Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City Detective

by James M'Govan

A HOUSE-BREAKER’S WIFE.

Going down the Canongate one day I was accosted by a little treacherous rascal known as Dirty Dick. I suppose he had followed me down the street for the purpose of so addressing me, but at the moment I did not think much of the circumstance. Dick was not particularly dirty in his appearance or person, so it is possible he had got the name rather for some dirty trick or act of treachery. He had the distinction of being heartily despised by every one who knew him, myself included.

After a little preliminary patter, to throw me off my guard, Dick said—

“Bob Brettle has finished his time and got back here.”

That, then, was Dick’s business with me. Had he quarrelled with the convict and ticket-of-leave man he named? I knew perfectly well that the reckless Bob Brettle had returned, for he had duly reported himself to us, as bound by his ticket-of-leave, but I thought proper to say innocently in reply—

“Has he, really?”

“Yes,” continued Dick, with animation; “I’ve seen him often, and know where he hangs out—Brierly’s, in the Grassmarket. Is a straight tip of any use to you?”

I looked at the rascal, and if the imp had only had the sense of an owl he would have seen how contemptuous was the glance. But it is given to some natures to be perfectly unconscious of the loathing they inspire, and Dick’s was one of these.

“I’ll tell you when I get it,” was my reply. I did not expect Dick to give me any news or promp me to anything that was not likely to benefit himself.

“Well, you’ll soon have Bob Brettle in your hands again,” said Dick, button-holing me with an affectionate caress, which made my flesh creep. “He’s planning something now. I don’t know what the job is, but it’s something dashing and daring. If he was took at the same old game, wouldn’t it be ten years this time?”

“What was his last term?” I asked, affecting ignorance.

“Seven.”

“Well, you don’t need to ask, knowing that,” I said, making Dick uncomfortable with a steady stare.

“If you was to watch him well, and get me to help you, I believe you’d be sure of nabbing him,” said the traitor temptingly.

“Oh, you’ve quarrelled with him, then?” I sharply returned.

“Not me!” he exclaimed with great fervour.

I set the answer down as a lie, but pursued—

“Well, you think to get money for the dirty work of betraying him?”

“Not a penny,” he vociferated, with a tremendous oath, “and there’ll be no betraying about it. Only I thought you’d be always glad to hear the news or get a tip. You helped me so much in that last fix that I haven’t forgot it;” and the villain tried to put on a sentimental and grateful look by way of drawing a red herring across my path.

I was not deceived, but Dick’s next words were lost to me. I was thinking hard, and trying to account for Dick’s sudden zeal in the cause of law and order. He did not want money—I was bound to believe that at least;—could he have an old grudge at Brettle, or was this freak of treachery only the result of a quarrel?

I could not see how it could be either, for Brettle was not the man to associate much with a cur like Dick, but I resolved to make some inquiries with a view to laying bare the informer’s motive.

Brettle was a man who, in spite of the fact that we were professionally enemies, called out from within me a deal of admiration and sympathy. He was a powerfully-built fellow, still under thirty, and had once been handsome. He had not been born into a life of crime, but had been a hard-working silversmith, led off his feet and ruined by a pretty woman. The woman was really a beauty, but with the figure and face of an angel she had the heart of a devil.

She was known as Pretty Polly, and Brettle conceived such a passion for her that he actually married her. Brettle’s dash and daring carried him on for a long time unscathed, but at length he was caught and had a smart sentence. Pretty Polly supported herself as a barmaid during the interval, but being detected in helping herself from the till, she went into prison just as Bob came out. When her three months were finished they got together again. Brettle had another spell of good luck, till in a moment altogether unexpected by him he was neatly trapped, and laid past for seven years. I had the taking of him, but I was quite ignorant of the source of the information upon which I had acted. There had been a traitor, but I did not trouble to seek out the person, when the act brought grist to my mill.

Now, in surveying Dirty Dick’s shifty countenance, the thought came to me for the first time—Could he, that insignificant looking wretch, have been the betrayer of Brettle before his last conviction? I could scarcely credit it, but if it was he, then the fact would point to a long-standing grudge and a revengeful feeling not yet satiated. Now, I had never given Dick credit for brain enough to conceive and nourish a good hatred, and one does not care to discover a flaw in his own estimate of another’s character.

After a little further conversation, from which I learned that it was not yet settled how Brettle was to distinguish himself, I parted with Dick, he kindly volunteering to “see me again” as soon as he had important information to tender.

For a day or two after I could not be called idle. The foremost question in my mind was—Why does Dirty Dick wish Brettle laid up for ten years? and all my work was in the direction of a feasible explanation or answer. I searched, and questioned, and ferreted in every conceivable direction, but was only left more puzzled than before. Dick, I found, had had no quarrel with Brettle, nor could I discover that he had any grudge against the ticket-of-leave man. I discovered also that it was absolutely impossible that Dick could have been the cause of Brettle’s last capture, as at the time Dick had himself been fulfilling a three months’ sentence for theft.

I happened one afternoon to meet Brettle himself, and, though he generally showed great hostility to me, and never exchanged words with me if he could avoid it, I thought I would have a word with him in passing.

“How are you getting on Bob?” I pleasantly asked, before he could hurry past.

“Not getting on at all,” he gloomily answered. “I’ve been trying to get work, but can’t.”

I opened my eyes to their widest, and for a moment could scarcely speak.

“What kind of work?” I cautiously inquired, thinking he might mean his adopted trade of housebreaking.

“Any kind—anything to keep life in me,” he cried, with some bitterness. “I’m sick of prison, and don’t mean to go inside of one again if I can live on the square.”

I could scarcely trust my own senses. I had never expected such words out of his mouth; and then, after the hint I had received from Dirty Dick, I was doubly suspicious, and must have looked the feeling. Could it be possible that he was trying to deceive me for some purpose? I could not believe it. It was quite out of his line. He was not of the stuff out of which a good hypocrite could be made.

“I’m glad to hear that you’ve come to your senses,” I dryly remarked. “What has given you the notion?”

“I don’t know, but the spunk’s all gone out of me,” he dejectedly answered. “I haven’t my wife now.”

“Oh, indeed! what has become of her?” I asked with fresh interest.

“Gone,” he said, with a sorrowful shake of the head and a quiver of the lip.

“Gone where?”

“Gone dead, I’m afraid,” he huskily answered. “If she’d been alive she would have met me whenever I got out. She worshipped the very ground I trod on. I hear she went on the stage as a ballet-girl after I was laid up, and that and the loss of me killed her, I suppose. We had a bit of a tiff before I was took. I was so hanged jealous of her—but that was nothing. The like of her doesn’t walk the earth. True as steel, and she loved me so!”

I said nothing; for if I had spoken I should have had to say that if the loss of Pretty Polly made him adopt an honest life, her absence would be a blessing.

I chatted away for a little, and then said abruptly—

“What was your object in telling me you were going on the square?” I thought perhaps that he might want assistance.

“What was your object in speaking to me?” he roughly and snappishly returned. “I had no object at all. I know that the more thieves there are the better it is for you.”

“You’re mistaken there, Bob, and I’ll prove it some day,” I answered pleasantly, and then I left him.

My curiosity was roused regarding Brettle, and I took the trouble to have him watched, when I discovered that he really was trying to get work, and even undertaking the meanest drudgery to earn a living. Everything was against him, of course, and he went back steadily till his clothes would scarcely allow him to appear on the street.

In making these investigations I was continually contrasting Brettle’s condition and evident inclinations with Dirty Dick’s prophecy, that I should soon have the ticket-of-leave man in my hands again, and with no success so far as a solution is concerned. The promised “tip” had never come, and even Dick was a mystery to me. I was at a loss to know whence came the money which Dick spent so freely upon himself. He did not work; he was too cowardly to engage in any act of plundering likely to produce much gain; and yet he had abundance, while Brettle was in great want. Dick had the reputation of being able to arrange a robbery very nicely, but would never risk his own liberty in the affair, however tempting the gain; but even knowing that to be a source of income to him, I was at a loss to account for his seeming wealth. Thus it chanced that my attention came to be more earnestly fixed upon Dick than upon the man he had promised to betray into my hands. When I saw Dick moving in a stealthy and cat-like way before me, one day when I was passing along Princes Street, and knew that he was quite unconscious of my presence, I was quickly roused to an interest in his movements. I had not watched him long, when I thought the solution of the whole mystery was in my hands. It seemed to me that Dick’s new line was pocket-picking, and that he was following a likely plant—an elderly gentleman and a lady—with the intention of exercising his new art. After a time it dawned upon me that Dick’s cowardice was against him. Several chances occurred which he did not attempt to make use of. At length the gentleman went into one of the shops alone, and then, to my surprise, the lady, who had remained standing at the window, turned slightly, noticed Dick standing near, moved a little closer to him, and addressed some words to him in a hurried and constrained manner, which Dick as swiftly answered. The lady then took out her purse, and, placing a coin in his hand, turned once more to look in at the window, while Dick passed on with the crowd as if nothing had happened. Now, had Dick been the first to speak, and had the lady’s manner been different, I should have considered it an ordinary case of begging, and had no scruple in following and taking Dick. But as it was I could only wonder what connection such a haughty and evidently wealthy person could have with a miserable coward like him. Instead of following Dick I followed the lady as soon as she had been rejoined by the white-haired gentleman, whom I took to be her husband. From the side glimpse which I had of her face she seemed to be quite young and very good-looking, though there was a nameless something in the expression of her face which told me that she had not always been in such a position. In order to get a better look at her, I got past the couple on the opposite side of the street, crossed over while they stood inspecting a window, and then, as soon as they moved, sauntered slowly forward and met them full in the face. Purposely I got directly in front of the lady, in seeming forgetfulness, and, as she stopped in haughty surprise, I had a good look into her eyes. Then I started and looked again, upon which her glance fell before mine as surely as those of one of “my bairns” ever did. In a moment more she was past, and I was left wondering. I was puzzled and bewildered. The face seemed strangely familiar to me; I could have sworn that I had known the owner of it long before, and yet I could not tell her name or recall a single circumstance in her history. I stood there cudgelling my brains till I had almost lost sight of the couple who had so interested me; then, unable to make a better of it, I roused myself and followed them for a full hour, till they entered one of the biggest hotels in the city and remained there. A waiter running out a moment or two after, on being stopped by me, said that the couple were “Mr and Mrs Harper, from Glasgow,” and that he understood that the gentleman was very wealthy. They were in Edinburgh on a pleasure trip, and, so far as he knew, had no children.

That was all I could get from the waiter, but the news did not banish that beautiful face—so full of sweetness and innocence, if a certain flash could have been taken from her fine eyes. That flash was the only thing to turn the scales, and it did that most effectually. It gave just such an expression to the whole face as I could imagine Lucrezia Borgia to have owned.

Later in the day, when thinking of Brettle and his affairs, by some queer turn of memory I recalled the name of Pretty Polly, and then her sweet-looking features rose before me as vividly as if I had seen them only the day before. But that was not all; for lo! as I looked, the fine features became somewhat stouter and coarser, and rapidly changed into those of Mrs Harper, whom I had that day followed along Princes Street.

“How like they are to each other!” was my mental exclamation. “It must have been that resemblance which puzzled me. But could they be the same person? Never! Brettle says Pretty Polly is dead.”

This reasoning did not convince me, for there still remained the curious fact that the haughty Mrs Harper had allowed her glance to fall before my own in that fashion so suggestive to me of “auld acquaintance.” Could Pretty Polly have had a sister who resembled her? I thought not; for had not Brettle himself said, “The like of her doesn’t walk the earth?” Besides, if she had a sister, and she in such a good position, I could scarcely believe that the lady would be so heartless as to allow her brother-in-law to almost perish of want while she revelled in luxury.

I was waited for by Dick at a street corner on the afternoon of the following day. When I saw him I was a little pleased, as I thought it possible that I might get out of him all I wanted in regard to the strange woman. But as Dick was full to the eyes with his own affairs, I let him chatter about them first.

“I can give you the straight tip about Brettle at last,” he eagerly began.

“Do you expect me to pay you for it?” I quietly interposed.

“No, no, not a penny.”

“You work for nothing, then—for the mere love of the thing?” I said, with a palpable sneer.

“Just that,” he said, swallowing the insult smilingly. “Brettle is to break into a shop in Leith Street to-night—Calderston’s, No.—. The place above enters from the Terrace, and the key of that is sent home every night by a drunken porter. Brettle will treat him on the way, get the key from him, and work inside all night. Perhaps he will stay there over the Sunday. He is to work the job single-handed, and take the plunder out by the Terrace stair in different lots.”

“And who arranged all this for him?” I asked, nailing Dick’s shifty glance with a steady stare.

“Oh, I don’t know—himself, I suppose,” he confusedly answered.

That was enough for me. I saw that Dick had arranged it all as a nice trap for Brettle. What could be his object?

“Dick,” I said suddenly, after noting down all he had revealed, “have you any idea what has become of Brettle’s wife, Pretty Polly?”

The start the man gave! and his face! I never thought that there was such a blush in him.

“Dead, I think,” he guiltily stammered, after a horrible pause.

I thought not, and said so.

“She couldn’t be married again, to a richer man?” I suggestively observed. “I understand she and Brettle were lawfully man and wife.”

Dick’s face was the picture of guilt and confusion. If the ground could have swallowed him at that moment I imagine he would have been thankful. I was reading all the answers to the questions which had puzzled me for days in his tell-tale features.

“You have seen her lately, then?”

“No,” he faltered, while his face said “Yes,” and cursed me into the bargain.

“And have you no idea where she could be found?”

“Not the least,” he said, with the lie almost choking him.

“Imphm! Well, that’s all I want with you just now,” I coldly remarked, and with a dive he was gone.

I saw the whole plot now, and felt sure that that beautiful devil of a woman was at the bottom of it all. But was I to allow that miserable man—that well-meaning convict who had actually made an effort towards a life of honesty—to walk into the shambles? No doubt it would look like a feather in my cap to take him in the act and walk him off for his certain ten years’ penal; every one would think it neat and clever, and speak of the vigilance and sharpness of the police, &c., but there would still be a voice within me crying out against the whole as a crime—an offence against a law that never was written. After giving the matter some thought, I went out to the Grange to a gentleman with a big heart and unbounded faith in myself.

“I want you to give me some money,” I said, as his hand grasped my own, “without asking any questions. It is to help a convict and ticket-of-leave man till he shall be able to help himself.”

“All right, Mr M^cGovan; you shall have it,” was the frank response. “Just say how much it is to be.”

I named the sum, and it was placed in my hands. Little more was said, and I left that wide-souled and big-hearted man to have a hunt for Bob Brettle. I expected to find him quite easily, but I did not; and what gave me more concern was to learn in the course of my search that Bob had broken out—that is, had been drinking hard, and was, when last seen, in a state of savage ferocity and excitement, which, I feared, would not help me greatly in my mission. Still it was no time to delay. I must see him then, or be forced to take him as a house-breaker a few hours later. I persevered till I found him in a public-house—savage and fierce as could be. He would scarcely answer me, and only consented to speak with me alone when I told him he must.

“You’ve had a struggle lately, and I promised to prove that I had no interest in you remaining in the old line,” I quietly began. “I’ve brought you some money which a gentleman has given, on my assurance that it would not be thrown away, to help you till you get work.”

“Take it back to him then—I don’t need it now,” he angrily returned. “I’ve got work, or at least expect to get it.”

“Yes, I can guess what kind of work you mean,” I pointedly answered. “Do you know what your next sentence will be, Bob, if you’re taken at the old game?”

“I’m not taken yet,” he confidently answered, with an oath and a thundering blow of his fist on the little table of the box in which we were secluded. “He’ll be a clever man that will take me; ay, and he’ll need to be a strong man too!”

“Bob Brettle!” I cried, starting up and leaning across the table towards him, “you’re a fool!”

“What!” and his big fist was clenched as if to let drive at my face.

“A fool—a perfect baby—a blind idiot, who would walk into a trap chuckling all the while over his own cleverness and daring. Man alive! what is all your bravery or daring against the wiles of a wicked woman?”

“A woman! what woman?” he faltered, apparently pulled up by my very abuse.

“Why, the woman you call your wife—Pretty Polly—who is now in this city with a wealthy man to whom she is married. Her name is Mrs Harper now, and I suppose she feared that your claims on her might be awkward, and so employed Dirty Dick to prepare a job for you—that Leith Street affair which you mean to go to as soon as you leave this place, and at which I am to take you in the act, so that you may be booked for ten years at least. Now, smash out at me now, and say I’ve an interest in keeping you on the cross!”

“My wife—Pretty Polly—living and married to another man!” he breathed, with a look positively frightful settling on his heavy features. “I—don’t—believe—a—word—of—it!”

I folded my arms and said nothing. The idea was a new one to him; I would let it work. I had not long to wait. I could see the workings of the demon Jealousy in his face, in his twitching lips and flushed cheeks, in his clouded brow and clenched hands.

“You’ve got a name for telling the truth,” he at last hoarsely observed, with a look of piteous agony on his haggard face, “but I must see the woman before I believe it. Tell me where she lives, or take me to her. The she-devil! Oh, if it’s only true!”

“Rest content with my word. I shall not give you her address—at least not now. It wouldn’t be safe. When you are sober and calm you shall have it.”

“I am sober,” he quickly returned; and he seemed to speak the truth, for every trace of drink had vanished like a flash, “and I am calm—as death. Give me her address!”

I refused most positively, and at length he rose, deliberately put on his cap, and quietly walked out of the shop with the simple remark that he would see me again. I knew enough of Brettle’s character to warn me that the sooner Pretty Polly was got out of his reach the better it would be for her.

I therefore hurried over to the hotel, and learned that she and her husband had gone out about six o’clock, and not yet returned. I sat down to wait for them, little guessing that I was to remain there till nearly eleven o’clock, they being at the theatre, as I afterwards learned. While I was thus waiting at the hotel, Bob Brettle had taken action in a style characteristic of him and his passionate nature. He hunted through all the dens till he came upon Dirty Dick singing songs in a half-gleeful and half-fuddled condition. Dick remained gleeful not one moment after he saw Brettle’s face. The house-breaker invited him out to the darkness of the stair-head, and there brought out a long-bladed clasp-knife, at the same moment throttling Dick with his left hand, and forcing him down on his knees. There, with the point of the knife at Dick’s heart, he dragged out of the quaking wretch a full and abject confession of the plot, and also of the name of the hotel at which Pretty Polly and her wealthy husband had put up. When Dick had finished, Bob simply swung round his powerful left hand, and in a moment Dick lay groaning on the landing below with a broken leg and fractured rib. Paying no attention to the injured wretch or his cries, Brettle ran down the stair and made for the hotel.

A waiter at the portico told him that the Harpers were not in, but were expected shortly. Brettle stood sentry there at the door or near it for a full half hour, and at length was rewarded by seeing a cab drive up, and a gentleman get out and hand forth a sweet-faced and elegantly dressed lady—the veritable Pretty Polly.

With a bound like that of a tiger Brettle was upon her, and had her taper wrist clenched in his hand, and her face swung round to the light of the street lamps with a force that almost crushed the delicate bones.

“You jewelled serpent!” he hissed, “you would sell me to the shambles! Look at me, you beautiful devil, and say, if you can, that it is not true!”

A shriek—appalling enough to reach my ears above, and bring me rushing down—was Pretty Polly’s only answer.

Her husband, however, laid a hand on Brettle’s shoulder—

“How dare you, sir? Who are you?”

“Her husband!” shouted the infuriated house-breaker; and at the same moment there was the flash of a knife and an agonising cry from the wounded woman, and a rush upon the assailant from all sides. I was among the number, and Brettle recognised me with a quiet nod.

“I’m not going to struggle or bolt,” he quietly observed, as Pretty Polly was lifted from the pavement and borne insensible into the hotel, with the blood gushing from a deep wound in her breast. “I’m satisfied now. I have paid her off. I’ve taken it out of her, and she was the only woman I ever loved!”

Bob’s grief, however, seemed quiet and tame compared with that of Polly’s second husband, upon whom the revelation came with a shock which nearly proved fatal. Mr Harper quietly slipped away out of Edinburgh without once asking to look on the face of the woman who had deceived him. Brettle went to prison, of course, and Pretty Polly, as soon as she could be moved, was sent to the Infirmary. She lingered long, but did not die. In about six months she was pronounced able to leave the hospital. She appeared as witness against Brettle, and helped to fix a year’s imprisonment on him, and then she drifted out to a life of hardship and degradation which ended her before Brettle’s sentence had expired. Brettle heard the news unmoved when he was liberated, and then disappeared. I have never heard of him since.

M^cSWEENY AND THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP.

The things were missed from one of the rooms in a house in George Square not many hours after the sweeps had been there, and of course suspicion at once fell upon these men. Who ever trusted a chimney-sweep the length of his own nose? The blackness of their faces is supposed to be nothing to that of their souls, and what was the old and popular portrait of the devil but a chimney-sweep with a tail tacked on? There were three articles taken—a gold bracelet, a very valuable necklet and pendant, and one gold ear-ring.

The leaving behind of one of the ear-rings gave the robbery an odd look, for the whole of the things had been taken from the drawer or a dressing-table, and the ear-ring left was the first article which caught the eye of the owner when she opened the drawer.

Either the thief had wanted only one ear-ring, or had been scared in grasping at the plunder, and so left the odd trinket. The drawer had been locked, but the key had been left in the lock, and must have been made use of by the thief both to open and refasten that receptacle. Mrs Nolten, the lady of the house, was the first to make the discovery, and, not knowing that the sweeps had been in the house, fancied that one of the servants might have taken the use of the jewels.

A furious ring at the bell brought the two girls up in great consternation, and then the truth was known. Neither of them had been near the drawer of the dressing-table, and one of them, while admitting that the sweeps had been there, declared that she had “kept her eye on them” all the time, and so could scarcely conceive it possible for them to be the thieves.

Mrs Nolten paid no heed to the remark, but wisely sent word to us in all haste. When the report arrived it was about eleven o’clock in the forenoon, and I was on the point of starting off to look after a much more important case. However, as I had to go southwards, I decided to take George Square on the way, and then let M^cSweeny do the rest. We soon got to the house, and were shown into the dressing-room from which the articles had vanished.

The two servants were brought up, and from one of them I learned that the sweeps had been simply a man and a boy. They had both been in the room for a little, and after the man had helped to lift out the grate and fasten up a blanket in the fire-place, he had gone up on the roof to complete the work, leaving the boy in the room alone. They believed that the boy was the sweep’s own son. I examined the carpet in front of the dressing-table. It showed no marks of sooty feet. I then looked at the drawer in which the articles had been secured, and finally took the key from the lock and smelt it. There was a distinct smell of soot about it, but then the whole room had a flavour of the kind just then, and the smell on the key might mean nothing. After taking down a minute description of the articles missing, and getting the sweep’s address, we left the house, and I directed M^cSweeny to go to the chimney-sweep and see what he could make of the case. We then parted, with the understanding that I also was to call at the sweep’s on my return. The man’s name was Sandy Brimely, and his place only a couple of streets from the spot.

It was a dark dingy hole below the level of the street, and consisted of three rooms or cellars, lighted through gratings on the pavement. One place was used as a kitchen and sleeping-place, another smaller place was also used as a bedroom, and the third hole was used as a store-room for soot. This third place was in reality part of the first, but had been divided off by the wooden partition which kept the soot from sliding all over their living room.

Sandy was standing at the head of the stair leading down to this sooty abode when M^cSweeny arrived. His work was generally over by that time, except when a godsend came in shape of a chimney afire, and Sandy leant against the wall enjoying his pipe as peacefully as if there had been no such beings as detectives in the world. He was a sly, oily tongued fellow, but so far as I know had never been convicted of any worse crime than beating his wife, or occasionally taking more whisky than he could carry unassisted.

After a little preliminary blarney on both sides, during which it appeared that Sandy knew both M^cSweeny’s face and his profession, my chum considerably startled him by saying abruptly—

“You were at Mrs Nolten’s, in George Square, this morning?”

The sweep took the pipe from his mouth, with his pleased look effectually banished. If he had not been so sooty he might have been said to turn pale, so constrained and almost scared did he become.

“Let me see. Yes—yes, I was there,” he awkwardly answered. “I was there doing two vents.”

“Did you take anything away wid ye?” said M^cSweeny, pointedly.

He expected the man, if guilty, to show signs of concern or confusion; but, if anything, the sweep looked brighter after the question.

“Away with me?” he echoed, to gain time for the answer. “Of course I did. I took the soot.”

“Nothing else?” suspiciously pursued M^cSweeny.

“Nothing else, sir, as I’m a living man,” energetically returned Sandy. “I hope you don’t think I would touch an article belonging to any one else?”

The question was a delicate one, and M^cSweeny did not attempt an answer, further than to state that some things had been missed, and that he was there in his official capacity to investigate the case, and try to find the articles missing.

Sandy allowed him to talk on, drinking it all in and becoming brighter and more beaming at every word.

“I hope you’ll search every hole and corner in my place, sir,” he fervently exclaimed, when M^cSweeny had done. “I want my character cleared, and my honesty established. What,” he added grandly, “what is dearer to a poor man than his good name? and what would become of my business if folks took me for a thief? I insist on you searching my place—never mind about a warrant, or anything else—my honour is at stake, and I must have it done at once.”

He led the way downstairs to his abode, in which M^cSweeny found quite a crowd of small sooty children scrambling about the earthen floor in noisy glee. These were all sent outside, and then Sandy explained to his wife with much warmth the absurd suspicion which had been raised against his character.

“I see it all now! I see it all now!” he suddenly exclaimed, smiting his sooty brow with tragic force. “Could anybody believe they would be so cunning?”

M^cSweeny hinted that an explanation would be acceptable.

“Why, don’t you see, sir—the servants—the servants; they’re at the bottom of this. They’ve taken the chance while we were there to steal the things, knowing the blame would fall on me. You’ve no idea,” he continued, waxing pathetic, “what sweeps have to put up with. There’s scarcely a house we go into that we’re not watched like glaziers on tramp. You can see it in their eyes. It’s hard to be looked at like a thief when you’re doing your best to earn an honest living.”

“Are you quite sure now that the boy you had with you mightn’t help himself if he got a dacent chance?” suggested M^cSweeny, by way of appearing to sympathise with the sweep.

“Him? Why, he’s my own son!” exclaimed the sweep, as if that quite settled the matter. “But he’s just out in the square there playing at the bools. I’ll send for him, and you can question him yourself.”

This was done, and the sooty apprentice appeared, and denied all knowledge of the missing articles.

M^cSweeny, on the invitation of the father, somewhat gingerly searched the sooty clothes of the boy, but found nothing. He then performed the same office upon the father, with a like result. The wife also turned out her pockets for inspection, and then M^cSweeny settled himself to the not very agreeable task of searching the house. The furniture was poor and scanty, and the floor an earthen one, so there was no great difficulty in the task. But there was soot everywhere. It was on the floor, on the shelves, in the very beds, and so pervaded the whole atmosphere of the house that M^cSweeny had soon drawn such a quantity into his nostrils that he would willingly have paid half-a-crown down for the pleasure of sneezing his own head off. He went gaping, and blinking, and sputtering over the place till he had searched every part but the soot cellar. Before that he paused ruefully. I firmly believe he would have shirked searching that altogether, and that the resolve was showing itself in his face, when the cunning sweep affected to make a suspicious movement or two with his hands near the partition, as if in the act of dropping something into the soot.

“What’s that you’re after now?” cried M^cSweeny, starting round sharply and dragging forth the sweep’s hand.

“Nothing—oh, nothing, sir,” was the glib reply; “I was only feeling how high the soot is.”

M^cSweeny suspiciously lifted a candle, held it over the partition and peered down into the soot-bin at the spot, but could see nothing to indicate that any article had been dropped. This partition was about two feet and a half high and immediately behind it the soot was fully a foot deep, sloping up thence to the back wall to a height of about three feet. Against that wall several sacks of soot were piled, and resting on one of these sacks was the end of a spar of wood which reached across the soot to the wooden partition, upon which the other end rested. This plank was evidently used as a standing-place from which they could conveniently empty their soot-bag after a morning’s work. M^cSweeny thought it possible that there might be a hide of some kind behind these soot bags, and, candle in hand, clambered up on the partition and thence on to the spar bridging the soot. As he stepped across the frail bridge he had to turn his back for a moment to the innocent-looking sweep, and knew no more until he had dived down nose foremost into the sea of soot.

He always declared that the sweep had shoved the end of the plank from the partition; but when he scrambled to his feet among the soot, sputtering, gasping, and sneezing enough to rend himself, there was Sandy standing gravely by him with a look of earnest and sorrowing condolence on his grimy face. The wife went into fits of laughter over M^cSweeny’s appearance as he stood in the soot, with his face and beard thickly coated with the soft black, and only his well-rubbed eyelids beginning to show white through the sable covering, but she was solemnly rebuked and sworn at by her demure-faced husband.

“Eh, sir, to think that the plank should have slippit just when it wasna wanted to slip,” cried Sandy, handing M^cSweeny a sooty rag with which to clean his face and clothes; “but it’ll dae ye nae herm, sir, nae herm. Soot’s a healthy thing, sir—healthier than clean water.”

“You—you—ah—ah——choof!—you did that!” cried M^cSweeny, as soon as he could speak, ferociously fixing Sandy with his eye. “You’ll suffer for—ah—ah——choo—oof! Begorra, I’ve a good moind to stick your head in it, and make you swallow a bag of it before I let you out.”

“Me, sir!” cried Sandy, in pious horror. “May I never soop another lum if I ever thought o’ sic a thing. See, I’ll gie ye a brush doon, sir. It’s a kind o’ a pity ye had thae licht-coloured troosers on, but they’ll clean at the dyer’s, and never look a whit the waur.”

“Don’t thrubble yourself to brush me, for I’m not done wid the hole yet,” savagely responded M^cSweeny; “but for this I’d have let you off aisy, but now, sweet bad luck to you! I’m as black as I can be, and I’ll see to the bottom of this before I stir.”

M^cSweeny at the same moment seized a big shovel which he found in one corner of the soot-bin, and deliberately began to spade out the soot into the middle of the kitchen floor, carefully examining every shovelful before he pitched it over the partition. While he was thus engaged bending over a spadeful of the soot, Sandy managed to make a sign to his wife, who stooped to the floor, picked something up, and threw it over into the heap of soot rising in the middle of her kitchen.

M^cSweeny was just conscious of some swift movement having taken place, but saw neither the movement nor the direction of the pitch.

“What divil’s game are you two up to now?” he suspiciously growled, looking from one to the other. “I’ll have to take yez both. You throw’d something just now—what was it?”

The sweep and his wife raised their hands as if horrified at the accusation, and solemnly declared that M^cSweeny’s imagination had deceived him; that they had nothing to throw, and they would as soon attempt to fly in the air as to try to deceive such a world-renowned and keen-sighted detective as he. M^cSweeny, still suspicious, came out of the soot-bin and searched about for a little, but found nothing; and then, after a deal of snorting and swearing, went back to his work, and soon had all the loose soot out in the kitchen. There remained then only the sacks at the back to be removed, and M^cSweeny was diligently setting his brawny arms and shoulders to them when I descended the stair and stood before them. I stood transfixed with astonishment at the strange scene, till a familiar grin from the demon of darkness at work in the soot-bin made me look at him more closely, and then I faintly recognised my chum.

“Good heavens! what does all this mean?” I exclaimed, after a hearty laugh at M^cSweeny’s solemn face and the eloquent burst of abuse which he heaped upon the sweep and his wife.

“It means,” he responded, making a virtue of a necessity, “that I’m not afraid to do my duty properly, even though I do get a little black by it, and spoil a good suit of clothes into the bargain. Jamie, avick, I’ve found nothing, but we may take them both on suspicion, for a pair of bigger blackguards never walked the streets unhung.”

It seemed to me that had the sweep been an innocent and honest man, he would have resented this language hotly. He did not. He was all smoothness and politeness still, and officiously offered to help me in any way. What I liked worse was to observe that he was also all cheerfulness. There was even a twinkle of gloating and delight in the corners of his demurely drawn eyes over M^cSweeny’s grinning and discomfiture, or possibly over the consciousness that he was perfectly safe. Now, I had never believed that we should find the missing articles in that sooty den, and had hinted as much to M^cSweeny. Supposing the sweep to have nerve and effrontery enough to commit such a robbery, he would have been an arrant fool to have kept the stolen trinkets about his house. After a look round the place myself, and a short conversation in an undertone with M^cSweeny, I decided that we might go, and trust to tracing the missing articles elsewhere. But there was the sweep’s kitchen in a dreadful state of confusion, with a great pile of soot filling the centre of the floor; it would never do to leave the poor man’s house in that state, and I promptly said so.

“Oh, that’s naething, sir—I’ll put back the soot mysel’,” smoothly and graciously answered the sweep. “Dinna disturb yoursel’, sir; I’ll see ye up that stair, for it’s very dark and narrow. This way, sir; this way.”

He quickly made for the stair, but I paused before following, and exchanged a look of inquiry with M^cSweeny. The wife, squatted by the fire with a pipe in her mouth, watched us furtively out of the corner of her eye. That sly, cautious glance decided me. The sweep had shown a trifle too much alacrity in wishing to bid us good-bye and see us out. I stood still and conversed in a low tone with M^cSweeny. The sweep looked back from the doorway somewhat anxiously.

“We’re not quite ready yet,” I quietly said; “we must put things as we got them.” Then I added with apparent coolness to M^cSweeny, “Shovel it back carefully.”

The face of the sweep, sooty though it was, showed a visible and concerned change as I spoke, and I felt that I had scored a point.

“I’ll help you, sir; I’ve another shovel here,” he cried with alacrity after the first stagger, pouncing on a shovel and approaching the soot heap.

“Thank you—no,” I coldly and sternly returned, pointing to a seat by the fire; “sit there till I tell you to rise.”

He sat down, or rather flopped down, with an attempt at a gracious grin, and, taking the pipe from his wife, began puffing fiercely, watching us anxiously all the while. M^cSweeny slowly and deliberately shovelled up the soot in small quantities, according to my directions, narrowly inspecting it as it was returned to the bin, and before the half of the soot had been so lifted he paused to inspect a soot-covered object which had got into one of these small shovelfuls. I was at his side in a moment; and as the glitter of metal caught my eye I glanced towards the sweep and saw that he was painfully anxious to look indifferent. The object, when cleared of soot, proved to be a small handle of gilt brass, fastened to a flat piece of ivory, on which was some neat carving. The four eyes at the fireside were goggling, like distended telescopes, at us as we stood clearing the strange object of soot.

“What’s this?” I sharply demanded of the sweep.

“That, sir?” and he took a stride or two forward to look at the fragment. “I’m sure I dinna ken; it’s a thing ane o’ the bairns found oot on the street and brought in to play wi’.”

Sandy’s face said “lie” all over in spite of the soot as he made the hurried answer, and I said nothing. Every thief has “found” these things, or had them given him, or innocently brought into his house by some third person not conveniently at hand. After a close inspection of the fragment I was inclined to think that it had formed part of the lid of an ivory box or casket. No such article was in our list so far as I could remember; but the expression of the sweep’s face and his general manner induced me to say that I would take the fragment with me.

“Certainly, sir, certainly; it’s of nae value to me,” cried Sandy with forced alacrity. “Will I wrap it in a bit paper for ye?”

I declined the officious offer, put the fragment in my pocket, and shortly after took leave with M^cSweeny, who made a dive at once for the baths in Nicolson Square. A wash in water and a brush at the fragment seemed to confirm my suspicion. The ivory appeared to be fine, and was prettily carved, and it seemed to have been rudely smashed. I took the piece to a dealer in such articles, and he not only confirmed me in my suspicion, but showed me a complete casket of the same style of workmanship. It was a small thing, about six inches long by four broad, and might be used, the dealer said, for holding either jewels or money. They were very expensive, and but few were sold. This last bit of information I found to be correct, for after going over all the dealers in such articles in Edinburgh I could not find one who had sold a casket answering the description of the fragment I had found. I wished to find the owner for a particular reason. In examining the ivory one day it struck me that it had a smoked appearance—a kind of dingy hue which could never have been imparted by simply lying among soot. How could it have got that tinge? Not by being thrown into the fire, for there was not a burn on the whole fragment. Could Sandy have hung it up his own chimney like a red herring or a ham to give it that colour, or had it been so tinged when it came into his possession? The chimney in Sandy’s house had been the place which we searched most rigorously, so I was tolerably certain that he had no other interesting herrings there in pickle. I thought the owner of the bit of ivory and brass might help me to an answer, and at length decided to advertise for him. “An Ivory Casket, Carved,” was notified in the newspapers as having been found, and the owner was requested to call without delay upon me. The day that this advertisement appeared, Sandy called at Mrs Nolten’s house in George Square, and asked permission to go up on the roof to get a rope which he believed he had left there on his last visit. The request was put before the lady of the house, and promptly refused. Sandy then went to the next house and made the same request, and received as prompt a refusal. After the second appearance of the advertisement, a gentleman named Dundas called, and requested to see the “Ivory Casket.” There was a strange reserve about him, which I only understood when in confidence he imparted to me the suspicion that his own son had been the robber, at the same time emphatically stating that he was firmly resolved not to give in any charge against the runaway. On being shown the fragment, he identified it as part of the lid of an ivory casket stolen from his house, and containing at that time nearly £10 in gold and silver. The casket had not been missed till after the flight of his son, who had left a good situation and gone to London with the craze strong upon him to be an actor. I found, however, that Mr Dundas had a distinct recollection of employing Sandy to sweep his chimneys about that time, and as six months had since elapsed, Sandy had been there on the same errand but a month or two ago. On calling the gentleman’s attention to the smoky appearance of the ivory, he declared that it had not been so tinged when in his possession, and spontaneously remarked—

“It must have been hanging in some chimney.”

In a chimney certainly, but what chimney? whose chimney? I revolved the matter in my mind, and at length concluded that Sandy would never have been foolhardy enough to conceal anything in his own chimney. And yet there was pretty palpable evidence that the stolen article had been in a chimney.

After half a day’s cogitation, an idea struck me which gave such a feasible explanation of the thing that my only wonder is that it did not occur to me earlier. Sandy, if he wanted a chimney as a hide, was not limited in his choice to one or twenty. He visited some at regular intervals, and was in these cases the only man employed. What was to hinder him from using them boldly as establishments of his own? depots for goods which he could not conveniently store at home? I began to wonder how I could get hold of a list of these houses that I might inspect the chimneys. In sweeping a chimney it was often necessary for Sandy to lift out the grate, when it was what is known as a “Register,” and it seemed to me that in doing so he could easily make use of the space behind as a hide when the grate was put back; but in making this guess it will be found that I gave Sandy credit for less ingenuity than he possessed. While Mr Dundas was diligently hunting for the address of his runaway son, that he might fairly ask him if he had been the thief of the casket and its contents, I was ferreting out the most prominent of Sandy’s customers. In making the round of these it is singular, but true, that I never thought of calling at Mrs Nolten’s, and when I did find myself there, it was more by accident than from choice. Being on the spot one day, I thought I would go in and have the register grate lifted out; but when this had been done in presence of the lady and myself, and nothing found, Mrs Nolten recalled the recent visit of Sandy, and detailed to me the circumstances. I immediately conceived a strong desire to go up on the roof and have a look for that “rope which he thought he had left.” I did not look about the slates or rhone pipes, but went straight to the chimneys, though I confess I was at a loss to understand how anything could be safely concealed in them. After going over all the chimney-cans, I came to one inside which, just at the bottom where the can was embedded in mortar to secure it to the stones, I saw sticking a common three-inch nail.

It was all but hidden with soot, but enough was left bare to show that it had attached to it a bit of twine, which hung down inside the chimney proper. I grasped at the nail, easily pulled it out, and drew up with it the bit of twine. Something dangled at the end of the twine, which proved to be a paper parcel not very neatly tied up. I felt the contents of the parcel through the paper, and smiled out broadly.

“What a dunce I was not to think of this sooner!” was my comment upon myself.

I distinctly felt the shape of a bracelet through the paper, and did not trouble to open the parcel till I should get down into the house. I went down, and Mrs Nolten, seeing me smile and the parcel in my hand attached to the sooty string, instantly grasped at the truth.

“You’ve found them in my own chimney?”

A woman’s instincts seldom mislead her. The lady was right. I opened the paper parcel, and there, snugly reposing within, and not a whit the worse of the smoking, were the bracelet, the necklet, and the odd gold ear-ring. I left the house at once, taking the interesting parcel with me, and in a minute or two stood before Sandy in his own home.

“It’s a fine day, sir,” he graciously began.

“It is—a very fine day,” I returned, with emphasis. “Do you remember that bit of ivory, Sandy, with the brass handle attached, which we found here?”

Sandy found his memory conveniently defective.

“I had quite forgot aboot it, sir,” he said awkwardly, when I had refreshed his powers a little.

“Well, I’ve discovered the gentleman who owns it, and strangely enough he declares that you were in his house sweeping some chimneys the day before it went amissing.”

Sandy’s sooty face was a curious study, but he wisely made no audible reply.

“Don’t say anything unless you like, but did you ever see this parcel before?” I gently pursued, as I brought out the parcel and showed him its contents. “Nothing to say?—very good. Just put on your coat and cap and we’ll go, then. I’m only sorry,” I added, as I put a handcuff on his wrist, and retained the other end in my hand, “that I haven’t a pair of these with a longer chain between the bracelets, for I never come close to you, Sandy, without sneezing for half a day after.”

Sandy grinned a feeble and ghastly assent, and then went with me without a word. We could easily have proved both robberies against him, but he decided to make the best of his position by pleading guilty, and so got off with three months imprisonment.