CHAPTER XVIII
[THE FINDING OF BUTSEY]
It did not take Allen long to learn something about Butsey. An inquiry at the offices of the philanthropic people, who dealt with the transfer of ragged boys to the country for fresh air, brought out the fact that Butsey was a thief, and a sparrow of the gutter, who lived in a certain Whitechapel den--address given--with a set of the greatest ruffians in London.
"It was a mere accident the boy came here," said the spectacled gentleman who supplied the information; "we were sending out a number of ragged children to Westhaven for a couple of days, and this boy came and asked if he could go too. At first, we were not inclined to accept him, as we knew nothing about him. But the boy is so clever and amusing, that we consented he should go. He went with the rest to Westhaven, but did not keep with those who looked after the poor creatures. In fact, Mr. Hill," said the gentleman frankly, "Butsey took French leave."
"Where did he go?"
"I can't tell you. But one of our men caught sight of Father Don, and Red Jerry, at Westhaven--those are the ruffians Butsey lives with. He might have gone with them."
"Did you take the children down on a Wednesday?"
"Yes. And then they came back, late the next day."
Allen reflected that if Butsey sent the wire before four o'clock, he must have gone back to London, and wondered where he got the money for the fare. Then he must have come down again, in order to give the lying message to Mrs. Merry. However, he told the philanthropist nothing of this, but thanked him for his information. "I intend to look this boy up," he said, when taking his leave.
"Has he got into trouble?" asked the gentleman anxiously.
"Well, not exactly. But I want to learn something from him relative to a matter about which it is not necessary to be too precise. I assure you, sir, Butsey will not come to harm."
"He has come to harm enough already, poor lad." I tell you, Mr. Hill, "that I should like to drag that boy out of the gutter, and make him a decent member of society. He is sharp beyond his years, but his talents are utilised in the wrong way----"
"By Father Don, Red Jerry, and Co.," said Allen drily; "so I think."
"One moment, Mr. Hill; if you go to the Perry Street den, take a plain clothes policeman with you. Father Don is dangerous."
"Oh, I'll see to that," said Allen, confident in his own muscles and in those of Parkins. "You couldn't get Butsey to come here?"
"I fear not--I sadly fear not, Mr. Hill. The boy has never been near us since he came back with the children from Westhaven."
"He did come back with them, then?"
"Oh yes," said the philanthropist frankly, by the late train; "but what he did in the meantime, and where he went, I can't say. He refused to give an account of himself."
"Shrewd little devil," said Allen; "but I think I know."
"I trust it has nothing to do with the police," said the gentleman anxiously; "a detective asked after Butsey. I gave him the address of Father Don in Perry Street, but the lad could not be found. The detective refused to say why the lad was wanted, and I hope he'll not come to harm. If you find him, bring him to me, and I'll see what I can do to save him. It's a terrible thing to think that an immortal soul and a clever lad should remain in the depths."
Allen assented politely, promised to do what he could towards bringing about the reformation of Butsey, and went his way. He privately thought that to make Butsey a decent member of society would be next door to impossible, for the lad seemed to be quite a criminal, and education might only make him the more dangerous to the well-being of the community. However he reserved his opinion on this point, and got back to his Woburn rooms to explain to Horace. The big American--for he virtually was a Yankee--nodded gravely.
"We'll go down this very night," he said. "I guess we'd best put on old togs, leave our valuables at home, and carry six-shooters."
"Do you think that last is necessary?" asked Allen anxiously.
"It's just as well to be on the safe side, Hill. If this boy is employed by Father Don and his gang, he won't be let go without a fight. Maybe he knows too much for the safety of the gang."
"That's very probable," assented Hill drily; "however, we'll take all precautions, and go to Perry Street."
"This is what I call enjoyment," said Horace, stretching his long limbs. "I'm not a quarrelsome man, but, by Gosh, I'm just spoiling for a fight."
"I think there's every chance we'll get what you want, Parkins."
So the matter was arranged, and after dinner the two men changed into shabby clothes. It was raining heavily, and they put on overcoats, scarves, and wore slouch hats. Both carried revolvers, and thus they felt ready for any emergency. As Allen knew London comparatively well, he took the lead, and conducted Horace to Aldgate Station by the underground railway. Here they picked up a cab and went to Whitechapel. The driver knew Perry Street but refused to go near it, on the plea that it was a dangerous locality. However, he deposited the two near the place, and drove away in the rain, leaving Allen and Horace in a somewhat dark street. A search for a guide produced a ragged boy of the Butsey type, who volunteered to show the way to Father Don's den. "You've got some swag to send up the spout, gents both?" leered the brat, looking up to the big men as they stood under a lamp-post.
"Just so," said Horace quickly, thinking this a good excuse; "you engineer us along, sonny, and we'll give you a shilling."
"A bob?--that's good enough," said the urchin, and scampered down a back street so quickly that they had some difficulty in keeping up with him. Later on, when they caught him at the end of a cul-de-sac., Allen gripped the guide by his wet shoulder. "Do you know a boy called Butsey?"
"Oh my eyes and ears, don't I just? Why, he's Father Don's pet. But he's in disgrace now."
"Why?" asked Horace coolly.
"Father Don sent him down the country, and he didn't turn up at the hour he was told to. He's been whacked and put on bread and water," said the brat, grinning, "worse luck for Father Don. Butsey'll put a knife into him for that."
"Good," whispered Allen to the American as they went on in the darkness. "Butsey will have a grudge against Father Don, and will be all the more ready to tell."
"Humph! I'm not so sure. There's honour amongst thieves."
They had no further time for conversation, for the guide turned down a narrow lane leading off the cul-de-sac., and knocked at the door of a ruined house with broken windows. A shrill voice inside asked who was there.
"Swell mobsmen with swag for the patrico," said the guide, whistling shrilly. "Show us a light."
The door opened, and a small pinched-looking girl appeared with a candle. She examined the two men and then admitted them. When they ventured within, she shut the door, which seemed to be very strong. But Horace noticed a door on the left of the passage leading into an empty room. He knew that one of the broken windows set in the street wall gave light to this room, and resolved to make it a line of retreat should they be too hardly pressed. Meantime the boy and girl led the way along the passage and towards a trap-door. Here, steps leading downward brought them to a large cellar filled with ragged people of both sexes. There was a fire in a large chimney, which seemed to have been constructed to roast an ox, and round this they sat, their damp garments steaming in the heat. A curtain portioned off a corner of the cellar, and when the strangers entered two shrill voices were heard talking together angrily. But the thieves around paid no attention.
"Red Jerry," said Horace, touching Allen's arm, and he pointed to a truculent-looking ruffian, almost as big as himself, who was lying on a bed composed of old newspapers and day-bills. He seemed to be drunk, for he breathed heavily and his pipe had fallen from his fevered lips. "Nice man to tackle," muttered Horace.
"Come along," said the guide, tugging at Allen's hand. "Father Don's got some one in there, but he'll see you. What's the swag--silver?"
"Never you mind," said Horace; "you find Butsey and I'll make it worth your while."
"Give us a sov. and I'll do it," said the brat. "I'm Billy, and fly at that."
"Good. A sov. you shall have."
The boy whistled again and some of the thieves cursed him. He then pushed Horace towards the ragged curtain behind which the shrill voices sounded, and vanished. The two were now fully committed to the adventure.
Curiously enough, the ruffians in the cellar did not take much notice of the strangers. Perhaps they were afraid of Father Don, seeing that the two came to dispose of swag, and at all events they apparently thought that Father Don could protect himself. Meanwhile the keen ears of Horace heard a deeper voice, something like a man's, mingling with the shrill ones of the other speakers. Without a moment's hesitation, and anxious to get the business over, the big American dragged aside the curtain and entered.
Allen and he found themselves before a narrow door. On entering this, for it was open, they saw an old man with a white beard sitting at a small table with papers before him. Near, was a small sharp-faced man, and at the end of the table sat a woman dressed in black.
"It won't do, Father Don," the woman was saying in deep tones; "you told that brat to rob me. Give it up, I tell you."
"Give up what?" asked Father Don sharply. "How can I give up anything, when I don't know what it is?"
"Butsey knows," said the woman. "Where is he?"
"On bread and water in the attic," said the small man with a shrill laugh; "he's having his pride brought down."
"You'd better take care of Butsey," said the woman drily, "or he'll sell you."
"Let him try," snarled the benevolent-looking old gentleman. "Red Jerry's his father and will break his back."
This much the two gentlemen heard, and it was then that the American appeared in the narrow doorway. The woman started and looked at him. He eyed her in turn and saw a fine-looking creature with dark eyes, and of a full voluptuous beauty hardly concealed by the plain dark robes she wore. Allen glanced over Parkins's shoulder and uttered an ejaculation. "Why, Miss Lorry," he said.
The woman started and rose quickly, overturning the table. The small lamp on it, fell and went out. There were a few curses from Father Don and a shrill expostulation from the small man. In the hot darkness a dress brushed past the two men who were now in the room, and a strong perfume saluted their nostrils. Horace could have stopped Miss Lorry from going, but he had no reason to do so, and she slipped out while Father Don was groping for the lamp, and the other man struck a match. As the blue flare spurted up, the man saw the two who had entered. "What's this?" he cried with an oath, which it is not necessary to set down; "who are you?"
"We've come about business," said Horace; "don't you move till the old man's got the lamp alight, or you'll get hurt."
"It's the 'tecs," said Father Don savagely.
"I guess not. We've come to do business."
This remark seemed to stimulate the curiosity of the two men, and they refrained from a shout which would have brought in all the riff-raff without. Allen congratulated himself, that Parkins had roused this curiosity. He had no desire to fight in a dark cellar with his back to the wall against a score of ruffians. In a few minutes the lamp was lighted. "Turn it up, Foxy," said Father Don; "and now, gentlemen," he added politely, "how did you get here?"
"A boy called Billy brought us," said Allen stepping forward. "I fear we've frightened the lady away."
"Let her go, the jade," said Foxy shrilly; "there would have been a heap of trouble if she'd remained," and he confirmed this speech with several oaths.
Father Don did not swear. He spoke in a clear, refined, and educated voice, and apparently was a well-educated man who had fallen into the depths through some rascality. But his face looked most benevolent, and no one would have suspected him of being a ruffian of the worst. He eyed Allen piercingly, and also his companion. "Well, gentlemen," he asked quietly, "and what can I do for you?" Horace sat down heavily and pulled out his pipe. "We may as well talk comfortably," he said. "Sit down, Hill."
"Hill?" said Father Don with a start, while Foxy opened his small eyes--"not of Wargrove?"
"The same," said Allen quietly. "How do you know me?"
"I know a good many things," said Father Don calmly.
"Do you know who shot Strode?"
Foxy rose as though moved by a spring. "You're on that lay, are you?" said he shrilly; "then you've come to the wrong shop."
"Oh, I guess not, said Horace lazily--to the right shop. You see, Mister," he went on to the elder ruffian, "we want that wooden hand."
"What wooden hand?" asked Father Don. "If you mean----"
"Yes, I do mean that," said Allen quickly; "you brought it to Mr. Mask to get the money."
"Did I?" said Father Don coolly and eyeing the young man; "well, maybe I did. But I didn't take it from the dead?"
Allen coloured. "Merry took it," he said.
"Oh no, he didn't," sneered Foxy. "Merry got it from Butsey, who dug it up after it had been planted by----"
"Stop," said Allen, rising. "Father Don," he added, turning to the old man, "you seem to be a gentleman----"
"I was once. But what's that got to do with this?"
"Stop this man," he pointed to Foxy, "from mentioning names."
"I'll stop everything, if you'll tell us where the diamonds are to be found," said Father Don.
"I don't know what you mean," said Allen.
"Oh yes, you do. You know everything about this case, and you've come here to get the hand. Well then, you won't. Only while I hold that hand can I get the diamonds."
"Where will you get them?"
"That's what I want you to tell me."
"I guess Red Jerry knows," said Horace sharply; "he took the diamonds from the dead body of the man he shot."
"Meaning Strode," said Foxy, with a glance at Father Don.
"Jerry didn't shoot him," said that venerable fraud.
"I surmise he did," said Parkins. "Ask him in."
"How do you know about Jerry?" asked Father Don uneasily.
"I sailed along o' him, and saved him from being lynched as a horse-thief. If you won't call him in, I'll do so myself."
"Hold your tongue," said Father Don, rising and looking very benevolent, "you take too much upon yourself. I'm king here, and if I say the word neither of you will go out alive."
"Oh, I guess so," said Horace coolly, "we don't come unprepared," and in a moment he swung out his Derringer. "Sit still, Father Christmas," said Parkins, levelling this, "or you'll get hurt."
Seeing Parkins's action, Allen produced his weapon and covered Foxy, so there sat the kings of the castle, within hail of their ruffianly crew, unable to call for assistance.
"And now we'll call in Jerry," said Allen coolly. "Sing out, Parkins."
But before the big American could raise a shout there was a sudden noise outside. A shrill voice was heard crying that the police were coming, and then ensued a babel. Father Don seized the opportunity when Parkins's eye was wavering to knock the revolver out of his hand. The American thereupon made a clutch at his throat, while Allen tripped Foxy up. A small boy dashed into the room. He was white-faced, stunted, red-haired, and had but one eye. At once he made for Parkins, squealing for the police. When he got a grip of Horace's hand he dropped his voice:
"Ketch t'other cove's hand, and mine," said the boy, and then with a dexterous movement overturned the table, whereby the lamp went out again for the second time. Parkins seized the situation at once, and while Father Don, suddenly released, scrambled on the floor, and made use for the first time of bad language, he grabbed Allen's hand and dragged him toward the door. Horace in his turn was being drawn swiftly along by the small boy. The outer cellar was filled with a mass of screaming, squalling, swearing humanity, all on the alert for the advent of the police. The boy drew the two men through the crowd, which did not know whence to expect the danger. Horace hurled his way through the mob by main strength, and Allen followed in his devastating wake. Shortly, they reached the trap-door, and ran along the passage. The boy pulled them into the side-room Horace had noted when he came to the den.
"Break the winder," said the boy to Parkins.
The American did not need further instructions, and wrapping his coat round his arm he smashed the frail glass. From below came confusedly the noise of the startled thieves. But Horace first, Allen next, and the boy last, dropped on to the pavement. Then another lad appeared, and all four darted up the street. In ten minutes they found themselves blown but safe, in the chief thoroughfare and not far from a policeman, who looked suspiciously at them.
"There," said the last-joined boy, "you're saif. Butsey saived y'."
"Butsey?" said Allen, looking at the stunted, one-eyed lad.
"That's me," said Butsey with a grin; "y'were near being scragged by th' ole man. If y'd called Red Jerry, he'd ha' done fur y'. Miss Lorry told me t'get you out, and I've done it."
"But I reckon the old Father Christmas told us you were locked up."
"Was," said Butsey laconically; "in th' attic--bread an' water. I ain't goin' to work fur sich a lot any more, so I dropped out of th' winder, and climbed the roof--down the spout. In the street I met Miss Lorry--she told me there was fightin' below, so'--he winked.
"Then there was no police?" said Allen, admiring the boy's cleverness.
"Not much. But they're allays expecting of th' peelers," said Butsey coolly; "'twasn't difficult to get 'em rizzed with fright. But you look here, Misters, you clear out now, or they'll be after you."
"You come also, Butsey."
"Not me. I'm agoin' to doss along o' Billy here. I'll come an' see you at Wargrove and bring the wooden hand with me."
"What," said Allen, "do you know----?"
"I knows a lot, an' I'm going to split," said Butsey. "Give us a bob"; and when Allen tossed him one, he spat on it for luck. "See y' m' own time," said Butsey. "I'm goin' to turn respectable an' split. Th' ole man ain't goin' to shut me up for nix. 'Night," and catching his companion's arm, both boys ran off into the darkness.