Chapter II: Part 2

‘I should have thought Mr Thurles would have liked some confidential person in his establishment,’ I continued; ‘it would be very convenient.’

‘Perhaps he would,’ said Picknell, with another smile; ‘but sometimes confidential persons know too much, and then, you see’—— He broke off here, but of course I understood his hint.

Well, the day wore away pleasantly, after a fashion, and I strove to see something like the ghost of a clue in what little I had already gathered. It certainly looked rather suspicious as against Mr Godfrey, and I resolved to pay some attention to him and his associates. And then there were other things to be thought of, because I am not one of those men who, having taken up an idea, try to make everything fit in with that, instead of making my ideas fit the facts.

The first thing now to be done was to ascertain what expenses young Mr Godfrey was running into and what companions he mixed with. It was certain that it was not he who had paid in the forged bills; and as those were lost, a good deal of the regular way of proceeding was of no avail. Here, too, a hint or two from Mr Picknell came in useful. It appeared that the young fellow had a great taste for horseracing—or for betting on horseracing, which is not altogether the same thing. This was important, and so were several other scraps of information I picked up from the clerk.

In the little time that I was at home, I was sorry to see that Winny was not yet her old self; and I determined that as soon as this business was over, winter-time though it might be, she should take a holiday, and we would go to some sheltered place on the south coast for a fortnight, as I feared she was working too hard.

I now learned that Mr Harleston was supposed to be entangled with some disreputable female acquaintance. Mr Picknell let this fall as though by accident. I did not greatly believe in the accidental character of the information, for I had soon decided that the clerk did not like Mr Harleston; nevertheless, such news was valuable, as my experience had long taught me that such an entanglement was enough to account for anything.

I had not seen Mr Godfrey. This was indispensable, so I resolved on a bold stroke, and determined to call at the house of Mrs Thurles with some excuse, to ask for him. Well dressed up, I thought I was safe; and luck befriended me. I had got up a clumsy story: it was to the effect that I heard they were taking on people at Thurles & Company, and I had been recommended to apply to him. It was absurd enough, I know, to go to a gentleman in the evening on such an errand; but in my case it did not matter, as the stroke of luck I referred to saved me all trouble. I was opposite the house, at the foot of the steps, turning over the beginning of the story in my mind for the last time, when the door opened and a servant looked out. Seeing me, by the light of the street-lamp, he beckoned and said: ‘Do you want to earn a shilling, my man?’ I said ‘Yes’ promptly enough, and went up the steps; while the man, turning to a gentleman whom I now saw in the hall, said: ‘Here is one who will go, Mr Godfrey. The very chance! A tall, fine, handsome young fellow, but without that air of resolution I like to see in a man’s eyes and mouth.’ ‘A good enough fellow you are,’ I thought; ‘but could easily be made a tool of by man or woman either.’

It appeared he had an appointment with a gentleman, but being detained at home, would be an hour behind time; and to send word to this effect was why he wanted a messenger. Mr Godfrey was man of business sufficient to make sure of my doing my errand properly, by adding a line to say I was to have a shilling on my giving the note in. He told me this with a smile. As nothing particular came of the message, I will merely say that I delivered it promptly and got my money.

Now I had seen Mr Godfrey, I should not forget him easily. But what struck me as strange was the feeling that I had seen him before. Of course one may meet anybody, casually pass him in the street, and so forth, retaining a vague recollection of his features; but this was not altogether like that. I seemed to have some recent knowledge of him, but where, or how, I racked my brains in vain to find out.

My plan was to watch Mr Godfrey. I had learned, I considered, all I could at the office; the only thing to be done now was to find out more concerning his habits and associates; therefore I gave up the porter’s livery next day. To do this was not difficult, as one of the out-door men was ordered to take my duty until the return of the regular official.

I felt in duty bound to return Mr Picknell’s liberality, and to ask him to have a glass with me at my expense; but I would not do this before the other clerks, as the young man might not like it; consequently, I waited until the men had left, and then, lingering outside for Mr Picknell, I intended to speak to him when a little way from the office. As I knew where he lived, I took up a position accordingly; but he turned in an unexpected direction, and went quickly away from me. This might easily happen from his having a special engagement; but there was something in the manner of his crossing the road, and then hurrying down a bystreet, which looked like a man endeavouring to escape notice; and I made up my mind to follow and watch, instead of speaking to him. It was not easy to keep him in sight, so quickly did he go, and so suddenly did he turn down unexpected streets, but I managed pretty well, until I found, much to my astonishment, that we were drawing near the neighbourhood in which I had earned my shilling on the previous evening, and, in fact, were close to the house of Mr Godfrey Harleston.

It was surely impossible that he could be going _there_; but he kept on until we were almost in the street, when he entered a low-looking public-house which stood in a mews close by. I waited, hidden in a neighbouring doorway, to see him come out. A long time passed; and as he did not appear, I began to grow uneasy. At last I went into the house, and found, to my disgust, that it opened on the other side into a bystreet near the mews, and by this way, no doubt, Mr Picknell had gone. This was surprise enough; but, to add to my astonishment, I saw, leaning against the bar, smoking, and with a half-emptied tumbler before him, Sam Braceby, the Long-necked Sam whom I had saved at the Old Bailey. I knew him at once, and the recognition was mutual. Sam had nothing to fear from me now, but I could tell that he was rather staggered by seeing me. Of course I could not consider him as being after any good, see him where I might, and he knew that as well as I did. He touched his cap, and asked to be allowed the pleasure of standing a glass. When I declined this, he said he had been to the West End on a profitable bit of business—indeed, he thought he was going to take a snug little beerhouse there, which a friend had promised to put him into. I looked at him steadily while he said this, and smiled when he had finished. In spite of himself, Sam could not help smiling also, although he tried to disguise it by drinking some gin-and-water.

AN ANCIENT SPINNER.

In the ‘good old days’ before the invention of the spinning-jenny and the steam-engine, when working-men were slaves, and the rich had not the luxuries they have now, spinning was the work of the mistress of the house. Many good stories begin with an account of a fair maiden at a spinning-wheel, and a very ancient rhyme refers to the days ‘when Adam delved and Eve span.’ When a young lady was growing of a marriageable age, in the days of the spinning-wheel, she made preparation for her nuptials by spinning the material for sheets, tablecloths, napkins, and all manner of household necessaries; hence she was called a ‘spinster.’

Words change in their meanings with the changing fashions of a changeful world. There is one class of spinners, however, to which the whir of the loom and the steam-engine has made but little difference. ‘Men may come, and men may go, but _they_ go on for ever.’ All the changes of our complex civilisation make but little difference to these little spinners. They live in their dark little houses; spin their threads; live their lives; die in peace, or else get eaten up, and pass off the scene, making no fuss, seeking no honour. Some people call them mussels; scientific naturalists call them _Mytilus edulis_. They deserve a good name, for they are an ancient and honourable family, that have fought a good fight in the fierce battle of life, and have endured through long ages, while many others have perished.

Every one who has visited the seashore must have noticed at times a little mussel forming the centre of a tangled mass of threads, shells, stones, and all sorts of fragments. These are bound together by the labour of the black-shelled spinster. Instead of anchoring to a rock, as a well-behaved little mussel ought to have done, this one has gone off and anchored to all sorts of rubbish, and been driven and tossed by the waves of the sea in all directions, until it has formed the centre of the tangled mass we find on the beach. In the natural way, a mussel settles between high and low water mark. When covered by the tide, he opens his doors, and angles for a living with his wonderful fishing-apparatus, for the spinsters of the sea are all born fishermen. When the tide is going out, the little angler closes the valves of his house as tight as a steel safe, and keeps his mouth shut, with a lot of water inside, until the tide covers him again.

How the Frenchmen have learned the habits of this well-known little spinner, and cultivated him, and made of him a cheap and nutritious article of diet for the French nation, is fairly well known. How the little fellow builds his house and weaves his ropes, is not quite so well known. The house itself, with its black outside, and the beautiful sky-blue, pearly inside, is a work of the greatest skill, while the mechanism by which it is opened and closed forms a chapter in the world’s wonder-lore. The little spinner lives in a soft, fleshy ‘mantle,’ inside of his stony house. On the edge of this mantle are tiny fingers (_cilia_) and little pigment cells with which he builds. The material—carbonate of lime—is extracted from the clear sea-water by a simple process in the life of the animal. Just as our food goes to form blood and bone, muscle and sinew, so does the food of the little spinner go to form his delicate tissues and his hard shelly house. The mussel-house is as much a part of the mussel’s life as our homes are part of our lives, and the processes of building are not so very different either; both are simple, both are mysterious.

To watch this little spinner make his thread is very interesting. From one side of his house protrudes a curious little pad of flesh, a quaint, pointed sort of a tab. This is called his ‘foot,’ though it might just as well have been called his hand. He touches the rock, or whatever he desires to attach himself to, with this foot, then withdraws it, leaving a tiny thread, which he has made by some mystic process, in his own body, just as a spider makes her silken cord. The foot comes out again and again, always leaving a thread, until a strong rope is woven, which binds him securely to his chosen home. He can shorten or lengthen this cable by a simple contractile motion, which allows him a little play; but he may be said to be fixed for life, once he settles down. After a severe storm, some of them will generally be found on the shore, driven from their moorings, helpless and homeless on the strand; but they can stand the storm as well as the ships of more skilful people, and their disasters at sea are probably less numerous in proportion than ours are.

I had one little fellow in an aquarium, who had been gathered from a spot where the tide left him for a long period every day. He did not care to be under water all the time, so, by the aid of his foot and his wonderful home-made thread, he climbed up the glass to the surface of the water. There he attached some threads above water to the glass, leaving some below. When the little spinner felt like having a breath of fresh air, he ‘hauled in’ on his upper guys, and rose above the surface. When tired of that, he ‘slacked off,’ and took a turn underneath, thus making something like his accustomed tidal habit.

Watching these little animals in their daily movements, one grows to have a fellow-feeling for them. Some of their actions seem almost human, and they form a part of the household, just as the cat, the dog, or the canary. One day a conscienceless sea-pirate known as a dog-whelk settled on this little spinner, and began to bore through his shell with murderous intent. The whelk was taken off, and removed to another part of the aquarium. On the morrow, he had found his way back and settled down again on the innocent little victim, so he was sentenced to death as a murderer, and paid the penalty with his life.

This mussel has inherited the spinning business from a long line of ancestors; for when the coal-forests bloomed where the iron furnaces now roar, in the ‘Black Country’ of England, the forefathers of our little spinner were inhabitants of the fresh-water pools in the carboniferous forests. Ages have come and gone since then; the stony remainders of the ancient spinners are dug from out the deepest coal-mines, but the clever little fellows still spin their simple threads along our shores as of old. We sometimes weave their threads into gloves and hose, as a matter of curiosity; but few ever seem to have time to listen to the wonderful story that can be told to listening ears by this Ancient Spinner.

AN ESCORT ADVENTURE.

‘Sergeant, you have been detailed to proceed on escort with the prisoner Scales. I would advise you to keep a sharp eye upon him. He is a desperate character, and if he gets half a chance, will endeavour to give you the slip,’ remarked our adjutant to me.

‘Very good, sir,’ I replied.

‘Here is your paper,’ said the officer, as he handed me the warrant which bound me, under severe penalties for non-fulfilment of its provisions, to take private Jeremiah Scales ‘dead or alive’ to the district military prison.

I saluted the adjutant, and was turning to leave, when the colonel entered the orderly-room.

‘Good-morning, colonel,’ said the adjutant. ‘This sergeant is going on Scales’s escort, and I was just warning him to take great care of the rascal.’

‘Confound the fellow!’ grumbled the colonel. ‘After all, it seems the scoundrel is coming back to me. The court-martial that tried him—very properly, considering his antecedents—sentenced him to be discharged on the expiry of his term of imprisonment; and now the general, presumably acting on superior instructions, remits the only part of the punishment that is likely to benefit the service. During my twenty years’ experience, I have always found it the same in the army. Last spring, for instance, during the wholesale reduction that took place, we had, perforce, to send away a number of good men, infinitely better than this blackguard. Now, the Franco-Prussian business comes on the boards, and the authorities at the Horse Guards are moving creation to obtain recruits in order to get the regiments up to full strength. Every broken-down scarecrow in the kingdom is being enlisted, at least if I may judge from the precious specimens sent up to me. Besides, the recommendations of courts-martial with regard to the discharge with ignominy of the scum of the army are not being given effect to, and the rascals are allowed to remain in the service.—Yes, sergeant,’ resumed the commanding officer, addressing me, ‘you’ve got a cut-throat incorrigible blackguard to deal with; and if you don’t look out, he’ll give you some trouble.’

I then saluted the officers, and leaving the orderly-room, retired to my quarters to make a few preparations for my journey, which was a tramp of about eight miles along the seacoast. These finished, I proceeded to the room of the private who was detailed to accompany me, in order to have a consultation with him on the subject. This man, a Welshman, named Williams, was a veteran whose period of service had almost expired. He was, speaking literally, the ‘hero of a hundred fights;’ his experience of active service beginning while a boy in the second Sikh war. He subsequently was engaged in Kaffirland, the Crimea, and in India during the suppression of the Mutiny, finishing with the Abyssinian expedition, which took place two years prior to the time of which I write.

I narrated to Williams the remarks of the colonel and the adjutant regarding our prisoner; but the veteran affected to treat the matter very lightly. ‘I’ve had tougher jobs than this in my time, sergeant,’ he said; and then added significantly, pointing to his Snider: ‘Just let him try to bolt, and my word, he won’t get very far!’

The prisoner, Scales, was a repulsive-looking fellow of about twenty-five. He was more a lithe and active than a powerful man, but was nevertheless, by reason of his brutal and vindictive disposition, the terror of all the peaceably disposed men of the corps. He had served in the army for about three years, during which period he was always in trouble. On the return of the regiment from abroad, he came to us from the depôt with an extremely bad character; and this evil reputation he afterwards consistently maintained. At the reduction of the army referred to in the colonel’s remarks, the services of Mr Scales would to a certainty have been dispensed with had he not at the time been a deserter. Being apprehended and brought back to the corps at the beginning of the scare occasioned by the disturbed relations of Prussia and France, he received two months’ imprisonment, and was sent to his duty. Three days after his release, an officer’s room was broken into and all his valuables abstracted; and in this business it was supposed Scales was implicated conjointly with a comrade of equally had repute. This private deserted with the booty, and Scales was apprehended on suspicion and handed over to the civil authorities; but he was liberated owing to no sufficient evidence being forthcoming to warrant his being sent to trial on the charge. His next feat was striking a non-commissioned officer, and for this offence he was now sentenced to nine months’ imprisonment; the further recommendation by the court-martial for his dismissal from the service with ignominy being remitted by the general commanding the district.

No wonder that our worthy colonel was indignant at the prospect of having such a character sent back to the regiment! Blackguards of his description, in regard to the relations of soldiers with civilians, invariably bring the regiments which have the misfortune to own them into general discredit. The great majority of soldiers are respectable and well-conducted men, and to such it is very galling and annoying to be subjected to a social ostracism as rigid, in some cases, as that experienced by a time-expired convict, because of the excesses committed by a disreputable minority of their number; the civil community being addicted to the belief that all who wear the red coat are bad alike. It is to be regretted that the commanding officer of a regiment has not the power of summarily dispensing with the services of an incorrigible ruffian by having him kicked out of the barrack gate.

In the afternoon, Williams and I, equipped in marching order, and provided each with ten rounds of ammunition and a day’s rations, made our appearance at the regimental guardroom. The sergeant of the guard gave me a word of caution, and informed me that Scales had been boasting to the men that he meant to make his escape.

Our man received us with a stolid look, and mechanically held out his wrists for the reception of the handcuffs; and after a word of farewell to the other prisoners, he took his place beside the private, who had his bayonet fixed. I then marched them out of barracks into the principal street of the town. Perceiving a man of my own regiment who was engaged on garrison police duty, I asked him to accompany us to the outskirts, in case the prisoner took a fancy to bolt down one of the numerous tortuous alleys that led to the wharfs near the pier. Having reached the limits of his beat, the private returned, and I was congratulating myself on having nearly reached the open country, in which Scales would run a poor chance of escaping from our custody, when we were met by a large drove of oxen. In spite of the exertions of the drovers, the cattle passed on either side of us, and Scales, handcuffed though he was, watching his opportunity, suddenly sprung aside, and dodging among the animals, gained the footpath, and ran townwards with the fleetness of a hare. Disengaging ourselves as quickly as possible from the cattle, we started in pursuit; but as we were encumbered with our rifles and knapsacks, we made but little headway, only managing to keep the fugitive in sight. We shouted to a few rustics to intercept him; but the yokels perceiving that it was only a soldier running away from an escort, greeted him instead with cries of encouragement. Suddenly, to my delight, a policeman appeared ahead, who spread out his arms and tried to catch the runaway; but Scales, dropping his head, butted him like a ram, and knocking over the guardian of the peace, turned to his right, and disappeared down a lane a little distance ahead. This lane led into a yard, which was situated at the back of a row of warehouses, and which was a _cul de sac_. Reinforced by the policeman, we followed close on the heels of the fugitive, feeling certain that as there were no means of exit, we would speedily capture him. Meeting at the entrance to the yard a drayman with his vehicle loaded with barrels, we eagerly asked him if he had seen a soldier.

‘Yes,’ the fellow replied with a grin; ‘I guess you will find him in the farthest cellar.’

We hastened in the direction indicated, but found, to our dismay, that the cellar door was securely padlocked, while the rusty condition of the hasp showed that it could not recently have been opened. The high wall that bounded the other side of the yard precluded the idea of the prisoner being able to scale it; so we stood for a moment, out of breath with excitement and our recent chase, perfectly perplexed with Scales’s unaccountable disappearance. Williams at this juncture began ominously to untie his packet of cartridges, and placed them loose in his ball-bag ready for use, in the eventuality of the fugitive, should we come across him, declining to surrender when ordered. Knowing the determined character of my comrade, I knew that Scales’s life, if he proved obdurate, would not be worth a pin’s fee. (In the days of the muzzle-loader, it was customary, I may mention, to carry loaded rifles while escorting prisoners; but since the introduction of the breech-loader, the practice has been discontinued.)

We searched the yard thoroughly, but found no signs of our man. All the cellar doors, like the first we examined, were closed. The warehouses referred to were principally used for the storage of grain; but owing to the war in progress, trade was interrupted with the Prussian towns in the Baltic, and little business being transacted, the buildings had in consequence been shut up. At last a light seemed to break upon the policeman, who exclaimed: ‘I’m blessed, sergeant, if I don’t think the cove wasn’t stowed in one of the drayman’s barrels!’

This idea seemed to explain Scales’s mysterious disappearance; so we started in the direction of the main road, and turning towards the town, found the drayman unloading barrels at the door of a public-house. The man, with volleys of the choicest Billingsgate, stoutly denied that he had afforded shelter to the fugitive; so, perceiving that it was useless wasting words on him, we again pursued our search, scarcely knowing in which direction to turn. Pursuant to my request, the constable proceeded to the police office to report the matter, in order to have the other members of the force put on the alert.

I was now in a terrible quandary. Trial by court-martial and reduction to the ranks, together with a possible sentence of imprisonment, for allowing the man to escape, stared me in the face; while imprisonment for Williams was a certainty. My chances of advancement in the service would be absolutely ruined, I reflected, if I did not recapture the man, so I resolved, when I had so much at stake, to continue the search, although I looked for him all night. It was no use hunting for Scales in the principal streets of the town, as these were patrolled by military police, intent on apprehending soldiers who showed the slightest symptom of having had an extra allowance of liquor; besides being ruthlessly down on delinquents who had a tunic button undone, or the chin strap not adjusted in the regulation position.

While I was mentally shaping out a course of action, my companion stopped and excitedly exclaimed: ‘I have it now, sergeant! I’ll bet ten to one he’s gone to old Nathan’s!’

‘I’m not sure of that,’ I remarked dubiously; ‘but at all events we’ll go and see.’

Nathan was a rascally old Jew, who, though he was rigorously kept out of barracks, carried on with the soldiers a brisk business in the sale of coarse, rank, contraband tobacco. He had ‘agents’ in the different regiments to further this branch of commerce; and one of his accredited representatives in ours was private Scales. Besides, the old rascal, although it had never been brought home to him, was suspected of purchasing articles of ‘kit’ from ne’er-do-wells, and supplying ragged plain clothes to deserters in exchange for their uniforms. We lost no time in making our way to the squalid alley in the slums near the harbour where the business establishment of Mr Nathan was located; and when we reached the Jew’s dirty little huckster’s shop, we found him weighing out a small quantity of a condiment resembling toffee to a couple of grimy children. Pausing until the juvenile customers had left the shop, I asked Nathan whether that afternoon he had received a visit from Mr Scales.

‘No, sergeant; no soldier hash been here,’ replied the Jew, who then continued in an undertone: ‘Can I do bishness wit you in some goot tobacco?’

I paid no heed to the old Israelite’s statement, and decided to inspect the premises myself, without any scruples as to the legality of that course of action. Placing Williams at the door with instructions to allow no one to pass in or out, I proceeded, in spite of the expostulations of Nathan and his threats to call the police, to carefully search the little back-room behind the shop. No one was there; so I ascended a rickety staircase, and finding the door at the top locked, I kicked it open; but the foul-smelling apartment into which the door led was plunged in utter darkness. Returning to the shop, I helped myself _sans cérémonie_ to one of a bunch of candles, and lighting it, returned to the upper room, which, on examination, proved to be a storehouse for the rags and bones in which the Jew dealt largely. I opened the shutters of the dirt-incrusted diamond-paned window, and probed with my gun-barrel every heap of rags; but, to my disappointment, the fugitive was not concealed in them. Suddenly, I perceived some glittering particles on the floor, which, on stooping to examine, I found to be bright iron filings! I was now filled with a feeling of exultation. Scales had apparently been to the Jew’s, and thus relieved of his handcuffs.

I once more examined the room. The window was apparently a fixture, and no one could make his exit without removing the sash. I next surveyed the roof, and perceived a trap-door giving access to the attics just large enough to allow a man to enter it. ‘My man is there right enough,’ I exclaimed to myself in great glee. I then shouted through the aperture: ‘I know you are there, Scales; it will be better for you if you come down at once.’ There was no response; so I decided to have the region explored. I called to Williams to keep a lookout for a policeman, and almost immediately my comrade shouted to me that he had secured the services of a constable. I thereupon summoned Williams to my assistance, leaving the Jew in charge of the policeman. Placing the rickety table under the trap, Williams speedily crawled through and gained the attic. Knowing the desperate character we had to deal with, I considered it expedient that my comrade should be prepared for an encounter; so I unfixed his bayonet, and handed it to him together with the lighted candle. Crawling over the creaking joists in the direction of the gable in which the window was fixed, Williams made a careful examination of the interior, while in the room below I waited with breathless excitement.

‘Anybody there?’ I cried.

‘One moment; I haven’t had time to see,’ Williams replied; and then began to search the opposite end. ‘Come out of that, you rascal!’ he at length indignantly shouted. ‘I’ve got him sergeant; he’s stowed in a corner!’

I then heard the fellow hiss out: ‘I’ve got a knife, and if you come near me, I’ll cut your throat, if I have to swing for it!’

Fearful of exposing my comrade to the peril of a hand-to-hand tussle with such a ruffian in the circumscribed area of the attic, I called Williams to the trap-door, and placing a cartridge in my Snider, I handed it to him. Then mounting the table, I thrust my head through the trap and held the candle. My blood was now up, and I determined to order the rascal to be shot if he refused to obey my commands.

‘Surrender, in the Queen’s name!’ I shouted.

There was no response; but the click of the lock of Williams’s rifle as he placed the hammer at full cock, must have been distinctly audible to the runaway.

‘If you don’t come out before I count five, you are a dead man.—One—two—three!’

‘Stop! For mercy’s sake, give me a chance!’ now pleaded the wretch in a husky whisper.

‘First throw your knife this way, and then come out.’

The villain tossed his knife to Williams, who threw it behind him to the other extremity of the attic; then leaving his retreat, he crawled towards us, and I was surprised to see by the dim light of the candle that he was attired in plain clothes. When he got near us, we were astonished beyond measure to find that he was not the man of whom we had been in search, but Scales’s companion the deserter, who had been suspected of rifling the officer’s room!

‘I own I took the things,’ confessed the man doggedly, seemingly anxious to make a clean breast of it; ‘but Scales helped me, and old Nathan put us both on the job’——

‘Scales has been here,’ I interrupted. ‘You may as well tell me what you know about him; it will be the better for you.’

‘Yes,’ replied the deserter, when he had dropped through the trap on the floor; ‘I got off his handcuffs, and here they are;’ scattering a heap of bones and displaying the ‘bracelets,’ each receptacle for the wrists being filed in two.

‘Now,’ I continued, ‘if you can give me any information that will enable me to catch Scales, I’ll report in your favour at headquarters. Perhaps it will save you something when you are tried.—Where is he now?’

‘Well, sergeant, Nathan gave him a suit of “plains,” and he went out. I don’t know where he has gone. But I don’t mind “rounding” on him, and I’ll tell you this: he’s to be back here to-night at twelve. Nathan’s to let him in by the little window that looks into the yard.’

We then descended the stair with our prisoner; and the man perceiving the Jew, broke away from us, exclaiming: ‘You old villain! if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have got into this!’ and before we could prevent him, struck the miserable Israelite a terrible blow. This act of castigation, under the circumstances, however, rather pleased me than otherwise.

Two additional policemen having been summoned, the deserter and Nathan were taken away in custody. When they had gone, I was rather amused when Williams informed me that, despite the Jew’s extreme trepidation, while I was examining his upper storey, his commercial proclivities did not for a moment desert him, as he attempted to open negotiations with the private regarding the purchase of his war medals.

Two detectives now arrived to search the premises; but of course this investigation did not lie within my province. No article of a criminating nature was found, however, except Scales’s uniform, which was concealed beneath the Jew’s filthy mattress. I lost no time in despatching my companion to an adjacent blacksmith’s shop, in order to have the divided parts of the handcuffs welded together; and this operation was completed within an hour.

It was now dark; the Jew’s house had been locked up by the police; so my companion and I turned into the back yard, in order to await the expected return of Scales. We first made sure that he was not concealed about the dilapidated outhouses, which consisted of a disused coal-cellar and shed. In the latter place we set a couple of boxes, and seating ourselves upon them, with our loaded rifles within reach, patiently awaited the return of the runaway—prepared, if need be, to give him a very warm reception. As the night wore on, the sky became clouded, while the oppressive heat was apparently the precursor of a thunderstorm. Suddenly, we were startled by a loud clap, followed almost immediately by a blinding flash of lightning, which, as we could see from our place of vantage, vividly lighted up the towering chalk cliffs that overhung the town. Then rain began to fall in torrents, and the decayed roof of the shed proving most indifferent shelter, we were compelled to put on our greatcoats. To add to our misery, the floor became a regular pool, occasioned by the overflow of a huge water-butt.

After a while the storm ceased as suddenly as it had begun; and being perfectly overpowered with fatigue and the day’s excitement, I fell fast asleep, and slumbered until Williams shook me up and informed me that the town clocks had struck twelve. Being stiff and chilled with the drenching I had received, I got on my feet and took a turn about the shed, keeping at the same time a wary eye on the wall, every minute expecting to see the form of the fugitive in the act of scaling it. The monotony of our vigil was now a little relieved by the appearance of the Jew’s cat, a large brindled animal, which came purring and rubbing against us. Williams took Puss in his arms and caressed her for some time; and when he got tired of this amusement, he stepped over to the water-butt and, acting on a sudden mischievous impulse, tossed the animal inside. To our surprise, a howl of pain proceeded from the interior of the cask; and upon investigation there stood our prisoner up to the neck in water! Williams had thrown the frightened cat with outstretched claws plump on his face. The poor wretch was stiff and numb with cramp, and was perfectly unable to get out of the butt. We then, with a heavy plank, stove it in near the bottom, and when it was empty, assisted Scales to the shed, where I made him at once strip off his wet clothes—with which Nathan had provided him—and assume his uniform. When the shivering wretch was able to speak, he informed us, that having returned sooner than arranged, and perceiving the arrest of the Jew and the deserter, he was so overcome with fright, that he took refuge in the water-butt, as no other place of concealment was available. At dusk, he was thinking of getting out of his uncomfortable hiding-place, when he was deterred by seeing us take up a position in the yard. He had, he asserted, been nearly drowned by the volumes of water that poured on his head during the thunderstorm, and confessed to having been terribly scared by the lightning—a circumstance, considering his situation, perhaps not to be wondered at. Also, he admitted, he had actually been concealed in an empty barrel on the drayman’s cart, and that the driver had further facilitated his escape by arranging with a fellow-wagoner to have him transferred to his vehicle and driven to the alley in which the Jew’s shop was situated.

In consideration of the trouble Scales had given us, I had but little sympathy with his sufferings, and put slender faith in his profuse promises to go with us quietly. Having replaced on his wrists the repaired handcuffs, of which the previous day he had managed to get relieved so speedily, I decided also, by way of making assurance doubly sure, to strap his arm to that of Williams.

We then set out in the direction of our destination; but Scales, even supposing he intended mischief, was too much played out to give any further trouble. At last, to my intense relief, we reached the prison at daybreak, and I handed Mr Scales over to the custody of a warder.

My comrade and I, after partaking of much-needed refreshment kindly offered us by one of the prison officials, returned to headquarters, where I lost no time in reporting the whole circumstances of the case to the adjutant.

That officer ordered the private and myself to appear before the commanding officer, a command which at ‘orderly hour’ we obeyed. The colonel administered to us—to speak paradoxically—a commendatory reprimand, alternately animadverting on the enormity of our offence in allowing the man to escape, and praising the qualities of courage and perseverance we had displayed in tracking and capturing him, together with the missing thief—‘Conduct,’ as the commanding officer was pleased to put it, ‘which is creditable to the British army in general, and the —th Regiment in particular.’

The Jew was committed for trial on a charge of receiving stolen property; but a day or two before the assizes, he committed suicide by strangling himself in his cell.

The deserter was handed over to the civil authorities, and received a long term of imprisonment: and a similar fate awaited Scales when his term in the military prison had expired. The case of the latter individual was further considered by the general, who cancelled his remission of Scales’s discharge with ignominy, so that Her Majesty’s —th Regiment of foot was happily enabled to get rid of a knave.

I may now relate my final experience with regard to the foregoing adventure. The sergeant of the barrack-guard reported the roughly repaired handcuffs to the orderly officer, who mentioned the matter in the return he sent to the orderly-room. The case was then remitted to the quartermaster, who had the handcuffs examined by the armourer; and that functionary having reported them unfit for service, I was mulcted in the sum required for a new pair. I paid the charge without grumbling, as, everything considered, I was heartily glad to get off so cheap.

MONEY LENT!

Young Sixty per Cent. flourishes in the off-streets of the Haymarket and Regent Street. From his babyhood, money has been the chief joy of his existence; his infant rattle jingled with silver coins, and at school he amassed a small fortune by lending shillings at frightfully usurious rates till ‘after the holidays.’ His chief study was arithmetic, and the supreme moment of his early life was when his father playfully gave him the complicated account of an earl of racing and theatrical tastes to make out, and he succeeded beyond all expectation, making such a beautifully innocent mistake of forty or fifty pounds on the side of the firm, that it was felt that such talent should no longer be wasted at the academy of Dr Birchington. He became a regular attendant at ‘the office,’ and at the age of twenty, knew as well as any one with twice his years the worth of any given name on stamped paper. He succeeded to the general control of the business, being assisted in the ornamental duties of the position by an elder brother, who had gone to the bad through the usual channels, but had always plenty of gossip and good stories for ‘clients.’

The office is a plain room, without picture or ornament, but covered with a rich soft carpet, and ‘upholstered’ in the very best taste. The desk is a very solid piece of mahogany, with different keys for every drawer, and with numerous secret recesses. Should the straits of fortune at any time drive you to seek the assistance of Sixty per Cent., it is into this room you will be ushered by the long-legged boy in the anteroom, who appears to divide his time between cracking nuts and casting up the figures in a disused ledger; but he has other uses, and if anybody should be foolish enough to cut up ‘rumbustical’ with the usurer, the youth has his orders. You will find Sixty per Cent. clean, well attired, and agreeable, seated at the desk; and your business proving satisfactory, you will be turned over to ‘my brother,’ who will regale you with some spicy anecdotes, an excellent glass of sherry, and a cigar, and such gossip of the town as may seem to be to your taste.

Meantime, the boy has been despatched to Berners Street to obtain information from certain lists in the possession of that mysterious body known as the T. P. S., which are open to the privileged in that thoroughfare; and Sixty per Cent. occupies himself with consulting the rack of books on his desk, containing Burke, Debrett, the Army List, the University Calendars, the Clergy List, &c., according to what may be your requirements; and when the boy has returned with satisfactory accounts of yourself or your securities, your signature on some neatly written slips of blue paper produces the cheque that relieves your necessities. ‘Not half a bad fellow,’ you tell your friends; and you are convinced he is the victim of prejudice. But woe betide you, should the time ever come when, the end of your tether reached, you plead delay or ask abatement of your bond! There is no mercy in that hawk face, pleasantly though it can smile; and the soft, well-kept hands can strike like a hawk’s talons when the occasion arises. There are times—usually early, before the ordinary hours of business—when Sixty per Cent. may be found in conversation at his office with a shady-looking individual who has ‘minion of the law’ stamped legibly on his countenance; and the tone in which the usurer utters such sentences as ‘Broke at Doncaster last week’—‘The writs are out already’—‘Sell him up, stock, lock, and barrel’—‘Going to bolt, I believe’—‘Hang his wife and family!’ &c., is rather different from the suave accents in which he usually addresses his clients.

He is fond of music, and is a pretty regular frequenter of the opera on Saturday nights during the season; and in the lobby, often manages to combine a little business with his pleasure, especially in the Epsom, Ascot, and Newmarket July weeks, when backers have had what is termed a facer. He sports a smart mail phaeton with a pair of high stepping bays; and as he drives round the park of an afternoon, he can impart a pretty considerable amount of information to any friend who happens to be with him regarding the occupants of the drags and victorias that they meet. He has his ‘bad times,’ like everybody else, and when, as occasionally happens, he has an enforced interview with one of Her Majesty’s judges, he is obliged to listen to some remarkably plain speaking in respect of his little transactions; and should a vaulting ambition induce him to seek membership in any more respectable club than the third-rate ‘proprietary pothouse,’ his _amour propre_ is liable to be considerably wounded by the extent of the ‘pilling’ he is subjected to. As a rule, however, he is early taught to ‘keep his place,’ and ‘recreates’ himself with gambling in stocks, buying old china, or breeding poultry; jingles the sovereigns in his pocket, and snaps his fingers at the world and its opinion.

PROFESSOR SHELDON ON BUTTERINE.

Professor Sheldon, who delivered an exhaustive paper on the ‘Butterine Question’ at a meeting of the Farmers’ Alliance, said that the quantity of butterine produced in Great Britain was not known, but was understood to be considerable; nor was the volume of imported butterine known before the beginning of 1885, because, up to the end of 1884, it was entered in the Board of Trade Returns under the heading of ‘butter.’ The weight of butterine imported in the four months ending April 1885 was 308,548 cwt., and in the corresponding months of the current year the volume of it had risen to 324,275 cwt. The quantity of butterine imported, at the rate of the past four months, amounts to one hundred and thirty tons a day, day in and day out, Sunday and Monday alike, or getting on towards fifty thousand tons a year; and this over and above what is produced in the United Kingdom. The effect of the enormous trade on the dairy-farming of this country may be easily imagined, and foreign dairy-farmers are also feeling the competition quite as keenly. The Professor admitted that butterine, when made in a proper way and from good materials, is a wholesome and useful article of food. He considered it beyond dispute that butter would have been outside the reach of a vast number of poor people, had not butterine come in as a substitute and lowered the price. He admitted that well-made butterine is a very tolerable substitute, though it is not butter in another form, as some would have us believe. The utilisation of surplus fat in the form of butterine was about the best possible way in which it could be used at all as an article of food and in a systematic manner. The clause relating to the penalties to be imposed upon retailers who sold butterine as butter, in the Butter Substitutes Bill before parliament, he considered the most important clause in the bill, as it concerned the men who had hitherto been the chief offenders.

YOUTH AND AGE.

YOUTH.

When I am old, these hills that bound
My life within their narrow round,
Will be the threshold of the door
That leads to Freedom and to Fame,
And the wide world beyond no more
An idle dream, an empty name;
But I, from cares and troubles free,
Its glories and its joys shall see.

The summer isles of southern seas;
Great battles, glorious victories;
The boundless prairies of the West,
Where red men hunt the buffalo;
Whatever fairest gifts and best
The gods have given to men below—
These, heart of mine, these shall we see
In the brave days that are to be.

AGE.

When I was young, this narrow round
Of hills a glorious world did bound;
Here, on the quiet valley floor,
I dreamed of Freedom and of Fame,
Ere yet I learned they were no more
Than a vain dream, an empty name;
In that glad careless long ago,
The happy hours seemed all too slow.

I have been wrecked in stormy seas;
Not mine life’s glorious victories;
Gone the bright spell on boyhood cast;
No more along the primrose way
I wander, for my paths have passed
To this sad world of everyday.
Ah, heart of mine, no more we know
The days and dreams of long ago!

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Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.

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_All Rights Reserved._

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[Transcriber’s note—the following changes have been made to this text:

Page 439: than to then—“by then having”.]