Here Captain Smith (the reader has, no doubt, already discovered that the speaker was no less a personage) took three or four nervous strides across the room, returned to the table, threw himself in a chair, placed one foot on one hob, and one on the other, laid his finger on his nose, and, with a significant wink, said in a whisper, “Will, he knew I had been lagged! He not only refused to hear all I had to say, but threatened to prosecute—persecute, hang, draw, and quarter us both, if we ever dared to come out with the truth.”
“But what’s the good of the truth if the boys are dead?” said William, timidly.
The captain, without heeding this question, continued, as he stirred the sugar in his glass, “Well, out I sneaked, and as soon as I had got to my own door I turned round and saw Sharp the runner on the other side of the way—I felt deuced queer. However, I went in, sat down, and began to think. I saw that it was up with us, so far as the old uns were concerned; and it might be worth while to find out if the young uns really were dead.”
“Then you did not know that after all! I thought so. Oh, Jerry!”
“Why, look you, man, it was not our interest to take their side if we could make our bargain out of the other. ‘Cause why? You are only one witness—you are a good fellow, but poor, and with very shaky nerves, Will. You does not know what them big wigs are when a man’s caged in a witness-box—they flank one up, and they flank one down, and they bully and bother, till one’s like a horse at Astley’s dancing on hot iron. If your testimony broke down, why it would be all up with the case, and what then would become of us? Besides,” added the captain, with dignified candour, “I have been lagged, it’s no use denying it; I am back before my time. Inquiries about your respectability would soon bring the bulkies about me. And you would not have poor Jerry sent back to that d—-d low place on t’other side of the herring-pond, would you?”
“Ah, Jerry!” said William, kindly placing his hand in his brother’s, “you know I helped you to escape; I left all to come over with you.”
“So you did, and you’re a good fellow; though as to leaving all, why you had got rid of all first. And when you told me about the marriage, did not I say that I saw our way to a snug thing for life? But to return to my story. There is a danger in going with the youngsters. But since, Will,—since nothing but hard words is to be got on the other side, we’ll do our duty, and I’ll find them out, and do the best I can for us—that is, if they be yet above ground. And now I’ll own to you that I think I knows that the younger one is alive.”
“You do?”
“Yes! But as he won’t come in for anything unless his brother is dead, we must have a hunt for the heir. Now I told you that, many years ago, there was a lad with me, who, putting all things together—seeing how the Beauforts came after him, and recollecting different things he let out at the time—I feel pretty sure is your old master’s Hopeful. I know that poor Will Gawtrey gave this lad the address of Old Gregg, a friend of mine. So after watching Sharp off the sly, I went that very night, or rather at two in the morning, to Gregg’s house, and, after brushing up his memory, I found that the lad had been to him, and gone over afterwards to Paris in search of Gawtrey, who was then keeping a matrimony shop. As I was not rich enough to go off to Paris in a pleasant, gentlemanlike way, I allowed Gregg to put me up to a noice quiet little bit of business. Don’t shake your head—all safe—a rural affair! That took some days. You see it has helped to new rig me,” and the captain glanced complacently over a very smart suit of clothes. “Well, on my return I went to call on you, but you had flown. I half suspected you might have gone to the mother’s relations here; and I thought, at all events, that I could not do better than go myself and see what they knew of the matter. From what you say I feel I had better now let that alone, and go over to Paris at once; leave me alone to find out. And faith, what with Sharp and the old lord, the sooner I quit England the better.”
“And you really think you shall get hold of them after all? Oh, never fear my nerves if I’m once in the right; it’s living with you, and seeing you do wrong, and hearing you talk wickedly, that makes me tremble.”