Within Sound of the Weir

Front matter

Uniform with this Work. The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane. By Frank Barrett. Under a Strange Mask. By Frank Barrett. The Astonishing History of Troy Town. By Q. Dead Man's Rock. By Q. A Queer Race. By W. Westall. The Phantom City. By W. -Westall. Captain Trafalgar. By Westall and Laurie. Commodore Junk. By G. Manville Fenn. St. Cuthbert's Tower. By Florence Warden. By Right Not Law. By R. Sherard. Within Sound ofthe Weir. By Thomas St. E. Hake. The Coombsberrow Mystery. By James Colwall. Another's Crime. By Julian Hawthorne. An American Penman. By Julian Hawthorne. Section 558 ; or, The Fatal Letter. By Julian Hawthorne. A Tragic Mystery. By Julian Hawthorne. The Great Bank Robbery. By Julian Hawthorne. The Yoke of the Thorah. By Sidney Luska. Who is John Noman ? By Charles Henry Beckett. The Tragedy of Brinkwater.

By Martha L. Moodey. The Brown Stone Boy. By W. H. Bishop. The Man with a Thumb. By W. C.Hudson (Barclay North). Jack Gordon, Knight Errant. By W. C. Hudson. The Diamond Button : Whose Was it? By W. C. Hudson, Cassell & Company, Limited, Ludgate Hill, London. 28—6.91 BY THOMAS St. E. HAKE AUTHOR OF "IN LETTERS OF GOLD," &C. CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited LONDON, PARIS 6= MELBOURNE. 1S91. [all rights reserved.] To PH I LI P P A, THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED EY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. CHAPTEK PAGK I. A Very Strange Windfall i II. The Oblong Box s III. The Barge Cabin 14 IV. The Man in Rags .23 V. The Shadow on the Hearth 32 VI. A Fog Comes On 42 VII. Coming Events 51 VIII. GlI.LETT AND GlLLETT 58 IX. Blood Money " 64 X. Rivals 71 XI. A Night at Clifford's Inn 78 XII. The Going Out of Nat Chaunek 84 XIII.

The-Opening of the Oblong Box 93 XIV. Maggs' Lodger 102 XV. The Ship-Chandler at Home ios XVI. On Duty 115 XVII. Beatrice 122 XVIII. At the Lock 127 XIX. The Hour Before Midnight . . . , . . .136 XX. A New Client 143 XXI. Face to Face 14*? XXII. The Shadow Falls 154 XXIII. Another Lodger 160 XXIV. The Other Garret . 166 XXV. Guilty ok Not Guilty 172 XXVI. FLOWERDEW'S Money CHAPTER PAGE XXVII. The Clasp-Knife l86 XXVIII. A Night of Terror *<)3 XXIX. Love and Law 199 XXX. Lost 208 XXXI. Confessed .213 XXXII. In the Web 219 XXXIII. Pursued 227 XXXIV. The Galley-Fire Goes Out 233 XXXV. Rescued 241 XXXVI. What Might Have Been 247 XXXVII. Expected 254 XXXVIII. The Crisis 261 XXXIX. Parted . 269 XL. The River's Voice

Chapter I

A VERY STRANGE WINDFALL. An unpleasant rumour was being noised about in Cadenhead, a small market town near London, that Goodwin's was " in volved." Goodwin's bank stood in the market-place. It was a long, low building with iron bars to its lower windows, and a strong, double oaken door. It had been established over a hundred years, and the same confidence was placed in Paul Goodwin that had been placed in his father, and grandfather before him. There was always a slight stir among those who happened to be about when Goodwin's carriage and pair drove up to the bank door. And on this particular morning the stir was more marked. For there were people in this town — as there are people everywhere — who fancied they could read the banker's face and find out the truth. They might have saved them selves the trouble.

As Paul Goodwin stepped from his carriage, and went in at the bank door, his face was in scrutable. Some half-dozen clerks sat in the dingy counting-house. Whether they were young men, or old — whether they had taken their places at their desks when the bank was es. tablished, or at some period less remote — would have been difficult to determine. Their style of dress belonged to a former generation. They all took snuff out of a common B snuff-box, of antique pattern, which was handed round in a convivial sort of way over the ledgers and cash-books ; and pretty briskly too when business was slack. It was seldom, indeed, that the chink of gold was heard, except on market days. Goodwin passed into his room behind the counting-house. A heap of letters lay upon his desk. He soon disposed of these, and, looking out into the counting-house, beckoned to the manager.

" Mawson," said the banker, as the clerk came in, " attend to these letters, will you ? I must go to town." Mawson looked anxiously into his face. Goodwin was the leading banker, indeed the only one of any importance at Cadenhead. He was a man of thirty-four — a bachelor, and a handsome one too — whom every mother in the neighbour hood who happened to have an eligible daughter had spoken of in the most flattering terms for ten years or more. " You will return to-night, sir ? " Mawson was a thin, clean-shaven little man, with a wrinkle on either side of his wide mouth. His nose was large and hawk-shaped; and it had greater capacity for snuff, from all accounts, than the combined nostrils of the other clerks. In the presence of the banker, however, he had never yet ventured to take a pinch. His eyes were very keen and intelligent with deep lines like cash columns between them.

" I shall return to-night," replied Goodwin, " by an early train." The manager looked towards the door, to make sure that he had closed it, and then moving nearer to the banker, placed his hand upon the back of a chair. " I'm not afraid, Mr. Goodwin," said he, somewhat defiantly, "of offending you when speaking my mind on matters of business." The banker smiled complacently. " Now wouldn't it be possible, sir," Mawson resumed, " to A Very Strange Windfall. 3 show yourself a little more at the bank during these ticklish times ? " "Possible? Of course," said Goodwin. " Is it necessary ?" "Yes." " Why ? " said Goodwin, in a slightly provocative manner. Mawson took out a snuff-coloured pocket-handkerchief, and blew his nose. He had a habit of doing so when needing a moment for reflection. " A panic on the London Stock-Exchange," said he, " is talked of.

It may occur at any moment." Goodwin nodded. "I understand," said he; "you fear a run on us. Isn't that what you mean ?" The manager remained significantly silent. " I have no fear of any crisis here," said the banker, looking with some haughtiness about him. " The thing is im possible, as far as we are concerned." He paced up and down the room, once or twice, with a slightly heightened colour on his face. He was well known to be one of the wealthiest men in the county. Oak Hall, on the family estate, was within an easy drive of Cadenhead. It was a magnificent property ; and it was difficult for a man like Goodwin, who was by nature ex ceedingly sanguine, to believe that people, whose fathers and grandfathers had banked at Goodwin's, could ever experience any want of confidence in him. He would have sooner expected an unprovoked insult from an old friend.

" Impossible, sir ? " said the manager with respectful surprise. " I am sorry I cannot agree with you. A run on any bank is possible, and a run on our bank, with the com paratively small supply of hard cash usually in hand, would compel us to close our doors in a few hours." Goodwin frowned slightly at the manager's words. But he quickly replied — " We have an ample reserve, Mawson ; in the present state ofthe stock market " " Pray excuse me, sir," said Mawson ; " if you are of B opinion that there is no need for anxiety or further precaution " And he made a move towards the door. "Stay!" said Goodwin, taking out his watch. "I've no time to discuss this matter now. But to-night, if you will drive with me to Oak Hall, we will go into figures. Come, what do you say to that ? " Mawson acquiesced, though not without signs of re luctance at the delay.

As soon as the banker had driven off to the station, Mawson retired to his own sanctum. It was a room adjoining the strong room, which formed the back portion of the bank premises. The first thing he did was to take a pinch of snuff. He then seated himself at his desk, and began to make his calculations. It was growing dark — close upon four o'clock — when Mawson rose to light his lamp. He was on the point of striking a match when there was a knock at his door ; and one of the " junior " clerks, if the elderly person who looked in may be so called, remarked — " A gentleman named Briggs wants to see you, sir." " Briggs ? " said the manager, " I don't know the name ; do you ? " "No." " Nor the gentleman ? " The old clerk rubbed his quill pen against his ear. " I do seem dimly to remember the face," said he in a slow tone.

" But I can't " "Show him in," said the manager briskly. The gentleman with the face that the old clerk seemed dimly to remember was shown in. Meanwhile the lamp had been lighted and the blinds drawn. Mawson looked inquiringly at his visitor ; and as he did so, he too seemed to have some recollection of having seen the face before. A Very Strange Windfall 5 " Mr. Mawson ? " The manager inclined his head. " Ah ! " said the gentleman, " would it be possible to see Mr. Goodwin ? " "Not to-night," said Mawson, "unless the matter is very urgent." " It is urgent," said he, stroking his white beard, and looking steadfastly through his gold spectacles. He had taken the seat placed for him beside the manager's desk. He had brought a large black bag with him into the room ; and he now looked at it resting on the floor at his feet.

" I wish to open an account," said he, "and as it is likely to prove rather a large one, I should have preferred to see Mr. Goodwin per sonally. But you shall decide for me," he added, " whether it is necessary or not." Mawson reflected for a moment with his eyes fixed on the visitor. " In all matters of business, Mr. Briggs," said he, " whatever their nature may be, you may speak to me without reserve." " That settles it," said Mr. Briggs, taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, and lifting the bag upon his knees. "Excuse my formality." " Not at all," said the manager. " I prefer formality — in matters of business." There was something now in Mr. Briggs' movements, even more than in his face, that recalled someone to mind whom Mawson had spoken with before. The very action of his hands as he unlocked the bag and took out bundle after bundle of bank notes, and placed them on the desk, appeared strangely familiar to him.

"You wish to open an account," the manager remarked. "I had better run through these bank notes." "If you please." Mawson went to work rapidly. He untied each bundle, made a memorandum of the aggregate amount, and placed the bundles aside. Within Sound op the Weir. " Any gold ? " said he, glancing at a number of leather bags. " Some hundreds in gold," said Mr. Briggs. Mawson emptied the bags into the large balances which stood upon a separate table ; and having weighed the coin, he counted it ; and having counted it, he added together the total of bank notes and gold. " Well ? " said Mr. Briggs, " what do you make of it ? " " Fifty thousand," said the manager. " Quite correct." Thereupon Mawson put his initials to the memorandum, with the air of a man accustomed to settle these little matters every day, and said — " To whose credit shall we place this amount ?

" "Mine." The manager was standing with his fingers upon the bank notes. Pie now looked quickly into the visitor's face. The light from the lamp was full upon him. Their eyes met as if each had recognised the other : both men flinched slightly, but neither uttered a word. Mawson was the first to speak. "We shall require your signature." "Certainly." Mawson took a large volume from the shelf. "Your usual signature, if you please," said he, opening the book before the new client, " and your address." If Mawson looked at the inscription, as the client threw down the pen, his glance was so rapid that no one would have suspected him. While he was replacing the volume, Mr. Briggs took a small oblong box from his black bag and said — "One other matter. This box contains thirteen rough diamonds. Full particulars as to where they come from and to whom they belong will be found inside — would you like to examine the contents?"

Mawson took the box in his hand. " It is sealed." A Very Strange Windfall. 7 " Seals can be broken," said the client, taking a ring off his finger and holding it up to the light. Mawson compared it with the seal on the box, and said, " I'm quite satisfied." The client put out his hand. The manager gave him the memorandum. " Good night, Mr. Mawson," said he, placing the voucher in his pocket. " Good night," said the manager. As soon as Mawson was once more alone he looked about him like one waking out of a dream. Then he took a huge pinch of snuff and recovered himself. He pulled down the great volume, and closely scrutinised the last signature that had been entered there. He then went into the strong room and brought out a tin box. Into this box he placed the box of diamonds, the bank notes and bags of gold.

As he turned the key upon these valuables, a clerk came in from the counting-house with other tin boxes for the strong room. It was four o'clock, and Goodwin's bank had closed its doors for the night. s

Chapter II. The Oblong Box

The clerks at Goodwin's are gone. But Robert Mawson, the manager, who occupies the suite of rooms above the counting house with his sister, Jane Mawson, still sits in his room, ad joining the strong-room, brooding deeply. One would almost suppose, from his attitude, that he had fallen into a dead sleep. The papers on the desk before him, which contain all the minute calculations concerning the bank affairs, have no interest for him. Nothing has — nothing that is materially visible to him at the moment. His mind is wandering from the past into the future, and from the future into the past again. He is making his calculations mentally — columns of them — but they need no reference, apparently, to the calculations that stare him in the face. There are certain accounts which cannot be balanced by " double entry."

The business of life sometimes needs more than a mere balance-sheet in order to put things straight. While he is still brooding under his shaded lamp, with his head resting upon his hand, the door is stealthily opened. Presently a head appears — a head with a face very like his own — the same hooked nose, the same wide mouth, the same eyes, equally keen, but wanting in intel ligence. " Bob ! " Mawson starts and looks round. A lady in black, with the same slim figure, though slightly shorter than himself, is standing at the door. " Why, Bob, my dear," says she, " anyone would think you'd seen a ghost ! " The Oblong Box. 9 " Eh ? — why, no," he answers, laughing oddly ; " no, Jane, not a ghost. But what is it ? " " Oh, nothing, only I thought " — she is evidently offended — " that as you didn't appear to have heard the dinner bell, which Mary Ann has rung three times, I would come myself and see if anything could be the matter."

" Dear me ! What can I have been thinking about ? " says he. " Three times ? Why, I must have been dreaming." " Too fast asleep for that," mutters Jane Mawson, leading the way up-stairs. The dinner is laid for two in a dark-panelled sitting-room, with two dwarfish windows at one end that look out upon the market-place, but which now have red curtains drawn across them in cosy style. There is a bright fire burning, and a glossy white cat is lying curled up on the rug like a silver nugget. Mawson and his sister are never very sociable. When dinner is over, the manager retires to his room down-stairs ; or, at the best of times, seats himself in a corner between window and fire-place, to write or read. But to-night, as he rises to leave the room, Jane coughs mysteriously behind her mitten — she has a mysterious way of doing most things — and remarks — " You don't give me much of your company."

The manager, who is afraid of his sister, adopts a con ciliatory tone as he answers : " Don't I, my dear Jane ? " " No, Bob ; and I really feel that I must have somebody to talk to this evening," says she ; " it's quite awful, when such dreadful things are happening, to be so much alone." " What dreadful things ? " says Mawson, pausing with his hand upon the door. "If you'll come and sit down," she answers, "I will tell you in two words." Mawson draws a chair towards the hearth. " It's about someone who was once a fellow-clerk of yours," she says, bringing forward her chair, " in this very house." Miss Mawson looks as mystical as a sphinx while uttering these simple words. l ...... -* ,, " Ah ! And what," says Mawson, " might be his name ? " Mawson knows from experience that to show interest in any communication which she may have to make, invariably leads to proportionate mysticism on his sister's part.

He would appear to have been taken slightly off his guard to night : he has betrayed a certain eagerness in his tone which she, in her cunning way, has quickly detected. " Can't you guess ? A clerk doesn't come or go, for that matter, every day," is her answer, " in this establishment." " No," says Mawson, feigning indifference, " not every day." " You liked him too ; that's the odd part of it." " Was my liking," says Mawson, " misplaced ? " " You will say so, Bob, when you know all." The manager glances impatiently at the clock. " Know all ? There seems but little chance of that, Jane, at the pace you're going." The sphinx sits bolt upright, and stares into the fire. " Look back, Bob, about twelve years or so " " Not Abel Flowerdew ? " " Yes ! " " What of him ? " says the manager, with such a keen face turned to hers, such intense perturbation in his voice, that his sister grows suddenly alarmed.

" Don't take on like that, Bob," says she, " what I heard while in London to-day about the man I'll tell you, willingly, goodness knows ! You never found me one of your tormenting sort, I'm sure. I am only too ready and willing to tell you everything, when you give me a chance." She pauses for a moment, and still receiving no encouragement, resumes : " Abel flowerdew has begun, as everybody declared he would sooner or later, his awful work of revenge. He has begun at Limehouse this very afternoon, where there has been a very dense fog all day ; and he has flung his victim into the Thames ! " The Oblong Box. 11 Jane Mawson has an odd way of gesticulating when she speaks, especially when excited. And as she utters these words her cheeks pale, and she raises both her arms slowly— as though lifting some ghastly burden — and flings them from her to relieve herself of a weight.

Never changing his attitude, but closely following with his quick eyes every movement on his sister's part, Mawson's face grows ashy white. " One victim more," says Jane, stabbing the air with an imaginary dagger in a dreadfully realistic way, "and his revenge will be complete." She covers her face with her hands. " One more," says the manager hoarsely ; " you mean his wife ? " She nods with her face still covered. Mawson tries to rise from his chair, but sinks back, trembling in every limb. "Jane, my dear," says he, "get me some brandy. It's time I was starting : Mr. Goodwin will be waiting for me, and it will never do to go to Oak Hall in this frame of mind. What would he think ? " The sister looks puzzled ; but she tends him with a certain gentleness which betrays an affection rarely expressed in her words, or even in the tone of her voice.

When he recovers himself, he gradually becomes conscious that she is watching him, while moving about the room in a desultory style — " tidying up " as she called it — and in a way that irritates him beyond measure at the best of times. " Don't sit up, Jane. It is past your bed-time." Something in his manner, in the very tone of his voice, awakens her suspicion. She is suspicious by nature ; and she now makes up her mind that something is wrong. She is resolved : she will know, and to-night too, what is troubling her brother. She bids him good-night, and retires to her own room. But not to rest. She stands at her door, having taken the precaution to extinguish her light, and listens intently for her brother's step upon the stair. The servants have gone to bed long ago. It is her brother's invariable habit towards twelve to awaken the porter, whose room is below, and who does duty till morning.

It is near the time now. She hears him at last ; and gliding out upon the landing, sees him going down the stairs. She follows, softly. He has a lamp in his hand, the lamp with which she has often seen him wandering about the bank from room to room. He goes direct to the bank-parlour to-night, and as he goes in he leaves the door ajar. Jane peers in, scarcely drawing breath the while. The manager's first action is to unlock an iron safe, and from this safe he takes a large key. It is the key to the strong room. He unlocks the door; and for a minute, Jane loses sight of him. But presently he comes out with a small box in his hand — a box bound round with a red cord, and sealed with black seals in several places. He slides the box into his overcoat pocket, puts on a low crowned hat, and re-locks everything.

All this she carefully notes, and then retreats swiftly and silently to her own room. A few minutes later she hears her brother speaking with the night-porter : and presently the bank door opens and closes again. She goes to the window and looks out. A figure, which she at once recognises as her brother's, crosses the market-place, and passes out of sight. Never until now, with all her distrustfulness of others, has it entered Jane Mawson's mind to distrust her brother. But now the painful thought forces itself upon her that there is some thing very unusual in his actions. It has never been his habit to keep her waiting after the dinner-bell has rung ; it has never been his habit, as long as she can remember, to start and glare at her when she has chanced to look in upon him while still at his desk down-stairs.

He is not, in her opinion, a nervous ThE Oblong Box. 13 man ; not one to be easily upset. . . Stay ! Could he be in any way concerned in that reported murder this foggy after noon at Limehouse ? The very thought makes Jane Mawson shudder. She re lights the sitting-room lamp, stirs the fire, and draws her chair towards it, fully resolved to remain up until her brother's return. u

Chapter III. The Barge Cabin

A crimson stain upon the weir? That might be ; it was sunset, and a red glow was in the west — over the meads, where the wooded hills are warm with the russet tints of autumn. To the drowsy eyes of a young boatman — who had started up suddenly as if out of a troubled sleep — the red glow was everywhere and upon everything. From where he was resting — in a boat moored in calm water down stream — he had the full view of a busy weir. The strong wooden piles stood a foot or two apart ; between them the water gushed and fell into a foaming whirlpool below ; and to his dazed sight every crystal drop was as crimson as blood. He shut his eyes, turned away, and when he again looked round, the illusion was gone. Another had risen in its place. In the incessant and sounding downpour of water that plunged between those wooden piles and tumbled over half-sunken stones, there came him a voice ; and it was an ominous voice in his ear.

Could he be dreaming ? In a moment he sprang to his seat to row up stream. As he did so, a large, stolid-faced man, in a rough pea-coat, slid down the bank, and dropped into the stern. " What's amiss ? " " Look ! " the boatman answered, while applying a vigorous stroke to the sculls; "look towards the weir." " I'm looking." " What do you see ? " " Nothing." " No woman— nobody ? " " Nobody. There's no one there." The boatman lay on his sculls, and peered round. The red glow was fading out of the sky. But the voice — or was it only the falling water ? — haunted his ear. He glared about him — towards the lock, across the meads, and into the pool. Meanwhile the boat began to drift down stream. " Steady ! " cried the man in the stern. " Stick to your sculls, mate. What's wrong with you ? A long pull, and a strong pull.

Steady ! " The other obeyed, and they presently reached the opposite bank. Having unshipped his sculls, the boatman stepped forward to make the boat fast. Looking back over his shoulder while doing this, he saw that the man was still seated in the stern, watching him keenly through half-closed eyes. "Now, captain," said he, "are you coming?" "Ay !" is the jovial answer. " Give me a hand, lad, and I'm a-shore the quicker. Ready ? Good ! Lift gently, and haul in like a steam crane and pulley. Now I'm all right, and on my legs at last." Finding himself safely landed, and upon a good broad towing-path, the " captain " looked smilingly across the river towards the little ale-house, called " The Old Wherry," from which he had come, and then started off, though on a some what tacking course, towards the lock.

" There she is ! " the burly captain muttered to himself, while leaning over an upper bar of the flood-gate, and pointed towards a barge. " There's my Peggy, all spick and span ! Loaded? — ay, a cargo o' flour. And consigned? — ay, to Christopher Maggs, ship-chandler, Limehouse Cut. Starting to-night? — no, mate; at daybreak to-morrow." And as he spoke, he glanced towards the " mate," who was coming up slowly behind, and added aloud — " Hulloa, Clyduff, what's in the wind?" the question being suggested by the distracted look on Clyduff's face. "When we're o' board," was the curt reply, "I'll tell u you. There was not a neater barge than the Peggy between Limehouse, for which she was bound, and Cadenhead, on the Lea, where she was lying. She was painted in broad stripes of the brightest yellow, red, and black, from the deck to the water-line, all round her sides.

The deck was covered with tarpaulin, snugly tucked in, as though the cargo had been put to bed. There was a little cabin, with a barred skylight ; and into -this cabin the captain now disappeared, as swiftly as if tugged at the heels. The mate stood for a moment with his head and shoulders above deck. He looked in the direction of the weir, which could be heard though not seen. He listened intently, and then slowly went below. The cabin on board the Peggy, although not even lofty enough for an undersized bargeman to stand upright in, with out endangering his head, was as long as any tall one could wish for when stretching himself at full length. For this pur pose there was a narrow berth fitted on either side. Upon one of these berths the captain sank down, and leaning his head on his arm, watched his mate, who, seating himself on a low stool before the stove, began to kindle a blaze.

The young man's face, if not handsome, was by no means wanting in expression ; and as the light from the fire flickered across his brown cheeks and caught his steadfast eyes, there was something in his whole appearance that would have puzzled anyone. It had puzzled the man who was regarding him now; and it had puzzled others who understood his character equally well. There were moments when the face was strangely attractive ; there were moments when without apparent reason one felt repelled. "Why, John Clyduff," said the captain — and drawing from his pocket a handful of dark tobacco known as negrohead, he began to fill a short clay — "what's your humour, now? Come, my lad ! What's it all about ? " While pausing for reply, he leant forward, took a glowing chip from the fire, and lit his pipe.