There was only one bit of business going on in King's Castor that
morning among the mechanics, and that was where two carpenters were busy
nailing boards across the gaping windows and broken door of Hallam's
house.
The ivy about the hall window was all scorched, and the frames of that
and two windows above were charred, but only the hall, staircase, and
one room had been burned before the fire was extinguished. The greater
part of the place, though, was a wreck, the mob having wreaked their
vengeance upon the furniture when Hallam was snatched from their hands
by the law; and for about an hour the self-constituted avengers of the
customers at Dixons' Bank had behaved like Goths.
It was impossible for work to go on with such a night to canvass. One
group, as Bayle approached, was watching the little fire-engine, and the
drying of its hose which was hauled up by one end over the branch of an
oak-tree at Poppin's Corner.
There was nothing to see but the little, contemptible, old-fashioned
pump on wheels; still fifty people, who had seen it in the belfry every
Sunday as they went to church, stopped to stare at it now.
But the great group was round about the manager's house, many of them
being the idlers and scamps of the place, who had been foremost in the
destruction.
The public-houses had their contingents; and then there were the farmers
from all round, who had driven in, red-hot with excitement; and, as soon
as they had left their gigs or carts in the inn-yard, were making their
way up to the bank.
Some did not stop to go to the inn, but were there in their conveyances,
waiting for the bank to open, long before the time, and quite a murmur
of menace arose, when, to the very moment, James Thickens, calm and cool
and drab as usual, threw open the door, to be driven back by a party of
those gathered together.
Fortunately the news had spread slowly, so that the crowd was not large;
but it was augmented by a couple of score of the blackguards of the
place, hungry-eyed, moist of lip, and ready for any excuse to leap over
the bank counter and begin the work of plunder.
For the first time in his life James Thickens performed that feat--
leaping over the counter to place it between himself and the clamorous
mob, who saw Mr Trampleasure there and Sir Gordon Bourne in the
manager's room, with the door open, and something on the table.
"Here--Here"--"Here--Me"--"No, me."
"I was first."
"No, me, Thickens."
"My money."
"My cheque."
"Change these notes."
The time was many years ago, and there were no dozen or two of county
constabulary to draft into the place for its protection. Hence it was
that as Thickens stood, cool and silent, before the excited crowd, Sir
Gordon, calm and stern, appeared in the doorway with a couple of pistols
in his left hand, one held by the butt, the other by the barrel passed
under his thumb.
"Silence!" he cried in a quick, commanding tone.
"I am prepared--"
"Yah! No speeches. Our money! Our--"
"Silence!" roared Sir Gordon. "We are waiting to pay all demands."
"Hear, hear! Hooray!" shouted one of the farmers, who had come in hot
haste, and his mottled face grew calm.
"But we can't--"
"Yah--yah!" came in a menacing yell.
"Over with you, lads!" cried a great ruffian, clapping his hands on the
counter and making a spring, which the pressure behind checked and
hindered, so that he only got one leg on the counter.
"Back, you ruffian!" cried Sir Gordon, taking a step forward, and, quick
as lightning, presenting a pistol at the fellow's head. "You, Dick
Warren, I gave you six months for stealing corn. Move an inch forward,
and as I am a man I'll fire."
There was a fierce murmur, and then a pause.
The great ruffian half crouched upon the counter, crossing his eyes in
his fear, and squinting crookedly down the pistol barrel, which was
within a foot of his head.
"I say, gentlemen and customers, that Mr Thickens here is waiting to
pay over all demands on Dixons' Bank."
"Hear, hear!" cried the farmer who had before spoken.
"But there are twenty or thirty dirty ruffians among you, and people who
do not bank with us, and I must ask you to turn them out."
There was a fierce murmur here, and Sir Gordon's voice rose again high
and clear.
"Mr Trampleasure, you will find the loaded firearms ready in the upper
room. Go up, sir, and without hesitation shoot down the first scoundrel
who dares to throw a stone at the bank."
"Yes, Sir Gordon," said Trampleasure, who dared not have fired a piece
to save his life, but who gladly beat a retreat to the first-floor
window, where he stood with one short blunderbuss in his hand, and Mrs
Trampleasure with the other.
"Now, gentlemen," cried Sir Gordon, "I am waiting for you to clear the
bank."
There was another fierce growl at this; but the mottled-faced farmer,
who had ridden in on his stout cob, and who carried a hunting crop with
an old-fashioned iron hammer head, spat in his fist, and turned the
handle--
"Now, neighbours and friends as is customers!" he roared in a stentorian
voice, "I'm ready when you are." As he spoke he caught the man half on
the counter by the collar, and dragged him off.
"Here, keep your hands off me!"
"Yow want to fight, yow'd--"
"Yah! hah!"
Then a scuffling and confused growl, and one or two appeals to sticks
and fists; but in five minutes every man not known as a customer of the
bank was outside, and the farmers gave a cheer, which was answered by a
yell from the increasing mob, a couple of dozen of whom had stooped for
stones and began to flourish sticks.
But the stout farmer, who was on the steps between the two pillars that
flanked the entrance, put his hand to his mouth, as if about to give a
view halloo!
"Look out for the bloonder-boosh, my lads." And then, turning his head
up to the window where Mr Trampleasure stood, weapon in hand, "Tak' a
good aim on the front, and gie it 'em--whang! Mr Trampleasure, sir.
Thee'll scatter the sloogs fine."
Not a stone was thrown, and by this time James Thickens was busy at work
cancelling with his quill pen, and counting and weighing out gold. He
never offered one of Dixons' notes: silver and gold, current coin of the
realm, was all he passed over the counter, and though the customers
pressed and hurried to get their cheques or notes changed, Thickens
retained his coolness and went on.
At the end of a quarter of an hour the excitement was subsiding, but the
bank was still full of farmers and tradespeople, the big burly man with
the hunting crop being still by the counter unpaid.
All at once, after watching the paying over of the money for some time,
he began hammering the mahogany counter heavily with the iron handle of
his whip.
"Here, howd hard!" he roared.
Sir Gordon, who had put the pistols on the table, and was sitting on the
manager's chair, coolly reading his newspaper in full view, laid it
down, and rose to come to the open glass door.
"Ay, that's right, Sir Gordon. I want a word wi' thee. I'm not a man
to go on wi' fullishness; but brass is brass, and a hard thing to get
howd on. Now, look ye here. Howd hard, neighbours, I hevn't got much
to saya."
"What is it, Mr Anderson?" said Sir Gordon calmly.
"Why, this much, Sir Gordon and neighbours. Friend o' mine comes out o'
the town this morning and says, `If thou'st got any brass i' Dixons'
Bank, run and get it, lad, for Maester Hallam's bo'ted, and bank's
boosted oop.' Now, Sir Gordon, it don't look as if bank hev boosted
oop."
"Oh, no," said Sir Gordon, smiling.
"Hev Maester Hallam bo'ted, then, or is that a lie too?"
"I am sorry to say that Mr Hallam has been arrested on a charge of
fraud."
"That be true, then?" said the farmer. "Well, now, look here, Sir
Gordon; I've banked wi' you over twanty year, and I can't afford to lose
my brass. Tween man and man, is my money safe?"
"Perfectly, Mr Anderson."
"That'll do, Sir Gordon," said the farmer, tearing up the cheque he held
in his hand, and scattering it over his head. "I'll tak' Sir Gordon's
word or Dixons' if they say it's all right. I don't want my brass."
"Gentlemen," said Sir Gordon, flashing slightly, "if you will trust me
and my dear old friend Mr Dixon, you shall be paid all demands to the
last penny we have. I am sorry to say that I have discovered a very
heavy defalcation on the part of our late manager, and the loss will be
large, but that loss will fall upon us, gentlemen, not upon you."
"But I want my deeds, my writings," cried a voice. "I'm not a-going to
be cheated out o' my rights."
"Who is that?" said Sir Gordon.
"Mr Gemp, Sir Gordon," said Thickens quickly. "Deposit of deeds of row
of houses in Rochester Close; and shares."
"Mr Gemp," said Sir Gordon, "I am afraid your deeds are amongst others
that are missing."
"Ay! Ay! Robbers! Robbers!" shouted Gemp excitedly.
"No, Mr Gemp, we are not robbers," said Sir Gordon. "If you will
employ your valuer, I will employ ours; and as soon as they have decided
the amount, Mr James Thickens will pay you--to-day if you can get the
business done, and the houses and shares are Dixons'."
"Hear, hear, hear," shouted Anderson. "There, neighbour, he can't say
fairer than that."
"Nay, I want my writings, and I don't want to sell. I want my writings.
I'll hev 'em too."
"Shame on you, Gemp," said a voice behind him. "Three days ago you were
at death's door. Your life was spared, and this is the thank-offering
you make to your neighbours in their trouble."
"Nay, don't you talk like that, parson, thou doesn't know what it is to
lose thy all," piped Gemp.
"Lose?" cried Bayle, who had entered the bank quietly to see Sir Gordon.
"Man, I have lost heavily too."
Thickens was making signs to him now with his quill pen.
"Ay, but I want my writings. I'll hev my writings," cried Gemp.
"Neighbours, you have your money. Don't you believe 'em. They're
robbers."
"If I weer close to thee, owd Gemp, I'd tak' thee by the scruff and the
band o' thy owd breeches and pitch thee out o' window. Sir Gordon's
ready to do the handsome thing."
"Touch me if you dare," cried old Gemp. "I want my writings. It was
bank getting unsafe made me badly. You neighbours have all thy money
out, for they haven't got enough to last long."
There was a fresh murmur here, and Sir Gordon looked anxious. Mr
Anderson stood fast; but it was evident that a strong party were waiting
for their money, and more than one began to twitch Thickens by the
sleeve, and present cheques and notes.
Thickens paid no heed, but made his way to where Christie Bayle was
standing, and handed him a pocket-book.
"Here," he said. "I couldn't come to you. I had to watch the bank."
"My pocket-book, Thickens?"
"Yes, sir. I was just in time to knock that scoundrel over as he was
throttling you. I'd come to meet the coach."
"Why, Thickens!" cried Bayle, flushing--"Ah, you grasping old miser!
What! turn thief?"
The latter was to old Gemp, who saw the pocket-book passed, and made a
hawk-like clutch at it, but his wrist was pinned by Bayle, who took the
pocket-book and slipped it into his breast.
"It's my papers--it's writings--it's--"
His voice was drowned in a clamour that arose, as about twenty more
people came hurrying in at the bank-door, eager to make demands for
their deposits.
Sir Gordon grew pale, for there was not enough cash in the house to meet
the constant demand, and he had hoped that the ready payment of a great
deal would quiet the run.
The clamour increased, and it soon became evident that the dam had given
way, and that nothing remained but to go on paying to the last penny in
the bank, while there was every possibility of wreck and destruction
following.
"Howd hard, neighbours," cried Anderson; "Sir Gordon says it's all
right. Dixons' 'll pay."
"Dixons' can't pay," shouted a voice. "Hallam's got everything, and the
bank's ruined."
There was a roar here, and the fire seemed to have been again applied to
the tow. Thickens looked in despair at Bayle, and then with a quick
movement locked the cash drawer, and clapped the key in his pocket. The
action was seen. There was a yell of fury from the crowd in front, and
a dozen hands seized the clerk.
Sir Gordon darted forward, this time without pistols, and hands and
sticks were raised, when in a voice of thunder Christie Bayle roared:
"Stop!"
There was instant silence, for he had leaped upon the bank counter.
"Stand back!" he said, "and act like Christian men, and not like wild
beasts. Dixons' Bank is sound. Look here!"
"It's failed! it's failed!" cried a dozen voices.
"It has not failed," shouted Bayle. "Look here: I have been to London."
"Yes, we know."
"To fetch twenty-one thousand pounds--my own property!"
There was dead silence here.
"Look! that is the money, all in new Bank of England notes."
He tore them out of the large pocket-book.
"To show you my confidence in Dixons' Bank and in Sir Gordon Bourne's
word, I deposit this sum with them, and open an account. Mr Thickens,
have the goodness to enter this to my credit; I'll take a chequebook
when you are at liberty."
He passed the sheaf of rustling, fluttering, new, crisp notes to the
cashier, and then, taking Sir Gordon's offered hand, leaped down inside
the counter of the bank.
"There, Sir Gordon," he said, with a smile, "I hope the plague is
stayed."
"Christie Bayle," whispered Sir Gordon huskily, "Heaven bless you! I
shall never forget this day!" Half-an-hour later the bank business was
going on as usual, but the business of the past night and morning was
more talked of than before.