“But I am not content,” said I; “I want one more.”
“Well, I aye thought you were a reasonable man, Mr M‘Levy.”
“ ‘AWANT SPOILS PERFECTION,’ Mrs Walker,” said I; “and I will not be satisfied till I get this want supplied.”
Rolling up my watches I left the house, and went direct to the Office. Mr Moxey was busy with his letters.
“What?” said he, “here again, James! I thought you had gone to bed.”
“I have just something to do first,” said I, as I laid down the parcel, (retaining the bundle of hay.) “Mrs Walker, tavern-keeper, Smith’s Close, Grassmarket, presents her compliments to Mr Moxey, and begs to send him two dozen and a half of fresh eggs from Arbroath.”
“Eggs to me! are you mad?” But beginning to smell, as he suspected, a trick, he opened the towel, and saw before him Mr C——’s thirty watches.
“Where got?” he asked.
“Where, but in Mrs Walker’s tavern, where they naturally fell to be.”
“And unknown to her?”
“Close up to the wall beneath the bed, and all, like eggs, enclosed in this hay.”
“I’ll never interfere with your searches again,” he added, laughing. “I’ll write this moment, and make C—— a happy man.”
“Yes,” said I; “and tell him, that, though I’m asafeenoughman, I’m not ‘a patent safe.’ ”
“We’ve got all.”
“No, ‘A WANT SPOILS PERFECTION,’ ” said I. “There’s one awanting, and without that the rest are nothing.”
“Mr C—— will scarcely think that,” said he. “You have done enough to-day, and I think you had better go to bed.”
“No, I must havethatwatch, otherwise I could sleep none.”
I then went to the desk, and taking a printed form of one of our complaints, not filled up, and not signed of course, I put it quietly in my pocket, departed, and took my way to the man Hart’s once more. I found him in, just preparing to go to bed.
“My last visit, Hart,” said I; “I am come once more for the watch you got from the friend of Mitchell.”
“I told you before,” said he, “that I have no such watch, and never had.”
“And I tell you that I have the very best authority for knowing that you have. Now, Hart, I have known you for some time, and would rather save you than banish you, but,” pulling out the useless bit of printed paper, “I have no discretion. There are certain people called authorities, you know, and they have long arms. Do you see that paper? Did you ever hear of such a thing as a complaint?”
“Do you mean a warrant of apprehension?” said he.
“Just as you choose to call it,” replied I, taking outmy handcuffs. “I am sorry for this duty imposed upon me, but either you or I must suffer. You must walk up to the Office, or I must bid farewell to it.”
My man got into a pensive mood, and looked on the floor.
The conjurors on the stage do their work with little things, and they deceive the senses; but they don’t often touch the heart. I have done some things in my conjuring way with very puny instruments. Yes, the heart is a conjurable commodity, very simple and helpless when operated upon successfully, and I was here trying to vanquish a stronger one than Mrs Donald M‘Leod’s, by the means of a bit of paper, with a few words of print on it, and a loop of leather. I have sometimes suspected that the world is juggled in a similar way, only the juggle is not very often known. If so, I may be allowed my small devices, especially when used in the cause of what is good and lawful. I wanted only to save another man’s watch. A bit of paper not much larger, once saved the lives of more Roman senators than my watches amounted to altogether.
The first sight of my talisman was not enough. Mr Hart was wary. He hesitated, and struggled with himself for a considerable time—not so much, I thought, for the sake of the watch, as from fear that, after all, I would apprehend him.
“You will dome,” said he, “as you did the Highlander’s wife.”
“No,” replied I, “I will be on honour with you. Look,—you may make sure work,—I’ll not take the watch out of your hands till I have burned the warrant.”
The promise caught him. He drew on his stockings again,—for he had been preparing for bed,—put on his shoes and hat, and getting a candle, lighted it.
“Wait here,” said he, and went out.
I don’t like theseleavings, I have sometimes found noreturns; so I followed him to the door, and dogged him to the foot of a close not far from his house. He went up till he came to an old thatched byre, to the top of which he got by means of a heap of rubbish. When I saw the candle glimmering on the top of the house, a solitary light amidst the darkness, and all around as still as death, I could not help thinking of the romance that hangs round the secret ways of vice. The cowkeeper, as he fed his charge, never suspected that there was a treasure over crummie’s head; no more did the urchins, who rode on the rigging, dream of the presence of so wonderful a thing to them as a gold watch.
All safe, said I to myself, as I saw the light changing its place, and descending. Then it came down the close, and we stood face to face.
“Here it is,” said he; “but I tell you once for all, that I am as powerful a man as you, and that”——
“Stop,” said I, “no need, my good fellow; give meyour candle. There,” continued I, as I applied the blank complaint to the flame, and saw it flare up and die away into a black film, “there’s your bargain,—now mine.”
And I got the watch, and supplied thewant.
“Good night, my man; you will sleep sounder without the care and fear of this stolen watch than with it.”
This bit of sentiment struck him.
“Well, I believe I will,” he said, with a little thickening of the windpipe; “I’ll have nothing more to do with stolen property. I have never been happy since I got possession of it.”
In a short time, I was before Mr Moxey again, whose letters threatened to terminate in night-work.
“Put that to the rest,” said I; “the want is supplied,—thirty-two and eighteen make up the fifty, I believe.”
“You are refined, James,” said he; and perhaps he would not have said it if he had known the story of the old complaint, which for the time I kept to myself. Self-love has its weaknesses. If I had told my device, I might have gratified my vanity; but my trick would have become common property, and thereby lost its charm.
After my day’s work, I went home, and was soon asleep.
I acquired a little honour in this matter, although I considered it was not much more than apprentice-work.I had no objection, however, that my brother bluecoats of the bonny toun should see that M‘Levy had not lost the keenness of his scent for such secreted articles as those stolen watches; and this shews that we have our little drops of enjoyment amidst our cares and anxieties, ay, and dangers, and, thank God, happiness is a comparative affair. The word “danger” suggests a few words. I have often been asked, “M‘Levy, were you never hurt?” My answer being no,—“M‘Levy, was you ever afraid?” My answer the same, though I have been amidst glittering knives before now, ay, and fiery eyes, brighter than the knives; but I early saw that a bold front is the best baton. A detective is done the moment his eye quivers or his arm falters. If firm, there is no risk, or if any, it is from the cowards. A brave thief has something like an understanding of the relation he bears to the laws and its officers. He has a part to play, and he plays it with something so much like the honour of the Honeycombs at cards or dice, that it would surprise you. These latter, to be sure, are only sliders too, and the end of their descent is often deeper than that of their humble brethren of the pea and thimble.
I have only to add, that my men were forthwith brought to trial. The real pith of my histories is to me theend; yes, all theircharmto me lies in the tail, although others, and you may readily guess who they are, may think that thestinglies there. I would not,however, give the fact that Clerk got his seven years, and Mitchell his eighteen months as a resetter, for all theeclataccorded to any ingenuity I had displayed in bringing about these happy consummations.
ACERTAINsmall critic once took it into his head to laugh at another critic for commencing a learned essay with the words, “We are all born idiots,” and the reason of the chuckle, though on the wrong side, was evident enough; and yet, methinks, the wise saying might have had a tail, to the effect, “and many of us live and die idiots.” At least I know that I have met many imbeciles,—ay, even of that absolute kind who will not be taught that pain is pain, so that I am obliged to differ with Solomon when he says that “experience teacheth fools.” How many beacon flashes, with red streaks in them, have I not thrown out, amidst the darkness of crime, to keep my children off the quicksands and the shelving rocks, and the shipwrecks have been as numerous as ever! Have I not proved the Happy Land to be a hell, resounding with oaths, screams, and hysterical ravings, not the songs of angels, and yet case after case proved the truth of the wise saying?
Another flash of the beacon—with perhaps redder streaks—something of the old story, yet with a difference.On the second flat of the Happy Land there lived for some considerable time, in 1848, two young women, Isabella Marshall and Margaret Tait. Their den was of the common order,—the room and the hiding-hole, the bed, the fir-table, and two chairs, the teapot and cups, two or three broken plates, the bottle and glass, and so forth,—squalor everywhere, like the green mould which springs up the more when the sun of domestic comfort flies away at the sight of crime. Yes, the green mould on the once fair living temples; for let them wash, and scrub, and “scent up” as they pleased, and deck out in the stolen or thrice-redeemed finery, the snare of uncircumcised eyes and sensual hearts was only the covering of impurity. Yet how all this goes on and thrives. One might be tempted to say, that the lovers of “the beautiful” (?) are something like the gobemouches, who admire a little tang orhautgout. Look you, I use theadjectivehere, just with the proper amount of derision; for although the fairer of the two conjunct tenants of the den, Bella, was admired, no one could miss the Cain mark of the class. Don’t you know it? Coarse snobs, with cassowary gizzards, might think they saw delicacy of skin and colour; while others, with a modicum of true refinement, would try to find another name—not easy, I confess—perhaps livid sickliness, reminding one of a decayed peony of the pale variety. Don’t let us mention the faded lily. But what matters it, when the thing ispatent to all but those who will not be taught by experience, just because there is nothing inside to respond to the touch of common sense. Yet withal there is something curious about Nature’s manœuvres, in fencing as she does to conceal the cancer-spots on her favourites, just as if she were so fond of her few beauties that she will cling to them to the last, supporting their charms even amidst the blight of vice. Of Margaret I must speak otherwise,—a strong, burly wench, with little to attract, but capital hands at a grip, or what is not exactly the same, a gripe, and a tilt where ferocity stands against self-preservation. The two were very well mated; for while the one could allure, the other could secure.
But as the den was incomplete without the hiding-hole, so neither was this copartnership of Marshall & Co. perfect without the indispensable “bully;” for though Margaret could do wonders in her way, she could derive little aid from the delicate Isabella. So James Kidd, a stout young fellow, the Fancy of both, who apportioned his protection and favour between them according as they supplied him with money, was the chosen partner,—a fellow who, in such a connexion and conspiracy, had found an attraction which tore him from his home and his mother, whose heart he had broken. Nor is it easy otherwise to form a proper estimate of this species of ruffian, pouncing from a hole on a man whose powers of resistance he does not know. He must close in a struggle, which, thoughnever intended to be deadly on his part, may become so, by a resistance or counter attack more powerful than his own. All this he must do in the very heart of a populous city, and in a large house of many flats, where he can count upon no more than the hush of other fiends, who may screen, though they will take no hand in another’s business. It is in such a scene, enacted in a close room, sometimes with the light extinguished, and the actors doing their work in the dark, that we can form an adequate idea of the truefurorof robbery. Even a listener at the door would hear only the bodily contortions—the deep breathing—the muttered vengeance—all a deep bass to the stifled treble of a woman’s passion grasping at gold. I have known of two such conflicts going on in this “Happy Land” at the same moment,—the great scenes being illustrated the while by orgies in the other dens, the laughter from which drowned the dull sounds of the conflicts.
In the particular conspiracy I am now to relate, the scheme of attack was different from what was usually followed, as you will understand when I introduce Mr —— of ——; and you have only at present to keep in mind the general way of “doing” the victims:—the spring-out of the concealed bully—the seizure of his object—the assistant women rifling and robbing in the still flickering light—the sudden disappearance of the principal actor, which aids the blasphemous oaths of thesubordinates that they know nothing of him, while it leaves the conversational winding-up to those whose conversational powers are so seldom at fault.
On a certain night of the cold month of December, the delicate Isabella, dressed in the usual mackerel-bait, only a little subdued by the soft muff and boa, so suggestive of softness and delicacy in the wearer, went out on her mission of love, leaving Kidd and Margaret to await the bringing in of the prey. Nor was it long before she encountered the sympathetic Mr —— from Cumberland, who could make pleasure wait on business—just as a pretty handmaiden who comes and goes, and goes and comes. Oh yes, seldom coy, that faithful helpmate of anxious hearts—always everywhere and yet nowhere, turning her face and disappearing to return again. Then why shouldn’t sympathy for a tender creature, exposed to a December chill, help the sympathy due to himself? He would not prey on that tenderness—only purchase a little pleasure with money that would nurse the seller in that land of bliss, where Justice would see to a fair bargain, Love filling the scales with hearts. So Mr —— would go with Isabella; all in the old way—respectable house—matronly mistress. Why, it would even be a duty to warm with a glass of generous spirits so gentle a creature. Up the North Bridge, and down the High Street—a sudden stand at the foot ofthe stair of the Happy Land. Mr —— did not think there was much promise of pleasure in that dark old region of sin, and he would be off and leave her who required so much sympathy from hard-hearted man. But Mr —— was a man of feeling notwithstanding, and how could he resist an appeal to his heart by one who asked no more than his arm up the stair? Nor did he. With Isabella receiving the proffered support, he mounted the stair. They entered the dingy lobby, and came to a door. The gentle knock, not to disturb the decent woman, and Margaret
——, “who knew the meaning of the same,”
——, “who knew the meaning of the same,”
——, “who knew the meaning of the same,”
opened, but not until Kidd had got into the closet.
Whether it was that our gentleman had heard some noise of a retreat, or that he had had his prior doubts confirmed by the smoky appearance of the den, I cannot tell, but certain it is that the startled lover stopped again.
“No, I have seen enough,” he cried, and was retreating, when Margaret, laying hold of him, pulled him in by main force.
“Away so soon,” she cried, laughing, while yet retaining her masculine grasp, “and not even bid us good night?”
“Or offer us a glass,” added the gentle Bella. “Surely two women can’t harm a man!”
But Mr ——, who had felt, and was feeling, the tenderness of Margaret’s love embrace, was perhaps more dissatisfied than ever, and hearing the click of the bolt under Isabella’s stealthy hand got more resolute. Out goes the light, and now commenced one of those strugglesfor which the Happy Land was so famous. Another man, on thus finding himself encaged, and so suddenly deprived of light, might have succumbed to fear; but our hero was not of the timid order, who can enjoy love and be dead to the trump of war. Not even when he heard the spring of Kidd, as he bounced from his cell, did he think of yielding, but, by a strong effort throwing off the women, he made towards the door. He had even succeeded so far as to search for the lock, but found, to his dismay, that the key had been taken out. On turning round he was immediately in the grasp of Kidd, with the women hanging upon him. And now was the real conflict; all the contortions—the deep breathings from the oppressed lungs—the thumps on the sides of the room—but not a word of speech, only smothered mutterings and oaths ground between the teeth.
The effort on the part of the assailants was to get the gentleman on his back on the floor; nor could this issue be prolonged for many minutes, with a force of three arrayed against one. Yet the attempt failed more than once, an interval being occupied by a cry for help, shouted at the top of his voice, and responded to by an orgie-laugh from the further end of the lobby, and some suppressed mirth at the back of the door, as if some creatures of human shape were there, in the full enjoyment of what was likely to be their own game at another time. As confessed byMr —— afterwards, this evidence of how completely he was, as it were, doubly or trebly caged, struck him with more dismay than even the extinguishing of the light or the bound of Kidd from his recess. The idea took hold of him that he was to be murdered, and though under this energy, inspired by the love of life, the increased strain brought up in his enemies by his now desperate resistance laid him flat on his back, with such force that his head dirled to the brain.
The remaining part of the process was easy—the gold watch pulled out of his pocket, the click of the bolt, and Kidd was gone.
“Catch the thief!” cried Margaret, with just enough of force as to reach the ears of the poor victim, as he lay stunned with the knock on the head, and almost exhausted by the struggle.
“He’s gone,” added the gentle Isabella.
“Who is gone?” said Mr ——, as he looked up in the now lighted room.
“Why, the d——d villain who has taken your watch,” replied Margaret.
“An accomplice,” groaned the victim, as he attempted to rise.
“It’s a lie, sir,” replied Margaret again, with increased fury, as she breathed fast from her exertions. “The fellow lives ben in the other room, and this is not the first time he has played us a trick of the same kind; but he’ll be hanged some day.”
“Yes, and the sooner the better,” joined Isabella. “Come, we cannot help it. There’s no use following him. Give us a dram for defending you.”
“Ay, for saving your life,” added her neighbour; “for we know he would have murdered you.”
“I feltyourhand on my throat,” cried Mr ——.
“Bob’s, you mean,” was the answer. “He has a hand like a woman, and yet it would choke a tiger.”
“I felt all yoursixhands on me,” roared he, unable to stand even this transparent dodge.
“How could we know you from him in the dark?” cried Margaret. “We intended to pull him off, and that’s our thanks, and you’ll not even give us a ‘budge,’ but accuse two innocent girls for being robbers.”
“Oh, it’s the way with them all,” added Isabella. “They first ruin us, and then charge us with theft; but we deserve it, don’t we, for trusting their lying words.”
“Liars and thieves, one and all of you,” replied the gentleman. “You know you inveigled me here to be robbed by your bully. That watch cost me £20.”
“Well, then,” said Margaret, “give us £5—you have money about you somewhere—and we’ll tell you where you will catch him.”
“Worse and worse,” ejaculated Mr ——; “but what am I doing here?” he added, as he for the first time, after recovering from his stupor, bethought himself offollowing the thief; and gathering up his hat, and arranging his torn garments, he made for the door.
“Not till you pay us for saving your life,” said Margaret, as she stood between him and the door, with the intention, no doubt, merely of gaining time for Kidd.
And so, to be sure, she made only a faint effort to hold him back, and he, pulling open the door, rushed out into the dark passage, saluted as he disappeared by the hoarse laugh of the women, and, as he thought, some other indications of the same kind from the sympathisers further ben. Glad to get off a living man, but yet not inclined to give up as lost his valuable property, he half walked and half tumbled down the stair of this, to him, mostunhappyland; nor did he stop till he was in my presence in the Office. A few words, uttered with much difficulty, very soon satisfied me that he was one of a host who had been turned away from the Happy Land with less ceremony than “Frau Schnipps,” on an occasion not altogether similar.
“Wait there,” said I, “I will bring up the women in the first place.”
“Oh, you know them?” said he.
“Yes, about as well as you, sir.”
“And that’s too well,” said he, with something like a heave of the chest.
“Bell Marshall and Margaret Tait,” said I; “but theyhaven’t the watch, and I know they will say they were helping you. The man is my object.”
So leaving him, and taking with me two constables, I went to the scene. As I expected, I found the girls. Two or three of the children of the Happy Land were with them, all engaged in drinking and laughing, no doubt at the excellent drama that had just ended, and upon which they thought that the green curtain had been drawn for ever, for it is not very often that the slain hero makes his appearance again at our Office; and there can be no question that sometimes it is as prudent to pocket shame as it is to put a gold sovereign into your purse, with the difference, that while the one ought to remain, the other should come out for the benefit of society. I was not expected, and was accordingly greeted with the honour of perfect silence.
“The old game, my lasses,” said I, as I beckoned to the others to get off, which they very soon did, growling as they went along the passage; “where is the gentleman’s watch?”
“Search, and answer for yourself,” replied Margaret. “The man has it.”
“What man?”
“How should we know? He came in upon us; we did our best to save the gentleman, and the scurvy dog wouldn’t give us a penny to buy pins.”
“Cameout, you mean,” said I; “the old story, ‘the great unknown.’ Yet I think I know him.”
Just as I was speaking, I felt some small object under my foot, and stooping down found a small gold watch-key. The women looked sharp to try and find out what I had picked up and put into my pocket, but they said nothing, neither did I.
“Come,” said I. “The gentleman is in the Office, and wishes to thank you for trying to save his life.”
“Umph, and true, by ——,” said the reprobate.
“A terrible fellow this ‘unknown,’ ” said I, rather by way of amusing myself as they were getting equipped. “Don’t pare your nails, for I intend to introduce him to you.”
And proceeding to make a search, which I knew would be attended by no greater result than a mocking laugh from my lasses, I was forced to be content with my small recovery of the gold key.
I marched them up to quarters where they had been before. It was too late that night to go after Kidd. I was sure enough of him, and an early catch was of no use as regarded the recovery of the watch, which I knew he would not carry with him a moment longer than he could find a hiding-place for it, and that he would find far more readily than one for himself.
Next morning some of the constables, who knew where Kidd’s mother lived in the Pleasance, thought very wisely they might help me in their way by searching the house. This they accordingly did before I was well out of bed;but their report was unfavourable. He was not in the house, and the mother denied all knowledge of her worthless son. I have often had reports of this kind made to me before, but I have been always fond of making my own searches. So away I went to do the work over again; but, to say the truth, I had little hope. It was as early as nine.
“I want to know where James is,” said I, as I entered the little shop.
“God bless me,” said she, with wondering eyes, “more policemen! why the men are scarcely awa’. They searched the hail house, and found naebody. Am I no enough tormented and heartbroken wi’ a neer-do-weel son, but I maun be treated as his keeper, whether I hae him or no, and my house searched by man after man, as if I mysel’ were a breaker of the laws.”
“I know you are not a breaker of the laws, Mrs Kidd,” replied I, calmly, “and that’s the very reason why you should even cheerfully allow an officer to go through your house. I am not in the habit of stealing, and, besides, I wish you to go along with me.”
“But there’s nae occasion,” was the reply. “Have I no tauld ye your men are scarcely out o’ the house, and lang and sair they searched. It’s no that I fear aught, nor the trouble either, but it’s the nonsense.”
“I will put up with the nonsense,” said I.
“Maun I tell you a third time,” said she, with increasedfirmness, “that my house has been searched by twa men, wi’ twa een each, this morning already?”
“Then two eyes more can do the less harm,” replied I, with a quiet pertinacity at least equal to her own, especially, and no doubt a consequence of, the said pertinacity on her part, which appeared to me somewhat more than was required, according to her own theory.
“Weel, een here or een there, there’s naebody in my house, and what’s the use of our paying for your men, when you have nae faith in them ony mair than in me?”
An adroit reply, but somehow the more she said the more I thought, only in a different direction. I had dallied myself into suspicion, and had little time to spare.
“Come,” said I, “let us end this; but I have consideration. I don’t want to trouble you to go up stairs with me.”
“I’ve been up already with the men,” she persisted, “and really I’m no just pleased to hae my word doubted. I’m no a policeman, and I’ve aye thought that when a man doesna believe me, he thinks me a leer. Just gae your wa’s, and be sure there’s nae James Kidd in my house.”
“Well,” replied I, getting impatient, “I must just step up myself.”
“Weel,” was the tardy reply, “a wilfu’ man maun hae his ain way. Come awa’, and ye’ll see what you’ll mak o’t.”
And leading the way very reluctantly, she preceded me up to the little flat. I entered the kitchen, and began to peer about as carelessly to appearance as usual; but I confess I saw nothing which could lead me to suspect that there was any human being there except Mrs Kidd and myself; and she did not seem inclined to condole with me in my disappointment, though I could see, too, that she abstained from shewing any triumph in my discomfiture.
“You see how little harm my survey is doing you,” said I. “It is even pleasant work.”
“It’s no to me, whatever it may be to you,” said she. “You are searching for my son, and isn’t that enough for the heart of a mother? You’re maybe no a father, and canna ken thae things. Ay, it’s sair to hae the heart broken by the hands that should hae comforted it and bound it up. It’s the turning back o’ the yearning that braks it; but now I fancy ye’re satisfied James is no here.”
And I felt for the poor woman. I had the parlour to look through; but as the sounds of her grief fell on my ear, I stood musing a little, and when the mind is occupied, the eye trifles, and mine trifled, as well as did my foot, as I used it in kicking away a bit of coal, a “churl” as we call it, that lay before me. At the same instant my eye caught the heap of coals in the corner, and two thoughts came into my head—first, why the coals shouldbe inthatplace; and secondly, why the “churl” should be inthisplace. It had not come there where it lay by having been dropped, because it was not in the line to the fire, and then it was at the edge of a little door which had escaped my notice; or rather, I should say, it was so small an affair, without sneck or lock-handle, that I thought it a mere cupboard. Again, why was the “churl” so situated as if it had come out of the small recess? And once more, why was the cupboard without a projection whereby it could be opened? Ah, well, how the mind will work even when it is playing.
“What place is this?” said I.
“Oh, a little cupboard,” said Mrs Kidd; “just a place for cups and saucers.”
“Which you use every day?”
“Every day.”
“And yet there is no sneck-handle, whereby you can get in when you are maybe in a hurry for a cup of tea?”
No answer from poor Mrs Kidd, and the thought came that the coals in the corner were surely out of place, in a little tidy house; and just mark how that kind of natural logic works.
“I should just like to look in.”
“And what would be the use? Hae ye never seen a number o’ marrowless cups and saucers?”
And maybe something even more marrowless, thought I, as, taking out a penknife and inserting it in a smallslit, something like that of a check lock, I opened the door, and there, lying in a hole—the veritable bunker—was my friend of the Happy Land, extended on a small mattress. On this exposure, the poor mother covered her face with her hands and sobbed hysterically.
“The last o’t,” she said, in a voice broken by sobs. “The lang train o’ griefs a’ frae whaur there should hae come comfort and help is wound up. I hide and conceal nae mair, and what signified my hiding when God saw through a’. Tak him, sir; and may ye mak o’ him a better man to his brither-man, than he has been a son to me.”
“Has he given you a watch?” said I, in the expectation of profiting by what I considered to be a breaking down.
“No,” she replied, “I have never had ony o’ his secrets, nor for a lang time has he been near me, except when he wanted meat. His wild ways are best kenned to himsel’, but I fear women and drink have been his ruin.”
“Rise, James,” said I, “and give me the watch you robbed the gentleman of last night in the Happy Land.”
“I deny it,” replied the incorrigible rogue, as he rose slowly, cursing between his teeth.
I searched the house, but the watch was never recovered. The three were brought to the High Court. It was a difficult case, in consequence of the darkness of the scene, which prevented recognition of Kidd; but astrange circumstance supplied the want. Mr —— could swear that Kidd had a large hard wart upon the right hand—the rough pressure of which in his neck had pained him so as to leave an impression on his mind. The wart was found still upon the thumb. Then the watch-key served its purpose, and it was found that Kidd was the daily associate of the women. They were each transported for fourteen years.
IHAVEoften thought we are a little mole-eyed in social questions. How much were we to have paid the devil for our letting in mental food to the people, for the introduction of machinery, for giving up hanging poor wretches! and yet we have paid him nothing,—all movements coming to a poise. When I lay hold of a robber by the throat, we have a tussle, but it does not last long. Either he or I may be down; we don’t murder each other; the forces destroy themselves, and there’s peace. Where is all the expected crop of forgeries and coinings that were to spring up under the spread of the guano of education? The art of learning to write was to be the learning to forge, and electro-plating (if I can spell it) was to turn off half-crowns by the thousand. Nothing of all this. The people are better fed, the working men better employed, fewer murders, fewer forgeries, fewer coinings. I think we have rather taken from his majesty below, and I suspect he is fretful. What a fury we would put him in were we to take the young from him, of whom, in acertain class, he has had the charge since Adam coined that bad penny, Cain!
So I thought, when I told the story of the pewter spoons. I thought I had not another case of coining in my books; but I find I was wrong. Not long ago, in November 1858, I happened (I was always happening) to meet, at the foot of the stair leading to Ashley Buildings, in Nether Bow, near John Knox’s Church, a clot of little boys and girls busy looking at some wonderful things, with eyes as bright and round as a new-turned-out shilling. On bending my head over the little people, and directing my eyes down through the midst of them, I found that the objects of their delight were a number (turned out to be a dozen) of beautiful glittering half-crowns and florins, all new from the mint. Was ever a nest of Raggediers shone upon with a blaze of such glory! Did ever her Majesty’s face appear so beautiful to any of her loyal subjects!
On inquiry, I found that the urchins, when playing in the stair of Ashley Buildings, had found the pieces secreted in the corners of two window-soles. They were placed outside, so that any person going up the stair could reach them without entering any of the flats. I examined the places of deposit under the direction of my leaders—six of the pieces were on the window-sole of the first flat, and the other six on that of the highest. Then they had been cunningly placed in small-scoopedcrevices, close by the rybats. On coming down with my coins in my hand, and my troop around me, all chattering and vindicating their rights to the waifs, I was a little taken aback by the appearance of two ladies coming up the dark, dingy stair. At the first glance, and under the impression of the rustle of their heavy silk skirts, I took them for philanthropical grandees from the New Town on a visit of mercy to the hags of Ashley Land; and no wonder, for the very gayest of our crinolined nymphs, so far as regarded silk velvet and ribbons, were not qualified to tie the latchet of one of their boots. Nor was my impression changed when, standing to a side to give space to the swirl of their wide skirts, as well as honour to their progress, I looked respectfully, if not with a little awe (not much in my way) into their faces,—delicate, pretty, genteel, nor with a single indication of the flaunting lightness sometimes, in my experience, accompanying, but not adorning very gay attire.
On ascending two steps above me, one of them turned round, and, with an inquiring gaze, asked what was the matter, in a clear, bell-like voice, which was to me at the moment perhaps the more musical, because it came from such a delicate throat; but the speech was English, and we want thatspokenmusic in Scotland,—at least there’s not much of it among the denizens of Ashley Land.
“A little row among the boys,” said I, just as a suddenly rising thought suggested something,—I won’t say what.
“He’s ta’en our half-croons, mem,” cried a bantam, whose windpipe I could have squeezed.
Upon hearing which, my ladies turned somewhat abruptly, and proceeded down stairs. I could even fancy that the noise of their silks was increased by a flurry,—a movement altogether which I could not, even with the aid of my sudden thought, very well understand. On getting to the foot of the stair, and quit of my brawlers, I observed my two damsels walking majestically up the High Street, as if they had utterly forgotten their visit of mercy, for which their purses, and probably their Bibles, had been put in preparation. I had intercepted grace, condescension, and mercy, even when about to light, like ministering angels, on the hearts and homes of the miserable. Well, another time—mercy is long-suffering.
Just as I thus found myself a little satirical perhaps, up comes the man Richardson, who lived in Ashley Buildings.
“It’s not often,” said he, “that folks like me and my wife have lodgers in our small room like yon,” pointing in the direction of my ladies.
“Like whom?” said I.
“Why, did you not see them coming out of our stair?”
“Yes, I saw two ladies superbly dressed; who are they?”
“Just my lodgers; your common lodging-house keepers can’t touch that, I think.”
“Why, no,” said I; “but you haven’t told me who or what they are.”
“That’s a hard question,” replied he; “I can only say they are English, very polite, and pay their score.”
“Any more?” said I; for although I had no doubt of the man’s honesty, I did not wish to be forward with my half-crowns, as a “let up” in the first instance.
“Why, we are not sure of them,” said he. “They are the strangest customers we ever had. They keep their door shut, and every second day there comes to them a man, as much a tailor and jeweller-made swell in his way as they are in theirs. Then the door is still more sure to be locked, and the key-hole screened.”
“Did you ever hear his name?”
“Oh, yes—Mr Harvey.”
“And theirs?”
“Miss Matilda Jerome and Miss Elizabeth Jackson.”
“Is he English too?” inquired I.
“Yes, of the highest tone, but very condescending. He asks Mrs Richardson how she does, and she says, ‘Quite well, I thank you, sir;’ but this doesn’t prevent her, you know, from sometimes trying achink—thekey-holeis an impossibility.”
“And what has she seen?”
“Not much yet. The little is strange. The great Mr Harvey, the moment he gets in, takes off his fine suit and his rings, and puts on a fustian jacket and breeches.They work at something requiring a great deal of the fire, and then we hearbirrs, andclanks, andwhizzes—what you might expect where some small machinery is in gear.”
“Producing, perhaps,” said I, “something likethat?” shewing him a half-crown piece.
“Our very suspicion,” replied he, as he took the piece into his hand, and seemed to wonder at the “turn out” of his little room. “But where got you it?”
“With eleven more, on two of the window-soles of your staircase.”
“Hidden there by them?”
“I can’t say,” replied I; “but hark ye, when would be the best time for me to see the ladies and Mr Harvey together—if in the fustian, so much the better?”
“To-morrow forenoon,” replied he. “They are all on thestravaigto-day.”
“Well, in the meantime, Richardson, you are mum.”
“Dumb.”
And leaving my useful informant, I proceeded on my way, ruminating as usual. It didn’t need a witch to tell the intention of the deposit, or the place selected for it. The false money would, of course, be dangerous in their room, and even in their pockets it would be imprudent to have more at a time than perhaps the single piece they were trying to utter. The deposit was thus a little outside bank, from which the three might severally supply themselves any number of times a-day; and though thebank stood a chance of being broken, they could lose nothing, while there would always be the difficulty of connecting them with it either asdepositorsordrawers. The scheme exhibited at least adroitness enough to satisfy me that the three were experienced hands. And yet, just observe the insanity of crime, whereby it renders itself a fool to itself. These clever people, no doubt, never thought that their splendid dresses, their engrossing admiration of their persons, and their exacting claims on the attention of those who would have been very willing to pass them by, only tended to the sharpening of official vision.
On making some inquiries at the Office, I learned that from what we knew as yet of the great Mr Harvey, there could be little doubt that he was a personage who for years had been driving the same trade in the south of England, where he had been often in trouble, and where not less than in London he was reputed as the best “coiner” in the kingdom. His companions were also known as adepts, whose beauty and accomplishments in another peculiar line enabled them to help the common store. Nor was Harvey limited to one department alone, being as well adapted and inclined fortakinggood money as forcoiningor uttering bad; so that viewing them as possessed of these three sources of income, we need not be astonished at their personal equipment. How little people know of the money that passes, like water overstones, through the hands of such gentry! The swell is talked of as a poor devil, with stolen finery, who lives merely in that sense from hand to mouth, which implies only freedom from want. A swell is not thus made up or maintained. It is an expensive character. The hunger and burst may haunt him as an inevitable condition; but as is the hunger, so is the burst with them—an extravagance this latter that would provoke the envy of many a fast youth, born in a mansion, and who runs through his property as fast as the horse he rides. I am speaking of England. It is seldom that we have the pleasure of seeing the true grandee here. Scotland is too poor for them. Yet I have sometimes caught them grazing on our lean turnips, when the English fields were infested with these foxes, the detectives.
So I had got on my beat no fewer than three swells, and surely a hunter of sorry thieves like me behoved to be on my honour. There is, I understand, a difficult etiquette how toapproachthe great, and how torecede, without shewing to their circumcised eyes the back part of your person. Would I not require a lesson to save me from being dishonoured and disgraced by some offence against the code of genteel behaviour? Might they not smile at my Scotch bluntness and vulgarity, and refuse obedience to a baton of Scotch fir? One consolation at least—if theroseis for polite nostrils, thethistleis for thin skins. I scarcely think that I tried a rehearsal thatnight; but I was saved from all fears by my hope of being received by my great man in a fustian jacket; and as for the ladies, they might consider an Earlston gingham or a Manchester print sufficient for the trade of melting and silvering.
Next day I was on my watch, when about twelve o’clock I saw my great man enter the stair-foot of Ashley Buildings. The glance I got of him satisfied me that Richardson had not exaggerated his grandeur. Everything on him was of the best, and the jemmy cane shewed the delicacy of the hand by which it was held, and by which, too, it was made to go through those exquisite twirls, so expressive of a total absence of such a thing as thought, always necessarily vulgar, when one is surrounded by vulgar people. I gave him time to benatural, that I might beeasy, and then went up stairs, leaving my assistant and two constables at the foot. Mrs Richardson shewed me in, but the mint was locked, on the principle of the Queen’s establishment, where valuables run a risk of being taken away. I knocked and listened. Surely my grandees were in dishabille. At last my appeal, which they knew probably was not an usual one, produced uneasiness, so that the cool-bloodedness, which betokens high breeding, was reversed—low words, but quick—rapid movements—small chatterings. At length, perhaps at mere hazard, a voice inquired—
“Is that you, Missus Richardson?”
“No,” replied I.
“Mister Richardson?”
“No,” again.
“Who, then?”
“A friend.”
And so the door gave way to the charmed word.
“Friend? why, a lie!” said the voice of a man.
“Perhaps not,” said I, as I stood before them, and made my usual rapid survey.
I had been wrong in my expectation. The fustian jacket had not taken the place of the surtout, and my ladies were in the same splendid attire I had seen them in on the previous day, only the bonnets were not on their heads—adorned these with an exquisite abundance of fine hair, smooth and glossy, and done up in the first style of fashion. Yes, I defy you to have found in Moray Place more personable young women; nor if I had been there on a visit of condolence for the loss of one of their dearest friends, could I have found manners more staid and correct—I might add graceful, if I could lay claim to knowing much of the true and the false of that accomplishment. But all this I observed by one or two rapid glances diverted from my principal investigation, which latter yielded me at first but little: the indispensable bed—the table and chairs—the plate-rack, and some trunks. It was clear that they had resolved on no work that day, and no trace of their machinery was visible.My principal hope lay in an inviting press; and as I made a motion to proceed towards it, I thought I observed something like an indication that my gentleman would make free with the door; so applying my fingers to my mouth, I gave a shrill whistle, the sound of which echoed through the flat, startled my ladies out of their composure, and, what I wanted, reached the ear of my assistant, who, obeying the call, was instantly at the door.
I now proceeded to my work of search. From the lower part of the press I drew out the identical fustian coat and trousers described to me by Richardson.
“Your working-suit,” said I to Mr Harvey, who seemed to survey the articles with extreme contempt. “A fustian coat,” continued I, as I traced the blots of chemicals, and traces of quicksilver, and various scorchings, “is a thing I cannot but treat with respect, when it belongs to arms of independence. It is the fustian that makes the broadcloth and the silks.”
“They’re not mine,” said Harvey; “they must belong to the house.”
“They ain’t Mr Harvey’s, I assure you, sir,” said Miss Matilda Jerome.
“Perhaps not,” said I, as I proceeded, “some people have a habit of possessing things that do not belong to them—possessionjust wants a point to makeproperty, and perhaps this point is awanting here.”
Forthwith I produced from the press several likelythings—a bottle with quicksilver—some others with chemicals unknown to me—a portable vice with a screw to fix to the table, which latter had the screw mark upon it still—a hammer—files, coarse and fine—the indispensable stamp—but no galvanic battery as I was led to expect,—a circumstance which puzzled me, because I never could suppose that such adepts could be contented with the old process of salt and friction.
I had got enough for my purpose in the meantime, so, turning round—
“Please put on your bonnets and plaids, my ladies,” said I, “that you, Mr Harvey, and I, may walk up the High Street to my quarters.”
They obeyed with something even like alacrity, on the principle of that sensible man known to history, who, when standing at the gallows foot, said, “If it is to be done, let it be done quickly.” Such are the advantages of having to do with genteel people.
I have no doubt we made an excellent appearance in our promenade up the High Street, only I doubt if any one could comprehend the possibility of such people condescending to enter a police cell. In searching the women we got, strangely enough, no bad money, but a considerable amount of good. The deposit on the window soles had been intended for this day’s work, and scared a little by its having been taken away, they had resolved on out-door adventures.
I still wanted something, as I have said, to complete the catalogue of my articles in the working department, and, above all, I required to connect Mr Harvey with that, so I applied to him for help.
“I wish to know where you live, when in town, Mr Harvey.”
“In Mr Campbell’s, Bell’s Wynd,” he replied promptly affording still the same evidence of the advantages of having to do with high-bred people.
“Then you will please go with me and point it out.”
“Certainly.”
And getting again my assistant, I proceeded with him to Bell’s Wynd, where, having mounted one of the worst stairs in that dark alley, we came to a wretched little dwelling of two rooms and a dark closet. How the great man could have put up in that hovel is difficult to conceive, except upon the supposition that theswellsshrink when they get home. With the exception of a truckle-bed and a shake-down, there was scarcely a bit of furniture in the house; nor could I find a recess in any way inviting to me except the dark closet, which was adroitly barricaded by the mattress of the shake-down, upon which Mrs Campbell, a miserable invalid, lay in squalid misery. I made short work here. Laying hold of the mattress, I pulled it and its burden away from the closet door into the middle of the floor. A loud scream burst from the invalid, which, from her look I knew to be intended as afence to the closet, and not an expression of pain. The door was not locked, the bed and its occupant having probably been deemed a sufficient bar.
“Ye’ve murdered me,” cried the cunning wretch, so near her grave, and yet so keen in the concealment of vice. “The malison o’ the Lord light on your head, and blast it! Haud awa’! my grave-claes are in that closet, and nae man will enter till that day when my soul gaes hame to glory.”
“If you never die till you’refit, you’ll live for ever,” said I, when I saw there was not a trace of grave-clothes in the dark hole,—from which, however, I brought the galvanic battery, which I had found awanting in Ashley Buildings to complete the apparatus, along with sixteen base shillings. I also got some other things of less importance.
“And now, Mrs Campbell, I will push you back again,” said I, as I impelled the mattress to its old place.
“And the devil pushyouhame,” she cried, “for you’ve murdered me.”
And she groaned even in that way which aged people do when their wickedness is brought home to them; for that there was a complicity in these old people with Harvey, I had no doubt, even from the conduct of the harridan,—a conclusion confirmed by the assertion of Campbell himself that Harvey was his nephew.
I now took Mr Harvey back to the Police Office, thinking,as I went, upon the small amount of real happiness enjoyed by these adventurers among the rocks that lie in the midst of civilisation. Harvey’s domestic comforts may be guessed from the account I have given. He was a man, and could bear the want of ease at night, in consideration of his privilege of walking the streets in a fine dress, and dining in the “Rainbow,” with respectable people next box. But what are we to say for the women, with apparently delicate forms, and at least so much of feminine feeling as we might see shining through their really handsome faces? One might sum up all their pleasure in saying, that it consisted in promenading the streets in a silk gown. Even then they cannot be, and are not, devoid of fear. The same fear follows them home to an extinct fire, a truckle-bed with a few thin clothes, into which they huddle themselves, and try in sleep to get away from their own thoughts,—which thoughts sometimes go into the forms of dreams, wherein they take their own way, rejoicing in the tricks of a horrible nightmare. Such a being is everything but the woman she was intended to be,—her enjoyments everything but the affections and sympathies she was made to feel. Of course, I am assuming here, and I go upon appearances, that Miss Matilda Jerome and Miss Elizabeth Jackson were not originally Arabs. I might make another estimate in that case, for these are seldom touched by fear; and being against society, as society is against them, thereis some inversion in them, the true nature of which, in enabling them to seek some strange kind of happiness, we cannot understand,—at least I could never understand it, and I have seen them in all humours. I suspect, however, that what we here sometimes call happiness, is only a kind of accommodation of misery. Thus they take thesignfor thething; and when they are roaring over the tankard, they think they are enjoying themselves. Perhaps they have more of the real thing in the hardness of their rebellion; for I think I have read somewhere, that man (and woman too, I suspect) is such a strange being that he can feel a pleasure in the veryspiteof pleasure. I can’t say I would relish that happiness very much.
Well, I find I am at my old trade of spinning morals, without a touch of which I suspect my experiences would not be of much service to mankind; and if I had had no hope of that, I doubt if I would have been at the trouble of opening my black book of two thousand detections. I have little more to say about my grandees. They were brought to trial before the High Court, where, on the evidence of Richardson and his wife, the urchins who found the pieces, our own testimony, and the tale told by the utensils, they were found guilty. This was not, as I have said, the first, nor the second, nor the third time for the gentleman; but the ladies had never been handled so roughly before. Harvey got eight years’ penal servitude, and the two belles five years each. As they sat at the bar, I could not help thinking of their appearance thatday I took them for ladies of rank on a mission of charity and mercy. Surely our realLADIES, in their present rage for finery, never think how easily, and by what base copyists, they are imitated.
One word more on this subject. I am certainly not over-fastidious as regards female dress. I have seen it in all its varieties, from the scanty cincture that adorned our first mother Eve, to the ingenious complications of modern taste and refinement; but I must observe, with all proper deference to theLADIES, that, in adopting the prevalent redundancy of skirt, theimitatedhave become theimitators, as the first of these “circumambient amplitudes” that I ever saw in Edinburgh, was sported by one of the most distinguished “Nightingales” that ever walked Princes Street. In fact, after the experience of thirty years, I find it almost impossible to distinguish the maiden from the matron,—the human vehicle for smuggled or surreptitiously acquired property from the sonsy housekeeper,—or the frail Magdalene, who knows there is a living secret to conceal, from therobust“habitante” just returned from an annual visit to her country cousins; nay, Paterfamilias himself, I have heard, on entering a cab or a box at the theatre, hasbreathed, if he did notutter, a heartfelt and pocketfelt anathema against such a superabundant and inconvenient display of hoop and crinoline.
Without attempting to quote the words of Pope as to “ribs of whale,” I would simply say to allLADIES, as Hamlet said to the players, “I pray you avoid it.”
THEway by which the ranks of thieves and robbers are recruited is by theoldteaching theyoungthe figure system. Yes, there is a proselytism of evil as well as of good. Society is always straining after the making of parties, and while churches are working for members, the old thieves are busy enlisting the young. The advantage, I fear, is with the latter, for there’s something more catching in the example of taking another man’s property than that of praying for grace. Of course I am here looking to the young, and I make this statement without caring much how your beetle-browed critic may take it.
I have known a good many of those dominies of the devil’s lore, not a few of them with streaks of grey on their heads, who, having themselves been taught at the same desk, have taken up the trade as a kind of natural calling, and raised their pupils according to the old morality, “The sweet morsel of another person’s property is pleasant to roll under the tongue;” and perhaps the more pleasant, too, that the tongue thatsucksis the tongue thatlies. There was Hugh Thomson, about the cleverest thiefin my day, that rogue brought up as many youngsters in the faith as would have filled a conventicle; and what a glorious grip that was I got of him, just as he was trying to reap the fruits of his lesson, through the ingenuity of one of his scholars, William Lang! I would not have exchanged it for the touch of a bride’s hand, with the marriage ring upon her finger.
In 1841, there was a Mr Brown who kept a spirit shop in the Low Calton, nearly opposite Trinity College Church. One of those modern unions called “Yearly Societies” was kept in his house, the members paying their contributions on the Monday evenings, which contributions, the produce of toil and sweat of poor, hard-working men, were deposited in the society box, and secured under lock and key. One Monday evening, I was passing down the Calton on my way to Leith Wynd homeward, to get myself refreshed with a cup of tea. In the mouth of an entry, on the other side of the street called the North Back of the Canongate, I observed Hugh and his scholar Lang, engaged, no doubt, in the mutual offices of teaching and learning. I thought I might learn something too, and stepping into the recess of Trinity Church gate, I watched their movements. Shortly, Lang came out—he had become a man by this time, recollect—and having mixed with the workmen, who were going into Brown’s shop to make their weekly payments, he went in among the rest.
At first, I confess, I could not understand this. The thief could make nothing of the workmen, even if unknown to them as a thief, which in all likelihood he was, and the idea of his trying the pocket line among fustian jackets never entered my head. But that there was some play to go on, where Thomson was patronising, I could have no doubt whatever. After a time, during which I took care that Thomson should not see me, Lang came out, and, having joined Thomson, the two went off together, with something that sounded in my ears as a laugh, and the meaning of which was made clear to me by a happy thought that occurred to me on the instant like a flash. I now wanted to see Brown by himself, but as the workmen were still going in and coming out, I was obliged to wait a considerable time. Selecting at length a moment when the coast was tolerably clear, I entered the shop. There, in the back room, was the sacred box, devoted to benevolence, and from which some widow and orphans might, before the year expired, receive something that would makehertear less scorching andtheircry less shrill—some broken bones, too, broken through the labour and toil of the poor man for the rich one, might have less pain through the charm of that box. Thoughts these pretty enough to some minds, but to such as Thomson quaint, if not funny.
“Mr Brown,” said I, as I entered, “will you be kind enough to shew me your list of members?”
“Surely, Mr M‘Levy.” And he placed the book in my hands.
Running down the names I came to “William Lang, joiner,” though all hisjunctionswere between his hand and the property of another.
“I have seen enough,” said I; “and now, Mr Brown, you will take especial care to carry your box up-stairs with you to-night to your dwelling-house.”
And without giving him time to ask for explanations, which I did not feel much disposed to give, I left him. I knew that Brown shut up late on the pay-nights, and therefore having plenty of time that evening, even in the event of an emergency, I went home to get my tea. After which, and having cogitated a little under its reviving influence, I took another turn down Leith Wynd. I wanted to examine the iron gate leading to the church. On looking at it, I found that the lock was off, and consequently free ingress was afforded to any one wishing to enter. I went to a blacksmith’s and got a chain and padlock, the use of which will be apparent, when I mention, that if I adopted the recess within the gate as a look-out, from which I could see Brown’s shop, it was as likely to be so used by those we wanted to observe, as by ourselves, the observers.
Having made these preliminary arrangements, I proceeded to the Office, where I secured the services of one or two of the most active constables, besides my assistant,for I knew that having Thomson to cope with, we had something to encounter far more formidable than any other thief or robber within the sound of St Giles’s. I was in all this, I admit, fired with the ambition of getting a man who had become as bold as Macbeth under the witches’ prophecy. Having waited till about eleven o’clock, the hour when Brown generally closed, I repaired, accompanied by my men, to our place of retreat. We entered cautiously, and shutting the old gate with as little noise as possible, I secured the two halves with the chain and padlock, with which I had provided myself—a proceeding which, as it afterwards appeared, was necessary to the success of our enterprise, but the object of which my men could not at the time very clearly understand. Yet what more likely than that Thomson and his gang should wish to reconnoitre us, as we wished to reconnoitre them. We were soon enclosed, and ready for observation. We saw the light put out in Brown’s shop, and heard the locking of the doors both in front and at the back, or rather in the side of the entry which led up to the premises above which the spirit-dealer resided. But more than this, we saw the cautious cashier with the sacred box under his arm, as he stept up the entry—a sight which I enjoyed with a secret chuckle of satisfaction, for it was no mean pride to be up with a man such as Hugh Thomson.
It might be about twelve o’clock before we saw anysymptoms of sport. Suddenly, three men, coming apparently from different directions, met, and whispering a few words parted, to act for caution-scouts to each other. Each took a round, casting wary glances to the right and left, and desultory as their movements were, I could recognise Hugh, Lang, and another, David L——, also an old pupil of Thomson’s. It seemed to be Thomson’s special care to look into the Trinity Church recess, and as we saw him coming forward, we retreated behind the pillars of the gate. He appeared to be taken aback as he observed the gate secured, and taking hold of a railing, he shook it; so that it was evident to me that the place we occupied had been fixed on for retreat, if not for observation. I had thus again the advantage of my old friend, and the moment he receded we resumed our posts. In a few minutes, the different scouts seemed to agree in the opinion that all was safe, and went direct to the work I had anticipated, the moment I saw Lang enter with the members of the society. The front door was not their object; it was the back, or more properly the side one in the entry, which, from the passage being right opposite to us, I could see along, though very indistinctly, scarcely more than to enable me to trace their dark figures against the light thrown in at the farthest opening. None but a keen trapper or snarer can appreciate the pleasure a detective of the true instinctive order feels when engaged in the capture of game so wild, shy, andcunning. Their very cunning is what whets our appetites, and I absolutely burned to embrace the dauntless leader of the gang.
Now we saw one separate from the rest, come up the entry, and begin to act the “goose-guard,” dodging backwards and forwards, throwing up his head, and looking from one side to another. Inside the entry, meanwhile, some obstruction seemed to take place, even adroit as Thomson was; but presently we were surprised as a vivid flash of exploded gunpowder illuminated the passage. Though unprepared for this, I understood it at once. Thomson had a way of his own withsullenlocks—placing a small parcel of powder into the key-hole, and pushing it home, so as to reach the wards, he exploded it with a match. The only thing I wondered at was the scarcely audible report—perhaps to be accounted for by the moderate charge, and the resistance of the guards which he intended to loosen. So long as they were in the entry, we could not move, even to undo the padlock and get the gate open and ready. Our moment was that of their entrance; and watching thus, with breathless anxiety, we saw that the door had been opened, by the disappearance of the shadows from the entry. Out we sallied. The “goose-guard,” L——, is made secure in an instant. Two constables, placed one on each side of the front door. I and my assistant enter the close and get to the side door. Lo! it is locked. The gentlemen had wantedtime, not only to rifle the box, but to enjoy themselves with ample potations from the whisky barrel; and no doubt their libations would have been rather costly to Mr Brown, as every minute besides would have been devoted to the abstraction of as many portables as they could carry away.
Finding the door barred, (for I think the lock must have been rendered useless,) we began to force it—a circumstance that really added to my satisfaction, as every wrench and thump must have gone home to the hearts of the intruders, now fairly caught in a novel man-trap. Nay, with the constables at the outer door, I didn’t care what noise we made, provided we were not annoyed by curious neighbours; and then, to make the play more exciting, we heard them as busy with the front door trying to getout, as we were with the back one endeavouring to getin. Forced at length, and a rush in in the dark, the noise making the thieves desperate, so that their energies to force the front door might rather be termed fury. They succeeded, just as we were at their back; and in consequence of the door being in two halves, and one starting open while the constables’ eyes were fixed on the other, Lang bolted, at the moment that Thomson was embraced by a powerful constable. Another constable was off immediately in pursuit of Lang; and such was my weakness, that when I saw Thomson struggling ineffectually in the grasp of the officer, one whom I hadso often sighed for in secret, and eyed in openness, that I took him from the man with that kind of feeling that no person ought to have the honour of holding him but myself.
By this time Mr Brown was down among us in great consternation.
“Ah!” said he, “I see the reason now of your having told me to carry the society-box up-stairs.”
“I fear that would have been nothing to your loss,” replied I, “if we hadn’t been as sharp as we have been. All’s right.”
Mr Brown’s fears were appeased, and we then marched our gentlemen up to the Office, in which procession, so honoured by the presence of Hugh Thomson, I enjoyed one of my triumphs. Lang was sought for during weeks, but could not be found; and here I have to recount one of my wonders. One dark evening when I was acting the night-hawk out near the Gibbet Toll, I had gone considerably beyond that mark, and was returning. Dalkeith is a kind of harbour of refuge for the Edinburgh thieves when the city becomes too hot for them, and I had some hopes of an adventure on this road, otherwise I would not have been there at that hour, for it was late. The road to Portobello is also a hopeful place at times; but on that night I had some reasons, known only to myself, (and it was not often surmised where I was at any time,) for preferring the southern opening. Well, saunteringalong I met a young fellow, but it was so dark that, at the distance of two or three yards, you could scarcely recognise anybody. I had a question ready, however, that suited all comers.
“Am I right for the city?” said I.
“Right in,” was the reply.
And seeing the man wanted to be off, I darted a look at the side of his face. It was Lang’s; and I suspected he had recognisedmebefore I didhim, for he was off in an instant on the way to Dalkeith, and I must take to my heels in pursuit, or lose him. I immediately gave chase, and a noble one it was, though the night was as dark as pitch, and every step was through liquid mud.
Lang was a good runner, and had, I fancy, confidence that he would escape, and that which he had to escape from might very well grease the heels of even a lazy fellow. He ran for freedom, that dear treasure of even a thief’s soul; and I ran to deprive him of it, a feeling as dear to a detective. The race became hot and hotter, and I could see only the dark outline of the flying desperado, and I heard the sound of his rapid steps as the voice of hope. By the side of the road one or two people stood, and seemed to wonder at the chase, but no one ventured to interfere. We had run a mile and a half with no abatement of the speed of either, so that we were about equal, and if this continued we might run to Dalkeith; but this issue was rendered improbable by thefact, quite well known to me, that apursued criminal, with a clever officer after him, may almost always be caught by loss of breath. The impulse under which he flies is far more trying to the nerves than that which impels the officer to follow, and hence it is that criminals are so often what is called “run down.” The same remark is applicable to a chase of animals. Fear eats up the energies, the lungs play violently, and exhaustion is the consequence. And so it was here. I gained as time sped, and at length I heard the grateful sound of the blowing lungs. He felt his weakness, and the old bravado getting up, he stopt all of a sudden, and waited for me.