To fish down that chimney implied a knowledge that the gold was there, and that knowledge, the organ-grinder insisted, had been till that day confined strictly to his own breast. Even his own relations in the west of Ireland, he declared, knew nothing of his hiding-place or the amount of his savings. In saying so he possibly spoke what he believed to be the truth. It is possible to betray many a secret without ever using the tongue or opening the lips, and certainly without ever knowing or dreaming that we have revealed what we are striving to conceal. I therefore made no comment on these strong statements, but sought by a series of indirect questions to discover whom he consorted with most, and, above all, who was favoured so far as to be admitted into this house of his, as he chose to dignify the garret.
Only two persons, so far as I could learn, were thus favoured, and these were the landlord, Jimmy Poulson, and the lame man, Tom Joson. The organ-grinder did not make a confidant of either of these men, but if one of them had a higher place in his esteem than the other, that one was Joson. I suspect the organ-grinder was inclined to be miserly, and liked Joson, because the lame man treated him to drink without ever asking him to return the compliment.
The street whistle-player, unlike his dear friend, was a married man, and never got into difficulties with the police except by getting drunk and quarrelling with his wife. He had therefore got into a habit of shunning public-houses when he wanted a comfortable spree—as he knew only too well that there he would be unerringly hunted out by his wife—and going instead to the organ-grinder’s garret, where, after the labours of the day, they could enjoy in peace what was denied to Joson elsewhere. Much of this I drew out of the organ-grinder after getting rid of Joson, by sending him out for some writing-paper and ink. When I had drawn from him all I wished, I began to speculate as to whether it was not possible that both Poulson and Joson had participated in the robbery. If I had had any choice in the matter, I should rather have blamed the lame man than the hawker. Poulson was a hard-working man, and had never been through our hands, while the lame man was a bit of an imposition, had often been in jail, though not for stealing, and was exceedingly cunning besides. But there was the condemning fact—Poulson had run off and disappeared, while the lame man not only remained, but had been the adviser and guide of the organ-grinder in seeking the aid of the police. Still I could not see what interest the lame man could have had in so constantly seeking the society of the organ-grinder. What object could he have in view? Had he suspected that the man kept a hoard somewhere about the room, and determined to find out where that hide was?
These were some of the thoughts which troubled me, but I put them past for after consideration, while I made arrangements with the organ-grinder to try a curious experiment, first binding him to absolute secrecy, even from his “friend, Tom Joson.” The lost money-bag had been made out of a piece of the green cloth which had covered McCarthy’s organ when he was overtaken by rain. He had made the bag himself, and said he would know it again among a thousand. I asked him if he could make one a little like it in size, to which he promptly answered that he could, and out of the same stuff. I then left him, and returned late at night, and long after it was dark. We weighted the new money-bag with a quantity of coppers which the organ-grinder had taken in the streets, and then placed it on the ledge in the chimney. I then mounted to the roof and easily found the right chimney top, as I had made McCarthy light a candle and place it within the fire-place. I then lowered the “fishing tackle” I had prepared for my experiment. This was a leaden sinker at the end of a string, to which was attached an arrangement of hooks, which could not have failed to catch the money-bag if I could only have brought them near it. But there was the difficulty. I fished and fought away for half an hour, but I could never get swing enough on that sinker to bring the hooks near the bag, though I knew exactly where the bag lay, which was more than the thief could have known. As the fire-place widened considerably from the chimney proper, I could not see the bag for which I was fishing, and in the end I gave up the attempt, almost convinced that the robbery had not been effected by any such means. I had gone there after dark to make my queer experiment with a view to keeping the thing as quiet as possible, and also because I thought it likely that the real attempt had been made under like conditions. While doing so I was, without knowing it, within a few feet of what would have given me the real clue to the mystery—I might almost have touched it with my hand—and yet I saw nothing, and left the roof rather more puzzled than when I ascended. Had I gone in daylight all that might have been different.
I had now done with experiments, and set myself to something practical by hunting for the absconding hawker. The finding of his whereabouts was no difficult matter. He was well known, and though out of the city, he had to pursue his calling to get a living, and so a few messages across the adjoining counties soon revealed the fact that Poulson, after an eccentric tour, was returning to Edinburgh for a fresh stock. I was surprised at the news. I had fully expected that a man with 207 stolen sovereigns in his possession would not only cease working for a while, but give the scene of his exploit a wide berth for some time to come. At length I heard that he was in the city, and went to his house to look for him. As I had expected, he was not there, and had not been near the place. There was another place known to him, as I had discovered through Tom Joson, the lame man, in which any one who had means could hide for any length of time. I had been in that den before, and went there direct.
It was a quiet place, down near the bottom of the North Back Canongate. The house was entered by an outside stair in a dark court, where there were excellent corners for concealment.
I took up my position there as soon as it was dark, and had not been long there before I saw a man enter the court, take in all the bearings of the place much as I had done myself, and then select a corner quite as good as my own. In this he ensconced himself so coolly that in sheer wonder I crossed the court and grabbed him by the shoulder. Then in the dim light I recognised a sheriff-officer well known to me.
“Hullo! are you watching for some one too?” I exclaimed.
“Yes, and a bonnie chase I’ve had,” he growled in a whisper. “It’s a hawker called Poulson——”
“Ah, indeed! and what do you want him for?”