He had been gone about a quarter of an hour when a man, muffled up to the nose with a big “comforter,” and with a soft hat pulled down so closely over his brows that little more of him was visible than a pair of blue spectacles, opened the door and, without coming in, stood coughing and panting like a consumptive on the mat outside. As he did not show any disposition to enter, I inquired what he wanted, but shaking his head, as if to indicate that he was unable to answer, he continued hacking and coughing with stooped head and bent shoulders for half a minute, and then in a hollow voice, which seemed strangely familiar to me, asked if there was a letter for Mr. Henry Jeanes.
As calmly as if his coming were a thing of the utmost indifference to me I reached for the packet of letters in order to select that which was addressed to Jeanes. To my dismay I found it gone, but repressing the exclamation of surprise which rose to my lips I turned to the waiting messenger and shook my head.
He mumbled something that sounded like “Thank you,” and then, closing the door, toiled painfully downstairs. Scarcely had he reached the first landing before I had made what is called in music-hall parlance a “lightning change.”
Tearing off my canvas coat and white apron and tossing them in a heap upon a chair, I shot into, rather than got into, my reefer jacket, and snatching at my hat was down the stairs and out in the street before my visitor was half-way to the first corner, which led to an unfrequented side street. The instant he had turned it I was after him like the wind, and, looking warily round, saw him making for a narrow lane that ran at right angles to the direction in which he was going. No sooner was he hidden by the corner than I was after him once again, but not so hurriedly as to forget to stop and peer cautiously round before exposing my own person to view. The sight which met my eyes put me, I must confess, fairly out of countenance, for there, just round the corner, with the crush hat pushed to the back of his head, the muffler thrown open and the blue spectacles in the hand which he pointed derisively at me, was none other than the Professor, literally rolling about with uncontrollable laughter.
“Oh, my poor korf! it is so bad I ain’t able to speak!” he gasped between his convulsions of merriment. “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Oh, you ’a’porth o’ pigeon’s milk wot thought you could get up early enough in the mornin’ to take a rise out of old Tom Lawrance! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Oh, you feedin’-bottle fool and mug as thought yer’d got the bulge on Downy Tom! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Come and laugh at him, sonnies, for the biggest fool and mammy’s-milk Juggins and Johnny in all Stanby!”
CHAPTER XX
HOW JAMES MULLEN AND MYSELF ALMOST MET
The Professor was in such huge good humour at the success of his ruse that when we returned together to the hair-cutting establishment he was almost inclined to be genial, especially as I took the joke in good part, and frankly admitted that I had never been so “let through” before. So friendly was he, in fact that he readily agreed to my proposal that I should go over the way and bring back a bottle of something to ease his cough; and after I had pledged “Downy Tom,” and expressed the intention of getting up a little earlier in the morning the next time I meant trying to steal a march upon him, and “Downy Tom” had pledged me in what—in delicate allusion to recent events—he humorously termed pigeon’s milk, but which was in reality the best Old Tom, we fell to discussing events almost confidentially.
“So it is Jeanes as yer after—as I always suspected, though you never harsked questions about him direct, but only as if by haccident and among the others” he said, as he lit his pipe. “It ’ud have saved a lot of trouble if yer’d told me so at fust.”
“What do you mean by ‘saved trouble’?” I asked.
“Why, if I’d ’ave knowed it was Jeanes for certain, I’d ’ave ’elped yer—for a consideration, of course. I only took yer into the shop because I meant to find out who yer was hafter. Jeanes ain’t nothink to me; but there is some of my pals as I wouldn’t have no ’arm come to, not for a pot o’ money. And I knew if I ’ad yer there I could find out who it was yer wanted, and give ’im the tip if it was a pal. Why, I’ve been a-playin’ with yer all this time—a-playing hoff first one name and then another to see if it was your bloke. Then when I began to suspect it was Jeanes, I planned the little game I played yer ter-day—an’ didn’t yer tumble prettily! Ha, ha, ha, ha!” and off the Professor went again into a paroxysm of laughter at my expense.