“’Course I did,” said the Shady ’un, energetically. “An’ wot I said I sticks to. They calls me the Shady ’un; but I was c’ristened ‘Shadrach’—an’ ’ad a faver of the name of Nottidge. The Shady ’un may not be all as ’e should be; but Shadrach Nottidge is a pal, an’ a friend. Dandy, my boy—there’s ’emp-seed sowed for you—an’ well you knows it.”
Philip glanced round at him quickly, but said nothing. The Shady ’un drank some beer slowly, looking over the top of the tankard, and winked one eye with much solemnity. Setting down the beer, he ventured to lay one hand on Philip’s arm. “Yer ain’t treated me quite fair, Dandy—but I bears no malice,” he said, in the same hoarse whisper as before. “I ’ave bin chivvied by a pal o’ yourn—I ’ave bin knocked into a shop by that same pal—I ’ave ’ad a many things done wot ain’t strictly on the square. But I bears no malice, an’ I’m ready to ’elp yer.”
There seemed so much sincerity about the man, and Philip was so desperately in need of assistance at that time, that he resolved to confide in him. After all, he thought, the man knew the worst, and knew in how many other shady transactions Dandy Chater had been mixed up; to confirm his friendship would perhaps, after all, be a matter of policy.
“Well, then—understand this,” he said abruptly—“I’m flying for my life. There’s a warrant out against me for murder——”
The Shady ’un nodded comfortably. “I know—I know,” he said; “young gel—very much in the way—you ’its ’er a clump—say by axerdent. She don’t like it—an’ just to spite yer—goes dead. Lor’—that ain’t nuffink; might ’appen to a man any day. But I suppose the splits is out—an’ Dandy must make ’isself scarce?”
“Yes—that’s about it,” replied Philip.
The Shady ’un got up, and shook himself, with an air of resolution. “It’s a lucky fing I came acrost yer so ’andy,” he said. “You’d ’ave got nabbed in no time. The Shady ’un’s yer pal; stick to ’im—an’ all will be well.”
In his desperate extremity, Philip made up his mind to trust the man. By strange courts and alleys, and by unfrequented thoroughfares, they came at last to a wretched lodging, in the neighbourhood of the Borough—a lodging which appeared to be the private retreat of the Shady ’un in his hours of leisure. There, Philip Chater, utterly worn out, was glad to fling himself on a wretched bed, and fall asleep instantly.
For some minutes after he had begun to slumber, the other man stood looking down upon him, with an evil smile crossing his face; he even shook his fist at him once—bringing it so near to the sleeper’s head, that it was a matter for wonder that he did not actually hit him.
“This is a good chance fer me—this ’ere,” whispered the Shady ’un to himself. “Nice chap you are—to give yerself airs, an’ git yer pals to bang me about—ain’t yer? This little bit of business may stand me in all right, if I gets into trouble on me own. Yes—Dandy—I’ll make sure of you, right away!”