THE SPIDER AND THE SPIDER-KILLER.In some of the isles of the Pacific, I have been told, it is not uncommon for a spider, while in the act of seizing and sucking the heart’s blood of a tender and juicy fly, to be himself pounced upon by a larger insect peculiar to the clime, having as keen a zest for raw spider as the spider has for fresh fly. Nature repeats itself in all its grades and conditions. Human spiders abound among my “bairns,” but then fortunately the spider-devourer occasionally crops up in the same class.In passing through one of the fashionable crescents down in the New Town, one day about noon, on some business which admitted of little delay, I was a little surprised to see one of the most cunning rogues within my ken ascend the steps of a big main-door house, and ring the bell as coolly as if the residence had been his own. Peter Hart was an exceedingly cautious rascal who could never be caught napping, or booked for anything like the sentence he deserved, from the fact that he never personally conducted any operation which he could conveniently transfer to a “cat’s paw.”That was the man whom I saw ascend the steps of that fine residence. What was the villain after there? My business was urgent, but the effrontery of the knave pointed so clearly to some carefully-planned crime that I instinctively slackened my pace to watch if he should enter the house. Unfortunately I had been almost upon him before aware of his identity, and these quiet crescents are almost deserted by day, so there was no opportunity for concealment before his quick eyes, ever on the alert, had turned round and taken in the position at a glance. Peter’s impression probably was, that I had been following him all the way from his house in James’ Square. He might have known me better. Had the meeting been anything but a purely accidental one, I should never have allowed him to get a glimpse of me, more especially at that critical moment.I fully expected Peter to cave in at the first glimpse of me, and slink off from the house at his smartest; but, to my surprise, he only bestowed upon me a patronising wink and a confident grin, and stood still to await the answering of his ring. His coolness did not seem to me that of sheer impudence or audacity. It seemed to be boastful and exultant—as much as if he had said, “Ah, Jamie, what a lot of trouble you have had for nothing. Here I am safe from you; just try me and see.”There was something irritating in the challenge, although it was given only by a look, and, in spite of my anxiety to get away, I determined to wait a little, and possibly do the very thing he defied me to attempt. I therefore only passed on slowly, far enough to hear the door opened, then I turned, never expecting to see him admitted. The cunning rascal was watching me all the time, and possibly guessing my thoughts, for when I looked round he was being admitted by the smart servant maid, and in the act of disappearing favoured me with another exulting grin and wink, which said as plainly as words could have done, “Sold for once, Jamie.”I did not believe it, and determined to let all other business stand that I might see the end of this adventure. With this object I loitered about, never within sight of the windows of the house, yet always having my eyes on the front door till Peter reappeared. There was no name on the door of the house he had entered, but by questioning a servant who passed I learned that the occupant or owner was an independent gentleman named Matthew Bannister, who had taken some degrees at college, and was a kind ofsavantin his way, having published some works on chemistry. The gentleman was well known to me by reputation, and the moment his name was mentioned I decided that Peter Hart’s visit to the house could have no connection with him. Mr Bannister had a young and beautiful wife, who had bestowed not only herself and her love upon the somewhat elderly gentleman, but a fortune as well; but she came of a high family, and I as emphatically decided that Peter’s visit could have no connection with her. There then remained only the servants, and, knowing Peter’s reputation and his modes of working, I quickly decided that he was in collusion with some of them, and working out some scheme entirely unknown to their employers.Peter did not remain long in the house—possibly ten minutes at the most; and when he did appear I thought best to be out of sight. To my surprise he had no bundle or trace of one about him: nor did his person appear more bulky than when he had entered. He looked carefully around in every direction—for me, of course—and, apparently slightly relieved at seeing no one, started off in the direction he had come. He made his way by Broughton Street to Greenside, where he entered a favourite public-house. Not two minutes later the pot-boy came out with something like a bank note in his hand, and, knowing the boy well, I stopped to make inquiries for Peter.“Where are you running to now?” I carelessly asked, not wishing to be too sudden in my questions.“To get change for a £5 note,” he smartly answered, with a peculiar wink, at the same time opening the crisp note for my inspection. “We’ve lots of change, but it’s aye safer to try a big note outside.”I examined the note carefully, and found it to be perfectly genuine.“You might have risked it with that one,” I said at last, handing it back. “Who offered it?”“Ah, that’s just it,” said the quick-witted boy; “even a good note isn’t quite safe from him; it was Peter Hart. You’ll knowhimI daresay?”“Oh, indeed!” I cried with a start, and a thrill of satisfaction. “He offered this to be changed, did he? Then you needn’t bother going any further with it. I particularly want to see Peter.”The pot-boy was quite accustomed to such events, and did not seem surprised. We entered the shop together, and the boy conducted me to the box in which sat Peter. I had in my hand the £5 note. Peter had in his a glass of brandy, which he was in the act of raising with manifest gusto to his lips. He was transfixed in the act, more by anger, it seemed to me, than fear.“This is yours, isn’t it?” I said pleasantly, whereupon he scowled most malignantly. My “bairns” take pleasantry very badly from me.“Yes, it’s mine,” he said with an oath at me, which, being quite undeserved, need not be put down. “What do you want with it? It’s good enough, isn’t it?”“I believe so. Where did you get it?”“What’s that to you?” was the bullying reply.I folded up the note and put it into my pocket, and then produced my handcuffs.“Everything in the world,” I replied. “You must either answer that to me or put on these before answering it to the Fiscal.”Slightly disconcerted, but still defiant, he thought for a moment, and thensaid—“Well, I got it from a gentleman—a friend of mine I was a-calling on this morning.”“His name?”“Mr Bannister,” he sullenly responded, after another pause.“I believe you!” I returned with marked scepticism. “You had better say no more, for you’ll have to go with me.”Peter lost his temper, and said he would see me very much altered first, but he didn’t. He was foolish enough to resist, so I got another man, and after much kicking and struggling on Peter’s part we landed him at the Central Office. This resistance on Peter’s part seemed so utterly unlike him—his usual conduct being cheerful and polite to an irritating degree—that I rashly considered that for once I had caught him napping, and that by the merest accident.At the office I stated all the facts, how I had seen Peter entering the house of Mr Bannister, and watched him leaving it, and knowing his character and antecedents had followed him and arrested him passing a £5 note, for the possession of which he could not properly account. Peter, on being searched, was found to have in his possession other £5, in one pound notes, thus clearly proving that the changing of the large note had been a matter of choice or policy, not necessity. To the Fiscal, however, he boldly declared that he had got all the money in way of business from his very good friend Mr Bannister, and he was put in the cells till I should go over to that gentleman to make inquiries. What the “business” was for which he had been paid ten pounds he refused to state, and I concluded that that business existed only in Peter’s imagination.When I reached the house and was shown in, the impression I had formed was strengthened. Everything in the place seemed so stately and grand that I could not conceive how the possessor could be beholden to such a crime-stained wretch as Peter Hart. Mr Bannister at length appeared, and accompanied by his amiable young wife. I studied their faces closely as they entered, and it struck me that that of the husband was careworn, fearful, and anxiously watchful in expression; that of the young wife looked tenderly solicitous, and somewhat saddened and subdued.“I have called about rather an awkward business,” I at length said, not knowing very well how to begin. “My name is James McGovan, and I am connected with the detective staff——”I would have proceeded to say that I had watched and arrested Peter as already described, but I was at that juncture interrupted in a manner altogether unexpected. The gentleman who had an appearance at once refined and dignified, started back at the mention of my name, with his face as suddenly changed to a deadly and anguished expression as if he had been at the moment stabbed to the heart. He seemed ready to drop to the floor in his pitiable agony, and his wife saw the change even before my eye had taken it in.“O Matthew! dearest!” she cried, starting forward, with her own face flashing almost as white as his own. “What is wrong? What is to happen to you?”I scarcely caught his answer, it was so huskily spoken, but it seemed to me somethinglike—“The very worst that could happen to me.”Then the young wife gave a low moan, and fell slowly forward in his arms. She had fainted, and her very helplessness, I believe, was all that kept him in his senses.Mr Bannister rang for a servant, and had his wife removed, and then with a blanched face turned to me andsaid—“Now, sir, I am ready to attend to you. Will you state your business with me?”“A man named Peter Hart entered your house this morning, and shortly after left, having in his possession £10 in bank notes, which he declared had been given him by you. Is that actually the case?”I had expected Mr Bannister’s face to lighten up and express astonishment as I proceeded, but instead it became darker and more troubled.“Why do you ask?” he at length answered in a helpless tone.“Because we know him to be a daring criminal, and suspect that the money was obtained by robbery, and possibly without your knowledge.”“Is that all that brought you here?” he demanded, with a look of intense relief. “Did he make no other statement of any kind?”“None except that we could refer the matter to you for confirmation of his statement, and for that purpose I have called.”“Oh, if that is all,” he readily answered, looking now positively radiant, “I can readily relieve your anxiety. I did pay him the money, freely and willingly, for work done.”“For work done!” I echoed, a good deal staggered, and thoroughly puzzled. “Have you any objection to say what kind of work it was?”“I have. It is not necessary to go into details,” he coldly returned.“You are aware, then, of the character of the man you have employed?” I continued, with undisguised disappointment.“I believe him to be a scoundrel,” he faintly and somewhat wearily answered. “I know nothing of his private character, and care less.”“Then we are to conclude that we have made a mistake in arresting him, and that we have no just cause for detaining him?” I pursued, trying in vain to read in his face the real secret.“Exactly. You have made a mistake, but it was a natural one on your part, seeing, as you say, that the man is a professional criminal,” he dejectedly responded. “By the way,” he added, with more animation, “I wonder that a man like you does not lay such a rascal by the heels. Is he too clever for even you?”“That remains to be seen,” I dryly returned. “He will not be at liberty a moment longer than I can help.”“I am glad to hear you say that,” said the gentleman, shaking me warmly by the hand. “When you do get him, and ensure his conviction, come to me and I will put a £5 note in your hand as an honorarium.”“Honour among thieves!” was my contemptuous thought. “There is some bond of villainy between the two, and now this man wishes to get rid of his leech. I wonder if I could not take them both?”I left the house, after bidding Mr Bannister a not over-gracious farewell, and Peter Hart was promptly set at liberty, with much crowing and exultation on his part. The next day or two I spent chiefly in trying to guess at the nature of the hold which Peter exercised over the gentleman. That he was the spider and Mr Bannister the fly, I felt certain after making some inquiries regarding the character of the latter. Mr Bannister was spoken of by all as the soul of honour and goodness. I was more than disappointed at losing Peter—I was angry; for in leaving he did not scruple to say some nasty things regarding my capacity, and to hint in a lordly fashion that any other attempt to interfere with him would be followed by a letter “from his lawyer.” I replied, in the irritation of the moment, that I should probably interfere with him before long in such a way that his lawyer would be powerless to help him or injure us. I ought not to have spoken so rashly, but then I felt savage, and, as good luck would have it, the very boldness of the threat added to my reputation when the spider-devourer had adjusted things nicely to my hands. Thus many of us live—continually tottering between a great success and a great failure. To the spider-devourer I now come, though, of course, I did not at first recognise him in that character.Not many days after Peter’s release I was accosted at the head of Leith Walk by a sharp-witted fellow, pretty well known to me, named Dick McQueen. Dick was not a thief, but one who lived chiefly by billiards and cards. He had been ostler, waiter, boots, groom, cabdriver, and I know not all what by turns, and was about as keen a blade as it is possible to become by continually rubbing edges with others as sharp. He was always poor, and I think was partly supported by relatives at a distance.“I believe you said you’d take Peter Hart before long,” he said to me, after some of that preliminary talk which conjurers and men of the world use to throw one off his guard.“Did I?” was my careless reply.“You’ll never do it single-handed,” he darkly continued, “but if you could make it worth my while I’m ready to give you the straight tip, which will book him for twenty years.”“What do you mean?”“Twenty years to him is surely worth as many pounds to me?” he suggestively returned.“Perhaps, but I’m not in a position to offer anything; indeed, I’d much rather do the work myself.”“You can’t, for Peter’s got a gent at his back who’ll stand any amount of bleeding, and he doesn’t need to put out a hand now. Now, if you could only help me to find out who that gent is, I believe he’d stand a poney to get rid of Peter.”I watched Dick’s face keenly for some moments in silence.“You don’t know who the gent is, then?” I said at last, suspiciously.“No; I’ve tried hard to find out, and I’ve watched Peter all over the town to no purpose. He’s too blessed fly for me.”“Have you any idea what hold Peter has upon the gent?” I asked, after a pause to think.Dick bestowed upon me one of the most superlatively cunning winks that humanity could create.“I’ve an idea,” he curtly answered.“Well, what is its nature?”“Look here, McGovan, you’re a detective, and pretty fly, but you don’t come it over me so easy,” he retorted sharply, but without any anger. “I’ll swop secrets with you, there! Nothing could be fairer, could it? You find out the gent’s name and address and gi’ me them, and then I’ll tell you what hold Peter has on him.”“Is it anything in connection with that hold which is to book Peter for twenty years,” I quietly continued.“Oh, no; that’s a different affair altogether—a job Peter did years ago down in Sunderland. I was there at the time, and know all about it, and I’m the only one who has the real tip in his hands.”“Why are you so anxious to get rid of Peter?” I presently inquired. “Have you quarrelled?”“No, not exactly, but Peter cheated me out of half-a-crown months ago, and I’ve never forgotten it, nor never will.”Half-a-crown! fancy a man being threatened with twenty years’ entombment—probably the whole term of his life—through cheating a companion out of a miserable half-crown! If Peter had only known that a spider-devourer was on his track, would he not have hastened to place a whole heap of half-crowns at his enemy’s disposal, and have abjectly craved his pardon as well?I took the proposal of Dick toavizandum; and shortly decided to let him have the desired information. I had first paid a visit to Mr Bannister, and found him not only willing but eager to pay twenty pounds to any one who would give such information as would lead to Peter’s incarceration, conditionally, of course, that his name did not appear in the case. I made no conditions, but allowed Dick to settle his own terms. Before I gave him Mr Bannister’s name and address, I insisted on being told what hold Peter had on that gentleman, when Dick readilyanswered—“Do you know Bell Diamond—she who’s said to be Peter’s sister, though her name’s different? Well, I don’t know all the outs and ins of it, but Bell is said to be that gent’s real and lawful wife.”“Never!”“A fact, I believe. Peter’s got all the papers somewhere to prove it. They were married quite young—twenty years ago, at least—when Bell wasn’t such a harridan as she looks now.”The moment this information was tendered I regretted my compact. What though I sent Dick to Mr Bannister, and the money were cheerfully paid, if the arrest and imprisonment of the gentleman himself on a charge of bigamy followed? The very execution of my duty would then look, in the eyes of those most interested, an act of the deepest treachery. There was no going back, however, and I could only hope that Dick had been misled or mistaken. The same afternoon Dick appeared at the office, and gave minute details of a daring forgery case in which Peter Hart had been engaged years before. The facts were so striking that we were for a time doubtful of their reality, and telegraphed south for information. The answer put at rest every doubt. Two men had been tried and convicted in connection with the affair, but they were mere tools, and the principal had escaped. That man was said to be Peter Hart, changed only in name; and an officer able to identify the real culprit was on his way to Edinburgh when the reply had been despatched.So far Dick’s information seemed valuable and accurate, and with the greatest alacrity and delight I went for Peter Hart, whom I found sitting at his ease in his inn—the same public-house in which the former arrest had taken place.He returned my salutation rather sternly and haughtily, and resumed his game with the air of a man who was certain to be the last to be “wanted” by me.“I’m waiting onyou, Peter,” I at length pointedly remarked.“Oh, you are, are you?” he snappishly and defiantly answered, jumping up with the greatest readiness. “Perhaps you’ll take me to the office and lock me up as you did before, and risk me bringing an action of damages against you and the rest of ’em? Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to call in a policeman to hit me over the head and arms like as he did the last time, eh?” and after this scathing and satirical outburst he paused for breath, to pose grandly before his friends, thinking doubtless that he had quite cowed and overawed me.“There is a man at the door,” I quietly answered, bringing out my bracelets, “but he won’t need to hit you over the head unless you act as foolishly as you did the last time. You’re not afraid of these!”“Afraid of them? Not me. I want them on—I want them on badly. See, I’ll put them on myself. Now take me away, and abuse me, and lock me up, and then take the consequences!”Delighted to find that his facetious mood made him so pliant, I obeyed him in every particular, and Peter’s exultant smile only faded when the first two or three questions had been put to him at the office. The moment “Sunderland” was mentioned his jaw fell, and he fixed upon me a look of hatred most flattering and pleasing to me. On searching the lining of Peter’s coat we came upon a flat packet of papers. There were some six or seven letters, and a properly authenticated certificate of marriage, all proving that Isabella Diamond had been courted and married some twenty years before by Matthew Bannister. Peter’s rage had been working up during the search, and he now shouted out that he knew who had set that “bloodhound,” as he was pleased to name myself, on his track, and after a burst of the most awful language, he wound up by accusing Mr Bannister of having two wives living, and commanding us to go and arrest the gentleman as smartly as we had arrested the rogue.When the papers had been discovered I fully expected to have that disagreeable task to perform. The whole case seemed clear and the proof positive to my mind, for I had seen the working of the hidden springs from the first. But the law has certain forms of its own; and I was sent first to Bell Diamond herself, who was the proper person to make the charge. To my surprise, though she gave vent to rage and vituperation over the capture of Peter, she most positively refused to charge Mr Bannister with bigamy; nay in the very face of the discovered papers she swore most positively that she had never been married in her life, and had never spoken to Mr Bannister. My firm conviction, upon hearing this extraordinary denial, was that Bell had a spark of generosity in her breast, low as she had fallen, and wished to save the man who had once loved her from the ignominy of a prison; but in that I was very far mistaken. Bell was actuated by a very different motive—a desire to get well out of an awkward plight and a very threatening complication. The secret was partly laid bare by referring to Mr Bannister, but it was not wholly made clear till long after.Mr Bannister had really married a girl named Isabella Diamond, who drifted away from him and was lost sight of. That lost wife, after sinking lower and lower, died in a lodging-house in Glasgow, in which Peter Hart and his sister at that time lived. Nelly Hart was in trouble and likely to be taken, and the name of the dead woman was boldly given in as Helen Hart, while the living owner took the name of Bell Diamond, as well as the papers left by her, and vanished in the direction of Edinburgh. There they remained for some time, till, by merest accident, they discovered that Mr Bannister was newly married, and conceived the plan of frightening him into paying black mail, under the idea that his lost wife was still alive.Where there is real love there is always perfect trust, and Mr Bannister had confided the whole story of his life to the devoted girl who had laid her all at his feet; and it was that knowledge and the idea that she was to be torn from him for ever which had caused her terrible agitation and swoon on the occasion of my first visit to the house.Peter Hart duly received his sentence of twenty years, and Dick McQueen, the spider-killer, as I may name him, was avenged of his half-crown.
In some of the isles of the Pacific, I have been told, it is not uncommon for a spider, while in the act of seizing and sucking the heart’s blood of a tender and juicy fly, to be himself pounced upon by a larger insect peculiar to the clime, having as keen a zest for raw spider as the spider has for fresh fly. Nature repeats itself in all its grades and conditions. Human spiders abound among my “bairns,” but then fortunately the spider-devourer occasionally crops up in the same class.
In passing through one of the fashionable crescents down in the New Town, one day about noon, on some business which admitted of little delay, I was a little surprised to see one of the most cunning rogues within my ken ascend the steps of a big main-door house, and ring the bell as coolly as if the residence had been his own. Peter Hart was an exceedingly cautious rascal who could never be caught napping, or booked for anything like the sentence he deserved, from the fact that he never personally conducted any operation which he could conveniently transfer to a “cat’s paw.”
That was the man whom I saw ascend the steps of that fine residence. What was the villain after there? My business was urgent, but the effrontery of the knave pointed so clearly to some carefully-planned crime that I instinctively slackened my pace to watch if he should enter the house. Unfortunately I had been almost upon him before aware of his identity, and these quiet crescents are almost deserted by day, so there was no opportunity for concealment before his quick eyes, ever on the alert, had turned round and taken in the position at a glance. Peter’s impression probably was, that I had been following him all the way from his house in James’ Square. He might have known me better. Had the meeting been anything but a purely accidental one, I should never have allowed him to get a glimpse of me, more especially at that critical moment.
I fully expected Peter to cave in at the first glimpse of me, and slink off from the house at his smartest; but, to my surprise, he only bestowed upon me a patronising wink and a confident grin, and stood still to await the answering of his ring. His coolness did not seem to me that of sheer impudence or audacity. It seemed to be boastful and exultant—as much as if he had said, “Ah, Jamie, what a lot of trouble you have had for nothing. Here I am safe from you; just try me and see.”
There was something irritating in the challenge, although it was given only by a look, and, in spite of my anxiety to get away, I determined to wait a little, and possibly do the very thing he defied me to attempt. I therefore only passed on slowly, far enough to hear the door opened, then I turned, never expecting to see him admitted. The cunning rascal was watching me all the time, and possibly guessing my thoughts, for when I looked round he was being admitted by the smart servant maid, and in the act of disappearing favoured me with another exulting grin and wink, which said as plainly as words could have done, “Sold for once, Jamie.”
I did not believe it, and determined to let all other business stand that I might see the end of this adventure. With this object I loitered about, never within sight of the windows of the house, yet always having my eyes on the front door till Peter reappeared. There was no name on the door of the house he had entered, but by questioning a servant who passed I learned that the occupant or owner was an independent gentleman named Matthew Bannister, who had taken some degrees at college, and was a kind ofsavantin his way, having published some works on chemistry. The gentleman was well known to me by reputation, and the moment his name was mentioned I decided that Peter Hart’s visit to the house could have no connection with him. Mr Bannister had a young and beautiful wife, who had bestowed not only herself and her love upon the somewhat elderly gentleman, but a fortune as well; but she came of a high family, and I as emphatically decided that Peter’s visit could have no connection with her. There then remained only the servants, and, knowing Peter’s reputation and his modes of working, I quickly decided that he was in collusion with some of them, and working out some scheme entirely unknown to their employers.
Peter did not remain long in the house—possibly ten minutes at the most; and when he did appear I thought best to be out of sight. To my surprise he had no bundle or trace of one about him: nor did his person appear more bulky than when he had entered. He looked carefully around in every direction—for me, of course—and, apparently slightly relieved at seeing no one, started off in the direction he had come. He made his way by Broughton Street to Greenside, where he entered a favourite public-house. Not two minutes later the pot-boy came out with something like a bank note in his hand, and, knowing the boy well, I stopped to make inquiries for Peter.
“Where are you running to now?” I carelessly asked, not wishing to be too sudden in my questions.
“To get change for a £5 note,” he smartly answered, with a peculiar wink, at the same time opening the crisp note for my inspection. “We’ve lots of change, but it’s aye safer to try a big note outside.”
I examined the note carefully, and found it to be perfectly genuine.
“You might have risked it with that one,” I said at last, handing it back. “Who offered it?”
“Ah, that’s just it,” said the quick-witted boy; “even a good note isn’t quite safe from him; it was Peter Hart. You’ll knowhimI daresay?”
“Oh, indeed!” I cried with a start, and a thrill of satisfaction. “He offered this to be changed, did he? Then you needn’t bother going any further with it. I particularly want to see Peter.”
The pot-boy was quite accustomed to such events, and did not seem surprised. We entered the shop together, and the boy conducted me to the box in which sat Peter. I had in my hand the £5 note. Peter had in his a glass of brandy, which he was in the act of raising with manifest gusto to his lips. He was transfixed in the act, more by anger, it seemed to me, than fear.
“This is yours, isn’t it?” I said pleasantly, whereupon he scowled most malignantly. My “bairns” take pleasantry very badly from me.
“Yes, it’s mine,” he said with an oath at me, which, being quite undeserved, need not be put down. “What do you want with it? It’s good enough, isn’t it?”
“I believe so. Where did you get it?”
“What’s that to you?” was the bullying reply.
I folded up the note and put it into my pocket, and then produced my handcuffs.
“Everything in the world,” I replied. “You must either answer that to me or put on these before answering it to the Fiscal.”
Slightly disconcerted, but still defiant, he thought for a moment, and thensaid—
“Well, I got it from a gentleman—a friend of mine I was a-calling on this morning.”
“His name?”
“Mr Bannister,” he sullenly responded, after another pause.
“I believe you!” I returned with marked scepticism. “You had better say no more, for you’ll have to go with me.”
Peter lost his temper, and said he would see me very much altered first, but he didn’t. He was foolish enough to resist, so I got another man, and after much kicking and struggling on Peter’s part we landed him at the Central Office. This resistance on Peter’s part seemed so utterly unlike him—his usual conduct being cheerful and polite to an irritating degree—that I rashly considered that for once I had caught him napping, and that by the merest accident.
At the office I stated all the facts, how I had seen Peter entering the house of Mr Bannister, and watched him leaving it, and knowing his character and antecedents had followed him and arrested him passing a £5 note, for the possession of which he could not properly account. Peter, on being searched, was found to have in his possession other £5, in one pound notes, thus clearly proving that the changing of the large note had been a matter of choice or policy, not necessity. To the Fiscal, however, he boldly declared that he had got all the money in way of business from his very good friend Mr Bannister, and he was put in the cells till I should go over to that gentleman to make inquiries. What the “business” was for which he had been paid ten pounds he refused to state, and I concluded that that business existed only in Peter’s imagination.
When I reached the house and was shown in, the impression I had formed was strengthened. Everything in the place seemed so stately and grand that I could not conceive how the possessor could be beholden to such a crime-stained wretch as Peter Hart. Mr Bannister at length appeared, and accompanied by his amiable young wife. I studied their faces closely as they entered, and it struck me that that of the husband was careworn, fearful, and anxiously watchful in expression; that of the young wife looked tenderly solicitous, and somewhat saddened and subdued.
“I have called about rather an awkward business,” I at length said, not knowing very well how to begin. “My name is James McGovan, and I am connected with the detective staff——”
I would have proceeded to say that I had watched and arrested Peter as already described, but I was at that juncture interrupted in a manner altogether unexpected. The gentleman who had an appearance at once refined and dignified, started back at the mention of my name, with his face as suddenly changed to a deadly and anguished expression as if he had been at the moment stabbed to the heart. He seemed ready to drop to the floor in his pitiable agony, and his wife saw the change even before my eye had taken it in.
“O Matthew! dearest!” she cried, starting forward, with her own face flashing almost as white as his own. “What is wrong? What is to happen to you?”
I scarcely caught his answer, it was so huskily spoken, but it seemed to me somethinglike—
“The very worst that could happen to me.”
Then the young wife gave a low moan, and fell slowly forward in his arms. She had fainted, and her very helplessness, I believe, was all that kept him in his senses.
Mr Bannister rang for a servant, and had his wife removed, and then with a blanched face turned to me andsaid—
“Now, sir, I am ready to attend to you. Will you state your business with me?”
“A man named Peter Hart entered your house this morning, and shortly after left, having in his possession £10 in bank notes, which he declared had been given him by you. Is that actually the case?”
I had expected Mr Bannister’s face to lighten up and express astonishment as I proceeded, but instead it became darker and more troubled.
“Why do you ask?” he at length answered in a helpless tone.
“Because we know him to be a daring criminal, and suspect that the money was obtained by robbery, and possibly without your knowledge.”
“Is that all that brought you here?” he demanded, with a look of intense relief. “Did he make no other statement of any kind?”
“None except that we could refer the matter to you for confirmation of his statement, and for that purpose I have called.”
“Oh, if that is all,” he readily answered, looking now positively radiant, “I can readily relieve your anxiety. I did pay him the money, freely and willingly, for work done.”
“For work done!” I echoed, a good deal staggered, and thoroughly puzzled. “Have you any objection to say what kind of work it was?”
“I have. It is not necessary to go into details,” he coldly returned.
“You are aware, then, of the character of the man you have employed?” I continued, with undisguised disappointment.
“I believe him to be a scoundrel,” he faintly and somewhat wearily answered. “I know nothing of his private character, and care less.”
“Then we are to conclude that we have made a mistake in arresting him, and that we have no just cause for detaining him?” I pursued, trying in vain to read in his face the real secret.
“Exactly. You have made a mistake, but it was a natural one on your part, seeing, as you say, that the man is a professional criminal,” he dejectedly responded. “By the way,” he added, with more animation, “I wonder that a man like you does not lay such a rascal by the heels. Is he too clever for even you?”
“That remains to be seen,” I dryly returned. “He will not be at liberty a moment longer than I can help.”
“I am glad to hear you say that,” said the gentleman, shaking me warmly by the hand. “When you do get him, and ensure his conviction, come to me and I will put a £5 note in your hand as an honorarium.”
“Honour among thieves!” was my contemptuous thought. “There is some bond of villainy between the two, and now this man wishes to get rid of his leech. I wonder if I could not take them both?”
I left the house, after bidding Mr Bannister a not over-gracious farewell, and Peter Hart was promptly set at liberty, with much crowing and exultation on his part. The next day or two I spent chiefly in trying to guess at the nature of the hold which Peter exercised over the gentleman. That he was the spider and Mr Bannister the fly, I felt certain after making some inquiries regarding the character of the latter. Mr Bannister was spoken of by all as the soul of honour and goodness. I was more than disappointed at losing Peter—I was angry; for in leaving he did not scruple to say some nasty things regarding my capacity, and to hint in a lordly fashion that any other attempt to interfere with him would be followed by a letter “from his lawyer.” I replied, in the irritation of the moment, that I should probably interfere with him before long in such a way that his lawyer would be powerless to help him or injure us. I ought not to have spoken so rashly, but then I felt savage, and, as good luck would have it, the very boldness of the threat added to my reputation when the spider-devourer had adjusted things nicely to my hands. Thus many of us live—continually tottering between a great success and a great failure. To the spider-devourer I now come, though, of course, I did not at first recognise him in that character.
Not many days after Peter’s release I was accosted at the head of Leith Walk by a sharp-witted fellow, pretty well known to me, named Dick McQueen. Dick was not a thief, but one who lived chiefly by billiards and cards. He had been ostler, waiter, boots, groom, cabdriver, and I know not all what by turns, and was about as keen a blade as it is possible to become by continually rubbing edges with others as sharp. He was always poor, and I think was partly supported by relatives at a distance.
“I believe you said you’d take Peter Hart before long,” he said to me, after some of that preliminary talk which conjurers and men of the world use to throw one off his guard.
“Did I?” was my careless reply.
“You’ll never do it single-handed,” he darkly continued, “but if you could make it worth my while I’m ready to give you the straight tip, which will book him for twenty years.”
“What do you mean?”
“Twenty years to him is surely worth as many pounds to me?” he suggestively returned.
“Perhaps, but I’m not in a position to offer anything; indeed, I’d much rather do the work myself.”
“You can’t, for Peter’s got a gent at his back who’ll stand any amount of bleeding, and he doesn’t need to put out a hand now. Now, if you could only help me to find out who that gent is, I believe he’d stand a poney to get rid of Peter.”
I watched Dick’s face keenly for some moments in silence.
“You don’t know who the gent is, then?” I said at last, suspiciously.
“No; I’ve tried hard to find out, and I’ve watched Peter all over the town to no purpose. He’s too blessed fly for me.”
“Have you any idea what hold Peter has upon the gent?” I asked, after a pause to think.
Dick bestowed upon me one of the most superlatively cunning winks that humanity could create.
“I’ve an idea,” he curtly answered.
“Well, what is its nature?”
“Look here, McGovan, you’re a detective, and pretty fly, but you don’t come it over me so easy,” he retorted sharply, but without any anger. “I’ll swop secrets with you, there! Nothing could be fairer, could it? You find out the gent’s name and address and gi’ me them, and then I’ll tell you what hold Peter has on him.”
“Is it anything in connection with that hold which is to book Peter for twenty years,” I quietly continued.
“Oh, no; that’s a different affair altogether—a job Peter did years ago down in Sunderland. I was there at the time, and know all about it, and I’m the only one who has the real tip in his hands.”
“Why are you so anxious to get rid of Peter?” I presently inquired. “Have you quarrelled?”
“No, not exactly, but Peter cheated me out of half-a-crown months ago, and I’ve never forgotten it, nor never will.”
Half-a-crown! fancy a man being threatened with twenty years’ entombment—probably the whole term of his life—through cheating a companion out of a miserable half-crown! If Peter had only known that a spider-devourer was on his track, would he not have hastened to place a whole heap of half-crowns at his enemy’s disposal, and have abjectly craved his pardon as well?
I took the proposal of Dick toavizandum; and shortly decided to let him have the desired information. I had first paid a visit to Mr Bannister, and found him not only willing but eager to pay twenty pounds to any one who would give such information as would lead to Peter’s incarceration, conditionally, of course, that his name did not appear in the case. I made no conditions, but allowed Dick to settle his own terms. Before I gave him Mr Bannister’s name and address, I insisted on being told what hold Peter had on that gentleman, when Dick readilyanswered—
“Do you know Bell Diamond—she who’s said to be Peter’s sister, though her name’s different? Well, I don’t know all the outs and ins of it, but Bell is said to be that gent’s real and lawful wife.”
“Never!”
“A fact, I believe. Peter’s got all the papers somewhere to prove it. They were married quite young—twenty years ago, at least—when Bell wasn’t such a harridan as she looks now.”
The moment this information was tendered I regretted my compact. What though I sent Dick to Mr Bannister, and the money were cheerfully paid, if the arrest and imprisonment of the gentleman himself on a charge of bigamy followed? The very execution of my duty would then look, in the eyes of those most interested, an act of the deepest treachery. There was no going back, however, and I could only hope that Dick had been misled or mistaken. The same afternoon Dick appeared at the office, and gave minute details of a daring forgery case in which Peter Hart had been engaged years before. The facts were so striking that we were for a time doubtful of their reality, and telegraphed south for information. The answer put at rest every doubt. Two men had been tried and convicted in connection with the affair, but they were mere tools, and the principal had escaped. That man was said to be Peter Hart, changed only in name; and an officer able to identify the real culprit was on his way to Edinburgh when the reply had been despatched.
So far Dick’s information seemed valuable and accurate, and with the greatest alacrity and delight I went for Peter Hart, whom I found sitting at his ease in his inn—the same public-house in which the former arrest had taken place.
He returned my salutation rather sternly and haughtily, and resumed his game with the air of a man who was certain to be the last to be “wanted” by me.
“I’m waiting onyou, Peter,” I at length pointedly remarked.
“Oh, you are, are you?” he snappishly and defiantly answered, jumping up with the greatest readiness. “Perhaps you’ll take me to the office and lock me up as you did before, and risk me bringing an action of damages against you and the rest of ’em? Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to call in a policeman to hit me over the head and arms like as he did the last time, eh?” and after this scathing and satirical outburst he paused for breath, to pose grandly before his friends, thinking doubtless that he had quite cowed and overawed me.
“There is a man at the door,” I quietly answered, bringing out my bracelets, “but he won’t need to hit you over the head unless you act as foolishly as you did the last time. You’re not afraid of these!”
“Afraid of them? Not me. I want them on—I want them on badly. See, I’ll put them on myself. Now take me away, and abuse me, and lock me up, and then take the consequences!”
Delighted to find that his facetious mood made him so pliant, I obeyed him in every particular, and Peter’s exultant smile only faded when the first two or three questions had been put to him at the office. The moment “Sunderland” was mentioned his jaw fell, and he fixed upon me a look of hatred most flattering and pleasing to me. On searching the lining of Peter’s coat we came upon a flat packet of papers. There were some six or seven letters, and a properly authenticated certificate of marriage, all proving that Isabella Diamond had been courted and married some twenty years before by Matthew Bannister. Peter’s rage had been working up during the search, and he now shouted out that he knew who had set that “bloodhound,” as he was pleased to name myself, on his track, and after a burst of the most awful language, he wound up by accusing Mr Bannister of having two wives living, and commanding us to go and arrest the gentleman as smartly as we had arrested the rogue.
When the papers had been discovered I fully expected to have that disagreeable task to perform. The whole case seemed clear and the proof positive to my mind, for I had seen the working of the hidden springs from the first. But the law has certain forms of its own; and I was sent first to Bell Diamond herself, who was the proper person to make the charge. To my surprise, though she gave vent to rage and vituperation over the capture of Peter, she most positively refused to charge Mr Bannister with bigamy; nay in the very face of the discovered papers she swore most positively that she had never been married in her life, and had never spoken to Mr Bannister. My firm conviction, upon hearing this extraordinary denial, was that Bell had a spark of generosity in her breast, low as she had fallen, and wished to save the man who had once loved her from the ignominy of a prison; but in that I was very far mistaken. Bell was actuated by a very different motive—a desire to get well out of an awkward plight and a very threatening complication. The secret was partly laid bare by referring to Mr Bannister, but it was not wholly made clear till long after.
Mr Bannister had really married a girl named Isabella Diamond, who drifted away from him and was lost sight of. That lost wife, after sinking lower and lower, died in a lodging-house in Glasgow, in which Peter Hart and his sister at that time lived. Nelly Hart was in trouble and likely to be taken, and the name of the dead woman was boldly given in as Helen Hart, while the living owner took the name of Bell Diamond, as well as the papers left by her, and vanished in the direction of Edinburgh. There they remained for some time, till, by merest accident, they discovered that Mr Bannister was newly married, and conceived the plan of frightening him into paying black mail, under the idea that his lost wife was still alive.
Where there is real love there is always perfect trust, and Mr Bannister had confided the whole story of his life to the devoted girl who had laid her all at his feet; and it was that knowledge and the idea that she was to be torn from him for ever which had caused her terrible agitation and swoon on the occasion of my first visit to the house.
Peter Hart duly received his sentence of twenty years, and Dick McQueen, the spider-killer, as I may name him, was avenged of his half-crown.