WHERE THE TRACKS LED TO.
IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAP. III.
I don’t know that I ever thought more closely or continually over any event in my life than I did over this queer meeting with Sam Braceby. There was too much of a coincidence about this matter; and my experience has been that coincidences do not happen unless there is something to bring them about. I could make nothing of it, however, and so set seriously to work in watching Mr Godfrey. But in this affair it seemed as though I was never to keep steadily on in any course, for on the very evening I was to begin my observations, I received a letter from Mr Thurles, asking me to call on him.
I found the merchant as harsh as before, and, in addition, a little inclined to be offensive; at anyrate, his banter on my want of success was particularly annoying to me. He did not seem able to say anything pleasantly, and his speech ended in his throwing down a number of letters and papers, and telling me that the utterer of the forged bills had been discovered; the man himself had escaped by the merest chance; but upon his lodgings being searched, there was found among his papers correspondence which proved that he was a friend of Mr Godfrey, from whom several letters, all on business matters—that is, relating to the borrowing of money—were found.
‘It was not to be expected,’ continued the merchant, ‘that these letters would state in so many words that they meant to forge bills or break into houses; but there is quite enough to show the footing they were on, and to convince us, if any more conviction were needed, that they were both in the forgery.—Look over the papers, and see if you can get a hint from them.’
I saw the name of the man to whom the letters were addressed, and knew it as that of a young fellow who had borne a doubtful reputation, although he had never been in actual ‘trouble.’ He was certainly a dangerous companion for Godfrey Harleston. I took the papers, and left Mr Thurles with the belief that the step-son was in an awkward position. Hitherto, I had by no means been a believer in his guilt; but I was obliged to own that things were now looking much blacker against him. Knowing as much as I did, I determined on a different course of action. I resolved to make some inquiries, and, if necessary, spend some money among the associates of this newly discovered accomplice, some of whom I knew pretty well.
But again I was destined to be balked in my plans—in fact, it was the continual drifting about, which seemed to be our luck just now, which made this undertaking so different from any other on which I had ever been engaged. This time the interruption came from Long-necked Sam, who had never been out of my waking thoughts for any one quarter of an hour since I had seen him in the public-house. I found that Sam was remanded on a serious charge, which, if proved, would probably secure him, in his own phrase, ‘a lifer;’ and he wished to see me at once. It was rather sharp work, as only a few days had elapsed since I saw him, and now he had been apprehended, had his first hearing, and been remanded. But I knew that the police were constantly looking after him, and that he was always doing something which required him to keep out of their way as much as possible.
He would be a very fresh detective who would slight such a summons, meaningless as it might appear, for in such a business you can never tell what is going to turn up. I went, and saw Sam, who looked serious enough. Just as a matter of form and civility, I began to say that I was sorry to see him there, and so on.
‘Never mind that, Mr Holdrey,’ said Sam; ‘you may be sure I did not send for you to cry over spilt milk. I was sure to be “shopped” some time or another, although I must own I thought I should have had a little longer run. No; it isn’t that; it’s about that business of old Thurles.—You are working with the old fellow, are you not?’
This was a staggerer! If I had ever tried to keep a business quiet, this was the one. If I had been asked to name the job which had been completely kept from oozing out, I should have named this; and yet here was a notorious thief, a man who had nothing whatever to do with Thurles & Company, speaking confidently and correctly as to my share in the affair!
‘Well,’ I said, ‘what then?’ It was of no use denying it, as it was plain that Sam knew.
‘The old man,’ he continued, ‘is employing you to find out who broke into his office; but not so much for that as to find out about some forged bills. Well, I know all about the burglary, and pretty near all about the bills. The breaking-in was more in my way, as you know; but I could not do that without learning a good deal about the other.—Mr Holdrey, I have been badly used; the man who is deepest in the job has treated me shabbily, and means to act worse, I can see; so I must tell some one whom I can trust, and who will be honest with me. You know what my pals are, and that I cannot ask them, though some of them would be as true as the day; so I sent for you. Besides, you spoke up for me and helped me when you could get nothing by it. I would trust you for that good turn alone; and without it I would have trusted you, knowing your character. But I say again and again, there are not many who would have acted as you did. There’s a reward out, on the quiet, for this robbery; you can get it through me.—You know my wife, don’t you?’
I had seen her once or twice, and so I told him.
‘Well, she has been badly used in this affair; so have I; but I meant the money for her—I did honestly, to take her away where she was not known, and no one could bring her convict husband up against her, after he was sent off to Portland. Now, all I ask is, will you see to her and the young one, and share the reward with them? I don’t ask you to do anything which may seem in the least wrong, but so far as you can, consistent with your character as a man, very different from me, help her—will you do it? And will you share what reward you get?’
I did not see that there could be much harm in promising this, and on my saying so, Sam was at once satisfied.
‘Then here goes,’ he said. ‘These bills were forged by a friend of young Harleston—step-son to old Thurles, you know—but I am inclined to think the young fellow never got any of the money. He does not say so himself; but I have heard a little from others.’
He went on to tell me, in detail, what I had heard from Mr Thurles; but all this, he owned, was at second-hand; his own share did not begin till later. Mr Godfrey had found him out—how, Sam had no idea—and proposed an easy job to him, which was, of course, to enter the office and spoil the safe. The young man made no secret of his wish to get the bills into his possession—all the rest of the property found, Sam might keep for himself. ‘And there was precious little worth having, I can tell you,’ said the prisoner—‘only a matter of seven or eight pounds. I fancied I should have a rare haul, and, if you will believe me, I took a big bag tied round me, on purpose to hold the money. However, I gave him the papers he wanted, honourable, and in course expected him to act likewise in regard of my share. His game was to save himself in the first case, and then to get money from Mrs Thurles to buy off the people who, he pretended to her, had got the bills, and were threatening to give them up to the police.’
‘Mrs Thurles! Why, that is the young fellow’s own mother!’ I exclaimed. ‘You surely don’t mean to say that he was going to play such a fraud on his mother?’
‘It was not very nice, was it?’ returned Sam. ‘I don’t pretend to any fine feelings; but when I heard his plan, I had half a mind to knock him down. But there was my wife and child to be thought of, so I simply let the matter go. Well, I know for a certainty he has had some money from her, and expects a good deal more directly. All he ever gave me was two pounds. Two pounds out of five, he said; when I know from Bill, the potman at the Royal Blue, that he asked the landlord if he could cash him a cheque for a hundred that very night. The landlord could not do it, so Bill didn’t learn much more; but he saw the cheque was in a lady’s writing. But without all that, where could he get a cheque for a hundred, except from Mrs Thurles? He’s always worrying her. Why, he was on the business that night you met me at the public-house in the mews. He had not gone on there above five minutes, when you came in.’
Recollecting on what errand it was I found myself at the public-house in question, this bit of information seemed queerer than all that had gone before. It would have been so strange if I could have seen him and Sam together.
‘He deceived me then,’ continued Sam; ‘and as I am boxed up here and can’t help myself, he will deceive me again, and do me out of my lawful rights in respect of that money. So I mean to spoil him. What I have told you is the truth. I don’t know whether you can do anything about the bills, as he neither forged them nor passed them; but that he arranged the cracking of his governor’s crib’—everybody knows the speaker meant the breaking into the step-father’s office—‘and had the best of what was got, is a fact, as you can call me as a witness upon. And I will tell you this, Mr Holdrey: I am a bad one, I own, and nearly all my ’sociates are bad uns too—they have all been in quod, and will all go there again; but none of us is worse than that young Harleston, and, in fact, very few of us are so bad.’
I was disposed to agree with him, and to think the worst of a young man who could cheat a fond mother so heartlessly. I felt that I would never believe in faces again; for if ever I saw a man who looked incapable of such conduct, young Godfrey Harleston was that person.
We had a long conversation after this, in which Sam arranged that his wife should meet me the next day; I was to write and tell her when and where—which I did directly after leaving the prison—then we were to go before a magistrate; the rest would be plain sailing.
Here, then, at last, I should be able to satisfy my employer; he would be proved to be right, and the business he had given me would be brought to a successful conclusion. I should make a handsome profit, and, as is always the case in such things, get credit for an immense amount of ability I had never shown. Yet I never felt so dissatisfied with anything in my life, and though all was now as clear as crystal, there was something in it which, like a wrong figure in a sum, would not fit.
I don’t know what induced me to do it, but before going home, I went round by Thurles & Company’s office, where I waited to see Mr Picknell come out. I thought as he came towards me, alone and thoughtful, under the shade of a big black wall which was there, I had never seen a more disagreeable-looking fellow. I was in his way, so that he almost ran against me. What a start he gave, to be sure! As I could see by the light of a lamp, he staggered and turned ghastly pale for an instant; but he rallied quickly, and exclaimed, with something like a laugh: ‘Ah!—David!’—he paused a moment before he uttered the name—‘is that you? I declare you almost startled me.’
‘Yes,’ I said; ‘you looked as if you had seen a ghost.’
‘Ghost! It would take a good many ghosts to startle me,’ he began; then at once changing his tone, continued; ‘Well, have you found a fresh job, David? It is just now a bad time to be out of work.’
I made some answer, and could not help keeping my eyes closely on him. He noticed this; I was sure enough of that, although he said nothing about it.
‘Look in next week, David,’ he went on. ‘I will ask among my friends, and perhaps I may have something for you. Do not forget; this day week. Good-night.’
In a friendly manner, he went away, nodding and smiling, as much as to say he would bear me in mind; and I felt as strongly as I had ever felt anything in my life that he knew I was no messenger—that he knew I was a detective. From the first moment I had spoken to him, I had never felt confident as to his motives for being so friendly, and now I was as certain of them as if he had told me plainly. Well, after all, that need not interfere with my making use of various hints he had given me, especially as they fitted in with what I now found to be the real state of the case. But I did not like him.
The end of my engagement was now, I considered, fairly in sight. In the morning, I should go with Sam’s wife to the Mansion House; young Godfrey would be arrested; I should get my two hundred and fifty of the reward; Sam’s wife would have the same; and there would be an end of it all. This was a great deal of money for me to clear; but I could not feel pleased over it. I don’t mean to say that I had any idea of giving up the job, now I had gone so far with it, or of refusing the reward; I was too old a bird for that; yet I could not wake up, as we may say, in the matter.
I was so absorbed in thinking of the change in my life I would make, and thinking, too, of the pleasure it would give Winny as well as myself, that I hardly noticed anybody or anything as I went along, and was so deep in thought, indeed, that I almost ran against two persons, as I turned into a quiet street which was a short cut towards my home. These persons were as interested in their conversation as I was in my reverie, for they seemed as startled as I felt myself to be. I began an apology with a smile; but the words and the smile at once died on my lips; and so with them. The girl was my Winny! my daughter, who had turned ghostly white when she recognised me; but it was her companion who had, I may say, petrified me. Little as I thought to see my Winny in company with a stranger, you may guess what I felt when I saw that stranger was—of all men in the world—Godfrey Harleston!
For the moment I could not believe my eyes; yet, as if by some magical vision, I recalled the night when I thought I had seen Winny in the crescent. I now knew I had seen her; and I recognised her companion as clearly as though I had seen him a hundred times over. Brief as was the glance I had had on that night of him, I knew him as being the same man to an absolute certainty.
Winny was the first to recover herself, although, by her colour coming and going as it did, I could see how unnerved she was. Turning to her companion, she said: ‘This is my father, Godfrey.—It is very strange we should have met him at this moment, is it not?—Father, this is’——
‘Silence, Winny!’ I exclaimed. My voice had somehow turned so hoarse and harsh that it was not like my voice at all. ‘I want no introduction here. You will come home with me, and I shall then be glad to hear an explanation of what’—— I could not very well finish the sentence.
Winny turned pale; she had never been spoken to by me in such a manner in all her life.
‘I trust, Mr Holdrey,’ said the young man—and his tone was very pleasant—‘you are not in any way displeased with—with your daughter; indeed, we were just agreeing to wait on you to-morrow morning’——
‘Do not come, then!’ I interrupted. I could not help glancing at Winny, who looked as much astonished as frightened at hearing me speak like this, for I am not a rude man in general.
‘I am sorry to hear you say so,’ continued Mr Harleston. ‘It is my fault, not Winny’s, that we have not called on you long before. I have only waited to see some serious business settled which has troubled me a great deal. Yet now I think I was wrong. Let me walk home with you now.’
‘No!’ I said sternly—‘no, sir! I shall take my daughter home; and as I wish to have no further argument in the street, I shall bid you good-night.’
The tears, which had been standing in Winny’s eyes, had now overflowed, and were trickling down her cheeks. My heart ached as I saw this; but I grew angry, too, at seeing her, instead of at once joining me, turn her pale face to him with an inquiring look, as though asking permission—asking permission of him to obey her father!
‘Yes, Winny dear,’ he said gently, ‘you had better go. Your father does not understand all, and is naturally hurt; but I will see him to-morrow. Keep up a good heart, dearest!’ And with that he bent his head and kissed her, she lifting her face without the least shyness or shame.
I took her arm, and without another word, led her away. I hailed an omnibus, and we got in. I did this on purpose that there might be no opportunity for argument or pleading until we reached home. When we did so, I quickly lit the gas, drew down the blinds, and so forth; while Winny, having taken off her bonnet and pelisse, stood as pale and motionless as a statue, leaning on the table in the middle of the room.
I never felt a greater difficulty in speaking than I did then; not only was my voice hoarse, but my throat seemed blocked; however, it had to be done. ‘Winifred,’ I said, ‘I could not have believed it possible that you would have had an acquaintance unknown to me—and such an acquaintance! A man who’—— I could not help hesitating here—what I had to say was so dreadfully unpleasant.
‘Father!’ cried Winny—her voice was low but distinct; it was firmer than mine—‘Mr Godfrey Harleston is at least a friend of whom I need not be ashamed. I am not ashamed of him!’
‘Poor silly girl!’ I exclaimed; ‘you will be only too soon’——
‘Never!’ she interrupted, in the same low firm tone.
‘You little know what is before you,’ I continued; ‘and I only wish I had been aware of this intimacy earlier, to have saved you, perhaps, from some suffering. That young man is a suspected forger, and certainly an accomplice of burglars!—Hear me out, Winny! It will be best. I have been on his track for weeks, and at last all is brought home. I fear it will shock you to learn it, but he is a lost man; and in the morning I am under an engagement to apply at the Mansion House for a warrant for his arrest! There is no hope or chance for him; he will sleep in prison to-morrow night!’
I saw that Winny repressed a shriek by a great effort. For a moment a spasm convulsed her features, which quite frightened me, and then, in a strange gasping voice, which had nothing in it like my Winifred’s gentle tones, she cried, again clasping her hands tightly upon her breast: ‘He a criminal! He to be thrown in prison by you—by you, father! Never! You know not what you are saying. Father, you are talking of my husband!’