A heart at peace, doubtless, had much to do with the rapid strides
towards convalescence taken by the Reverend Arthur Sterne, who, in
direct opposition to the hints of his medical man and the uplifted hands
of Aunt Fanny, resumed his work; and not many days after the visit from
Lucy he found himself late one afternoon in the place where so much of
his past life had derived its interest. Pale and weak, he climbed
slowly up to the garret of _ma mere_; but she was absent with the dogs,
though Jean, more sallow than ever, sat cowering over his fire, and
thinking of the events of a couple of nights before.
Jean could not restrain the deep frown that came over his forehead as
his visitor entered; still there was an inborn politeness in the way he
asked him to be seated, but after replying in a constrained way to the
questions put touching his health, he painfully made his way to the
window, and appeared to be watching the proceedings in the court below.
But for a while Jean saw nothing, for his gaze was introspective, and
the secret he held seemed more than he could bear. Ever pictured in his
brain were the scenes his mother had described, and sleeping or waking
he saw again and again the wild, agonised face of the murdered woman;
while the knowledge that he could point out the murderer's lair, while
the officers of the law watched and waited in ignorance, made him angry
that he should be bound; for he felt that he was bound, as he thought of
his mother's rage and disappointment should Jarker's retreat be
discovered before she had ventured again to secure a portion of his
spoil; and that night she was to return early, and they were to go.
Jean shuddered as he thought of the last visit, and trembled for the one
to come; and, could he have divested himself of certain cares that
gnawed his heart, and looked upon Mr Sterne merely as the friend and
pastor, undoubtedly, moved as he then was, he would have told all.
Mr Sterne had hoped to have found _ma mere_ at home, and to have
derived from her some information respecting Agnes Hardon. Once he was
on the point of questioning Jean respecting her; but he refrained. He
was anxious to see her now that he knew her secret, and certain in his
own mind of Septimus Hardon, he hoped yet to procure a reconciliation at
Somesham; while, at the same time, there was a dim something in his mind
that he could not quite shape, as it seemed to point towards Agnes
Hardon knowing something of her uncle's arrangements during his last
years: but at present he could define nothing, make no plans, though he
seemed to be finding the ends of the threads he sought, and felt hopeful
yet of a happy termination of much misery. His duty seemed to be to
bring all these people into unison if possible; if not, to call in the
strong arm of the law, should he feel, after a long and patient
investigation, that there was right upon Septimus Hardon's side.
"Will not your mother soon return, Jean?" said the curate at last.
"No," said the young man moodily; "these busy nights are profitable, and
we have little money, while two nights she has spent watching."
"Watching?" said the curate.
Jean started and turned round, making as though he would speak to his
visitor; but he turned his back the next moment, when the scene that met
his eye chased everything else before it, and, wild and excited, he
cried, "Now he is here, and you can take him! I was frightened, and
dare not; come you, sir. It was he who beat you down in the street.
Here, look!" he hissed between his teeth, standing almost erect as he
spoke, and clenching his fists. "If I could strike him down!"
The rage in the young man's face seemed for the moment reflected in that
of the curate, as, starting forward, he flung the window open, and
recalled the last time he had gazed from where he stood; but the next
instant horror predominated as he looked upon the sight which had so
excited the cripple.
There was a heavy mist falling, and the lamps were just alight; but out
upon the housetop, and plainly seen in relief, was the figure of Jarker
struggling out through the trap-door on to the platform where he kept
his pigeons. He was making his way out slowly as Mr Sterne flung open
the window, for it seemed that someone was dragging at him from beneath;
and this proved to be the case, for as Jarker struggled out, kicking and
striking savagely, the head and shoulders of a policeman appeared, and
in the fierce struggle which ensued the man clung so firmly to the
ruffian's legs, that he brought him down with a crash, which shivered
and crushed the frail cages and traps to atoms; and then ensued a battle
for life which chilled with horror those who were looking on, both too
helpless to interfere.
The platform was but frail, and cracked and broke away as the two men
wrestled together, while more than one poor bird was crushed to death.
Once they rose for a few moments, and rocked to and fro, but Jarker
seemed to trip and fall, dragging the policeman with him, and then from
the crackling and breaking tiles arose a sound more like the encounter
of two wild beasts, as the men writhed and twisted, every instant nearer
and nearer to the edge, where there was only a low brick parapet some
six inches high; and death for both seemed inevitable.
Jean stood as it were riveted to the spot, his lips apart, eyes
distended, and chest heaving: while clutching his shoulder was Mr
Sterne, expecting every moment to see the bodies of the struggling men
part the air, and fall with a sickening crash into the court beneath.
But no. Jarker freed one arm, and twined it round one of the platform
supports, giving himself a savage wrench, and stopping the slow, gliding
motion which had taken him nearer and nearer to the little parapet.
Another wrench, and a savage kick, and Jarker was almost at liberty,
when down came the frail platform, to fall bodily into the court.
Shouting at the ruffian, Mr Sterne now called the attention of the
gathering people below to what was going on, for it was time; but before
it was possible for aid to be rendered, Jarker had forced the
policeman's head back, and dragged his other hand at liberty; then came
the sound of a heavy blow as the ruffian raised and dashed his
adversary's head against the tiles. Then followed another fierce
struggle, the officer fighting for his life, and he held on tenaciously
to his opponent; but Jarker was uppermost, and using his great brute
strength, he raised and dashed the man's head down again and again, till
his hold relaxed, and he rolled over into the gutter, where he lay to
all appearance dead; while, with savage cruelty, Jarker loosened a tile
so as to have a firm hold, and then with his free hand he seized his
enemy and tried to force him over into the court.
But he was arrested by shouts from _ma mere's_ room and the open trap,
at which now appeared in the dim light the eager countenance of the
artisan-like man who had been hanging about the court; and now, active
as a cat, with the man in full pursuit, Jarker went along upon hands and
knees, over slate and tile ridge, along gutter, and past stack after
stack of chimneys, to where there was a similar platform to his own; but
he was disappointed--the trap-door was fast. On he went again, with
Nemesis upon his track, over roof after roof again, towards a house with
a dormer-window in the sloping slates; but the slates were covered with
a redundant moisture, and to his horror he found that he was slowly
gliding down to certain death--faster and faster--as he sat as it were
upon his iron-nailed boots. A few seconds would have ended his career;
but with a frightful oath, such as none but a drink-maddened ruffian
would have uttered, he threw himself at full length, and rolled rapidly
over and over to a chimney-stack, to which he clung, as he lay upon his
face, with his feet so near the awaiting destruction, that his toes
rested in the slight iron gutter.
He lay there for a few moments, trembling and unnerved by the danger he
had escaped, and than painfully climbing up in the angle formed by the
wall of the next house, which stood a little higher, he reached the
ridge, and sat astride, panting and showing his teeth at the coming
officer, who was making his way more cautiously; while dragging off
first one and then the other of his heavy boots, Jarker hurled them at
his pursuer before continuing his flight.
The dangerous slope Jarker had crossed gave him an advantage over the
officer; for now unable to escape by the trap or window for which he had
aimed, the ruffian had doubled, and was working his way rapidly back to
his own garret, which now seemed his last resource.
For an instant he stood by the ruins of his pigeon-traps, gazing at the
man lying in the gutter--now showing signs of animation--and listening
at the opening; but though there were voices enough in the court, all
seemed silent in his room, and with one glance at his fast-nearing foe
upon the roof, Jarker lowered himself through his trap; while as Mr
Sterne hurried out of the room, with Jean following him slowly, the
ruffian stood once more opposite to the bed of his dead wife, to be
confronted by another watching policeman.
Not of the same stuff this man; for a moment's struggle, and Jarker was
free, leaping down the stairs, which seemed ready to fall with his
weight--nearly to the bottom, with the man in full pursuit; when in the
buzz of voices be heard a cry for a light below, which flashed upon the
hat of yet another officer.
Panting, mad, hemmed-in on all sides, foes above and foes below, knowing
that there was blood upon his hands, and--for aught he knew to the
contrary--that the gallows waited for him, the ruffian, as a last
resource, dashed open the window upon the first landing, while, as hands
actually touched him, he dropped into the backyard.
One man leaned out directly, while another hand was at the window; but
they saw Jarker in the dim light below recover himself. Then there was
the hanging of a door, and one of the men bounded down the stairs just
in time to strike the ruffian back as he made a dash along the passage
to force his way through the crowd. But he was not taken yet; though it
was with a smile that the policeman wiped his dripping face as he posted
himself at the top of the cellar-steps, and sent a companion out to
watch the grating in the court.
And now it seemed that they had run their game to earth; for after one
or two ineffectual attempts to escape during the past forty-eight
hours--attempts frustrated by the careful watch kept upon the premises
he occupied--Jarker had that evening made his way up through the cellar
in a half-maddened state, produced by fear and the wine he had drunk to
drive it away, for it was many hours since food had passed his lips.
But Mr Jarker's course was run, and, though ignorant of the offence for
which he was sought, there were heinous matters enough upon his
conscience to make him fight for liberty to the last gasp; while, upon
this last attempt being made, he had been sighted by the man on watch,
who saw him in the passage and drove him back, when, horrified at the
idea of going back to the cellar, Jarker had bounded upstairs, to be
chased as has been described.
There was no lack of policemen now upon the spot, and while the crowd
was kept back, place was given to Mr Sterne, who, with Jean hanging
upon his arm, slowly descended the cellar-steps, preceded by the
policemen, with staves in hand and open lanterns.
"Keep a good look-out on the stairs," said the artisan-looking man--the
quiet man of a day or two before, and one in authority. And now, inch
by inch, the cellar was searched; then bin after bin of the inner vault;
when the men turned and looked at their leader.
"O, he's here, somewhere," said the sergeant, and taking a lantern in
hand, he peered long and carefully into every bin, while, trembling with
eagerness, Jean pressed forward to see if the discovery would be made.
He was not kept long in suspense; for, after directing his light
carefully along the sawdust, the keen-eyed man suddenly exclaimed,
"There's someone been through here. Here's fresh candle-grease and
matches; and what's this?"
Jean pressed forward with the others, and "this" proved to be a fragment
of a stuff dress caught in an old nail between the bricks, a scrap which
Jean recognised as a piece of his mother's dress.
Jarker's hiding-place, or rather this entrance to his hiding-place, owed
much of its strength to its very openness; for, with the house and
cellar-doors as it were free to the neighbourhood, many of the other
tenants of the court even coming at times for water, no one would
suspect the existence of a secret lair, though a careful examination of
the long deep bin, now that attention was so fully directed to it, soon
robbed the spot of its mystery.
"Crowbar," said the sergeant abruptly, and a man departed in search of
the implement; while one whispered to another his opinion that, if there
was another way out, they were done, after all.
But now a new-comer forced her way upon the scene, after quite a battle
with the constable on duty at the head of the stairs; and but for the
request of Mr Sterne, she would not have obtained her desire. And now
bitterly in French _ma mere_ reproached her son for betraying her
secret, though he as eagerly denied it, appealing to the curate, who
freely exonerated the young man from having made any communications to
the police.
"But what is the secret, _ma mere_?" he said to her in her own tongue.
"Come away, come away," she whispered, wringing her hands; but Jean
would not move, and the old woman was compelled to be a spectator of
what followed.
A few blows from the crowbar, when it was brought, shivered the thin end
stone to pieces, and Jean shuddered as he felt the cold damp air rush
through the black opening, as the sergeant exclaimed:
"That's sewers, my lads: there's another way out. Now, who'll go
first?"
No one moved; but _ma mere_ groaned.
"Who wants promotion?" said the sergeant again.
The muttering that followed seemed to intimate that all three of the men
present wanted it, but not at the cost of thrusting his body into the
black hole before him.
"Then I hope you'll make matters straight if I'm hurt, my lads," said
the sergeant grimly.
"That we will, sir," chorussed the men, and then there was quite a
competition for the second post of honour; as, without another moment's
hesitation the sergeant crept into the bin, thrust his lantern forward
as far as he could, looked eagerly round, and then, staff in hand, he
regularly shot himself forward, and called to his men to follow. But
there was no enemy to encounter: nothing to be seen but bins round the
cellar, a box or two, the open hole, and the furnace.
"Who'd have thought of there being this place here?" said the sergeant
to Mr Sterne, when _ma mere_ and her son both stood shuddering in the
cellar with them; the Frenchwoman creeping towards the boxes, her
fingers working the while. "Old houses, you see, sir; gentlemen's
houses once; and this was an old cellar; wine in it, too, seemingly, and
forgotten. Melting-pot, of course," he continued, pointing to the
crucible. "Nice handy spot for it; and of course he has made himself
all right before now. Gone down to one of the sewers, I suppose," he
said. "And while we were hunting him t'other day, he had crawled up
here, and was taking his port. Boxes, eh? what's in the boxes?" One of
the men was already examining the treasure-chests, and the agony in the
old Frenchwoman's face was pitiful, as she saw the lids opened of first
one and then the other, to find in place of the riches she had pictured,
broken glass, worn out crucibles, and brickbats that had formed part of
the furnace.
"Rubbish!" said one of the men, when the old woman reeled, and would
have fallen if the curate had not caught her in his arms and seated her
upon one of the boxes.
"Nice place to go down, sir; take that old lady out in the fresh air,"
said the sergeant, peering at the black opening, and listening to the
quick rush of water. "There," he said to one of his men, "you needn't
stew. I ain't going to send you where I wouldn't go myself."
The man spoken to held up his hand to command silence, for at that
moment there came a strange rustling noise, mingled with the fierce rush
of the water, while before they could recover from their surprise,
drenched with the foul stream, his distorted face looking absolutely
fiendish and inhuman, the head of Jarker appeared for a moment at the
hole.
"Help!" he gasped, with a cry that rung through the place, but before
hand could touch him he had fallen back with a heavy splash: there was
the sound of water rushing furiously along with a hollow, echoing,
gurgling noise; and the men stood looking at one another.
"Here, for God's sake, men," cried Mr Sterne, "do something!" and,
weak, and trembling with horror, he stepped towards the hole; but the
sergeant had his arms round him in a moment.
"Keep still, sir," he said sternly; "we've done our part, I think. It's
certain death to go down there; they're flushing the sewers, I should
say, or else there's a heavy fall of rain somewhere. He's half-way to
the Thames by now."
The next moment Mr Sterne was telling himself that he had left his room
too soon, for a strange sick feeling came over him, and the place around
looked misty and indistinct; but his was not the only sleepless couch
that night, for the old Frenchwoman moaned bitterly at the destruction
of the _Chateau en Espagne_ which she had raised.
Volume Three, Chapter XVI.