CHAPTER XVI.
PHILLIP REDGILL IS FOUND TO BE NOT SO CLEVER AS HE CONSIDERED HIMSELF.
PHILLIP REDGILL IS FOUND TO BE NOT SO CLEVER AS HE CONSIDERED HIMSELF.
Phillip Redgill next appears on the scene of our story in his father’s offices.
His father was very rich, and had extensive dealings with ships and valuable merchandize in the City of London.
He was a widower of nearly sixty summers, and had no child but Phillip.
This youth had been well educated, and was allowed an ample income to live on.
But he looked upon commerce as something degrading, and felt ashamed to own among the gay gallants of the town that he was anything less than a person of noble blood.
His propensities for gambling had well nigh ruined his father more than once.
But the fond old parent had overlooked his son’s misdemeanours very frequently.
At last it was discovered that Phillip had so far forgotten himself as to forge his father’s name to certain heavy bills, and squandered the money on gay persons of the town.
From that time forth a great coldness existed between father and son, and Phillip was told for the last time that hemustmake his annual allowance suffice for his pleasures, and that should he again so disgrace the time-honoured name of Redgill, he would take the consequences, for the law should be enforced, which in those days was “death for forgery.”
Phillip, however, had become so accustomed to high life about town, that he looked upon his father’s conduct as something very cruel, and resolved to rob him all he could rather than be lowered in the estimation of his “lordly” acquaintances.
A libertine soon brings many a good and rich parent to ruin.
But old Redgill was a man of firm purpose; when he once had made up his mind to anything, and although he did not tell any one of his intentions, he frequently informed Phillip privately that his conduct was bringing sorrows and misery on his old age, and that if he did not reform he would disinherit him.
All this Phillip Redgill looked upon as a good joke, and set his wits to work to get money as best he could by hook or by crook, so as to still keep up the reputation he had already gained among the gayest of the gay, as “Reckless Redgill.”
One of the first things which Phillip did when he found it no longer possible to “screw” money out of his rich old parent, was to form the acquaintance of the notorious Death-wing, chief of the Skeleton Crew.
Old Redgill had two ships on their way from the Indies, laden with gold, spices, and silks.
In consideration of receiving half of the cargo, Death-wing and his infamous crew resolved to waylay these two ships and attack them when about fifty miles from the Land’s End.
This was done.
The crew of both ships were murdered in cold blood.
The vessels were run into a snug inlet on the West coast of England, near to where Death-wing’s caves and store-houses were situated.
Phillip received but one-fifth of the spoil, instead of one-half.
But he was much too wise to say anything about his disappointment and annoyance.
This system of villany was repeated more than once, but as his father’s ships did not arrive in port except at intervals of many months, Phillip often found his money running short, and without any visible means of replenishing his exhausted purse.
In his father’s offices he had often heard of old Farmer Bertram’s indebtedness, and of how much money was still due on the mortgages at Four Ash Farm.
Mr. Harry Bolton, he also knew, was his father’s travelling collector, and was about to start on his usual journey.
As we have seen, Phillip forestalled Bolton’s visit to Four Ash farm, and by impersonating Bolton, obtained an interview with old Bertram and murdered him.
Young Redgill was a cool-handed villain, and knew not what remorse was.
Bloodshed to him was quite a usual thing.
He was not a brave young man by any means, as Wildfire Ned often proved.
But it was whispered by those who knew him best that when returning from wine parties he would have no scruple in picking a quarrel with any inoffensive citizen he might fall across, and feel no regret at drawing his sword and wounding any one who was unarmed.
Many a simple shopkeeper and unsuspecting night watchman had been “pinked” by “Reckless Redgill,” and no one was any the wiser.
But, like all great rogues and rascals, Phillip was very careful, very careful indeed, in picking quarrels, or drawing his “toasting fork,” upon any one who was at all likely or able to resent it blow for blow.
He had up to the present time run along in his career of crime undetected and unsuspected.
But all things have an end.
And so it was with Phillip.
From petty thefts in his father’s offices he gradually and swiftly descended to greater villanies, until at last, as we have seen, even coolly-planned murder did not shock or retard him in his life of crime.
Like an apple, he was only getting sufficientlyripe to fall into the hands of justice, and, as will be seen in due course of time, he met with his proper deserts.
Weak and pale, Phillip sat in his father’s counting-house, in which were busily engaged dozens of industrious clerks.
He had sauntered through the offices with a supercilious air, and to those who politely bade him “good morrow” he only returned a contemptuous look, as if they were so much dirt, and beneath his notice.
As usual, he was elegantly dressed, and a servant assisted him into his father’s private office, where he lounged in a capacious chair, and toyed with a pet spaniel.
Old Redgill had been informed of his son’s wound, but up to the present time knew nothing as to what had occasioned it, for Phillip did not, in truth, in his own words, “he would not condescend” to live in his father’s house, but kept up a small but elegant “establishment” of his own, where wine parties, card playing, and magnificent suppers were the order of the night.
After a time old Redgill, the famous East India merchant, entered, and the father and son spoke of many things.
“But you have never told me how you got that sword thrust, Phillip,” said the father, in a very anxious tone. “I suppose you and some gay spark fell out on the road and had a pass or two at some roadside inn? I know your proud spirit, my son, and your headstrong valour.”
Phillip smiled faintly in a patronizing way, as if “a pass or two” with gay sparks was an every-day occurrence, although his own heart told him that he was one of the greatest cowards and villains unhung.
“No, sir,” was the calm reply, “the whole affair occurred in this manner. When I left Darlington Hall with old Sir Richard Warbeck, our carriage was attacked by a band of highwaymen.”
“I see, I see,” said the fond father, in great glee, “and in beating them off you got wounded?”
“Not that exactly; letmetell the story. Old Sir Richard escaped through the assistance of some gallant gentleman unknown to him or myself, and he travelled on alone, for after fighting with the vagabonds, and after I had wounded several of them, they took me prisoner.”
“Took you prisoner, eh? What a mercy you escaped at all! You surprise me.”
“It will surprise you more to hear what I’ve got to tell. These ruffians conducted me to a roadside den, some house of call of theirs, and who should I discover but Ned Warbeck among them.”
“Ned Warbeck? Impossible!”
“No, it is a fact seeing him there; and knowing what a young rascal he is I accused him of having set on the villains to rob and murder his uncle so as to fall heir to part of the estate.”
“Oh, the young scoundrel! And so you think he did so?”
“Think!” said Phillip, with a curling lip. “I amsureof it, for who but he could have known of his uncle’s intended journey?”
“I see, I see,—go on: this adventure is intensely exciting. And what happened?”
“He knew that I was in the power of his friends, and the young villain became very defiant. He drew his sword, and would have rushed upon me unarmed as I was.”
“Cowardly, cowardly boy!” said the father.
“But, when least expected, I whipped a weapon out of the scabbard of one present, and went at him.”
“Good! excellent! What then?”
“At the first thrust I disarmed him, and the young villain cried for mercy. I granted it, but when least expected, the whole gang dashed at me, furious that their young chief—”
“Chief! you do not mean, then, that Ned Warbeck has joined a band of robbers, and been made their captain?”
“I do, though, just as you say. They rushed at me with savage oaths. I retreated to the door, fighting as I went, and reached my horse. Just as I was about to escape, young Warbeck dashed out upon me, and gave me a sly thrust.”
“Oh, the young imp of the devil!” groaned old Redgill, “just to think of his cunning and roguery; to leave his uncle’s home to be captain of a band of highwaymen! Why, the young varlet will shortly grace a gibbet.”
“Not a doubt of it, and I shall never rest content until I see it come to pass.”
While father and son were thus conversing, one of the clerks entered and announced a stranger.
“Who, and what kind of person is he?”
“An officer of the Crown, sir; a tall man with a black patch over his eye.”
“An officer of the Crown,” thought Phillip, and his face turned crimson.
“What can he want here?” the old merchant asked.
“I know not, sir; but he is a swaggering kind of person, and is now walking up and down the stone passage entrance-hall, clanking his sword in a very fierce and valiant manner.”
“Did he give any name?” Phillip asked, in an uneasy manner.
“No, Mr. Phillip.”
“Admit him,” said the old man, impatiently. “What can any officer of the Crown want with us, I wonder?”
“I know not,” his son answered; “but, as it may be a matter of secresy, I will retire.”
“Nay, do not, my son; stay with me.”
Phillip, however, rose from his chair with difficulty, and proceeded towards the door.
At that moment it was opened.
Captain Jack stalked in.
For a moment he was staggered at seeing Phillip Redgill, and opened his eyes very wide.
Phillip put his finger to his lips slyly.
Captain Jack coughed significantly, and said not a word.
Phillip now altered his mind, and sat in a chair.
“Your business, sir!” said the old merchant, impatiently.
“My name first, and business afterwards, is the style, I think!” said Captain Jack, doffing his hat, and stroking his chin.
Without invitation he squatted down in a chair, and stretched out his immense long legs to the utmost.
Seeing a decanter of wine on the table, he helped himself to a large tumbler-full, and tossed it off, saying,
“Ah! who wouldn’t be an East India merchant to have such sack as that? Ah! d—nd fine stuff for a dusty day.”
“Your name, sir?” the old merchant inquired impatiently.
“My name! eh? Ah! just so,” he replied indifferently, and with much composure pouring out another glass of wine. “My name, sir, is Captain Jack, and yours is Mr. Redgill, I think; here’s health to you, old boy!”
“And your business, here?” said the merchant, amazed at the coolness of his vulgar visitor.
“My business! eh? Well, if you want to know, I’m one of the most active, zealous, and valiant officers the Crown can boast; and as to catching rogues, vagabonds, and cut-throats, there isn’t my equal in all the kingdom. I’ve only got one fault, and that is, I love the bottle.”
“All this has nothing to do with me, sir!” said the old merchant, getting red in the face with anger. “Your business here, I demand again?”
“Don’t get frothy, my old friend!” said Captain Jack, “I’m coming to that now.”
“And what is it, pray?”
“I’ll just tell you,” said Captain Jack, “but as we don’t want any intruders, I may as well lock the door.”
He rose and did so, and put the key in his pocket.
Phillip was now apprehensive of danger, and turned deadly pale.
His father began to stutter out something, but could not speak plainly.
“I have come here on a very important bit of business,” said Captain Jack, “and like an honest man, as I am, don’t want to hurt the tender feelings of any one.”
“I don’t understand you,” said the old merchant.
“Well, there has beenmurdercommitted, that’s all,” said Captain Jack, with a low chuckle.
“Murder!” gasped the old merchant, retreating a step or two in surprise and horror.
“Murder!” echoed Phillip, with a well-feigned look of astonishment.
“Yes, murder, gentlemen, that’s all.”
“And what haveIto do with such a foul charge?” asked the merchant, indignantly.
“Youhaven’t; but—there—are—certain—parties—not—a—very—great—way—from—here—as—have,” said Captain Jack, very carelessly in the direction where Phillip sat.
Young Redgill felt the blood run coldly to his heart as he heard these words.
But he spoke not.
“Some one inthishouse?” asked the merchant, astonished.
“Yes, in this very house, and no other. Not only murder, mind you, but robbery,” said Captain Jack, very coolly. “And a pretty good haul the chap made of it, so I hear. He bagged lots of gold coin. Do you know old Bertram, of Four Ash Farm?”
“I do; he is my creditor to a large amount, and has to pay me heavy arrears on a mortgage I hold of him. I expect him in town every day.”
“You may expect a long time, then, for he’s the chap which was robbed and murdered.”
“Impossible!” said the old merchant, turning white. “What a horrid affair! And have they found out who did it?”
“Not exactly,” said Captain Jack; “but—I—think—I—can—find—out—afore—long,” he answered, slowly and ominously. “I’m coming to that point now. Have you a travelling collector in your house of the name of Bolton?”
“Bolton? Yes.”
“Of course you have, father,” said Phillip, eagerly. “Surelyhecouldn’t have been such a wretch as to——”
“Steady, my friends, steady,” said Captain Jack, coolly. “Don’t be in any flurry, either of ye, but answer me. Did he call at old Bertram’s? Did you order him to call there, and collect your debt?”
“Yes you did, father. I heard you tell him to do so in my hearing, when last I saw you.”
“I know I did, my son; but when you had gone I altered my mind, and sent Bolton in quite a different direction. He was not within fifty miles of Four Ash Farm, I’ll swear; that is, unless he went there unknown to me, and contrary to my orders.”
A heavy sigh escaped from Phillip’s lips, and he felt a cold sweat upon his guilty brow, as he said,
“I know you told him; but if you countermanded the order, of course that’s a different thing. It’s an awful charge to be accused of is murder.”
“Yes, ain’t it?” said Captain Jack, with a wicked grin playing around his large mouth. “And robbery, too. Have neither of ye heard of it afore? Not a syllable?”
“Never dreamed of such an abominable affair,” said Phillip.
“Lor! how strange! and just to think as how this job has been in my hands more than a fortnight, and all the country knows it; but is this Mr. Bolton in your offices now?”
“He is.”
“Then let us have a squint at him. Order him in here, for I’ve got an exact description of the party who called at the farm-house; he was disguised.”
The door was unlocked, and in a few moments young Mr. Bolton appeared.
As he crossed the threshold, with a light step and pleasant smile, he suddenly caught the serious gaze of his master and young Redgill.
“You sent for me, sir,” he began; but turned all manner of colours when he confronted his old master’s black looks.
“What is all this?” he asked.
“I am sorry to say, Mr. Bolton,” Phillip Redgill began, “that you are suspected of a most foul——”
“Not so fast,” said Captain Jack, interrupting. “I understand my own business best and want no assistance from any one.”
“Look you here, young man,” he began, addressing Mr. Bolton, “one of your master’s customers and old friends have been murdered, and you are one of the suspected parties.”
“I?”
“Yes, you; and all I’ve got to say is that I have got a warrant for your apprehension as being concerned in it, and you must come with me.”
“Arrested on the charge of murder?” Bolton gasped, and he staggered towards the door, past Phillip Redgill, whose countenance wore a malicious smile of triumph.
The news stunned the young man, and he would have rushed away from the spot.
At that moment, however, Mr. Faulkner and another unprepossessing, ugly-looking member of the “Bakers’ dozen” appeared at the door, and politely collared the astonished youth.
He was borne away to prison more dead than alive.
But before Captain Jack left the private office he helped himself to another glass of wine, and, as he went out, whispered to Phillip,
“Can’t I see you some time to-night?”
“Where?” answered Phillip, in a faint voice.
“At the ‘Cat and Bagpipes’ over the water.”
“What time?”
“At twelve.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Mind you do,” said Captain Jack, with an ominous wink, and stalked out of the office in a swaggering manner.
“What did the officer say to you, Phillip?” the anxious father asked.
“He simply said that the case, as it at present stands, looks very awkward for Mr. Bolton.”
“Oh, is that all? Yet, methinks he is an unmannerly officer. Did you notice how he winked and blinked at you while he spoke?”
“No; did he?”
“Yes; and had I not known you well, I should have supposed you knew and had dealings with him at some time.”
Phillip attempted to smile, as he said,
“Oh, that is nothing; winking their eyes and stroking their noses is only a habit these officers have got. But,” he sighed to himself, “I am in their clutches! but will soon rid myself of the bloodhounds. He must visitmeto-night. I cannot if I would go there to his den of thieves. I know the place well, and would not trust myself among the ragamuffins who meet there, no, not for a thousand pieces of gold. Curse the hour I ever met them. I am tracked and dogged. These fellows shall be removed from my path—theymustbe.”