all a pleasant ride I had――far from it. Howsomever, I needn’t ask now how you got on, for you are here, and I’m jolly glad to see you.”

“I had a narrow squeak for it, but I pulled through.”

“I sed as how you would――blessed if I didn’t. You’re a stunner, and I had that confidence in you that I felt sartin sure you wouldn’t let em cop you, but I warnt sure ’bout old Simmonds. How did he behave?”

“Right as the mail. He turned out a trump card.”

“I’m glad to hear it, precious glad.”

“Well, and after you drove in the country? What then?”

“Why, I says, says I, this is a bit of a fix. ’Cause, you see, in a manner of speaking, I didn’t know very well how to get shut of the stuff.”

“Why didn’t you take the whole lot to Isaac?”

“What, at that time, when the detectives were on the scent? No, no, Charles, Bill knew a trick worth two of that body; lord bless you, the chances were that they’d visit the houses of every Jew ‘fence’ in the neighbourhood. Don’t you see that, old man?”

“That is true enough. So you did not venture to try an’ get rid of the things――so much the better. What did you do after all then?”

“I didn’t know what to be up to――didn’t know a blessed cove as I could trust at the east end of the town, so after a thinkin’ an’ thinkin’, till my head ached, all of a sudden it occurred to me to make for what you may call the fashionable quarters in London.”

“What do you call the fashionable quarters?”

“Why, the west end, in course.”

“Oh, I see.”

“It occurred to me that the best place for me to make for would be Laura Stanbridge’s. She’s fair and square enough.”

“Oh, Lorrie’s all right; no fear of her peaching.”

“So I, after I had considered the matter over for some little time, I just brought the mare gently round, turning her head in an opposite direction to the one in which she had been going before, and after going down the green lanes, the high roads and by roads, and finally the streets of London, I found myself at Laura Stanbridge’s establishment. So I up and told her what had happened, and she seemed greatly concerned about you.”

“You found her alone, then?”

“No, she was not alone when I first entered.”

“Had that conceited puppy with her, ‘the dandy,’ as we call him, I suppose?”

“Oh, no, not him. She had a tall, handsome-looking chap with her, whom she called ‘Tom.’”

“Oh, I know, Tom Gatliffe. He has taken up with her. Well, go on――fire away.”

“I haven’t much more to tell. Lorrie agreed to take charge of the two hampers and so I left them with her.”

“You couldn’t have done better, so that’s all right. So far all is well. Come, let us return home, for, to say the truth, I only came out in the hope of meeting with you.”

The two friends returned to No. 4 in a much more happy frame of mind.

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CXXXII. PEACE HAS A FEW FRIENDS――A MUSICAL AND ANECDOTAL EVENING

It was arranged between the two confederates, or companions, in crime, that Charles Peace was not to run any further risk by endeavouring to dispose of the property he had acquired by his various burglaries.

There was nothing he dreaded, at this time, so much as falling in with a Sheffield or Manchester policeman or detective.

To the members of the London constabulary force he was not known, and certainly not one of them had at this time the faintest notion that he was Peace. Had this not been the case he never could have escaped detection for so long a period.

So Bill Rawton, who appeared to be a handy man to many, agreed to undertake the disposal of the goods, which he carried out after his own fashion.

Some of the articles Miss Stanbridge agreed to take at a given price, which was perhaps a trifle more than the Whitechapel or Petticoat-lane receivers were likely to offer.

Bill struck a bargain with Laura, who selected the goods which she said would suit her; the rest of the stock she did not care about, so these the gipsy took to Isaac, who, as usual, offered a ridiculously low price, but Bill, like his friend Peace, was very well used to the ways of the Israelite.

Bill haggled with him for some time, and even went so far as gathering the things together, avowing his intention at the same time of going to another shop. Upon this the Jew made an advance in his price, and after a little more conversation a bargain was struck, and the goods were purchased.

Bandy-legged Bill was perfectly well satisfied with his day’s work, and upon returning to the Evalina-road he found Peace in close converse with a strange gentleman whom he had never remembered to have seen before.

He came to the conclusion that the party in question was on friendly terms with our hero, for there was a degree of cordiality between the two which caused him to be assured of this.

Peace withdrew to an adjoining room, where the gipsy handed him over the proceeds.

“You have done well, Bill. Indeed, I don’t know what I should do without you,” cried Peace. “Nothing could be better. We’ve made a regular clearance, and I am greatly relieved.”

“Who is your friend?” said the gipsy, nodding significantly towards the door of the front parlour.

“He is in the engineering line, and has taken in hand one or two of my inventions. Oh, he is a clever fellow――a most genial, agreeable companion, who thoroughly believes in me. He is coming to-morrow evening to spend a few hours with me, and I shall, therefore, be glad of your company, you old sinner; but don’t you launch out or say any more than may be needful; let my guests do the talking. Do you understand?”

“I won’t say more than is necessary――trust me for that.”

Bill and Peace returned to the front parlour. The gentleman who was its only occupant was introduced by our hero to the gipsy as a Mr. Whittock.

He bowed courteously to Rawton, and then resumed his conversation with Peace.

The conversation was confined chiefly to engineering matters, and a long discussion took place upon Peace’s various inventions.

It was evident that Mr. Whittock had a great opinion of Mr. Thompson, whom he frequently complimented. Bill listened, but said nothing.

Presently the gentleman rose to take his departure.

“I shall expect to see you to-morrow evening, Whittock,” said Peace. We will have a little music, supper, and a friendly game.”

“I shall be most delighted, I’m sure,” returned Whittock. “I have a friend stopping with me at present whose acquaintance I am sure you will be pleased to make. He has a son who is a beautiful singer. May I bring them with me?”

“Certainly; nothing would please me better. What is your friend’s name?”

“Mr. Harker. He is a capital fellow――knows almost everything, has been in all parts of the world, and is excellent company.”

“Bring him, by all means, then,” said Peace.

On the following day preparations were made at No. 4 for the reception of guests.

The owner of the establishment was overjoyed at the sale of the articles which he had been for a long time most anxious to get rid of, that he was disposed to make merry over the bargain.

He had ample funds at his disposal, and his friend Whittock was a special favourite with him, albeit the friendship between the two was not of very long standing.

It was arranged that Mrs. Thompson should be the hostess on this occasion――the elder female was to attend to the culinary department, and prepare the supper for the guests.

Peace arrayed himself in his best attire; William Ward was got up in a perfectly satisfactory manner, and Mrs. Thompson was carefully watched, so that she might be in a fit state to receive the company.

Some of Peace’s immediate neighbours had been invited; these were the first to arrive, after which Mr. Whittock presented himself. He brought with him Mr. and Master Harker, who were introduced in due form.

“I am greatly pleased to see you, and am glad to have an opportunity of making your acquaintance, sir,” said Peace, addressing himself to Mr. Harker. “As a friend of Mr. Whittock, you are specially welcome. Mr. Whittock and I understand each other.”

“You will shortly astonish the world with some excellent inventions, I expect,” returned Harker. “Well, this is not altogether a country for the inventor; America is the place.”

[Sidenote: No. 70.]

“The people are not so prejudiced in America,” continued Harker, “and a man has greater chances. The English, as a rule, are slow to perceive the value of any new power of machinery.”

“That is true enough,” remarked Peace. “They are rather dense, it must be admitted, and are, as you observe, prejudiced. All we can do is to persevere and hope for the best.”

Here he called the attention of his guests to several drafts of machinery he proposed to patent.

Those present were duly impressed with the ability of their host――none of them at this time being at all aware of the character of the man who was so modest, so urbane, and so hospitable.

“I look upon my friend, Thompson, as a remarkably ingenious and clever man,” remarked Whittock; “and the more you know of him the more impressed you will be with this fact.”

“Ah, no doubt; we all agree upon that,” exclaimed several.

The social glass was filled, and the company began to settle themselves down for a pleasant evening, which, to say the truth, was an agreeable one to all.

Peace was in the best of spirits.

He had shaken off the dismal forebodings he had felt some three or four days before, and at the request of a neighbour played a duet with Willie Ward.

This was the commencement of the musical portion of the entertainment.

A violin solo followed, after which Mr. Harker said his son gave promise of musical ability, since he had been complimented by the master of the choir to which he belonged. The lad was asked to give a specimen of his vocal powers, when after a little hesitation he sang the following:――

HOPE’S LIFE IS SHINING YET.

’Tis true that time may swiftly pass And years as quickly fly, And every hope that springs to birth May wither, fade, and die.

And oh! ’tis true that all our dreams May in life’s darkness set, But in the chambers of my soul, Hope’s life is shining yet.

Thine was not love that could be cooled By words or looks of scorn, Ah, no, it was as pure and deep As if of angels born.

Thine was that love which sorrows, storms, Nor cruel fate could sever; It burns on brightly――and it will Keep burning on for ever.

To think thee faithless would, indeed, Be casting doubts on high―― Would throw a dark suspicious shade O’er angels in the sky.

But, oh, within my trusting heart, No doubts there are as yet―― The lights of faith and hope are still Within its portals set.

The music to which these words were set was simple and plaintive, and well adapted for the voice of a young female or a boy.

The singer had evidently been well trained, for he sang in good time and tune, Peace playing the accompaniment.

Mr. Harker, the lad’s father, was greatly pleased at the performance, and passed flattering encomiums on Peace’s skill as an accompanist: indeed, it was in every way creditable, and there was a general murmur of applause as the song was brought to a conclusion.

“Your son has got a beautiful voice,” said our hero, addressing himself to Mr. Harker. “If he perseveres he’ll be a very accomplished vocalist.”

“I am glad to hear you say so, Thompson,” observed Whittock, “for I know you are a competent judge of these matters.”

The conversation was carried on in an animated manner for some little time, after which Peace and Willie Ward played another piece together. Several of the company expressed a wish to hear Mr. Thompson sing. He was in no very good voice, but chanted the following quaint ditty:――

I’ve been thinking――I’ve been thinking What a world we might possess Did folks mind their business more, And mind their neighbours’ less. For instance, you and I, my friend. Are sadly prone to talk Of matters that concern us not And others’ follies mock.

I’ve been thinking if we were To mind our own affairs, That possibly our neighbours might Contrive to manage theirs. We’ve faults enough at home to mend―― It may be so of others; It would seem strange if it were not Since all mankind are brothers.

Oh, would that we had charity For every man and woman: Forgiveness is the mark of those―― We know “to err is human.” Then let us banish jealousy, Let’s lift our fallen brother, And as we journey down life’s road Do good to one another.

“Excellent――admirable!” cried several voices.

“I call that a fine sentiment,” said Mr. Whittock. “I wish men and women would act up to it. There’s a great deal too much meddling in this world.”

“Yes,” said a Mr. Newnham, who was one of Peace’s neighbours. “We’ve quite enough of that sort of thing here in our locality. It’s a capital song. I never remember to have heard it before, but I admire it immensely.”

Peace glanced at Mrs. Thompson, and made a wry face, at which the company laughed.

Soon after this supper was served, after which a game of whist was proposed, and two sets of partners sat down to cards.

Mr. Harker, who was not included in either of the parties of players, sat down by the chimney-corner, and entered into a lively discourse with some of those who were disengaged.

He was a man who had at his disposal a whole fund of anecdote, and was therefore a great acquisition to the visitors.

He gave a running commentary on the great detective case, which was the general topic of conversation at this time, and cited instances of the mistakes made by the Scotland yard officials.

“As far as mistakes are concerned,” said Harker, “their name is legion, and I, for one, should be very careful in delivering a verdict without the clearest and most unmistakable evidence, for, from my own personal experience, I am able to testify as to the unreliability of suspicious circumstances, which may, by the merest accident, be brought to bear upon a man.”

“There is no doubt about that, sir,” said Peace; “mistakes are frequent enough.”

“Well,” observed Harker, “as I am only a looker-on now, and am not engaged to play, I’ll, with your permission, first narrate to you what I may term a ‘Romance of a Counting-house.’ The whole of the incidents came under my immediate knowledge. In short, I was the leading actor in as pretty a little drama as ever man had the misfortune to play in.”

“I shall be most delighted to hear it,” said Peace, “and so will our friends, I’m sure.”

“It came about in this way. I had married and was going to make my fortune, and therefore (having that laudable end in view) left a good situation in Yorkshire to settle down in Liverpool as a merchant ‘on my own account,’ and commence to make it without delay. I had not much capital, and so I resolved to economise at first.

“In course of time I imagined the tidy brougham and the country house across the Mersey would certainly come; and one serene September evening, many years ago, I was walking up and down St. George’s landing-stage, building castles in the air, wondering whether rents were high at New Brighton, and whether Kate would prefer a pony phaeton to a brougham.

“I am not sorry to add that I still reside in a modest house up Edge-hill way, and that I come to business as Cæsar went to Rome, according to Joe Miller, summa diligentia, on the top of an omnibus.

“I was waiting for Mr. Moses Moss to return at eight p.m. to his office in a street hard by――call it Mersey-street――and for the reason that Moses Moss had a furnished place to let which his advertisement called ‘two spacious counting-rooms’――goodness knows, I never counted much in the shape of coin; and I did not like the situation; nor the narrow, dark staircase; nor the look of the boy of Hebrew extraction who howled ‘Cub id,’ when I knocked, and told me ‘Mr. Boses would be in at eight o’clock;’ but twenty pounds a year was very cheap, so I told my young friend I would call at that time, and look at the ‘counting-room.’

“How well I remember that night! The ferry-boats from the Cheshire shore gliding along with their lights twinkling like glow-worms, the vast hull of the ‘Great Eastern’ just visible in the Sloyne, the squared yards and all-a-taut look of a seventy-four of the old school, showing black and distinct against the daffodil sky, and the lap of the swell against the under timber of the stage――I was inclined to be sentimental; but Mr. Moses Moss claimed my attention, and once more I entered his office and found him awaiting me. He was a little, fat, good-tempered Jew, who spoke decent English, and who, I afterwards found out, was constantly affirming, in season and out of season, that he was no descendant of Abraham.

“‘Hillo, Brunton!’ he cried, jumping from the chair. ‘My lad told me you’d been here. Where have you been these two months and more? Look here, old fellow, I’ve advertised your place; but you can have it on the old terms.’

“‘Some mistake, sir, I believe,’ and I handed him a card bearing the inscription, ‘Charles Harker.’

“He took it and held it to the gaslight, looked at the back, considered it endways, and pondered over it upside down. Then taking the candle his clerk had brought, he held it close to my face.

“‘If you are not disposed to proceed to business, I will bid you good-night,’ said I, greatly annoyed at his manner.’

“‘It’s him, and it ain’t him,” he said aloud. ‘Carl could never look a man in the face as this one does. And yet I don’t see my way through the features.’

“‘There’s no necessity for you to trouble yourself about my features!’ I exclaimed, opening the door――‘good night.’

“‘Stop, stop, my dear sir! and don’t be offended. It was all a mistake. All Isaac’s mistake, upon my honour.’

“‘All a mistake,’ echoed young Isaac.

“My curiosity was excited, and, besides, I really wanted the offices; and I therefore allowed myself to be persuaded into mounting the narrow staircase, until we faced a door bearing the name of Brunton on it in white letters, and having the two upper panels glazed, more, I should imagine, to supply light to the staircase than for admission of light to the office.

“Mr. Moss produced a key, and turning to me with a good-natured smile, said: ‘I’d have sworn you were Brunton five minutes ago, but I’m sure now that I was wrong. Carl always swore when he came upstairs, and you haven’t. It’s Brunton’s face all but the eyes, and I’d swear to the eyes anywhere. That is, to the twinkle of ’em, you know.’

“And he unlocked the door and invited me within.

“Walking to the table on which he had placed the light, I took a chair and produced my pocket-book.

“‘Before we go further, Mr. Moss, let us quite understand each other, I have no wish to derive any benefits from any virtues Mr. Brunton may possess; and I am going to convince you that I am what I represent myself to be. Be good enough to read that letter.’

“It was from a merchant in the North, only received that morning, and mentioned circumstances which were sufficient to settle any doubts as to my identity.

“Mr. Moss read it, folded it up briskly, and presented it to me with a bow.

“‘Sir, I apologise. I confess that up to this moment I fancied it was Carl; but what puzzled me was, that such a surly fellow should take to larking and playing the fool. You are very much like my last tenant, sir, that is all.’

“‘Very well; now that matter is settled, let us look at the rooms.’

“The lighted gas showed me a large one, and very barely furnished. There was a large leather-covered table with a desk on it, four chairs, an inkstand, and a partially filled waste-paper basket, and that was all.

“‘Rather meagre, Mr. Moss.’

“‘Now, my dear sir, what more could you want? Would you like a safe? I’ve got one to spare downstairs, and you shall have it, and a new mat for your feet――I hate haggling.’

“‘Let me see the other room, please.’

“It was one which a person sitting at the table would have right opposite to him, and it had no door.

“‘It was a clerk’s office,’ Mr. Moss said, ‘and you wanted your eye on such chaps.’ I suggested that the principal might sometimes want privacy, whereupon he said ‘he had the door downstairs, and it should be hung at once if I wished it.’ But having no intention of engaging a clerk at present, I told him it was of no consequence.

“The room was about half the size of the outer one, and contained a desk and stool. There was a large closet for coals and such like matters, and a good allowance of dust and cobwebs all over.

“‘I’ll have it cleaned up to-morrow,’ said Mr. Moss. ‘It looks beautiful when clean, and you will find the desk to be real Spanish mahogany.’

“They would suit me well enough, and I told Mr. Moss so; paid him a quarter’s rent in advance, and rose to depart.

“‘Oh, by the way, Mr. Moss,’ I exclaimed, a sudden thought striking me; ‘I will send a man to paint my name on the wall downstairs.’

“‘Very good, sir. I would do it at once if I were you. Carl was a loose fish, and if you delayed it until you got here, you might be annoyed.’

“‘How so? What was he?’

“‘Take a cigar first, Mr. Harker, you’ll find no better in Liverpool. Lord! how like him you do look when I don’t see your eyes!’

“‘And yet I have not been thought to resemble a loose fish before, Mr. Moss.’

“‘I didn’t mean that. Have you never seen an ugly person resemble a very handsome one? I have many a time. Well, about Carl. He was here about two years, and call me a Jew if I could reckon him up. He used to come here about noon and work up to eight or nine o’clock at night; but what business he worked at I could never find out. I know he had a big ledger, and two or three such books; but a big ledger won’t make a business any more than a big carpet bag will, and he always carried one. He would come and smoke a cigar with me now and then; but I never came up here all that time, and he kept his door locked. He always seemed to be expecting a blow, did poor Carl; more like a rat in a corner than anything else, poor beggar. Well, sir, one morning I found the key on my mat, and found the place just as you see it, and have never seen Carl since. One or two queer-looking men have inquired for him, and asked if he was coming back, and I said most likely he would, and likely enough he will.’”

“‘Not at all an interesting story,’ I thought, and felt inclined to yawn in Mr. Moss’s face; but I thanked him for his information, and promised to take possession in three days, which I spent in presenting my letters of introduction, and making other arrangements for the prosecution of my plans.

“At length the eventful day arrived, and I stood in my own office, with my name emblazoned on the door and passage wall. I was waiting for a friend to call on me (who, by the way, had promised to put me in the way of doing some business that very day), and felt impatient for his arrival in consequence.

“The office was clean and tidy, and the floors had been well scrubbed.

“Why hadn’t they emptied the waste-paper basket of all that lumber?

“The office-keeper had lighted a fire, and I took up the basket to perform the operation myself; but from some cause or other I placed it on the table and began idly to burn the scraps one by one.

“I had nearly disposed of them all when a scrap attracted my attention, and I read it; It was torn so as to leave a few words intact, and it ran thus――

“‘Louise has given your description, and you may rely on our finding you. Forward the plates at once, or――――’

“Then another piece was mysterious, apparently a plan of some place or other.

“What did this mean?

“But I had no time to consider, for my friend entered, and, putting the two pieces of paper in my drawer, I emptied the basket in the fire, and went out with him to do a good day’s work.

“Returning late in the evening, I relit the fire, and addressed myself to the writing of two important letters to be posted by half-past eleven that night, in order to be in time for the Cunard steamer, which sailed early in the morning; and then it was that the black darkness of the doorless room opposite me began to trouble me most.

“It had troubled me before, but on this night it troubled me tenfold. From childhood I have been imaginative, and knowing this, I stirred the fire, called myself a fool, and went on with my letter; but not for long. My eyes wandered to the black darkness of the doorway, and I began to ransack my memory for statistics of men who could tell by some occult power if any one were hidden in the room they entered; and I laughed aloud when I remembered that I had read of one sensitive gentleman who by this same occult power had found that a surgeon’s skeleton was in the closet behind him.

“I own I dislike being in the dark, but I will do myself the justice to say that I have resolution enough to overcome the dislike.

“Therefore I proposed to myself to very quietly walk into the dark room which troubled me, and (without a light) look out of the windows, and slowly return.”

“I shouldn’t have liked the office myself,” ejaculated Peace. “You may well call it a romance.”

“As for the matter of that, I confess it sounds like one,” returned Mr. Harker, “and I assure you every word I am saying is strictly correct. Romance and reality are much more intimately interwoven together than people generally suppose.”

“You are quite right there, sir,” cried one of the cardplayers, who had been listening so attentively to the narrative that he revoked.

Mr. Harker continued――

“I went. The very first step beyond the threshold dispelled my fears. I could see the glimmer of the stars through the glass, hear the rattle of the cabs outside. Why, it was quite a cheerful place, after all.

“Ha! there was a shuffling noise there by the closet! and then my fears returned and overpowered me. I strove to walk out like a tragedy hero; but my pace quickened as I neared the door and heard the shuffling noise close to me. The next moment a powerful hand was at my throat, and I lay helpless on the floor with the cold muzzle of a pistol to my head.

“I was bound, and dragged into the outer office, thrust into my chair, and confronted by two quiet-looking men, one of whom laid his revolver on the table, saying at the same time, with an ugly sneer――

“‘So, Brunton, we have caught you at last.’

“The speaker was a mild, intelligent looking man of about thirty-five. In a proper dress he would have looked like a High Church clergyman.

“His companion was evidently a foreigner, and I imagine a German.

“He was about fifty years of age, and wore spectacles, and a profusion of beard and whiskers covered more than half his face; but he had a winning smile and good teeth, which he often took an opportunity to show.

“‘We have found you at last.’

“I am thankful to say that I am not nervous when I see danger, and I boldly replied――

“‘My name is Harker, and not Brunton; Mr. Moss, the landlord of these premises, has noticed my resemblance to his late tenant, and is satisfied that I am not the same. Depend upon it that I shall make you repent this outrage.’

“I tried to rise to call for help from the street, but the pistol was cocked and pointed at me, and there was that in the man’s face which cautioned me against rashness in my helpless position.

“‘Well, I never,’ cried Whittock. ‘That was a nice pickle to be in.’

“‘It was,’ observed Harker.

“‘I will sit down,’ I replied, ‘and hear what you have to say; but if I choose to do it, I shall do my best to raise an alarm in spite of your revolver.’

“‘Vel spoke, Carl,’ said the foreigner; ‘Louise always says he’s a plucky one.’

“‘Now then, Brunton,’ whispered the other, ‘let us have no nonsense. We have not met before, it is true, but Louie has so well described you, that putting another name on your door was simply idiotic. Besides, one of our friends has watched for your return, and we communicated with him as soon as we landed. Go free if you like, but we will have the plates.’

“‘Dat’s de matter vid us,’ echoed the German; ‘ve vill have de plates.’

“‘I know nothing of any plates,’ I cried, ‘nor of Louise, nor of you. All I know is that you will see the inside of a prison very shortly.’

“‘And you think you can throw us, throw me over in this way? Dou you think you deal with children?’

“‘I think I deal with a burglar. Most certainly with a rascal of some sort or other.’

“Here my two friends held a whispered conference. Then he of the revolver turned sharply towards me.

“‘Will you marry Louise? Will you give up the plates and marry my sister?’

“‘She lofe you like old boots,’ added the German; and from which I opine that he prided himself on a knowledge of English idiom.

“In spite of my serious position I was getting thoroughly amused.

“The dark doorway held unknown terrors to my excited imagination; but two commonplace fellows who had made a mistake caused a feeling of merriment, even in spite of the revolver.

“‘I am sorry I cannot oblige you,’ I replied. ‘I am flattered by the lady’s preference, but having one wife already, I fear I must decline taking a second; and as for the plates, please explain what you mean.’

“The answer to this flippant speech was a blow on the face, which immediately sent the blood streaming on the floor.

“‘You’ll remember insulting the sister of Louis Orloff! Here, baron, let us gag him, and search; he will be raising an alarm presently.’

“They thrust a piece of rope between my teeth, compressing my windpipe to make me open my mouth; and there I sat helpless, whilst they turned out the contents of my desk and drawers, not forgetting my cash box, which was opened by a key taken from my vest pocket, and the contents appropriated.

“Knowing that the two scraps of paper I had found in the waste-paper basket and placed in my drawer must have reference to their visit, I watched very anxiously when they opened it.

“But they escaped notice, and I felt that I had got some clue to the mystery, even if these men escaped; and I had quite determined that they should not escape, for I was insecurely bound, and had been working hard to get my right hand free, and, thanks to having a very narrow one, I now found myself able to slip it through the loop which encircled the wrist; but I ‘bided my time,’ for I saw that a false move might bring a bullet through my head.

“‘De plates is in ze oder room, Carl Brunton, mon ami,’ said the baron, smiling, and patting my shoulder. ‘Vy not say? Vy shoot we you? You do dem so well, ve no get any like dem. And you use dem yourself, and den, Ach Gott, you upset de cart of de apple.’

“‘Yes,’ I thought, ‘and it’s odd to me if I don’t upset your cart of de apple before long.’

“‘In dere; in back room?’ asked the Baron, with another amiable smile.

“I said ‘yes,’ with my eyes.

“‘See now, my Louis, you were too rough. You into him pitch like dam. So see him amiable.’ Then to me:――

“‘And you will marry Louise, who lofe you like old boots?”

“My other hand was free now. I tried to speak, and implored with my eyes for the gag to be removed.

“The baron removed it, and while doing so I resolved on a plan of operation.

“‘You will marry Louise, and give us the plates?’

“‘I will give you every satisfaction.’

“‘That is business,’ said Louis Orloff, coming forward. ‘First the plates; then you return with us to New York, and keep your promise to Louise. Why give us the trouble? I tell you frankly that the expense will be deducted from your share, and that you will be strictly watched in future. I should have cut your throat but for my promise to Louise. Now, where are the plates?’

“‘Look in the closet in the next room, rake out the coals and take what you find.’

“‘Good! Come, baron.’

“And they left me to operate on the coals. Springing up, I seized the revolver, darted to the door, and in a moment had locked them in.

“But my triumph was of short duration, for Orloff was on the other side like lightning, the rotten woodwork torn out under his vigorous wrench, and his hand was on my throat before I could grope my way to the stairs.

“Then I knew that life depended on the struggle, and I fought like one possessed, for the revolver. The baron came to his friend’s help; but I found time and opportunity to send him reeling to the ground.

“Orloff was the weaker man, but he outdid me in skill, and a dextrous feint threw me off my guard, leaving the revolver in his hand.

“Purple with passion, he fired instantly, and I felt a sharp sting in the left shoulder; and then all earthly things seemed to be fading away, and a world beyond opening to view.

“When I recovered I found myself laid on a mattress on the office table, and my wife tearfully bending over me. There was a calm-faced surgeon too, who showed me the ball he had extracted, and told me to cheer up, for I should be better in a few days, for no harm was done.

“Mr. Moss was there too, and came to my bedside――I mean my table-side――and whispered how he had been called up by the police, who, hearing a pistol-shot, had come upstairs and arrested Orloff and the baron, and finding me on the ground bleeding, had sent for a surgeon and my wife, having found my private address from a letter in my pocket.

“I was only faint from loss of blood; the bullet did little damage, and I preferred getting up, and then gave an account of the evening’s adventure, not noticing at the time that a tall inspector of police was in the room.

“‘Will you kindly show me those pieces of paper?’ he said, advancing. “I have the men in Mr. Moss’s office; but beyond the assault on you, I have no evidence against them; but I know them well.’

“I produced them, and the inspector fastened on the one which seemed to be a plan; then looking around, he said:

“‘This is a plan of your office.’

“‘Call me a Jew if it aint!’ exclaimed Mr. Moss, taking it.

“‘Yes, it is certainly a plan of your office. See, here is the doorway, and there comes the other room. Then there is a cross against the fireplace in this room, on what I judge from the lines to mean the fourth board from the hearthstone, and another cross against the sixth from the hearthstone in the other room. Get a crowbar, Mr. Moss.’

“‘There’s one downstairs.’

“I do believe that if you’d asked for a crocodile, he’d have got one ‘downstairs.’

“Crowbar and a policeman to wield it were soon procured, and then the mystery was unravelled.

“Close to where I sat, were unearthed several copper-plates for the forging of Russian rouble notes of various amounts; and in the back room, under the flooring, were found several hundreds of well-executed forgeries carefully soldered up in a tin case, together with correspondence implicating Orloff and the baron.

“It appeared that Brunton was engaged by a New York gang to engrave the plates, and that he had never seen his employers, the agent between them being the Louise before mentioned, whose fair hand I had been compelled to decline.

“Brunton had evidently become frightened, and had fled.

“He was no traitor, or he would have decamped with the plates.

“Perhaps the dread of having to espouse Louise may have had something to do with his flight.

“She was a very handsome woman, if I may judge from a photograph of her found in the tin case, but looked like one accustomed to rule, and who would not hesitate to administer wholesome correction to her spouse.

“Assisted into a carriage which was waiting, I had the satisfaction of seeing the baron and Orloff brought down in handcuffs, the baron regarding me with a sweet smile, and Orloff scowling on me like a fiend. I did not prosecute, for they were so well known to the police as forgers that there was evidence enough for the Russian Embassy to procure a conviction and a sentence of ten years’ penal servitude; and in due time I recovered, and dismissed the matter from my mind.

“But I had not heard the last of it. About twelve months after the trial and condemnation of the baron and his friend, there came one night a timid knock at my office door, and my clerk (for I had such a luxury then) ushered in what, at first sight, seemed to be a moving bundle of rags.

“Strictly speaking, the bundle of rags insisted on seeing me, and ushered itself in, in spite of all remonstrances.

“It came and stood before me, and resolved itself into the semblance of a man――a man lean, haggard, sunken-eyed, ragged, and dirty, but with a face something like my own; and without putting a question I knew that I stood face to face with Carl Brunton, and I addressed the rags by that name.

“‘I took that name,’ the poor shivering thing replied, ‘but my name is――but no matter. May I speak to you?”

“‘Yes, go on.’

“‘Will you give me some drink first? I have had none to-day, and feel delirium tremens coming on. Oh, how cold it is, and how I shiver!’

“I sent the clerk for some brandy, which he took raw, and with shaking hand held out the glass for more.

“I imagine it is Mr. Moss you want to see, is it not? If so, you will find him to-morrow, at ten o’clock.’

“‘No, no, you, I want――I――I am very poor, very poor. Will you give me sixpence?’

“I gave him half a crown.

“‘Now, what can I do for you?’

“‘I――left some property here when I went away. You won’t refuse to give it up? I seem poor, but am rich――ah! so rich!――and I will pay you well.’

“‘You mean the forged rouble notes and the plate you engraved them from?’

“‘Ah! Who told you that? Then you have found them and used them? I ran away from them, and wished to lead a better life, but they drew me back; and now you have robbed me, and I shall starve.’

“I explained to the poor wretch what had become of his possessions, and how they were found, and inquired if he had not heard of the fate of his accomplices.

“‘No; I have been wandering about the country, living in hospitals, because they hunt me down from place to place. They will kill me as they did the Posen Jew and the engraver at Stockholm, all because they demanded a fair share. They are dogging me to-night; one of them is outside now. Let me see, what did I come here for? Oh, sixpence. Lend me sixpence; I’ll give you a hundred pounds for it to-morrow.’

“I made a further donation, and, as the man was evidently in a state of delirium, I told my clerk to fetch a medical man. But before he could execute the order the bundle of rags crept down the narrow stairs, sitting on each step, and wriggling by aid of his hands to the next below, whilst we, unable to pass him, looked on, wondering how it would all end.

“The street gained, he stood upright, and, casting a terrified glance around, fled away into the darkness, and we, following the direction he had taken, learned shortly afterwards that a beggar had thrown himself into the Mersey from St. George’s landing-stage, and had sunk to rise no more.

“His body was never found, and I, having had enough of Mersey-street, moved my quarters, much to the regret of Mr. Moss, for, quoth he, ‘Two of ’em are at Portland, and another at the bottom of the river――so you may call me a Jew if any one troubles you again.’

“But I went; and the office is still without a tenant, and I shudder when I pass through the street at night, and, looking up, see the two black shining windows, like two great eyes watching me, and fancy I can see a shadowy form in rags pressing his face to the glass, and gibbering and bowing at the busy stream of human life which surges to and fro for ever.”

When the narrator had brought his story to a conclusion, there was a dead silence for a brief period. The cardplayers had been so interested that their game had been carried on in a loose, desultory manner, and the whole of Peace’s guests were more or less wonder-struck.

“You know how to enchain your hearers’ attention, sir,” observed our hero.

“What I have been telling you is simply a narrative of facts, and, as I before observed, it proves the truth of the old adage that ‘truth is strange――stranger than fiction;’ but I have to apologise for so rudely interrupting the game.”

“There is no occasion for apologies, sir,” said a Peckham tradesman, who formed one of the party, “for the account you have given is one which, I think, all of us would have been sorry to have missed.”

“I think we shall all of us agree in that,” observed Peace.

“But this is a social evening, and all I desire is to see everyone enjoy themselves.”

“You might vary the entertainment with a little music, Mr. Thompson,” said Bandy-legged Bill. “After this perhaps some other gentleman will tell us another story.”

“I am at your disposal, gentlemen,” returned our hero. “If you desire to hear a little music, so be it; but with your permission I will just put some of my pets through their paces.”

Having made this observation, he opened the door of the room, and whistled to his dogs.

Two docile animals came bounding into the apartment; they skipped about, wagged their tails, and demonstrated the greatest possible affection for their master.

Peace played a tune on his violin, and made them dance on their hind legs, and go through a variety of difficult and diverting feats, to the infinite delight of the assembly.

“You have a wonderful power over the brute creation,” said Mr. Whittock. “Why, you might pull in a lot of money as a public entertainer.”

“It has always been a hobby of mine, sir. I take great delight in teaching those faithful creatures――I say faithful advisedly, for the most fortunate of us will acknowledge that they are more faithful, and I may add less selfish than man.”

It is not very complimentary of you to say so,” observed Mrs. Thompson, who was at this time on her best behaviour.

“You are right, my dear,” returned Peace. “It is not complimentary, but our friends will excuse it. Present company is, of course, excepted.”

At this there was a roar of laughter, after which Peace and Willie Ward played another duet.

To see our hero at this time it would have been impossible for any one to guess that he was anything else than a genial, good-natured, kind-hearted, old gentleman, who took a delight in making everybody happy and comfortable around him.

The old adage, “that appearances are oftentimes deceptive,” was specially applicable in his case, for he would have deceived the Prince of Darkness himself, his power of dissimulation being perfectly marvellous. In the course of conversation he expressed himself in such a gentle unobtrusive way――assumed for the nonce such a moral tone, and reprobated wrong doing so earnestly, and at the same time so naturally, that it would have been impossible for any one who did not know his manner and mode of life, to imagine him to be the hardened, callous, unscrupulous criminal whose nefarious career we have endeavoured to shadow forth.

“Now, gentlemen,” cried Peace, after a pause, “make yourselves at home――do just as you like. Whittock, see to your friends, and help them to all they require. Possibly you know more of their habits than I do.”

“They are very well able to take care of themselves,” said Mr. Whittock. “If they don’t have all they want it’s their own fault.”

One of the personages introduced by Whittock has been already introduced to the reader; the other was a Mr. Corbet, who had been a captain to one of the American steamers.

He was a weather-beaten, self-reliant man, who, albeit mixing with the company, had not as yet spoken a great deal.

His friend, Whittock, however, was anxious to draw him out, for when once Mr. Corbet did let loose the jawing tackle, he went in for a “pelter.”

“This old pirate could spin a few yarns if he chose,” said Whittock, nodding towards the party to whom he was alluding.

“Anyone can see that,” observed one of the company. “Hang it, Jenkins, you’ve trumped my trick,” he added, in a petulant tone, addressing himself to his partner.

“I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” returned Jenkins, apologetically. “How very foolish of me to be sure, I don’t know what I could have been thinking about.”

“Spin us a yarn, Corbet, and stop this wrangling,” cried Whittock.

“I aint up to it,” said the captain. “Besides, my experience is chiefly confined to foreign parts, as people are apt to observe.”

“All the better, sir,” said Peace, “all the more interesting. We lead in this country such a monotonous, hum-drum sort of life that there are positively no incidents worth recording.”

“I don’t know that,” observed Corbet. “None of us can pass through life, I expect, without meeting with some strange adventure, without gaining some experience.”

“Oh, we gain experience without doubt, Corbet,” said Whittock. “It is hardly possible for it to be otherwise.”

“Well,” said Corbet, “as our friend has given you a little of his own experience, I don’t mind following suit. I don’t mean with cards, for that’s not much in my line, but I’ll just give you another narrative of facts.”

“Hear, hear. Fire away, cap’en,” cried Whittock and one or two others. “Anything to keep the game alive.”

“During the milder months of the twelve constituting a year I occupied myself in running a small steamer from Puntsville to B――――, carrying the mails, such as they were, freight, and any chance passengers, which, I assure you, were exceedingly scarce.

“These trips were generally of a monotonous character to the crew of the ‘Silver Arrow,’ consisting of the engineer, myself, and an Ethiopian deck-hand.

“Once, however, something extraordinary out of the general routine of rounding points, making fast to the long, straggling, desolate wooden piers of the intermediate landings, or the thousand and one little nothings, peculiar to the voyage, occurred, which came near resulting in my death, besides putting me to serious inconvenience, and in a not very reputable predicament.

“One bright June afternoon the ‘Silver Arrow’ backed from her wharfage at B――――, sped gallantly down the sunny channel, lined on either side by rows of carved, lettered, gilt dingy sterns of all nations, and soon, with her bright new paint reflecting in her wake, and her streamers flying, was going down the wide river.

“In high good humour was I, for besides an unusual quantity of freight, three passengers had booked themselves for Puntsville, full fare paid, intending, as they remarked, to participate in a hunting expedition in the game-abounding district of the lower river.

“We had proceeded some twenty miles, darkness was beginning to succeed twilight, when giving the wheel in charge of Dick, the deck-hand, I descended to ascertain if all was in readiness for the passengers in their allotted cabins.

“The ‘Silver Arrow’ was run on stringent bachelor principles, and no charming femme de chambre enlivened us by her silvery vocalisation, or by her clever manipulation administered to our comfort.

“After seeing all correct, I went into my own little cabin, and perceiving the mail-bags in the centre of the floor, where I had carelessly thrown them when the post-office messenger had brought them down, I proceeded to place them in a more secure location, when, as I raised the leathern sacks up, the bottom of one gave away, and out in a thick-spreading torrent rolled a mass of letters and packages.

“Dropping on my knees I raked them in, and then examining the bag found that the mischief was occasioned by the receptacle being charged beyond its capacity, the bottom bursting out from the severe pressure of more letters and packages than to my knowledge had ever at any one previous time constituted the Puntsville mail.

“There I was on my knees with an immense pile of mail matters heaped before me; and I was mentally deliberating what to do with the matter, when softly behind me creaked the door, and in a second a strong set of fingers grasped my throat, bending me back to the floor, and the cold, icy muzzle of a pistol pressed fearfully against my temple.

“He who held me thus I recognised as one of the three passengers――a slightly built, extremely muscular, quick-eyed sort of a man. Physically he was a far better man than I, and the position in which he seized me, rendered me perfectly helpless.

“‘Ho, ho! my old bird; robbing the mail, eh? Twenty years in the penitentiary!’ said he, in a low, clear whisper, with a peculiarly triumphant sparkle in his sharp eyes.

“I tried to speak, but his grasp on my throat prevented me; he pressed harder, and continued in the same cautious undertone:

“‘Lie still, my beauty, or out go your thievish cerebrals; however, I’ll let go your throat; but if for a fraction of a second you open your lips, I’ll let daylight into your aged anatomy, my venerable, but ungodly purloiner,’ and he indulged in a moderate laugh at his own quaint style of expression, as keeping his weapon in a straight line with my forehead, he crept toward the door and gently closed it; coming quickly back, he placed the muzzle against my forehead, saying, mockingly――

“‘You are a pretty one to be robbing the President’s mail at your time of life, you virtuous old sinner!’

“‘You infernal villain,’ I broke out, however, not very loudly, because at the first movement of my lips he clapped his hand on my throat, and the revolver pressed harder, and now at half cock, a hair breadth’s space between me and eternity.

“By some great effort, however, I managed to blurt out in spasmodic whispers, that the mail had burst; had not been robbed, as could be proved by inspection, and that I wanted to ascertain by what authority he came the detective over me in so forcible a manner.

“Laughingly he took from his pocket a scrap of written paper, held it out of reach, but near enough to be legible, whereon was stated that so-and-so was commissioned by so-and-so to investigate the cause of the numerous losses that had recently occurred on the Puntsville mail route, &c.

“‘No use palaverin’, my renowned skinflint; you’ve been caught squarely and fairly in the deed, and you’re booked certain for Sing Sing, or some other institution conducted on the same charitable system, and you won’t get out for a period――no, not at least till you get the Presidential pardon.’

“The affair was growing more strangely serious than I had anticipated, and still I lay on the cabin floor with the contents of the mail-bag strewn over and around me, the detective keeping rigid surveillance over my every movement, however slight.

“Leaning forward, with his foot he pushed the door partially ajar, pursed up his moustached lips, whistled a bar of some current popular music, and directly footsteps sounded without, and soon another one of the passengers entered the cabin.

“Exchanging a significant look with my captor, he looked around the room with a quick glance, and coming close to my head, dropped down suddenly on his knees, and almost before I was aware of it, had inserted a gag in my mouth, and there I lay, speechless.

“Without losing any time, they seized me by neck and heels and plunged me, without the least effort, into the bunk. Then a heavy cloth, deeply saturated with chloroform, was thrown over my face, and after that, if you except for an instant a confused sound of rumbling machinery and a rushing of waters, I remember nothing.

“When I regained my senses all the cabin was dark, my brain was confused and obfusticated. I managed to get out of the bunk, looked out the narrow window, and saw that surging black water and heavy, threatening, driving thunder-clouds were the only things visible.

“The waves were rising fearfully, the huge white-capped, black-bodied monsters rushed against the boat’s side with thuds that made every timber rattle; the paddle wheels were idly beating to and fro; the wind shrieked through the chains that held the smokeless stack, and the ‘Silver Arrow’ rocked enough to throw nine out of ten fresh-water sailors off their feet. A hundred thoughts sprang up.

“Why had the boat stopped? Where were the passengers? Passengers! Oh, now the whole series of events occurred to my remembrance. Perhaps the engineer and the negro had suspected foul play and resisted the rascals, and had been disabled if not murdered.

“With fearful misgivings I groped along the passage, reached the engine-room, and, stepping across the sill, fell over a human body. I knew where the lamps usually were kept, and after great difficulty succeeded in getting one alight.

“On the floor, lying on his face, was the engineer, but on examination I could discover no traces of violent treatment. However, the odour of chloroform pervaded the room, and I was persuaded that that forcible agent had been brought to operate upon other systems besides my own.

“The engineer was stupefied by the combined influences of chloroform and whiskey, for the odour of the latter was nauseously prevalent; but whether the liquor had been imbibed from voluntary self-indulgence, or from forcible application, the individual upon whom the potent influence was now in operation was in no condition to inform me, and I had no means of ascertaining the fact.

“Then I went upon deck, examining every nook for signs of my quondam passengers.

“I entered the pilot-house, and there on the bench, with his huge hands on the spokes of the wheel, sat the negro deck-hand, and a cloth swathed about his head of a faint chloroformic odour told how he had been rendered non-combatant.

“The storm was fearfully violent now; the boat seemed to be drifting rapidly, and rocked so that I experienced great difficulty in going below.

“The engineer seemed to be reviving, and a bucket of cold water dashed over him brought him quickly to his senses.

“With his assistance I pumped the boiler full, and started the fire, while he told me how one of the three passengers came in the engine room and threw a cloth over his face, and he remembered no more.

[Sidenote: No. 71.]

“These facts were somewhat mysterious, but danger was all around us, and no time could be spared for discussion, and necessarily we were compelled to direct all our energies towards saving the boat from wreck and ourselves from destruction.

“Despite our danger, however, I could not help thinking of what had occurred, and suddenly it struck me――the mails.

“Leaving the engineer in charge, I rushed with my lamp to the cabin, and there, strewn about, as before, lay the postal contents.

“I examined them eagerly, and in the heap saw a thick packet directed to the officer of the Puntsville and Rocktown R. R. Co., marked on the outside ‘No. 5,’ and in small caligraphy in the left-hand corner, ‘6000 dollars.’

“‘No. 5!’ And where were the remaining four? I now remembered I had heard that 25,000 dollars worth of endorsed and signed railroad bonds were to be put up for sale in Puntsville.

“There was one package――one-fifth of the total amount――and the other four were stolen! This was what had brought my three gentlemen passengers on a hunting expedition. Yes, for game worth 20,000 dollars, and never a shot fired.

“As I stood in amazement at the daring and cleverness exhibited, and in alarm from the reflection of the responsibility I might incur from the robbery, a huge wave struck the boat, and she almost capsized.

“Hastily collecting the mail contents in the old bag, I shouted to the engineer to turn on all steam, while I ran to the pilot-house and grasped the wheel.

“Slowly the paddles went round, then faster, then the ‘Silver Arrow’ tore through the black waves under a dangerous pressure of steam.

“Hardly had we attained speed ere a great mountain wave struck her amidships, carrying away the larboard paddle-box and the greater portion of the aft bulwarks.

“The boat rocked and plunged, almost stopped, then the wheels crashed through the splintered timbers that had become inserted in the paddles, and again we bore on, until a loud snap echoed through the boat, the wheels stopped, the ‘Silver Arrow,’ caught up by the rushing waters, drifted helplessly.

“The engineer, breathless, came up and said the piston-lever had broken, and still we drifted on――to death.

“Another giant wave struck――three feet of water below, and fast filling――still raged the storm and warred the water.

“Two miles from shore, and the black, ghastly, whitened waves roared over the rocky bar, two hundred yards distant.

“In an instant we were close on it.

“I rushed below, seized the mail bags, and unscrewing the cylinder-head, thrust them in, and closed it up. Then they were in a water-tight compartment, safe and recoverable, even if the luckless ‘Silver Arrow’ went to the bottom.

“As I secured the mails the water was waist high. When I reached deck the waves were beginning to roll over it, and the engineer and negro, whom, it seemed, the terror of the situation had suddenly roused, were launching the remaining boat.

“The starboard boat, I forgot to mention, had been discovered gone when I examined the deck, on recovering from the chloroform’s somnolent effects.

“I shouted to them to save themselves by some other means, as no boat could live in such a storm; and then, grasping the chain stays, hauled myself, hand over hand, to the top of the stack, which had not yet cooled, though the fires had been extinguished twenty minutes, and the spray was continually dashing over and around, causing jets of steam to emanate from every spot it touched on the black cylinder.

“I hung there for life, though it scorched my hands dreadfully; and at last I managed to lash myself fast by a bit of rope, which, providentially, I had found in my pocket. The boat sank no deeper. It had grounded on the bar, and I was temporarily safe.

“Then I looked amid the turmoil of waters for the engineer and his companion. Of them I could see nothing. Half a furlong to leeward tossed the boat, bottom upward. The unfortunate men had gone to the bottom.

“The ‘Silver Arrow’ rocked fearfully, and jarred and shocked me through every limb, as I hung lashed to the smoke-stack.

“I was fast being spent, when, the storm abating, a boat put out from shore, and without detailing the difficulty of getting aboard, suffice it to say that, half dead, I was rescued, and after a couple of day’s recuperation on shore, I got aboard a schooner bound up, and arriving at Puntsville, related what had happened.

“In a few days calm weather returned, the ‘Silver Arrow’ was raised, the mails were secured, intact, and I mentally resolved to give up steam-boating for a lengthy interval, at least, and measures were taken to recover the stolen railroad bonds through the city detectives.

“Finally it was rumoured that the bonds had been recovered from a city firm, who had purchased them two days after they were stolen; that the party who had sold them could not be found, but his arrest was very probable from the descriptive clues which the authorities had received from a member of the victimised firm.

“And now I became involved in a predicament equalling in unpleasantness that of the clinging to the smoke-stack of the sinking ‘Silver Arrow.’

“One day, about a week after the robbery, a gentleman called at the Puntsville Hotel and expressed a wish for a private interview, and when we were alone, produced a warrant for my arrest for mail robbery. Remonstrance was useless.

“He said it was a very unpleasant duty, but the law must be enforced, &c., and as the document was in proper form and legally made out, I could do nothing but accompany him.

“To be brief, I was tried and convicted on the sworn and positive evidence of the senior partner of the firm who had purchased the stolen bonds. He identified me as the man who brought the stolen paper into their office, and to whom he had paid the money for the same.

“In detail his evidence went to the effect that the man had grey mutton-chop whiskers and moustache, brown eyes, red face, and a mole on the left cheek, all of which answered my description exactly.

“In vain my lawyer argued and argued――the evidence was point blank against me, and an alibi could not be proved; for unfortunately the very day on which the bonds had been offered for sale I had gone, starting at sunrise, on a solitary fishing excursion to a little frequented part of the river, and had not met a single person until I came home late at night.

“The trial lasted but one day, and the next I was on my way to the Albany Penitentiary for a term of three years.

“The prison became unusually crowded, and I was compelled to occupy a cell in companionship of another convict.

“We lived together very pleasantly for some weeks, became as intimate as our diverse social station would permit, and in a communicative mood one night my companion related how once on a steamboat he with two other companions had robbed the mail, and after drugging the crew had escaped in a small boat, and he wondered if the old captain was drowned, as he had heard afterwards that the boat had sunk.

“You may know what were my reflections when I heard this, and, to be sure of a witness, I informed the turnkey, and next night he stationed himself immediately outside the door, and in the course of our nightly conversation my fellow-convict repeated his confession, with an addition that he and his two pals had heard that the bonds were to be sent to Puntsville, and had laid their plans as they carried them out; and what was of more immediate consequence to me, how one of them had imitated my appearance, even to the mole upon my cheek, and thus turned the attention of the authorities towards me, and gave them time to get out of the country; and, moreover, that when he succeeded in selling the purloined bonds he had decamped with the proceeds, and had never been heard from.

“He (the prisoner) was incarcerated at the present time for another offence entirely different.

“With the turnkey as my witness I speedily obtained a hearing, and after a series of legal formalities was released from durance vile; and, of course, if I had not then been in comfortable circumstances, very likely I would have instituted an action for false imprisonment, and thereby put sums of money in the pockets of the lawyers and a pittance into my own.

“However, I waived all right to compensation for my injured liberty, having had quite enough of legal experience, and this is what happened to me thirty years ago, when I was a young man.”

“I said Corbet could tell you a tough yarn or two,” remarked Whittock. “Why, Lord bless you, he’d keep you amused the whole evening. He has tales about all sorts of things, and, what is better, they are every one of them true.”

“This one is, that I’ll vow for,” returned the captain, “but I don’t say all I tell are.”

“We don’t ask whether they are true or not,” observed Peace, with a smile. “It is enough for us to know that we are entertained. So long as the hours pass pleasantly away, and we all enjoy ourselves, what more is needed?”

Everybody appeared to coincide in this opinion, and so, after some more music, both vocal and instrumental, one of the guests, who it appeared, had been at one time a station-master in the United States, told the following tale, which we reserve for another chapter.

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