“We were a pretty full party in it, now one dropping in, then another out,—men of business from the city, clerks from the bank; one I noticed with a broad-brimmed hat, another with a smart new tile, cocked roguishly on the side of the head. They talk” (here he addressed himself to Louisa) “of telling the character of a man by the bumps on his head: I think that one might tell something by the style of his hat; he has a choice in one thing, and not in the other. Well, presently the man who stands on the door-step puts his head into the conveyance. ‘Gentlemen and ladies,’ says he, ‘have a care of your purses; there’s two of the swell-mob in the ’bus.’ So, as you may imagine, we gen’lmen and ladies (the ladies consisting of one good fat old dame opposite me, with a well-stuffed bag on her arm, or rather on her knee) looked awkwardly round on our companions, half smiling, as if to say, ‘Which of us are the thieves?’ I thought that the fat dame opposite kept rather a suspicious eye upon me, and held her hand tight over the opening of her big bag, afraid that some one should feloniously make off with her sandwiches or sausages. Presently the man with the new hat, dashing neck-tie, sparkling pin, and diamond studs to match, puts his hand into his pocket: ‘I’ve a large sum about me,’ he mutters half to himself, half as if apologizing to us for depriving us of the pleasure of his society, and out he pops with all convenient speed. Then he in the broad-brim gives signs of following; he was at the very inner end of the omnibus, and had to push past us all to get out. ‘I’ve a thousand pounds on my person,’ says he, and so gets down, off, and away! I could not help saying to my old lady, ‘There are more purses than two the safer for the discretion of these good gentleman: depend on’t, we’ve now nothing more to fear from the two dangerous members of the swell society!’”
“’Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all,” observed Mr. Effingham with a smile.
“It reminds me,” said Clemence, “of an Eastern tale of a merchant, who, having been robbed of a large quantity of cotton, and entertaining suspicions of the honesty of several of his acquaintance, invited all whom he doubted to a social meal. In the midst of his entertainment he suddenly exclaimed, with affected indignation, ‘Why, what audacious rogues are these, to steal my cotton, and then every one come to my house with a bit of it sticking to his beard!’ In a moment several hands were raised, each thief laid hold of his own beard, and the merchant, by this involuntary confession, was enabled to single out those who had robbed him.”
“We leave all that sort of work to the detective police,” observed Lady Selina.
“Yes, in old England,” replied Captain Thistlewood; “it is a different matter in some other countries that I have heard of, where the constables and the highwaymen form a kind of joint-stock company,—the robbers the active managers, the police the sleeping partners—ha! ha! ha! What was the book, Clemence, in which we read that good story of the Englishman in Rome?” The eyes of Vincent brightened at the idea of a story; he unconsciously edged his chair nearer to that of the captain.
“I do not recollect the story,” replied Clemence; “let us by all means have it.”
“An Englishman was on a visit to the city of Rome, and he had been told that bandits were plentiful there as blackberries, and that a man there thought as little of cutting a throat as he would in France of cutting a caper, or a joke in the Emerald Isle. John Bull had, therefore, been advised by no means to take his constitutionals after the sun had set.
“Our friend, however, once received an invitation to an evening party, which he had a mind to accept; and, thinks he, ‘A stout heart and a good crab-tree cudgel will make me a match for any brigand that breathes!’ So he went to his party, took a cheerful glass (maybe did not confine himself to one), and then set out in the darkness to return to his lodging in Rome. Now, our Englishman was a bold fellow, but that night he could not help thinking a little of what he had heard of stilettoes, and stabbing, and all that sort of thing. Suddenly a man coming in an opposite direction knocked right up against him, and then hurried on with rapid step. Our friend clapped his hand on his watch-pocket—never a watch was there!”
“The man must have robbed him!” exclaimed Vincent.
“So thought our Englishman, and he was not one to part with his property lightly. Turning round sharp, he rushed after the fellow, overtook him, seized him by the throat, shouted, ‘Oriuolo!—watch!’ in the best Italian that he could muster, and was well rewarded when a watch was thrust into his hand by the half-throttled, gasping Roman!”