The Hole in the Wall

by Arthur Morrison

Viney rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "How do you know?" he asked, huskily.

"How do I know? How did I know about the pocket-book an' the notes? I ain't been the best o' pals with my sister, but she couldn't ha' been there all this time without my hearing a thing or two about Cap'en Nat; to say nothing of what everybody knows as knows anything about him. Money? O' course there's money in the place; no telling how much; an' watches, an' things, as he buys. P'raps twice that eight hundred, an' more."

Viney's eyes were growing sharper—growing eager. "It sounds all right," he remarked, a little less huskily. "Especially if there's more in it than the eight hundred. But—but—are you—you know—sure about it?"

"You leave that to me. I'll see after my department, an' yours is easy enough. Come, it's a go, ain't it?"

"But perhaps he'll make a row—call out, or something."

"He ain't the sort o' chap to squeal; an' if he was he wouldn't—not the way I'm goin' to do it. You'll see."

"An' there's the boy—what about him?"

"O, the kid? Upstairs. He's no account, after we've outed Cap'en Nat. No more'n a tame rabbit. An' we'll have all night to turn the place over, if we want it—though we shan't. We'll be split out before the potman comes: fifty mile apart, with full pockets, an' nobody a ha'porth the wiser."

Viney bit at his fingers, and his eyes lifted and sank, quick and keen, from the ground to Ogle's face, and back again. But it was enough, and he asked for no more persuasion. Willing murderers both, they set to planning details: what Viney should say, if it were necessary to carry the talk with Captain Nat beyond the first sentence or so; where they must meet; and the like. And here, on Viney's motion, a change was made as regarded time. Not this immediate night, but the night following, was resolved on for the stroke that should beggar the Hole in the Wall of money and of life. For to Viney it seemed desirable, first, to get his belongings away from his present lodgings, for plain reasons; so as to throw off Blind George, and so as to avoid flight from a place where he was known, on the very night of the crime. This it were well to do at once; yet, all unprepared as he was, he could not guess what delays might intervene; and so for all reasons Captain Nat and the child were reprieved for twenty-four hours.

Thus in full terms the treaty was made. Dan Ogle, shrink as he might from Captain Nat face to face (as any ruffian in Blue Gate would), was as ready to stab him in the back for vengeance as for gain. For he was conscious that never in all his years of bullying and scoundrelism had he cut quite so poor a figure in face of any man as last night in face of Captain Nat. As to the gain, it promised to be large, and easy in the getting; and for his sister, now that she could help no more,—she could as readily be flung out of the business as Blind George. The opportunity was undeniable. A better place for the purpose than the alley leading to the head of Hole-in-the-Wall Stairs could never have been planned. Once the house was shut, and the potman gone, no more was needed than to see the next police patrol go by, and the thing was done. Here was the proper accomplice too: a man known to Captain Nat, and one with whom he would readily speak; and, in Ogle's eyes, the business was no more than a common stroke of his trade, with an uncommon prospect of profit. As for Viney, money was what he wanted, and here it could be made, as it seemed, with no great risk. It was surer, far, than going direct to Captain Nat and demanding the money under the old threat. That was a little outworn, and, indeed, was not so substantial a bogey as it might seem in the eyes of Captain Nat, for years remorseful, and now apprehensive for his grandchild's sake; for the matter was old, and evidence scarce, except Viney's own, which it would worse than inconvenience him to give. So that a large demand might break down; while here, as he was persuaded, was the certainty of a greater gain, which was the main thing. And if any shadow of scruple against direct and simple murder remained, it vanished in the reflection that not he, but Ogle, would be the perpetrator, as well as the contriver. For himself, he would but be opening an innocent conversation with Kemp. So Viney told himself; and so desire and conscience are made to run coupled, all the world over, and all time through.