Chapter XVIII: Telegrams

Now, henceforth, I was to move on with a set and deadly purpose. Murder was in the air, and I was stalking it, a hooded falcon on my wrist. Though I knew only what the reader knows, I had the feeling that, were I once to loose the jess, some strange and unexpected quarry would be brought down from the skies. Mark is a significant name to the beasts of chase. In the meantime, awaiting the psychologic moment, I had reason to reflect that there is generally somewhere that flaw in the boldest criminal calculations which sooner or later will give the crime away. The wicked astute man thinks astuteness impossible to virtue--one of those mistakes of generalising which lead to accidents. He estimates _all_ goodness at credulity, _all_ vice at subtlety. Yet both Solomon and Sancho Panza were good men. Now, if for twenty years Mr Churton’s mouth had remained sealed from terror, why should that terror become suddenly inoperative in the twenty-first year? It is just the contempt for providing against such unforeseen contingencies which constitutes the flaws. But it would have been quite possible to close Mr Churton’s mouth at once and for ever at the beginning of things. Casual concessions to humanity are the weaknesses of all but Napoleonic criminals. Mr Dalston, then, it would appear, was not a Napoleonic criminal. He attached too much value, perhaps, to the mere terror of his personality.

I found, when I reached home, a very batch of telegrams awaiting me. They had arrived, it seemed, in pretty quick succession, and had been brought down from the house. The sight of them first astounded, then frightened me. I opened one with a shrinking, not to say a slinking, feeling about my backbone, and instantly collapsed into a chair. My sickest apprehensions were realised. It was from Johnny, and fatefully potential of entanglements. With a beating pulse I examined the rest of the batch, and gave a groan of despair. The wretched boy had got, it seemed, on the track of some preposterous chimera, and was off after his quarry with a whoop. It had been enough for him to gather (quite mistakenly) that Pugsley was an enemy to my (non-existent) pretensions. Henceforth every act of that dyspeptic cleric was open to suspicion. For what had I not in one reckless moment made myself responsible?

Suddenly, in the midst of my desperation, the picture of my friend, round and jocund, tiptoeing, tomahawk in hand, in the unconscious tracks of a poor evangelical missionary, rose before me and sent me off into a fit of helpless laughter. “Well,” I thought, when I had gasped myself sober, “the thing has started, and I’ve no means now of stopping it. I can only pray not to be included in its retributions.”

Its retributions, indeed! Not on that day alone, but through many days to follow, did those unconscionable telegrams come swooping upon me, in flights and swarms, a plague of devouring locusts, desecrating my green solitude, keeping me in a perpetual flurry between shame and hysterics. I thought I should never hear the end of them--of the tap of their arrival, of the story they unfolded, of the sort of inebriated phraseology in which they were couched. And when at last the visitation stopped suddenly, I could hardly credit my release. But it did come at length; and then, when I could breathe once more in self-confidence, I set to classifying the whole mad array, and to endeavouring to make a consistent tale out of it. Whether or not I have succeeded in my object, let the reader decide from the following:--

1. (Handed in at 12.10 P.M. Footover.) Watched house saw Tip emerge eleven small black handbag what containing thought suspicious followed tracked to station. The Eye.[1]

2. (Handed in at 12.15 P.M. Footover.) Still at station expect arrival Dog Tip at bookstall examining County Blue Book letter S funny. The Eye.

3. (Handed in at 2.2 P.M. Waterloo.) No Dog Tip took ticket Waterloo Eye also same compartment Tip opened bag took papers out and read manuscript convinced bearing on Button must get a look if possible Tip now at buffet cream buns and ginger-beer. The Eye.

4. (Handed in at 2.15 P.M. Waterloo.) Tip still buffet macaroons forgot woman and child in carriage Tip took child asked if saved mother said narrow squeak just pulled through measles Tip returned child hastily what meant perhaps more imposition always watchful Button’s interests best respects Heaven. The Eye.

5. (Handed in at 6.30 P.M. Waterloo Bridge Road.) Tip put up temperance hotel by bridge Eye also expect dine early cold beef and water watch lest creep out and drop bag in river no fear wine drugged no wine respects Point and Baa but perhaps better not how about duke and girl from Buffalo what price maple sugar hooty tooty. The Eye.

6. (Handed in at 9 A.M. Waterloo Bridge Road.) Troubled night room next Tip heard groaning thought wrestle with guilt but found with cold beef and water not assimilating at breakfast asked by Tip if saved inquired from what explained redeemed answered was pledge of affection and didn’t want to be jocosity resented no further advances never mind. The Eye.

7. (Handed in at 1 P.M. South Kensington.) Tip lunching bun shop cream crackers and lemonade kept in sight all day thought before starting slip up bedroom black bag but no good never parts with suspicion increasing what discount on Iagos. The Eye.

8. (Handed in at 2 P.M. Gloucester Road.) Tip just gone Natural History Museum appointment with Dog or what no attraction clergyman more to follow in haste. The Eye.

9. (Handed in at 2.30 P.M. Gloucester Road.) Rushed out for a moment Tip engaged fossil department giant tortoise making notes had to leave bag at door dynamite scare how to get it Tip eyeing the Eye suspicious fancies seen me before shouldn’t wonder but not certain. The Eye.

10. (Handed in at 3.30 P.M. Brompton Road.) Triumph bag mine Tip fetching out pencil from pocket dropped voucher which went for and returned to him but mine not his own never knew and thanked me what joke went and released bag and bolted not examined yet let Button know soon. The Eye.

11. (Handed in at 5 P.M. Charing Cross.) Afraid made mistake not Tip at all been following but strange clergyman must have been Tip’s guest name Drysalter papers in bag Locusts of Revelations considered in the light of prehistoric remains nothing else can’t fit to Button anyhow puzzled. The Eye.

12. (Handed in at 10.15 A.M. Charing Cross.) Decided better return bag stick counter Museum plead absence of mind wire again soon. The Eye.

13. (Handed in at 12 noon Gloucester Road.) Come at once detained pending arrival police Drysalter at counter when arrived mad about loss of notes listen no apology explained my voucher carried gold-mounted umbrella much more valuable didn’t mend things foamed threatens worst this by curator.

I omit, at this point, my comments on the situation. They lacked nothing in vigour because I was in a measure responsible for it. But I could not on that or any account abandon my friend to the consequences of his insane act. However, almost before I had time to look out a train to London, a final telegram arrived, acquainting me of his, and my release, thus:--

Hasten inform free much difficulty tried impress with grafto only effect Drysalter said might prove useful Wormwood Scrubbs declared saved since reading Revelations considered giant tortoise somewhat softened compromised finally with gift of hundred pounds to Society for promoting abstemiousness among total abstainers coming back to-morrow.

Not if I could prevent it. There and then I sat down to indite him twenty reasons for his staying for the present where he was. They might convince, or only wound him. I could not help it. It was out of the question having him actively interesting himself any more in my affairs, and at this crisis of them. His answer, in fact, when it came, showed him a little hurt--poor Johnny. There was a consciousness, a reproach in it of exile from more than my company. Well, I couldn’t help that either.