A Little World Part 50

"Trust me, Sir Francis," was the reply. "I am indeed doing everything possible to lead to a discovery."

The old man did not trust himself to speak; but wringing Harry's hand, he despairingly left the room.

In the meantime, Harry's sudden departure from before the boat-shed, far down on the muddy banks of the Thames, had not been allowed to pa.s.s uncanva.s.sed by the two rough men, the seekers for such ghastly waifs and strays.

"Suv'rin," said the one who had acted as guide, in answer to a query,

"Air you sure as there worn't two?"

"I am," said the other, with a wave of his pipe-stem. "Why, if there'd been two, wouldn't you have heard 'em c.h.i.n.k when he stuffed 'em in my hand?" said Sam, not at all relying upon the known integrity of his character for refutation of this sideways charge that he had kept back portion of the reward. "There's what he give me," he continued, holding out a sovereign in his h.o.r.n.y palm; "and we'll get it changed as soon as you like."

"Yes," said the other, speaking indistinctly, on account of the pipe between his lips; "we'll get it changed afore we go on to the station."

As he spoke, he carefully chained and padlocked the door of the shed, smoking coolly enough the while.

"I ain't seen anything else up--no notice, nor nothing," said Sam; "and we mustn't wait no longer before givin' information, or there'll be a row."

"No, there ain't nothing up," said the other, pocketing his key, and removing his pipe to expectorate. "I've been looking, and there's ony a bill up about a woman. He was precious pertickler. Why wouldn't this one do? All they wanted was some one to give a decent Christun buryin'

to; and this here poor chap would ha' done as well as any other one, to ease their minds with."

"But you see he's got black hair, and on the bill it says fair curly hair," said Sam. "I was half afeard it wouldn't do."

"Yah! what does the colour of the hair matter?" grumbled the other. "I mean to say its reg'larly swindlin' us out of two 'undred pound. He'd ha' done as well as any other; and they might have 'ad their inkwist, and sat on him, and sworn to him, and said he was found drowned; and there'd ha' been a comfortable feelin', and they needn't ha' troubled themselves no more."

"Well, let's go and give notice; and then we'll change this here, and have a wet--eh, lad?"

"Ah! may as well," said the other, removing his pipe to draw an antic.i.p.atory hand across his mouth. "Let's see--tall and fair--curly hair--eh, Sam? Well, perhaps something may turn up yet time enough for us. That 'ere would have done safe enough if his hair had been right colour. Better luck next time--eh, lad?"

"Ah! dessay," said Sam, forcing the sovereign right to the bottom of his pocket. "Two 'undred pound reward! We ought to have had it old man; but who knows but what something mayn't turn up yet?"

Volume 3, Chapter VII.

D. WRAGG.

There was far from being peace in the house of Wragg, for the place had gained a most unenviable notoriety. Wrong-doings were prevalent enough in Decadia, but they were ordinary wrong-doings, and those who were guilty of peculiar acts were, as a rule, patted on the back by the fraternity. In fact, if 'Arry Burge, or Tom Gagan, or Micky Green was taken for a burglary or robbery with violence, there would always be a large following of admiring companions to see the culprit off to the station, to be present at the hearing, and to give him a friendly cheer during his handcuffed walk to the black van. They had no very great objection to a murder, and more than once a good hundred of neighbours had waited all night outside Newgate to see Bob, or Ben, or Joe, die game at eight o'clock in the morning. But this mysterious disappearance work was something not to be tolerated. There was too much of the Burke and Hare, and body-s.n.a.t.c.hing about it; and consequently the name of Wragg stank in the nostrils of the clean-handed dwellers in Decadia, and the house in Brownjohn Street enjoyed for the time being but little peace.

D. Wragg could not show himself outside; and as for Canau, he had been mobbed twice, to return storming and angry, ready to threaten all sorts of vengeance upon his persecutors, foremost amongst whom was Mr John Screwby.

This gentleman seemed to have devoted himself heart and soul to the task of keeping alive in the Decadian mind the fact that Lionel Redgrave had been seen to go into the Brownjohn Street house, and had not been seen to come out; though all this rested on Mr Screwby's a.s.sertion, since he brought no corroborative evidence to bear--only spoke of the matter right and left, even haranguing excited mobs, who would have needed but little leading to have made them wreck D. Wragg's dwelling, and administer lynch-law to its inhabitants.

In fact, instead of the matter being a nine-days' wonder, and then pa.s.sing off, interest in the mystery seemed to be ever on the increase; and a feeling of dread more than once seized all the members of the household lest some terrible evil should befall them.

"I tell you what it is, young fellow," said P.C. Brace one evening to Mr John Screwby, whom he had warned to move on, just at a time when he was haranguing a pack of boys,--"I tell you what it is, young fellow; if you get opening your mouth so wide about all this here, people will begin to think as you know as much about it as any one else."

Mr John Screwby's jaw fell, and he stood gazing speechlessly at the policeman, as that worthy wagged his head expressively, to indicate the words "Move on;" and then, without uttering another syllable, on he moved, rubbing his jaw with one hand, pulling his cap a little more over his ears, and in various ways acting as if not quite at peace within himself.

It was impossible for those within the house not to observe how they were looked upon by their neighbours. The trade of the shop had dropped off day by day, till there was absolutely nothing doing, although D.

Wragg sat hour after hour smoking his pipe behind the counter, and muttering to himself.

Even Mrs Winks looked troubled and scared, coming up one morning from the cellar-kitchen, with her curl papers all limp, to declare in confidence to Janet that she "dursen't go down no more, for she had heard a noise;" and then, in a very low whisper, she declared her conviction that there was something wrong.

This was soon after daybreak one washing-day; and from that time Mrs Winks decided in favour of the central portions of the house, refusing absolutely either to ascend to the attics or descend to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"But is it not foolish?" said Janet to her, one day. "What can there be up-stairs or down-stairs to hurt you?"

"There! don't ask me, child," exclaimed Mrs Winks. "I don't know; I only know what I think. There's something wrong about the place; and you can feel it in the air; and if it wasn't for you, child, I wouldn't stop another day--see if I would!"

That day pa.s.sed in a cheerless, dreary way, but not quite in peace, for more than once a rude shout or laugh made Janet start from her seat, and stand trembling for what might be to come. But the demonstrations proved to be harmless, and no more offensive than they could be made by jeering words, and the hurling into the shop of a few stones and broken ginger-beer bottles, occasioning a vast amount of fluttering amongst the birds, and a fierce yelping from the prisoned dogs.

The night came at last, and D. Wragg was heard stumping and jerking about the house, as if busy examining all fastenings, and putting out the gas; and then there was a knock at the outer door--a well-known tap--to which Janet hastened to reply, and admitted Canau, who entered sideways, with the door only opened a few inches, and then closed it hastily, as if in dread of pursuit, when he stood looking at Janet, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead with an old silk handkerchief.

"Is there any news?" he faltered, looking hard at the deformed girl the while.

"No," she replied, hoa.r.s.ely; "there is no news."

D. Wragg opened the back-room door at this moment, to glance out hastily, when seeing who it was, he re-closed the door and waited till his lodgers had gone up-stairs, when his head once more appeared like that of a rat from its hole, and he listened till all was still before again closing his door.

Silence fell upon the house at last; not, though, that all its inmates were at rest, for Canau lay for long enough sleepless, and turning over thought after thought. D. Wragg, too, was rather uneasy that night, while to Janet the hours dragged heavily on.

At last, though, in spite of her agitation, Janet was sleeping soundly, while, soon after daybreak, D. Wragg was astir, to gently draw up his blind and inspect the morning, a proceeding that did not seem to prove highly satisfactory, for he groaned more than sighed, shook his head, jerked about as he crossed the room, and then, without his boots, he stepped into the pa.s.sage, and began to climb the stairs, pausing, though, upon each landing, to listen whether any one else were stirring.

But as far as he could judge, every one was sunk in that sound slumber of early morn,--Mrs Winks loudly announcing her state as he pa.s.sed her door.

There seemed to be a great deal of indecision, though, in D. Wragg's movements; his haltings were many, and the cautious manner in which he peered about seemed to indicate that the errand upon which he was bound was one of no trivial import.

At last, though, he climbed to the top, stood listening for awhile, and then entered the attic, closing the door carefully behind him, but apparently taking no steps to make it fast.

D. Wragg had not been out of sight five minutes, before there was the soft grating noise of a key turning in the wards of a lock; then there was a loud crack, and a door below opened to give exit to Monsieur Canau, who stood in the doorway listening for a few moments, and then, shoes in hand, descended softly and swiftly to the bottom of the house.

On reaching the cellar-kitchen, he lit a candle, and after unbolting a door, pa.s.sed under the area grating, with his pinched old hat held lanthorn-wise over the candle; and then, drawing open a second door, he entered a large cellar, in one corner of which was the small stock of coals in use for the house, and in another the ashes and refuse.

But Monsieur Canau had hardly a look for these; he merely glanced round the place, and then drew back the fastening of the inner cellar, one which seemed to extend far beneath the street.

His candle flickered here, and burned dimly for a few moments, as he walked backwards and forwards in the cobwebbed, vaulted place, holding his candle low down, and examining the reeking floor, particularly in one spot--the furthest corner from the door. This he sc.r.a.ped a little with his hands, then stamped upon several times; held the candle down to see what impression his feet had made; and then, taking up a rough piece of wood, he carefully drew it backwards and forwards over where he had stamped, and lastly, extinguished his candle. He then closed the cellar doors, crossed the area, and, after leaving all below as he had found it, hurried up-stairs once more, but, in spite of his years, with all the activity of a boy.

He stopped by his own room, entered it for a few moments, and then reappeared, to step up softly to the attic landing, where he again paused to listen attentively for fully five minutes. But though Mrs Winks was as stertorous as ever in her breathing, not another sound was to be heard in the house; and laying his hand upon the attic latch, Canau raised it very gently, not the eighth of an inch at a time, coaxing the door, as it were, to open without noise, till, by slow degrees, he had pressed it back sufficiently far to allow the pa.s.sage of his head, when, cautiously inserting it to peer round, the door was pressed back upon his neck, holding it between the edge and the door-jamb, while, within a few inches, and gazing malignantly into his eyes, he found himself suddenly confronted by D. Wragg.

Volume 3, Chapter VIII.

JARED'S TROUBLE.

"And the box not been touched since," muttered Jared Pellet,--"not been touched since;" and he repeated the words which he had heard from Mr Timson but a few days before, as he stood in the porch of the old church, looking straight before him in a hopeless dreamy way. He had had no occasion to be there, no business to be there; for he had conducted the service for the last time, and on the next or the following day he would be called upon to give up his key. But that organ seemed to draw him there, so that he dreamed over it, clung to it, as he recalled that he must so soon give up his duties, and in such a fashion.

They knew nothing, suspected nothing at home; they only said that he practised oftener than ever,--that he hurried through little jobs to get to the church, where he spent long hours gazing in the reflector, and dreaming of the past and future, or making the pa.s.sengers in the street pause and listen to the grand old strains. At times, he could scarcely bring himself to believe that it was true; but the inexorable crept on, till he could feel that he was only there upon sufferance, and blamed his want of pride in not giving up before.

The Reverend John had ceased to preach monetary discourses, and bowed austerely when once he encountered Jared, who shrank back, although he had fully determined to address him. Mr Timson, too, gave him no further opportunities for conversation, but pa.s.sed him at a half-trot, with both hands under his coat-tails, giving him short, sharp, defiant nods. Even old Purkis grew strange and constrained, backing away from him, and bursting forth into a dew of perspiration which entailed no end of mopping and wiping. As for Mrs Ruggles, she never had been in the habit of bending to sociability, so that her stiff formality was pa.s.sed unnoticed.

No; there was no keeping away from the old place now; and day after day, Ichabod grew richer with the many coppers he earned as Jared tortured the instrument into the giving forth of wondrous wails and groans; no jubilant strains, but all sorrowful, and in harmony with his broken spirit.

Twelve o'clock! Ichabod dismissed, and the hour just struck by the old church clock in a halting broken-winded manner, as if the job was too much for it, while an ordinary listener would have been tired out before it reached half-way. But Jared listened, and shivered and shuddered too, as, after beating laboriously its heaviest task, it set in motion certain hammers which knocked "Adeste Fidelis" out of the bells, beaten out notes that came in a jerky, disjointed fashion, and muddled up with their rests--now one in its place, now three or four blundered together, as if in a hurry to finish a performance of which they were heartily ashamed.