MR. SLOCUM AGAIN
Having to be early at his new job, Martin was hurried in the morning. When he left after a quick breakfast, Dick Gollop was still a-bed; he had only returned from his night duty about five o’clock. So Martin had no opportunity of telling the constable of the strange incident he had witnessed in the night, and he refrained from mentioning it to the others for fear of alarming them.
He was still greatly puzzled, and his mind was full of the matter as he walked to Mr. Faryner’s shop in Pudding Lane. There was no reason why Mr. Seymour should not have a box delivered to him. But why had the messenger come secretly by night? What was the danger? And what was the meaning of the mysterious reference to the sloop in the river?
These questions were driven from his thoughts for a time by his work. Mr. Faryner praised him for coming punctually, gave him a few odd jobs to do, and then sent him out on the morning round.
In due course he arrived at the goldsmith’s house, and once more made his way to the back entrance. Leaving his basket just inside the door, he took the four loaves intended for Mr. Slocum’s household up the stairs to the kitchen on the first floor.
Passing the hall landing, he noticed that the door of a small room which was usually kept locked now stood ajar. The fact did not arouse any particular curiosity, and he went on to the kitchen and handed the bread to the friendly cook.
“I’m glad you are early,” she said, “though it wouldn’t have mattered so much this morning. The master isn’t up yet. He was out late last night, and I warrant will be in a rare tantrum when he wakes. And how do you like your new work?”
“Better when I’ve finished than when I begin,” replied Martin, smiling. “The basket is very heavy at the start, and it makes me very tired this hot weather.”
“Never mind; it’s something to be working for the King’s baker, and I hope you’ll get on. There now! What did I say!”
Mr. Slocum had just called “Sally!” from below stairs, and his voice certainly sounded far from good-tempered.
“Coming, sir,” the cook answered, and hurried to the head of the staircase.
“I want you to go at once to the dairyman’s in Milk Street and complain of the mouldy cheese he sent me. Tell him it’s not fit for pigs, and if he can’t serve me better I’ll deal elsewhere.”
“Very good, sir,” said Sally. “I’ll just fetch my shawl.”
“Nonsense, woman; you don’t need your shawl a hot day like this. Get away at once, and be sure you don’t mince matters.”
Martin heard Mr. Slocum’s loud angry tones distinctly. The cook hurried downstairs, her master talking at her all the time. As soon as she had left the house Mr. Slocum dashed up the stairs, and Martin realised that his retreat was cut off. He had no fear of his old employer, but was not at all eager to meet him.
By the time Mr. Slocum reached the kitchen door, Martin had stepped back into the shelter afforded by the jutting corner of a large cupboard. Mr. Slocum came in hurriedly, turned the key in the door, and went straight across the room to another door that led into a passage and thence into his private room.
Martin waited, undecided whether to go at once or to remain until he was sure the coast was clear. Just as he was on the point of moving he heard Mr. Slocum returning, and thought it better to stay where he was.
The goldsmith’s movements were much slower now, and when he came into view Martin had a shock of surprise. The man was carrying a box, brass-bound at the corners, exactly like the box which had been delivered to Mr. Seymour the previous night. He passed across the kitchen, unlocked the door, and began to descend the stairs.
Martin felt trapped. He was lucky in having escaped notice so far; he could hardly hope not to be observed if Mr. Slocum returned. And hearing Mr. Slocum enter the room on the half-landing he hurried after him on tip-toe, hoping to slip by unseen.
Just as he reached the half-landing Mr. Slocum, empty-handed, came out of the little room, shutting the door behind him. Martin bent, and tried to dash by; but Mr. Slocum heard him, turned quickly, shot out his hand and caught him by the tail of his coat.
“Who on earth are you?” cried the goldsmith. “No use wriggling; I have you fast.” And then, as he caught sight of Martin’s face: “You! You scoundrel! Where have you come from? What business have you here? Didn’t I tell you never to show your face again?”
“I am working for Mr. Faryner, and have just brought your bread,” Martin replied.
“Then what are you hanging about for? Why are you hiding in my house?”
“The cook was called away before she had time to pay me.”
“And you are skulking here, stealing for all I know. I’ll send for a constable, and give you in charge on suspicion of loitering with the intention of committing a felony.”
“You may do that if you please, Mr. Slocum,” said Martin with spirit. “But you have nothing against me, and you will look rather silly.”
At this Mr. Slocum lifted his left hand to clout Martin, who took advantage of a slight relaxing of the grip of the other hand to wrench himself away and leap down the stairs. He picked up his basket and fled out into the yard, leaving Mr. Slocum shouting threats and curses behind him.
The sequel to this unlucky meeting was seen later in the day. On returning from his afternoon round Martin found that Mr. Slocum had sent a message to the baker, saying that if the new errand boy was sent again to the house he would transfer his custom.
“You were impudent, I suppose,” said Mr. Faryner, “and you won’t suit me, and that’s a pity, for I’d taken a fancy to you. It’s a lesson to me to make inquiries before I hire a boy.”
Martin thought it was high time to give his employer a little information. He related the morning’s incident, not mentioning the box; some instinct prompted him to keep that to himself.
“There was nothing much to be angry about,” said the baker. “Have you told me everything?”
“I haven’t told you that I was once in Mr. Slocum’s employment, and he dismissed me for——”
“Impudence? Confess now.”
“No, sir; for fighting one of the apprentices.”
“Bless me, I’ve done that myself,” said Mr. Faryner, with a laugh. “But come now, I can’t afford to lose a good customer. I daren’t send you on that round again. Let me see.”
He stuck his hands into his belt and looked questioningly at Martin.
“Can you row a boat?” he asked.
“I’ve done it often,” said Martin. “My father was a sea-captain, and I’ve helped my friends among the watermen more than once.”
“Capital! Then I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll put another boy on your round, and I’ll give you the river. You’ll take supplies to the ships in the Pool. What do you say to that?”
“I’ll say thank you, sir; I shall like it very much.”
“Very well, then. You see, I’ve taken a fancy to you.”