Part 28 (2/2)

CHAPTER VIII

A SUCCESSFUL CONSPIRACY

My way home lay through Dean Street as far as St. Ann's Church: then I pa.s.sed across Leicester Fields: and through Green Street at the south-east angle of the Fields into St. Martin's Lane. All this part of the way is greatly infested at night by lurking footpads from the choice purlieus of Seven Dials and Soho. Of footpads, however, I had very little fear: they are at best a cowardly crew, even two or three together, and a man with a stout cudgel and some skill at a quarter-staff or single-stick need not be afraid of them: generally, two or three pa.s.sengers will join together in order to get across the Fields which are especially the dangerous part: on many nights it was so late when I left the Square that even footpads, highwaymen, pickpockets and all were fairly home and in bed before I walked through the streets.

This evening by bad luck, I was alone. I found no other pa.s.sengers going my way. But I had no fear. I poised my cudgel and set out, expecting perhaps an encounter with a footpad, but nothing worse. And it was not yet late, as hours go, in London: there were still people in the streets.

What had happened was this. As soon as Probus learned the truth about the gaming-table--a fatal thing it was to disclose my knowledge--he understood two things: first, that his money was irrevocably gone: and second, that if I revealed the truth to the Alderman in his suburban retreat, he must needs investigate the position of things in which case Bankruptcy would be precipitated. After that, whether I died or signed the agreement, or refused to sign it would matter nothing to him.

Whereas, on the other hand, if my signature could be obtained before the bankruptcy, then money could be raised upon the succession: and if I were to die, then the whole of the money would be paid on the day of my death to Matthew. Whatever was done must therefore be done as soon as possible.

Therefore, he resolved that the plot should be carried into execution on the very Monday evening. He caused the cottage to be watched by one of the girls who frequented the Black Jack: she followed me all the way from Lambeth to Soho Square: and she carried intelligence where to find me to the tavern, where Probus himself with Merridew, the Bishop, and the Captain, was now waiting.

They understood that I was playing at a concert: they therefore sallied out about the time when the concert would be finis.h.i.+ng and waited for me in the Square: at eleven o'clock I sallied forth: I walked down Dean Street: they ran down Greek Street to meet me at the other end, where there are fewer people: but (I heard this afterwards) changed their minds and got over the Fields into Green Street behind the Mews, where they resolved to wait for me. The Bishop posted himself on one side: the Captain on the other: Mr. Probus and Mr. Merridew waited a little further down the street. It was a dangerous plot that they were going to attempt: I am not surprised that neither the Bishop nor the Captain had much stomach for the play. At this place, which has as bad a reputation as any part of London, there are seldom any pa.s.sengers after night-fall; after midnight, none. It is dark: the houses are inhabited by criminal and disorderly people--but all this is well known to everybody.

I walked briskly along, antic.i.p.ating no danger of this kind. Suddenly, I heard footsteps in front of me and behind me: there was a movement in the quiet street; by such light as the stars gave, I saw before me the rascally face of the Bishop: I lifted my cudgel: I half turned:--cras.h.!.+--I remember nothing more.

When I came to my senses, or to some part of my senses, I found myself lying on a sanded floor: my head was filled with a dull and heavy pain: my eyes were dazed: to open them brought on an agony of pain. For awhile the voices I heard were like the buzzing of bees.

I grew better: I was able to distinguish a little: but I could not yet open my eyes.

The first voice that I recognized was that of Mr. Probus--the rasping, harsh, terrifying voice--who could mistake it?

'A bad case, gentlemen,' he was saying, 'a very bad case: it was fortunate that I was pa.s.sing on my way, if only to identify the prisoner. Dear me! I knew his honoured father, gentlemen; I was his father's unworthy attorney. His father was none other than Sir Peter Halliday. The young man was turned out of the house for misconduct. A bad case----Who would have thought that Sir Peter's son would die at Tyburn?'

Then there was another voice: rich and rolling, like a low stop of the organ--I knew that too. It was the voice of the Bishop.

'My name, Mr. Constable, is Carstairs; Samuel Carstairs; the Rev. Samuel Carstairs, Doctor of Divinity, Sanctae Theologiae Professor, sometime of Trinity College, Dublin. I am an Irish clergyman, at present without cure of souls. I was walking home after certain G.o.dly exercises'--in the Black Jack--I suppose--'when this fellow ran out in front of me, crying ”Your money or your life.” I am not a fighting man, Sir, but a servant of the Lord. I gave him my purse, entreating him to spare my life. As he took it, some other gentleman, unknown to me, ran to my a.s.sistance, and knocked the villain down. Perhaps, Mr. Constable, you would direct his pockets to be searched. The purse contained seventeen guineas.'

I felt hands in my pocket. Something was taken out.

'Ha!' cried the Doctor. 'Let the money be counted.'

I heard the click of coin and another voice cried 'Seventeen guineas.'

'Well,' said Mr. Probus, 'there cannot be much doubt after that.'

'I rejoice,' said the Doctor, 'not so much that the money is found--though I a.s.sure you, worthy Sir, I could ill afford the loss--as because it clearly proves the truth of my evidence--if, that is to say, there could be any question as to its truth, or anyone with the hardihood to doubt it.'

At this point, I was able to open my eyes. The place I knew for a Round House. The Constable in charge sat at a table, a book before him, entering the case: Mr. Probus stood beside him, shaking his virtuous head with sorrow. The Doctor was holding up his hands to express a good clergyman's horror of the crime: Mr. Merridew was standing on the other side of the Constable, and beside him the Captain, who now stepped forward briskly.

'My name,' he said, 'is Ferdinando Fenwick. I am a country man from c.u.mberland. I was walking with this gentleman'--he indicated Mr.

Merridew. 'We were walking together for purposes of mutual protection, for I have been warned against this part of London, when I saw the action described by this pious clergyman. The man ran forward raising his cudgel. I have brought it with me--You can see, Sir, that it is a murderous weapon. I saw the gentleman here, whose name I did not catch----'

'Carstairs--By your leave, Sir--Samuel Carstairs--The Rev. Samuel Carstairs--Doctor of Divinity--Sanctae Theologiae Professor.'

'Thank you, Sir. I saw him hand over his purse. The villain raised his cudgel again. I verily believe he intended to murder as well as to rob his victim. I therefore ran to the rescue and with a blow of my stick felled the ruffian.'

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