When the time came for his release he was fearfully excited for a little over the fact that his beloved knife could not be found among his treasures.
“My knife! my knife! I must have my knife!” he feverishly exclaimed, and he absolutely refused to stir out of the prison till he got it. When it was found and placed in his hands he appeared exuberantly happy, and as impatient for liberty as he had before been reluctant to leave.
At the gate, his mother, as usual, was there to receive him, but she found him a good deal changed. He was moody and strange, except when questioning her regarding Joe Knevitt. The little she knew of his old pal was eagerly devoured, but beyond that he had little to say. At home his first task was to get out his knife and grind its edge to a razor-like keenness. His mother noticed the fact, and fancied that he appeared specially careful with the point, but the only answer she got was—
“Ah, it’s been lying a long time unused, mother. Eighteen months is a long time—in prison;” and Jim’s teeth became set, and his two hands shook as he tested the keenness of the point of the knife with his thumb. His mother saw that she had touched a sore spot, and remained silent. As soon as Jim’s task was over he set out to look for Joe. He wanted him particularly, and was quite joyful when he learned that Joe was still about the city, and not in prison. But search as he could he did not find Joe, and at length learned that that cautious customer had left for Glasgow on the very day of Jim’s release. No matter, Jim thought distance a trifle, and followed as soon as he could scrape enough money together. He took his knife with him. On the second day he did see Joe for a moment or two—met him full in the face in an entry off the Gallowgate; but the moment their eyes met, and Jim’s hand went into his pocket, Knevitt ran like a hound, and managed to distance Jim completely and escape. Next day Knevitt left for Perth, after saying that he was off to Edinburgh; but Jim met a man who had seen Joe take a ticket for Perth, and he followed. At Perth he traced Knevitt without difficulty to a house known to them both. But the hunted man had seen him approach, and by slipping on a woman’s skirt and shawl and bonnet boldly passed him on the stair, and escaped. Jim fathomed the trick a few minutes later, and cursed his own stupidity in allowing the unnaturally tall female figure to pass him; but by that time Knevitt was on his way to Dundee. The next train took Jim there also. After a day’s hunting he met his man in Couttie’s Wynd.
“By G—d! your hour has come!” he cried, darting his hand into his breast pocket; but again Knevitt put on that fearful speed and ran for life. Not far from the place is a ferry across to Fife. The pier at which the boat starts is guarded by a gate which is closed when the boat is about to move. Knevitt managed to get within that gate just as it was being closed, and scrambled into the boat nearly dead with terror, while Jim was thundering and shouting in vain outside the gate in hope of admission. Knevitt had thus a whole hour’s start, and, besides, had more money in his pocket. Jim, when he reached the other side, was uncertain whether the hunted man had decided to walk or ride; and his own funds being low, he resolved to walk. He had no doubt as to the next goal.
“Edinburgh! he’ll be sure to land in Edinburgh!” he muttered to himself, and thus he confidently tramped through Fife, reserving the little money he had to pay the ferry at Burntisland. It was the dead of winter, and bitterly cold, and when Jim arrived at his mother’s house he was nearly dead beat. He had got over with a goods boat, and reached home early in the morning. He lay down and slept all day—a fevered, unrestful sleep, full of dreams and mutterings, and suppressed threats and deadly words, which filled his mother with terror. At night he awoke, and moodily consumed the meal placed before him, and then limped to the door.
“Where are you for now?” asked his mother with a palpitating heart.
“Just going out to look about me,” was the answer, and then he was gone. His mother thought she would look about her too, and threw a shawl over her head and followed. During the two hours’ wandering which followed, she never lost sight of him. At last she discovered that he was following a man—Joe Knevitt—who appeared quite unconscious of the fact. Knevitt made for a tumble-down rookery in a close a little below the Bridges. It was his home, and had the advantage of being accessible from two sides—by the two flights of wooden steps on one side, and by a back window on a level with a higher close beyond. The garret on the top flat was all Joe’s, and he clearly indicated to his foe that no one else was within by unlocking the door as he went in. Jim had his shoes off in a twinkling, and then crept up the first flight of steps and patiently waited in the dark, with his knife ready unclasped in his hand. The poor mother understood it all now, and, having before heard the place described, she slipped round to the next close, clambered upon an outhouse, and astonished Knevitt by tapping lightly at the window and madly motioning him to come out and fly for his life. Knevitt needed no explanation; her face was enough, and he was out at the window and gone before she had well got over her excitement and terror. She waited there for a full quarter of an hour to give him time to escape; and then resolved to go in, open the door, and go down and tell Jim that his plot was discovered and his intended victim far beyond his reach. The door was opened, and Jim, watching below with the knife in his hand, dimly saw a female figure descend where only a man had entered.
“That trick won’t deceive me!” he cried, as he dashed up the steps and drew back his right arm. “You’ve tried it once too often, Joe!”
One plunge of the sharp steel with all the strength of his powerful arm, one low groan as the poor victim sank back on the steps, and it was done, and Jim flying for life and liberty. His mother was not dead when she was found, but it was quite evident that she was mortally wounded. When her state was known, and preparations made to take her deposition, she persisted that she had been stabbed by Joe Knevitt. The knife found by her side was Jim Hutson’s, but his mother, innocently or knowingly—I cannot tell which—said—