V.
THE QUINTON JEWEL AFFAIR.
It was comparatively rarely that Hewitt came into contact with members ofthe regular criminal class--those, I mean, who are thieves, of one sort oranother, by exclusive profession. Still, nobody could have been betterprepared than Hewitt for encountering this class when it became necessary.By some means, which I never quite understood, he managed to keep abreastof the very latest fashions in the ever-changing slang dialect of thefraternity, and he was a perfect master of the more modern and debasedform of Romany. So much so that frequently a gypsy who began (as theyalways do) by pretending that he understood nothing, and never heard of agypsy language, ended by confessing that Hewitt could _rokker_ better thanmost Romany _chals_ themselves.
By this acquaintance with their habits and talk Hewitt was sometimes ableto render efficient service in cases of especial importance. In theQuinton jewel affair Hewitt came into contact with a very accomplishedthief.
The case will probably be very well remembered. Sir Valentine Quinton,before he married, had been as poor as only a man of rank with an oldcountry establishment to keep up can be. His marriage, however, with thedaughter of a wealthy financier had changed all that, and now the Quintonestablishment was carried on on as lavish a scale as might be; and,indeed, the extravagant habits of Lady Quinton herself rendered it anextremely lucky thing that she had brought a fortune with her.
Among other things her jewels made quite a collection, and chief amongthem was the great ruby, one of the very few that were sent to thiscountry to be sold (at an average price of somewhere about twenty thousandpounds apiece, I believe) by the Burmese king before the annexation of hiscountry. Let but a ruby be of a great size and color, and no equally finediamond can approach its value. Well, this great ruby (which was set in apendant, by the by), together with a necklace, brooches, bracelets,ear-rings--indeed, the greater part of Lady Quinton's collection--werestolen. The robbery was effected at the usual time and in the usual way incases of carefully planned jewelry robberies. The time was earlyevening--dinner-time, in fact--and an entrance had been made by the windowto Lady Quinton's dressing-room, the door screwed up on the inside, andwires artfully stretched about the grounds below to overset anybody whomight observe and pursue the thieves.
On an investigation by London detectives, however, a feature ofsingularity was brought to light. There had plainly been only one thief atwork at Radcot Hall, and no other had been inside the grounds. Alone hehad planted the wires, opened the window, screwed the door, and picked thelock of the safe. Clearly this was a thief of the most accomplisheddescription.
Some few days passed, and, although the police had made various arrests,they appeared to be all mistakes, and the suspected persons were releasedone after another. I was talking of the robbery with Hewitt at lunch, andasked him if he had received any commission to hunt for the missingjewels.
"No," Hewitt replied, "I haven't been commissioned. They are offering animmense reward however--a very pleasant sum, indeed. I have had a shortnote from Radcot Hall informing me of the amount, and that's all. Probablythey fancy that I may take the case up as a speculation, but that is agreat mistake. I'm not a beginner, and I must be commissioned in a regularmanner, hit or miss, if I am to deal with the case. I've quite enoughcommissions going now, and no time to waste hunting for a problematicalreward."
But we were nearer a clue to the Quinton jewels than we then supposed.
We talked of other things, and presently rose and left the restaurant,strolling quietly toward home. Some little distance from the Strand, andnear our own door, we passed an excited Irishman--without doubt anIrishman by appearance and talk--who was pouring a torrent of angrycomplaints in the ears of a policeman. The policeman obviously thoughtlittle of the man's grievances, and with an amused smile appeared to beadvising him to go home quietly and think no more about it. We passed onand mounted our stairs. Something interesting in our conversation made mestop for a little while at Hewitt's office door on my way up, and, while Istood there, the Irishman we had seen in the street mounted the stairs. Hewas a poorly dressed but sturdy-looking fellow, apparently a laborer, in abadly-worn best suit of clothes. His agitation still held him, and withouta pause he immediately burst out:
"Which of ye jintlemen will be Misther Hewitt, sor?"
"This is Mr. Hewitt," I said. "Do you want him?"
"It's protecshin I want, sor--protecshin! I spake to the polis, an' theylaff at me, begob. Foive days have I lived in London, an' 'tis nothin' butbattle, murdher, an' suddhen death for me here all day an' ivery day! An'the polis say I'm dhrunk!"
He gesticulated wildly, and to me it seemed just possible that the policemight be right.
"They say I'm drunk, sor," he continued, "but, begob, I b'lieve they thinkI'm mad. An' me being thracked an' folleyed an' dogged an' waylaid an'poisoned an' blandandhered an' kidnapped an' murdhered, an' for why I donot know!"
"And who's doing all this?'
"Sthrangers, sor--sthrangers. 'Tis a sthranger here I am mesilf, an' fwythey do it bates me, onless I do be so like the Prince av Wales or othercrowned head they thry to slaughter me. They're layin' for me in thesthreet now, I misdoubt not, and fwat they may thry next I can tell nomore than the Lord Mayor. An' the polis won't listen to me!"
This, I thought, must be one of the very common cases of mentalhallucination which one hears of every day--the belief of the suffererthat he is surrounded by enemies and followed by spies. It is probably themost usual delusion of the harmless lunatic.
"But what have these people done?" Hewitt asked, looking ratherinterested, although amused. "What actual assaults have they committed,and when? And who told you to come here?"
"Who towld me, is ut? Who but the payler outside--in the street below! Iexplained to 'um, an' sez he: 'Ah, you go an' take a slape,' sez he; 'yougo an' take a good slape, an' they'll be all gone whin ye wake up.' 'Butthey'll murdher me,' sez I. 'Oh, no!' sez he, smilin' behind av his uglyface. 'Oh, no, they won't; you take ut aisy, me frind, an' go home!' 'Takeit aisy, is ut, an' go home!' sez I; 'why, that's just where they've beenlast, a-ruinationin' an' a-turnin' av the place upside down, an' me strookon the head onsensible a mile away. Take ut aisy, is ut, ye say, whin allthe demons in this unholy place is jumpin' on me every minut in placespromiscuous till I can't tell where to turn, descendin' an' vanishin'marvelious an' onaccountable? Take ut aisy, is ut?' sez I. 'Well, mefrind,' sez he, 'I can't help ye; that's the marvelious an' onaccountabledepartmint up the stairs forninst ye. Misther Hewitt ut is,' sez he, 'thatattinds to the onaccountable departmint, him as wint by a minut ago. Yougo an' bother him.' That's how I was towld, sor."
Hewitt smiled.
"Very good," he said; "and now what are these extraordinary troubles ofyours? Don't declaim," he added, as the Irishman raised his hand andopened his mouth, preparatory to another torrent of complaint; "just sayin ten words, if you can, what they've done to you."
"I will, sor. Wan day had I been in London, sor--wan day only, an' a lowscutt thried to poison me dhrink; next day some udther thief av sin shovedme off av a railway platform undher a train, malicious and purposeful;glory be, he didn't kill me! but the very docther that felt me bonesthried to pick me pockut, I du b'lieve. Sunday night I was grabbedoutrageous in a darrk turnin', rowled on the groun', half strangled, an'me pockuts nigh ripped out av me trousies. An' this very blessed mornin'av light I was strook onsensible an' left a livin' corpse, an' my lodgin'spenethrated an' all the thruck mishandled an' bruk up behind me back. Isthat a panjandhery for the polis to laff at, sor?"
Had Hewitt not been there I think I should have done my best to quiet thepoor fellow with a few soothing words and to persuade him to go home tohis friends. His excited and rather confused manner, his fantastic storyof a sort of general conspiracy to kill him, and the absurd reference tothe doctor who tried to pick his pocket seemed to me plainly to confirm myfirst impression that he was insane. But Hewitt appeared strangelyinterested.
"Did t
hey steal anything?" he asked.
"Divil a shtick but me door-key, an' that they tuk home an' lift in thedoor."
Hewitt opened his office door.
"Come in," he said, "and tell me all about this. You come, too, Brett."
The Irishman and I followed him into the inner office, where, shutting thedoor, Hewitt suddenly turned on the Irishman and exclaimed sharply: "_Thenyou've still got it_?"
He looked keenly in the man's eyes, but the only expression there was oneof surprise.
"Got ut?" said the Irishman. "Got fwhat, sor? Is ut you're thinkin' I'vegot the horrors, as well as the polis?"
Hewitt's gaze relaxed. "Sit down, sit down!" he said. "You've still gotyour watch and money, I suppose, since you weren't robbed?"
"Oh, that? Glory be, I have ut still! though for how long--or me own head,for that matter--in this state of besiegement, I can not say."
"Now," said Hewitt, "I want a full, true, and particular account ofyourself and your doings for the last week. First, your name?"
"Leamy's my name, sor--Michael Leamy."
"Lately from Ireland?"
"Over from Dublin this last blessed Wednesday, and a crooil badpoundherin' tit was in the boat, too--shpakin'av that same."
"Looking for work?"
"That is my purshuit at prisint, sor."
"Did anything noticeable happen before these troubles of yoursbegan--anything here in London or on the journey?"
"Sure," the Irishman smiled, "part av the way I thraveled first-class byfavor av the gyard, an' I got a small job before I lift the train."
"How was that? Why did you travel first-class part of the way?"
"There was a station fwhere we shtopped afther a long run, an' I got downto take the cramp out av me joints, an' take a taste av dhrink. Iover-shtayed somehow, an', whin I got to the train, begob, it was on themove. There was a first-class carr'ge door opin right forninst me, an'into that the gyard crams me holus-bolus. There was a juce of a foinejintleman sittin' there, an' he stares at me umbrageous, but I was notdishcommoded, bein' onbashful by natur'. We thravelled along a heap avmiles more, till we came near London. Afther we had shtopped at a stationwhere they tuk tickets we wint ahead again, an' prisintly, as we ripsthrough some udther station, up jumps the jintleman opposite, swearin'hard undher his tongue, an' looks out at the windy. 'I thought this trainshtopped here,' sez he."
"Chalk Farm," observed Hewitt, with a nod.
"The name I do not know, sor, but that's fwhat he said. Then he looks atme onaisy for a little, an' at last he sez: 'Wud ye loike a small job, megood man, well paid?'
"'Faith,' sez I, ''tis that will suit me well.'
"'Then, see here,' sez he, 'I should have got out at that station, havin'particular business; havin' missed, I must sen' a telegrammer from Euston.Now, here's a bag,' sez he, 'a bag full of imporrtant papers for mysolicitor--imporrtant to me, ye ondershtand, not worth the shine av abrass farden to a sowl else--an' I want 'em tuk on to him. Take you thisbag,' he sez, 'an' go you straight out wid it at Euston an' get a cab. Ishall stay in the station a bit to see to the telegrammer. Dhrive out avthe station, across the road outside, an' wait there five minuts by theclock. Ye ondershtand? Wait five minuts, an, maybe I'll come an' join ye.If I don't 'twill be bekase I'm detained onexpected, an' then ye'll dhriveto my solicitor straight. Here's his address, if ye can read writin',' an'he put ut on a piece av paper. He gave me half-a-crown for the cab, an' Ituk his bag."
"One moment--have you the paper with the address now?"
"I have not, sor. I missed ut afther the blayguards overset me yesterday;but the solicitor's name was Hollams, an' a liberal jintleman wid hismoney he was, too, by that same token."
"What was his address?"
"'Twas in Chelsea, and 'twas Gold or Golden something, which I know by thegood token av fwhat he gave me; but the number I misremember."
Hewitt turned to his directory. "Gold Street is the place, probably," hesaid, "and it seems to be a street chiefly of private houses. You would beable to point out the house if you were taken there, I suppose?"
"I should that, sor; indade, I was thinkin' av goin' there an' tellin'Misther Hollams all my throubles, him havin' been so kind."
"Now tell me exactly what instructions the man in the train gave you, andwhat happened?"
"He sez: 'You ask for Misther Hollams, an' see nobody else. Tell him ye'vebrought the sparks from Misther W.'"
I fancied I could see a sudden twinkle in Hewitt's eye, but he made noother sign, and the Irishman proceeded.
"'Sparks?' sez I. 'Yes, sparks,' sez he. 'Misther Hollams will know; 'tisour jokin' word for 'em; sometimes papers is sparks when they set alawsuit ablaze,' and he laffed. 'But be sure ye say the _sparks fromMisther W._,' he sez again, 'bekase then he'll know ye're jinuine an'he'll pay ye han'some. Say Misther W. sez you're to have your reg'lars, ifye like. D'ye mind that?'
"'Ay,' sez I, 'that I'm to have my reg'lars.'
"Well, sor, I tuk the bag and wint out of the station, tuk the cab, an'did all as he towld me. I waited the foive minuts, but he niver came, sooff I druv to Misther Hollams, and he threated me han'some, sor."
"Yes, but tell me exactly all he did."
"'Misther Hollams, sor?' sez I. 'Who are ye?' sez he. 'Mick Leamy, sor,'sez I, 'from Misther W. wid the sparks.' 'Oh,' sez he, 'thin come in.' Iwint in. 'They're in here, are they?' sez he, takin' the bag. 'They are,sor,' sez I, 'an' Misther W. sez I'm to have me reg'lars.' 'You shall,'sez he. 'What shall we say, now--afinnip?' 'Fwhat's that, sor?' sez I.'Oh,' sez he, 'I s'pose ye're a new hand; five quid--ondershtand that?'"
"Begob, I did ondershtand it, an' moighty plazed I was to have come to aplace where they pay five-pun' notes for carryin' bags. So whin he askedme was I new to London an' shud I kape in the same line av business, Itowld him I shud for certin, or any thin' else payin' like it. 'Right,'sez he; 'let me know whin ye've got any thin'--ye'll find me all right.'An' he winked frindly. 'Faith, that I know I shall, sor,' sez I, wid themoney safe in me pockut; an' I winked him back, conjanial. 'I've a smartfamily about me,' sez he, 'an' I treat 'em all fair an' liberal.' An',saints, I thought it likely his family 'ud have all they wanted, seein' hewas so free-handed wid a stranger. Thin he asked me where I was a livin'in London, and, when I towld him nowhere, he towld me av a room in MussonStreet, here by Drury Lane, that was to let, in a house his fam'ly knewvery well, an' I wint straight there an' tuk ut, an' there I do be stayin'still, sor."
I hadn't understood at first why Hewitt took so much interest in theIrishman's narrative, but the latter part of it opened my eyes a little.It seemed likely that Leamy had, in his innocence, been made a conveyer ofstolen property. I knew enough of thieves' slang to know that "sparks"meant diamonds or other jewels; that "regulars" was the term used for apayment made to a brother thief who gave assistance in some small way,such as carrying the booty; and that the "family" was the time-honoredexpression for a gang of thieves.
"This was all on Wednesday, I understand," said Hewitt. "Now tell me whathappened on Thursday--the poisoning, or drugging, you know?"
"Well, sor, I was walking out, an' toward the evenin' I lost mesilf. Upcomes a man, seemin'ly a sthranger, and shmacks me on the showldher. 'Why,Mick!' sez he; 'it's Mick Leamy, I du b'lieve!'
"'I am that,' sez I, 'but you I do not know.'
"'Not know me?' sez he. 'Why, I wint to school wid ye.' An' wid that hehauls me off to a bar, blarneyin' and minowdherin', an' orders dhrinks.
"Can ye rache me a poipe-loight?' sez he, an' I turned to get ut, but,lookin' back suddent, there was that onblushin' thief av the warl' tippin'a paperful of phowder stuff into me glass."
"What did you do?" Hewitt asked.
"I knocked the dhirty face av him, sor, an' can ye blame me? A mane scutt,thryin' for to poison a well-manin' sthranger. I knocked the face av him,an' got away home."
"Now the next misfortune?"
"Faith, that was av a sort likely to turn out the last of all misfortunes
.I wint that day to the Crystial Palace, bein' dishposed for a littlesphort, seein' as I was new to London. Comin' home at night, there was ajuce av a crowd on the station platform, consekins of a late thrain.Sthandin' by the edge av the platform at the fore end, just as thrain camein, some onvisible murdherer gives me a stupenjus drive in the back, andover I wint on the line, mid-betwixt the rails. The engine came up an'wint half over me widout givin' me a scratch, bekase av my centraleoussituation, an' then the porther-men pulled me out, nigh sick wid fright,sor, as ye may guess. A jintleman in the crowd sings out: 'I'm a medicalman!' an' they tuk me in the waitin'-room, an' he investigated me, havin'turned everybody else out av the room. There wuz no bones bruk, glory be!and the docthor-man he was tellin' me so, after feelin' me over, whin Ifelt his hand in me waistcoat pockut.
"'An' fwhat's this, sor?' sez I. 'Do you be lookin' for your fee thatthief's way?'
"He laffed, and said: 'I want no fee from ye, me man, an' I did but feelyour ribs,' though on me conscience he had done that undher me waistcoatalready. An' so I came home."
"What did they do to you on Saturday?"
"Saturday, sor, they gave me a whole holiday, and I began to think less ofthings; but on Saturday night, in a dark place, two blayguards tuk methroat from behind, nigh choked me, flung me down, an' wint through all mepockuts in about a quarter av a minut."
"And they took nothing, you say?"
"Nothing, sor. But this mornin' I got my worst dose. I was trapesing alongdistreshful an' moighty sore, in a street just away off the Strand here,when I obsarved the docthor-man that was at the Crystial Palace stationa-smilin' an' beckonin' at me from a door.
"'How are ye now?' sez he. 'Well,' sez I, 'I'm moighty sore an' sadbruised,' sez I. 'Is that so?' sez he. 'Sthep in here.' So I sthepped in,an' before I could wink there dhropped a crack on the back av me head thatsent me off as unknowledgable as a corrpse. I knew no more for a while,sor, whether half an hour or an hour, an' thin I got up in a room av theplace, marked 'To Let.' 'Twas a house full av offices, by the same token,like this. There was a sore bad lump on me head--see ut, sor?--an' thewhole warl' was shpinnin' roun' rampageous. The things out av me pockutswere lyin' on the flure by me--all barrin' the key av me room. So that thedemons had been through me posseshins again, bad luck to 'em."
"You are quite sure, are you, that everything was there except the key?"Hewitt asked.
"Certin, sor? Well, I got along to me room, sick an' sorry enough, an'doubtsome whether I might get in wid no key. But there was the key in theopen door, an', by this an' that, all the shtuff in the room--chair,table, bed, an' all--was shtandin' on their heads twisty-ways, an' thebedclothes an' every thin' else; such a disgraceful stramash avconglomerated thruck as ye niver dhreamt av. The chist av drawers waslyin' on uts face, wid all the dhrawers out an' emptied on the flure.'Twas as though an arrmy had been lootin', sor!"
"But still nothing was gone?"
"Nothin', so far as I investigated, sor. But I didn't shtay. I came out tospake to the polis, an' two av them laffed at me--wan afther another!"
"It has certainly been no laughing matter for you. Now, tell me--have youanything in your possession--documents, or valuables, or anything--thatany other person, to your knowledge, is anxious to get hold of!"
"I have not, sor--divil a document! As to valuables, thim an' me is thecowldest av sthrangers."
"Just call to mind, now, the face of the man who tried to put powder inyour drink, and that of the doctor who attended to you in the railwaystation. Were they at all alike, or was either like anybody you have seenbefore?"
Leamy puckered his forehead and thought.
"Faith," he said presently, "they were a bit alike, though one had a beardan' the udther whiskers only."
"Neither happened to look like Mr. Hollams, for instance?"
Leamy started. "Begob, but they did! They'd ha' been mortal like him ifthey'd been shaved." Then, after a pause, he suddenly added: "Holy saints!is ut the fam'ly he talked av?"
Hewitt laughed. "Perhaps it is," he said. "Now, as to the man who sent youwith the bag. Was it an old bag?"
"Bran' cracklin' new--a brown leather bag."
"Locked?"
"That I niver thried, sor. It was not my consarn."
"True. Now, as to this Mr. W. himself." Hewitt had been rummaging for somefew minutes in a portfolio, and finally produced a photograph, and held itbefore the Irishman's eye. "Is that like him?" he asked.
"Shure it's the man himself! Is he a friend av yours, sor?"
"No, he's not exactly a friend of mine," Hewitt answered, with a grimchuckle. "I fancy he's one of that very respectable _family_ you heardabout at Mr. Hollams'. Come along with me now to Chelsea, and see if youcan point out that house in Gold Street. I'll send for a cab."
He made for the outer office, and I went with him.
"What is all this, Hewitt?" I asked. "A gang of thieves with stolenproperty?"
Hewitt looked in my face and replied: "_It's the Quinton ruby_!"
"What! The ruby? Shall you take the case up, then?"
"I shall. It is no longer a speculation."
"Then do you expect to find it at Hollams' house in Chelsea?" I asked.
"No, I don't, because it isn't there--else why are they trying to get itfrom this unlucky Irishman? There has been bad faith in Hollams' gang, Iexpect, and Hollams has missed the ruby and suspects Leamy of having takenit from the bag."
"Then who is this Mr. W. whose portrait you have in your possession?"
"See here!" Hewitt turned over a small pile of recent newspapers andselected one, pointing at a particular paragraph. "I kept that in my mind,because to me it seemed to be the most likely arrest of the lot," he said.
It was an evening paper of the previous Thursday, and the paragraph was avery short one, thus:
"The man Wilks, who was arrested at Euston Station yesterday, inconnection with the robbery of Lady Quinton's jewels, has been released,nothing being found to incriminate him."
"How does that strike you?" asked Hewitt. "Wilks is a man well known tothe police--one of the most accomplished burglars in this country, infact. I have had no dealings with him as yet, but I found means, some timeago, to add his portrait to my little collection, in case I might want it,and to-day it has been quite useful."
The thing was plain now. Wilks must have been bringing his booty to town,and calculated on getting out at Chalk Farm and thus eluding the watchwhich he doubtless felt pretty sure would be kept (by telegraphicinstruction) at Euston for suspicious characters arriving from thedirection of Radcot. His transaction with Leamy was his only possibleexpedient to save himself from being hopelessly taken with the swag in hispossession. The paragraph told me why Leamy had waited in vain for "Mr.W." in the cab.
"What shall you do now?" I asked.
"I shall go to the Gold Street house and find out what I can as soon asthis cab turns up."
There seemed a possibility of some excitement in the adventure, so Iasked: "Will you want any help?"
Hewitt smiled. "I _think_ I can get through it alone," he said.
"Then may I come to look on?" I said. "Of course I don't want to be inyour way, and the result of the business, whatever it is, will be to yourcredit alone. But I am curious."
"Come, then, by all means. The cab will be a four-wheeler, and there willbe plenty of room."
* * * * *
Gold Street was a short street of private houses of very fair size and ofa half-vanished pretension to gentility. We drove slowly through, andLeamy had no difficulty in pointing out the house wherein he had been paidfive pounds for carrying a bag. At the end the cab turned the corner andstopped, while Hewitt wrote a short note to an official of Scotland Yard.
"Take this note," he instructed Leamy, "to Scotland Yard in the cab, andthen go home. I will pay the cabman now."
"I will, sor. An' will I be protected?"
"Oh, yes! Stay at home for the rest of the day, and I expect you'l
l beleft alone in future. Perhaps I shall have something to tell you in a dayor two; if I do, I'll send. Good-by."
The cab rolled off, and Hewitt and I strolled back along Gold Street. "Ithink," Hewitt said, "we will drop in on Mr. Hollams for a few minuteswhile we can. In a few hours I expect the police will have him, and hishouse, too, if they attend promptly to my note."
"Have you ever seen him?"
"Not to my knowledge, though I may know him by some other name. Wilks Iknow by sight, though he doesn't know me."
"What shall we say?"
"That will depend on circumstances. I may not get my cue till the dooropens, or even till later. At worst, I can easily apply for a reference asto Leamy, who, you remember, is looking for work."
But we were destined not to make Mr. Hollams' acquaintance, after all. Aswe approached the house a great uproar was heard from the lower partgiving on to the area, and suddenly a man, hatless, and with a sleeve ofhis coat nearly torn away burst through the door and up the area steps,pursued by two others. I had barely time to observe that one of thepursuers carried a revolver, and that both hesitated and retired on seeingthat several people were about the street, when Hewitt, gripping my armand exclaiming: "That's our man!" started at a run after the fugitive.
We turned the next corner and saw the man thirty yards before us, walking,and pulling up his sleeve at the shoulder, so as to conceal the rent.Plainly he felt safe from further molestation.
"That's Sim Wilks," Hewitt explained, as we followed, "the 'juce of afoine jintleman' who got Leamy to carry his bag, and the man who knowswhere the Quinton ruby is, unless I am more than usually mistaken. Don'tstare after him, in case he looks round. Presently, when we get into thebusier streets, I shall have a little chat with him."
But for some time the man kept to the back streets. In time, however, heemerged into the Buckingham Palace Road, and we saw him stop and look at ahat-shop. But after a general look over the window and a glance in at thedoor he went on.
"Good sign!" observed Hewitt; "got no money with him--makes it easier forus."
In a little while Wilks approached a small crowd gathered about a womanfiddler. Hewitt touched my arm, and a few quick steps took us past our manand to the opposite side of the crowd. When Wilks emerged, he met uscoming in the opposite direction.
"What, Sim!" burst out Hewitt with apparent delight. "I haven't piped yourmug[A] for a stretch;[B] I thought you'd fell.[C] Where's your cady?"[D]
[Footnote A: Seen your face.]
[Footnote B: A year.]
[Footnote C: Been imprisoned.]
[Footnote D: Hat.]
Wilks looked astonished and suspicious. "I don't know you," he said."You've made a mistake."
Hewitt laughed. "I'm glad you don't know me," he said. "If you don't, I'mpretty sure the reelers[A] won't. I think I've faked my mug pretty well,and my clobber,[B] too. Look here: I'll stand you a new cady. Strangeblokes don't do that, eh?"
[Footnote A: Police.]
[Footnote B: Clothes.]
Wilks was still suspicious. "I don't know what you mean," he said. Then,after a pause, he added: "Who are you, then?"
Hewitt winked and screwed his face genially aside. "Hooky!" he said. "I'vehad a lucky touch[A] and I'm Mr. Smith till I've melted the pieces.[B] Youcome and damp it."
[Footnote A: Robbery.]
[Footnote B: Spent the money.]
"I'm off," Wilks replied. "Unless you're pal enough to lend me a quid," headded, laughing.
"I am that," responded Hewitt, plunging his hand in his pocket. "I'mflush, my boy, flush, and I've been wetting it pretty well to-day. I feelpretty jolly now, and I shouldn't wonder if I went home cannon.[A] Only aquid? Have two, if you want 'em--or three; there's plenty more, and you'lldo the same for me some day. Here y'are."
[Footnote A: Drunk.]
Hewitt had, of a sudden, assumed the whole appearance, manners, andbearing of a slightly elevated rowdy. Now he pulled his hand from hispocket and extended it, full of silver, with five or six sovereignsinterspersed, toward Wilks.
"I'll have three quid," Wilks said, with decision, taking the money; "butI'm blowed if I remember you. Who's your pal?"
Hewitt jerked his hand in my direction, winked, and said, in a low voice:"He's all right. Having a rest. Can't stand Manchester," and winked again.
Wilks laughed and nodded, and I understood from that that Hewitt had veryflatteringly given me credit for being "wanted" by the Manchester police.
We lurched into a public house, and drank a very little very bad whiskyand water. Wilks still regarded us curiously, and I could see him againand again glancing doubtfully in Hewitt's face. But the loan of threepounds had largely reassured him. Presently Hewitt said:
"How about our old pal down in Gold Street? Do anything with him now? Seenhim lately?"
Wilks looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.
"That's a good job. It 'ud be awkward if you were about there to-day, Ican tell you."
"Why?"
"Never mind, so long as you're not there. I know something, if I _have_been away. I'm glad I haven't had any truck with Gold Street lately,that's all."
"D'you mean the reelers are on it?"
Hewitt looked cautiously over his shoulder, leaned toward Wilks, and said:"Look here: this is the straight tip. I know this--I got it from the verynark[A] that's given the show away: By six o'clock No. 8 Gold Street willbe turned inside out, like an old glove, and everyone in the place willbe----" He finished the sentence by crossing his wrists like a handcuffedman. "What's more," he went on, "they know all about what's gone on therelately, and everybody that's been in or out for the last two moons[B] willbe wanted particular--and will be found, I'm told." Hewitt concluded witha confidential frown, a nod, and a wink, and took another mouthful ofwhisky. Then he added, as an after-thought: "So I'm glad you haven't beenthere lately."
[Footnote A: Police spy.]
[Footnote B: Months.]
Wilks looked in Hewitt's face and asked: "Is that straight?"
"_Is_ it?" replied Hewitt with emphasis. "You go and have a look, if youain't afraid of being smugged yourself. Only _I_ shan't go near No. 8 justyet--I know that."
Wilks fidgeted, finished his drink, and expressed his intention of going."Very well, if you _won't_ have another----" replied Hewitt. But he hadgone.
"Good!" said Hewitt, moving toward the door; "he has suddenly developed ahurry. I shall keep him in sight, but you had better take a cab and gostraight to Euston. Take tickets to the nearest station toRadcot--Kedderby, I think it is--and look up the train arrangements. Don'tshow yourself too much, and keep an eye on the entrance. Unless I ammistaken, Wilks will be there pretty soon, and I shall be on his heels. IfI _am_ wrong, then you won't see the end of the fun, that's all."
Hewitt hurried after Wilks, and I took the cab and did as he wished. Therewas an hour and a few minutes, I found, to wait for the next train, andthat time I occupied as best I might, keeping a sharp lookout across thequadrangle. Barely five minutes before the train was to leave, and just asI was beginning to think about the time of the next, a cab dashed up andHewitt alighted. He hurried in, found me, and drew me aside into a recess,just as another cab arrived.
"Here he is," Hewitt said. "I followed him as far as Euston Road and thengot my cabby to spurt up and pass him. He had had his mustache shaved off,and I feared you mightn't recognize him, and so let him see you."
From our retreat we could see Wilks hurry into the booking-office. Wewatched him through to the platform and followed. He wasted no time, butmade the best of his way to a third-class carriage at the extreme fore endof the train.
"We have three minutes," Hewitt said, "and everything depends on his notseeing us get into this train. Take this cap. Fortunately, we're both intweed suits."
He had bought a couple of tweed cricket caps, and these we assumed,sending our "bowler" hats to the cloak-room. Hewitt also put on a pair ofblue spectacles, and then walked boldly up the platform and entere
d afirst-class carriage. I followed close on his heels, in such a manner thata person looking from the fore end of the train would be able to see butvery little of me.
"So far so good," said Hewitt, when we were seated and the train began tomove off. "I must keep a lookout at each station, in case our friend goesoff unexpectedly."
"I waited some time," I said; "where did you both go to?"
"First he went and bought that hat he is wearing. Then he walked somedistance, dodging the main thoroughfares and keeping to the back streetsin a way that made following difficult, till he came to a little tailor'sshop. There he entered and came out in a quarter of an hour with his coatmended. This was in a street in Westminster. Presently he worked his wayup to Tothill Street, and there he plunged into a barber's shop. I took acautious peep at the window, saw two or three other customers alsowaiting, and took the opportunity to rush over to a 'notion' shop and buythese blue spectacles, and to a hatter's for these caps--of which I regretto observe that yours is too big. He was rather a long while in thebarber's, and finally came out, as you saw him, with no mustache. This wasa good indication. It made it plainer than ever that he had believed mywarning as to the police descent on the house in Gold Street and itsfrequenters; which was right and proper, for what I told him was quitetrue. The rest you know. He cabbed to the station, and so did I."
"And now perhaps," I said, "after giving me the character of a thiefwanted by the Manchester police, forcibly depriving me of my hat inexchange for this all-too-large cap, and rushing me off out of Londonwithout any definite idea of when I'm coming back, perhaps you'll tell mewhat we're after?"
Hewitt laughed. "You wanted to join in, you know," he said, "and you musttake your luck as it comes. As a matter of fact there is scarcely anythingin my profession so uninteresting and so difficult as this watching andfollowing business. Often it lasts for weeks. When we alight, we shallhave to follow Wilks again, under the most difficult possible conditions,in the country. There it is often quite impossible to follow a manunobserved. It is only because it is the only way that I am undertaking itnow. As to what we're after, you know that as well as I--the Quinton ruby.Wilks has hidden it, and without his help it would be impossible to findit. We are following him so that he will find it for us."
"He must have hidden it, I suppose, to avoid sharing with Hollams?"
"Of course, and availed himself of the fact of Leamy having carried thebag to direct Hollams's suspicion to him. Hollams found out by hisrepeated searches of Leamy and his lodgings, that this was wrong, and thismorning evidently tried to persuade the ruby out of Wilks' possession witha revolver. We saw the upshot of that."
Kedderby Station was about forty miles out. At each intermediate stoppingstation Hewitt watched earnestly, but Wilks remained in the train. "What Ifear," Hewitt observed, "is that at Kedderby he may take a fly. To stalk aman on foot in the country is difficult enough; but you _can't_ follow onevehicle in another without being spotted. But if he's so smart as I think,he won't do it. A man traveling in a fly is noticed and remembered inthese places."
He did _not_ take a fly. At Kedderby we saw him jump out quickly andhasten from the station. The train stood for a few minutes, and he was outof the station before we alighted. Through the railings behind theplatform we could see him walking briskly away to the right. From theticket collector we ascertained that Radcot lay in that direction, threemiles off.
To my dying day I shall never forget that three miles. They seemed threehundred. In the still country almost every footfall seemed audible for anydistance, and in the long stretches of road one could see half a milebehind or before. Hewitt was cool and patient, but I got into a fever ofworry, excitement, want of breath, and back-ache. At first, for a little,the road zig-zagged, and then the chase was comparatively easy. We waitedbehind one bend till Wilks had passed the next, and then hurried in histrail, treading in the dustiest parts of the road or on the side grass,when there was any, to deaden the sound of our steps.
At the last of these short bends we looked ahead and saw a long, whitestretch of road with the dark form of Wilks a couple of hundred yards infront. It would never do to let him get to the end of this great stretchbefore following, as he might turn off at some branch road out of sightand be lost. So we jumped the hedge and scuttled along as we best might onthe other side, with backs bent, and our feet often many inches deep inwet clay. We had to make continual stoppages to listen and peep out, andon one occasion, happening, incautiously, to stand erect, looking afterhim, I was much startled to see Wilks, with his face toward me, gazingdown the road. I ducked like lightning, and, fortunately, he seemed not tohave observed me, but went on as before. He had probably heard some slightnoise, but looked straight along the road for its explanation, instead ofover the hedge. At hilly parts of the road there was extreme difficulty;indeed, on approaching a rise it was usually necessary to lie down underthe hedge till Wilks had passed the top, since from the higher ground hecould have seen us easily. This improved neither my clothes, my comfort,nor my temper. Luckily we never encountered the difficulty of a long andhigh wall, but once we were nearly betrayed by a man who shouted to orderus off his field.
At last we saw, just ahead, the square tower of an old church, set aboutwith thick trees. Opposite this Wilks paused, looked irresolutely up anddown the road, and then went on. We crossed the road, availed ourselves ofthe opposite hedge, and followed. The village was to be seen some three orfour hundred yards farther along the road, and toward it Wilks saunteredslowly. Before he actually reached the houses he stopped and turned back.
"The churchyard!" exclaimed Hewitt, under his breath. "Lie close and lethim pass."
Wilks reached the churchyard gate, and again looked irresolutely abouthim. At that moment a party of children, who had been playing among thegraves, came chattering and laughing toward and out of the gate, and Wilkswalked hastily away again, this time in the opposite direction.
"That's the place, clearly," Hewitt said. "We must slip across quietly, assoon as he's far enough down the road. Now!"
We hurried stealthily across, through the gate, and into the churchyard,where Hewitt threw his blue spectacles away. It was now nearly eight inthe evening, and the sun was setting. Once again Wilks approached thegate, and did not enter, because a laborer passed at the time. Then hecame back and slipped through.
The grass about the graves was long, and under the trees it was alreadytwilight. Hewitt and I, two or three yards apart, to avoid falling overone another in case of sudden movement, watched from behind gravestones.The form of Wilks stood out large and black against the fading light inthe west as he stealthily approached through the long grass. A light cartcame clattering along the road, and Wilks dropped at once and crouched onhis knees till it had passed. Then, staring warily about him, he madestraight for the stone behind which Hewitt waited.
I saw Hewitt's dark form swing noiselessly round to the other side of thestone. Wilks passed on and dropped on his knee beside a large,weather-worn slab that rested on a brick under-structure a foot or sohigh. The long grass largely hid the bricks, and among it Wilks plungedhis hand, feeling along the brick surface. Presently he drew out a loosebrick, and laid it on the slab. He felt again in the place, and broughtforth a small dark object. I saw Hewitt rise erect in the gathering dusk,and with extended arm step noiselessly toward the stooping man. Wilks madea motion to place the dark object in his pocket, but checked himself, andopened what appeared to be a lid, as though to make sure of the safety ofthe contents. The last light, straggling under the trees, fell on abrilliantly sparkling object within, and like a flash Hewitt's hand shotover Wilks' shoulder and snatched the jewel.
The man actually screamed--one of those curious sharp little screams thatone may hear from a woman very suddenly alarmed. But he sprang at Hewittlike a cat, only to meet a straight drive of the fist that stretched himon his back across the slab. I sprang from behind my stone, and helpedHewitt to secure his wrists with a pocket-handkerchief. Then we marched
him, struggling and swearing, to the village.
When, in the lights of the village, he recognized us, he had a perfect fitof rage, but afterward he calmed down, and admitted that it was a "veryclean cop." There was some difficulty in finding the village constable,and Sir Valentine Quinton was dining out and did not arrive for at leastan hour. In the interval Wilks grew communicative.
"How much d'ye think I'll get?" he asked.
"Can't guess," Hewitt replied. "And as we shall probably have to giveevidence, you'll be giving yourself away if you talk too much."
"Oh, I don't care; that'll make no difference. It's a fair cop, and I'm infor it. You got at me nicely, lending me three quid. I never knew a reelerdo that before. That blinded me. But was it kid about Gold Street?"
"No, it wasn't. Mr. Hollams is safely shut up by this time, I expect, andyou are avenged for your little trouble with him this afternoon."
"What did you know about that? Well, you've got it up nicely for me, Imust say. S'pose you've been following me all the time?"
"Well, yes; I haven't been far off. I guessed you'd want to clear out oftown if Hollams was taken, and I knew this"--Hewitt tapped his breastpocket--"was what you'd take care to get hold of first. You hid it, ofcourse, because you knew that Hollams would probably have you searched forit if he got suspicious?"
"Yes, he did, too. Two blokes went over my pockets one night, and somebodygot into my room. But I expected that, Hollams is such a greedy pig. Oncehe's got you under his thumb he don't give you half your makings, and, ifyou kick, he'll have you smugged. So that I wasn't going to give him_that_ if I could help it. I s'pose it ain't any good asking how you gotput on to our mob?"
"No," said Hewitt, "it isn't."
* * * * *
We didn't get back till the next day, staying for the night, despite aninconvenient want of requisites, at the Hall. There were, in fact, no latetrains. We told Sir Valentine the story of the Irishman, much to hisamusement.
"Leamy's tale sounded unlikely, of course," Hewitt said, "but it wasnoticeable that every one of his misfortunes pointed in the samedirection--that certain persons were tremendously anxious to get atsomething they supposed he had. When he spoke of his adventure with thebag, I at once remembered Wilks' arrest and subsequent release. It was acurious coincidence, to say the least, that this should happen at the verystation to which the proceeds of this robbery must come, if they came toLondon at all, and on the day following the robbery itself. Kedderby isone of the few stations on this line where no trains would stop after thetime of the robbery, so that the thief would have to wait till the nextday to get back. Leamy's recognition of Wilks' portrait made me feelpretty certain. Plainly, he had carried stolen property; the poor,innocent fellow's conversation with Hollams showed that, as, in fact, didthe sum, five pounds, paid to him by way of 'regulars,' or customary toll,from the plunder of services of carriage. Hollams obviously took Leamy fora criminal friend of Wilks', because of his use of the thieves'expressions 'sparks' and 'regulars,' and suggested, in terms which Leamymisunderstood, that he should sell any plunder he might obtain to himself,Hollams. Altogether it would have been very curious if the plunder were_not_ that from Radcot Hall, especially as no other robbery had beenreported at the time.
"Now, among the jewels taken, only one was of a very pre-eminentvalue--the famous ruby. It was scarcely likely that Hollams would go to somuch trouble and risk, attempting to drug, injuring, waylaying, andburgling the rooms of the unfortunate Leamy, for a jewel of smallvalue--for any jewel, in fact, but the ruby. So that I felt a prettystrong presumption, at all events, that it was the ruby Hollams was after.Leamy had not had it, I was convinced, from his tale and his manner, andfrom what I judged of the man himself. The only other person was Wilks,and certainly he had a temptation to keep this to himself, and avoid, ifpossible, sharing with his London director, or principal; while thecarriage of the bag by the Irishman gave him a capital opportunity to putsuspicion on him, with the results seen. The most daring of Hollams'attacks on Leamy was doubtless the attempted maiming or killing at therailway station, so as to be able, in the character of a medical man, tosearch his pockets. He was probably desperate at the time, having, I haveno doubt, been following Leamy about all day at the Crystal Palace withoutfinding an opportunity to get at his pockets.
"The struggle and flight of Wilks from Hollams' confirmed my previousimpressions. Hollams, finally satisfied that very morning that Leamycertainly had not the jewel, either on his person or at his lodging, andknowing, from having so closely watched him, that he had been nowherewhere it could be disposed of, concluded that Wilks was cheating him, andattempted to extort the ruby from him by the aid of another ruffian and apistol. The rest of my way was plain. Wilks, I knew, would seize theopportunity of Hollams' being safely locked up to get at and dispose ofthe ruby. I supplied him with funds and left him to lead us to hishiding-place. He did it, and I think that's all."
"He must have walked straight away from my house to the churchyard," SirValentine remarked, "to hide that pendant. That was fairly cool."
"Only a cool hand could carry out such a robbery single-handed," Hewittanswered. "I expect his tools were in the bag that Leamy carried, as wellas the jewels. They must have been a small and neat set."
They were. We ascertained on our return to town the next day that the bag,with all its contents intact, including the tools, had been taken by thepolice at their surprise visit to No. 8 Gold Street, as well as much otherstolen property.
Hollams and Wilks each got very wholesome doses of penal servitude, to theintense delight of Mick Leamy. Leamy himself, by the by, is still to beseen, clad in a noble uniform, guarding the door of a well-known Londonrestaurant. He has not had any more five-pound notes for carrying bags,but knows London too well now to expect it.