“You’re the bloke wot took ’old of me by the windpipe—ain’t yer?” he said, going close up to Philip, and thrusting his face forward at him. “Let this ’ere be a warnin’ to yer not ter tike ’old of other chap’s windpipes in futur’. You’ve done me rather a good turn—you ’ave, Mister Dandy Chater; there was a ’underd pound a ’angin’ to you—for sich infermation as would lead to you bein’ nabbed—an’ that ’underd pound is mine. I calls all these ’ere gents to witness,” he cried, raising his voice, and looking round about him—“as I brought yer all to this place, an’ nabbed ’im meself. An’ I’m a goin’ ter stick to these ’ere noble coppers, till I gits my ’underd pound!”
Before Philip was marched away, he turned towards Madge—who stood with her face buried in her hands—and made one last appeal to her.
“Dear girl,” he said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper—“there is but one way to save me now—but one hope left for me. Before God I am innocent. Find Dr. Cripps!”
There was no time to say more; they took him off at once—meeting, at the very door of the place, the doctor who had been sent for to examine the dead man. Madge followed the little party out, and saw Philip placed in a cab, with three constables inside and another on the box—and driven off; the Shady ’un—still in pursuit of his “’underd pound”—running after the cab, as if his very life depended on keeping it in sight.
In the stress of the moment Madge Barnshaw had lost all idea of time or place—indeed of everything. She quite forgot in what neighbourhood she stood or at what hour; and was only roused by hearing a voice address her.
“I asks yer pardon, young lady—for a speakin’ of sich a trim built craft, without leave—but this ain’t no place for you to be a standin’ about alone in. If so be as you’ve lost yer way, put yer faith in a old mariner as knows the points of Life’s compass a bit, an’ let ’im tow yer into wotever ’arbour you may be bound for.”
This extraordinary speech was delivered at such a rapid rate, and in so hoarse a whisper that Madge had no time to interpose a word, or to check the flow of words. Moreover, on looking at the face of the speaker, whatever indignation she might have been disposed to feel melted away; for it was a good kind honest face—ruddy with much exposure to wind and weather, and fringed with a luxuriant growth of tangled hair.
“My lass—I’m a married man—(an’ well I knows it, w’en Mrs. Quist ain’t got ’er temper ironed out straight!)—and there ain’t no ’arm in me. But there’s a few craft of a queer rig in these waters—and you’ll do well not to stay in ’em.”
Madge made up her mind at once to trust him; explained briefly that she knew nothing of the neighbourhood, and had merely come there to keep an appointment. And then, without more ado, she suddenly turned round—made a frantic effort to stand upright—and dropped into the man’s arms. The scenes through which she had passed so recently had utterly unnerved her, and Miss Madge Barnshaw was lying in a dead faint in the arms of Captain Peter Quist.
The Captain’s first thought was to shout for help; his next, to carry the girl to some place where he could procure something which would revive her. Glancing about him eagerly, he caught sight of the lighted windows of The Three Watermen; and, without a moment’s delay, half carried and half supported her through the door, and into the little private bar.