Penfold proceeded to put her words to the proof. Without any sort of warning, she took Edith by the throat, and, advancing her foot, tripped her over on to the floor with an ease which was positively ludicrous. And, having got her down, choking her with one huge hand, while with the other she began to tear her clothes from off her with as scant formality as she might have plucked the feathers from a fowl, Edith made not the slightest attempt at resistance. Not only was there no fight left in her, but she was being throttled. If that iron grasp about her slender throat was not soon relaxed, she would, ere long, become a runaway wife indeed, and for ever. Before, however, that consummation had been achieved, and she was actually and finally throttled, a diversion was caused by the unceremonious entrance of still another woman, who was holding a paper in her hand. Without any sort of prelude she addressed herself to all and sundry.
"Clara Harvey's been too much for us. She's declined to swallow the bait we offered her, she saw the hook behind it, as I expected she would. She's given us the slip, and apparently got clean away, because she's had the impudence to send me this telegram."
The new-comer read aloud from the piece of paper she was holding, which was now seen to be a telegraph form.
"So sorry cannot accept kind invitation to come to town. Have business engagement, which I am now starting to fill. Good-bye, dearest, in case I should not see you again for very long time, which fear I sha'n't. Say good-bye for me to the other dears. Hope dear Mary won't suffer much, but we have all of us to be in trouble in our turn. Best love.--Clara."
The reading of this curiously and extravagantly-worded telegram, was followed by a chorus of exclamations.
"What nonsense are you talking?" "What are you reading from?" "Who's been kidding you?" "Clara's here!"
It was the new-comer's turn to exclaim. "Clara's here? Where?"
"Here!"
Her attention was directed to the figure of Mrs Bankes, who was still recumbent on the floor, though fortunately Penfold had somewhat softened the vigour of her attentions. The new-comer stared at the prostrate lady.
"Clara! That's not Clara!"
"Not Clara? Don't talk rubbish! It's her, right enough!"
"I don't know who that is, and I don't know what you're playing off on me, but I do know that's not Clara Harvey. I've known her pretty well all my life; if I don't know her, I don't know who does, and I tell you that's no more Clara Harvey than I am."
On the faces of the four women were looks of stupefied amazement. Penfold shook the recipient of her tender mercies.
"Now then, wake up there, you ain't quite dead. Ain't you, Clara?"
"No!" Mrs Bankes just managed to gasp.
On the table lay her purse, with its contents displayed to the public gaze. The new-comer took up the visiting card.
"What's this? Mrs Frank Bankes, The Chestnuts, Tuesdays, 4 to 6."
"I'm Mrs Frank Bankes," murmured the owner of that name.
The new-comer darted forward.
"Not Mrs Frank Bankes, of Colchester? Not the wife of Frank Bankes, the solicitor, who's undertaken the prosecution of Mary Griffiths?"
"I'm his wife."
The new-comer evinced all the symptoms of mental disturbance. She stared at Edith as if she were a ghost. Then looked at the others with eyes in which were both anger and amazement.
"What--what's the meaning of this? What tomfoolery have you been up to? How came she here?"
The little woman advanced to the front.
"It is for her to explain, not us. She came here with Ricketts as Clara Harvey; she allowed us to believe she was Clara Harvey. You know neither of us four has ever seen Clara Harvey; we never supposed, therefore, that she could be anyone else!" She spoke to Edith. "Why did you pass yourself off as someone else?"
"I didn't. I told you there was a mistake. I wanted to explain but you wouldn't let me."
"But you came here with Ricketts?"
"Not of my own free will. I didn't want to come, but she made me. She threatened to shoot me if I tried to get out of the cab."
"But how came you to be with Ricketts at all? Do you know her?"
"If you mean by Ricketts the person who brought me here, I never saw her before in my life. When she came to me in the railway carriage, I thought my husband had sent her to meet me. I was in great distress, or I should have been more cautious."
"Look here, Mrs Bankes, what has happened has been your fault, not ours. We certainly were not desirous of your presence, so perhaps you will just explain by what curious accident you are here."
Mrs Bankes did explain, lamely enough, and with plentiful lack of dignity. Her audience listened with all their ears.
"I am Mrs Bankes, of Colchester. This afternoon I quarrelled with my husband--I see now that I was altogether in the wrong." If only Frank could have heard! "I was beside myself with passion. I said that I would run away, and--I ran away. When I got to London someone came to me in the train. I thought my husband had sent her to take me back again, so--I went with her, but--she brought me here instead--you wouldn't listen to me, so--"
She stopped short, something seemed to be choking her. But she had said enough to make her meaning pretty plain.
"Ricketts is a fool." They were the first words the lady in widow's weeds had uttered. They seemed to meet with general approval.
"Rickett's is not the only fool." The addition was the little woman's. This expression of opinion was also adopted. "For all I know, Mrs Bankes, you may, on ordinary occasions, be a person remarkable for common-sense; but you must forgive my saying that, on this occasion, it is not that quality in your conduct which strikes one most. You are the wife of a man who is no friend of ours; you have forced yourself into our confidence; you have tricked us into treating you with alarming frankness; you have engineered yourself into a position in which you will be able to do us serious mischief. For us it now becomes a question of self-preservation. What are we to do with her?"
"Don't let her go back to her husband."
This suggestion also came from the lady in weeds. An irrepressible shudder went all over Mrs Bankes. She would have protested, however feebly, against so terrible a proposition, had not her tongue refused its office. Never had she supposed it possible that she would have been treated with contempt by anyone--and by a gang of thieves!
The five women drew together at one side of the room. They entered into agitated discussion, conducted, however, in whispers, so as to be inaudible to the anxious lady close at hand. The consultation could not have been carried far before the room door was again thrown open, and the woman, Ricketts, who had been primarily the cause of all the mischief, came rushing in.
"Quick!--the coppers! they're at the door!--the other way."
The woman was a picture of excitement and alarm. As soon as she had spoken she turned and fled as rapidly as she had come. Her words fell like a bombshell amidst the little group of women. Without an attempt at comment they rushed after her, bustling each other in their panic flight. Almost before she learned what had happened, and certainly before she could guess what was about to happen, Mrs Bankes found herself alone. Suddenly there was the sound of violent knocking at the street door; a loud crash; heavy footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. Three or four men came into the room. One of them, advancing, laid his hand upon her shoulder. He turned to a man behind him.
"They've had the office and done a bolt. I daresay they are trying the roof; go up and see. Take somebody with you." The man addressed walked quickly from the room, two others going with him.
"You are my prisoner."
Mrs Bankes looked up at the speaker with ashen cheeks.
"Your prisoner? What do you mean? Who are you?"
"You know very well who I am, though, since you ask, I don't mind telling you that I'm a detective officer of police, named Macarthy, which, no doubt, is all quite news to you. How comes it that you weren't so nimble on your pins as those friends of yours?"
"Friends of mine?"
"They are friends of yours, I take it. You're a regular happy family, aren't you? And a nice little lot you seem to be. You, at anyrate, will be separated from them for a time. Hold out your hands."
He did not wait for her to hold out her hands, he held them out for her. In an instant handcuffs were girdling her dainty wrists. This did seem to be the most terrible catastrophe of all, that she, Edith Bankes, should be arrested at Christmas-time, as a common thief, and handcuffed!
"You are making a horrible mistake, I am not the person you take me for."
"I don't see how you can make that out, since I haven't said who I do take you for as yet. Of course you can cheek it out if you like, but don't you think it would seem too thin? Do you expect us to believe that only ladies of first-class character are to be found in a house like this--the foulest den in London?"
"I assure you, officer, that it is only owing to the most extraordinary misapprehension."
"Of course--not a doubt of it; it always is like that. Take my advice and keep a still tongue--anything you say 'll be used against you. Sorry to have to use the bracelets, we don't generally, with a lady, but, in a place like this, we take no chances. Jones, take her off, and let Wright go with you. I'm going over this place, and then I'll come straight on."
"But I implore you to listen to me. I am Mrs Bankes--"
"Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Bankes; hope to see you again a little later on. Now off you go; don't be silly. You don't want us to carry you, I suppose--it might spoil your pretty clothes!"
He gave her what was meant as a good-natured push; but to her, unaccustomed to come into physical contact with policemen, it was as if the heavens were falling. A younger man took her by the arm.
"Now then. Downstairs!"
She went downstairs, the officer gripping her firmly. The house seemed full of men. In the street were half a dozen more. Her companion called one of them to her. Presently she found herself walking between two constables, each having hold of an arm, handcuffed, to the station house. And even then she was unable to adequately realise the situation. It did seem incredible that she, a woman of position, the wife of a man of reputation, could be hauled off to jail without even knowing with what crime she was charged. She made still another effort to induce her captors to hear reason.
"I do assure you that you are making a dreadful mistake. I am Mrs Bankes--"
Sergeant Jones interrupted her.
"All right, you've said that before. We've been ordered to take you to the station, and if you're a duchess it makes no difference to us, we're going to take you. You can explain all about it when you're there."
What was the use of attempting to argue with such impossible creatures? Fate was hard on her. Her heart was sinking down into her shoes. Was she actually to spend a night in a police cell, after undergoing goodness only knew what indignities? What an inauguration of the Christmas season? What would be her husband's feelings? What would her relations think? What would her acquaintances say? What a tale to be told against her throughout the whole remainder of her life! The horror of it all!
As they passed out of the narrow street in which stood that house of ill omen, just as they had turned the corner, six or seven figures appeared out of the darkness, and without uttering a sound, or word of warning, precipitated themselves upon the advancing trio. Before Mrs Bankes had an inkling of their purpose she found herself being torn from the clutches of her captors, each of whom, with what seemed to be a cloth thrown over his head, was being dragged backward on to the ground. In what appeared little more than an instant she was freed at the expense of her arms being torn nearly out of their sockets, and was being hurried along the pavement under the guidance of a tall individual in a long dark overcoat, who continually urged her, by word and action, to use her utmost speed.
"Who are you? Where are you taking me?" she managed to articulate. Her conductor's reply was not entirely satisfactory.
"Move yourself. It's all right, coast's clear, only don't stop talking. I've got a cab round the corner, this way."
He whirled her round into an alley which she would hardly have noticed if it had not been for him. In the dim light a hansom stood waiting. He lifted her in without a with-your-leave or by-your-leave, sprang in after her, and in a moment the horse, urged by its driver, tore off at the top of its speed. So soon as they had started the man at her side broke into a peal of laughter, which, despite its heartiness, had about it a peculiar quality of silence, beginning at the same time to talk with surprising volubility.
"Neat, wasn't it? Did you ever see anything neater? I fancy I scored off those infernal coppers that time, what do you think? I heard you were going to be raided, in fact I saw them starting, so I whipped up a few trusty pals, boys who wouldn't stick at a trifle, and I've got you away from them at any rate; it'll be your own fault, my dear, if, after this, you're buckled again. I should like to see Macarthy's face when he hears what's happened to those chaps of his. Aren't you very much obliged to me?"
Edith was not by any means certain. She ventured on an inquiry.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Captain Jim."
"Captain Jim?"
"Yes, you must be a raw hand if you've never heard of Captain Jim. Why, it's only a week or two since I came out from doing my last five years, and I've made things move since I've been out, I tell you. A word to the wise--I've got the biggest thing in my eye ever you heard of. Some of that lot in your gang have got grit, that I do know, and if you're the sort of girl I take you for, you're just the one I want--we'll bring it off between us, just me and you together. What do you say to that?"
"Thank you, but I--I'm afraid you've made a mistake--"
"Oh, blow your mistakes, I don't believe it! You wouldn't have been where you were if you hadn't got the right stuff in you. Let me take those darbies off, they can't feel comfortable on those nice little wrists of yours; darn their eyes for putting them on you."
The handcuffs did gall her. She offered no objection to his removing them with the aid of a key which he took from his pocket. When they were off he tossed them up into the air, catching them as they came down.
"You beauties! you've buckled many a good man; wouldn't I like to buckle a copper with you for a change? I'd make him look funny!"
The cab had been dashing along without any diminution of speed. It turned round still another corner. Captain Jim looked out. "Keep your eyes skinned. My place is along here. Bill--that's the cabman, he's a pal of mine--don't want to stop any longer than he can help, for fear of being spotted,--you never know who's looking; so when I give the word jump out like lightning."
"But I want to explain to you--"
"Stow your explanations till we get inside. Then you and me'll have a good old palaver. Now then."
The cab drew up. Somehow, she herself scarcely knew how, Edith found herself standing on the pavement with Captain Jim. Almost before she felt the ground beneath her feet the cab was off.
"Pretty smart that. Bill can move when he wants to, trust him to get the right sort of cattle. Now then, here we are at home." He turned towards the house behind them. She made a further attempt at expostulation--but she was too far gone to do so with effect.
"It's all a mistake, I want to tell you it's all a mistake."
"Tell me all about it when we get inside. You're not up to the mark, I can see. A pick-me-up will put you to rights."
He had been opening the door with a latchkey while he had been speaking. He hustled her through it, in spite of her feeble effort at resistance, leading the way into an apartment which appeared to be used as a sitting-room. The man looked round with an air of pride.
"Not a bad kind of crib, is it? And I have got a bedroom what is better than this,--you trust me to get the proper sort of place. There's some as would give a hundred pounds, and more, to find me in here--but they've got to find someone who'll give them the office. I don't think you will, what do you think? By George, you're a ripper! You look like glass, you do, I'd no idea you were such a beauty. Why, you'd look well in any company, I know what I'm talking about, I do. You mark my words! I'm going in for a clean hundred thousand pounds, and I'm going to touch it too, and you're the very sort I want to come in with me. We'll go shares, fifty thousand pounds a-piece! What do you say to that? You wait a minute, and I'll tell you all about it, I want to say a word to my old landlady."
He left the room. She was afraid that he would lock the door behind him, but he was evidently too wholly unsuspicious of the true state of the case to think of doing anything of the kind. In a moment her resolution was formed, with such strength as was left to her. She waited till she heard that his footsteps had receded along the passage. Then she too stole from the room. She crept along the passage with as little noise as possible. She reached the front door. The hall was in darkness; she fumbled with the latch, the sound reaching the keen ears of Captain Jim.
"What's that? Who's there?"
She found the handle; the door was open. Captain Jim came running along the passage. But with all his haste, he was too late. She was through the door, half a dozen paces away. The street was a mean one, dark and deserted. But, some hundred yards off, there was the gleam of lights, the roar of traffic, and evidently close at hand was some big thoroughfare. If she could only reach it she might be safe. Despair--the consciousness that it was now or never--lent her wings. She ran as she had never run before. Yet the man behind her ran faster still. She knew he gained. Another effort--still she might be at the corner first. As she reached it, he caught her by the shoulder. His voice was hoarse with rage.
"What the devil does this mean? What little game do you think you're up to?"
"Help! Help!" she screamed.
Just as the man was beginning to draw her back into the side street someone came hurrying towards her across the pavement. Someone, who, without the slightest hesitation, struck Captain Jim full in the face, with such force and such science, that that gentleman went down like a ninepin.
"You villain!" exclaimed a voice--which sounded to the girl like a voice from heaven. "What are you doing to this lady?"
"Frank!" she cried.
"Edith? Great heavens! is it you?"
In another moment the wife was crying in her husband's arms.
"Oh, Frank, take me away, before they kill me."
Captain Jim had regained his feet. He seemed disposed to bluster--though evidently not completely at his ease.
"What did you hit me for? Who do you think you're knocking about? What do you mean by interfering between my wife and me?"
"Your wife--you hound? Think yourself lucky if I let you go. Say another word and I'll call that constable, and give you into custody."
As it chanced, at that moment a policeman was seen approaching. At sight of him, Captain Jim, apparently completely at a loss to understand the situation, slunk off, muttering curses beneath his breath. Mr Bankes hailed a passing hansom. When he got into it he found that his wife had fainted.
They returned by the nine o'clock train. The strange happenings herein set forth took place in a very much shorter time than it has taken to tell of them. She told her tale of wonder as they travelled homewards, he listening with open-mouthed amazement, interpolating occasional suggestions as to what he would like to do to some of the characters treated of in the lady's narrative.
When the Christmas guests arrived upon the morrow they little guessed what was the real inspiration of the exceeding warmth with which their hostess greeted them. Never was there a happier Christmas gathering, "a more united family." Everything went off without a hitch.
Mary Griffiths was tried for her share in the robbery of the Denyer jewels, and Frank Bankes was solicitor for the prosecution. She was found guilty. Previous convictions having been proved against her, she was sentenced to a term of penal servitude.
Mr and Mrs Bankes have heard nothing of that gang of dreadful women who got the lady in their clutches owing to such a very singular misunderstanding. Nor of Captain Jim. Truth to tell they have made no enquiries with a view of hearing, being desirous that no one but themselves should know that Mrs Bankes was ever--even for so short a space of time--a runaway wife.
She has never felt disposed to run away since, and come what may, she is absolutely convinced that she never will.