THE DEED.
Crankey Jem was at dinner, in the afternoon of the day which followed
the night of Holford's sad historical studies, when the young man
entered his room.
"Oh! so you've turned up at last," said Jem, pointing to a seat, and
pushing a plate across the table in the same direction. "What have you
been doing with yourself for the last two days? But sit down first, and
get something to eat; for you look as pale and haggard as if you'd just
been turned out of a workhouse."
"I am not well, Jem," replied Holford, evasively; "and I cannot
eat—thank you all the same. But I will take a glass of beer: it may
refresh me."
"Do. You really seem very ill, my poor lad," observed Crankey Jem,
attentively surveying Holford's countenance, which was sadly changed.
"If you have got no money left, my little store is at your service, as
far as it goes; and you need not think of working in any way till you
are better. I can easily make another boat or two more during the week;
and so you shall not want for either medicine or good food."
"You are very kind to me, Jem," said Holford, wiping away a tear. "If it
hadn't been for you I don't know what I should have done. You have
supplied me with the means of getting a lodging and——"
"And you served me well by tracing the villain Tidkins to his nest in
Globe Lane," interrupted the returned transport. "I have watched about
that neighbourhood every night since you followed him there, and have
seen something that has made me hesitate a little before I pay him the
debt of vengeance I owe him. Now that he is in my power, I don't care
about waiting a while. Besides, if I can find him out in something that
would send him to the gibbet, I would sooner let him die that way—as a
dog, with a halter round his neck—than kill him outright with my
dagger."
"And you suspect——" began Holford.
"Yes—yes: but no matter now," cried Jem, hastily. "You are not in the
right mood to-day to listen to me: but, either I am very much mistaken,
or _murder_ has been committed within the last few days at that house in
Globe Town. At all events, I saw a person taken by force into the place
one night; and that person has never come out again since."
"How do you know?" said Holford. "You only watch about the neighbourhood
by night."
"And is it likely that a person who was conveyed into that house by
force during the night, would be allowed to walk quietly out in the
day-time?" demanded Crankey Jem. "No such thing! Tidkins is not the chap
to play such a game. The person I speak of was blindfolded—I could see
it all as plain as possible, for the moon was bright, though I kept in
the shade. Now, being blindfolded," continued Jem, "it was to prevent
her——"
"What? was the person a woman?" cried Holford, his interest in Jem's
conversation somewhat increasing, in spite of the absorbing nature of
his own reflections.
"Yes. And, as I was saying, the blindfolding was of course to prevent
her knowing whereabouts she was: so it isn't likely that Tidkins would
let her go away again in the broad day-light."
"Neither does it seem probable that he took her there to make away with
her," said Holford; "for, as the dead tell no tales, there was not any
use in binding her eyes."
"_That_ also struck me," observed Crankey Jem; "and it's all those
doubts and uncertainties that make me watch him so close to find out
what it all means. And, mark me, Harry—I _will_ find it all out too! I'm
pretty near as cunning as he is! Why—what a fool he must take me for, if
he thinks I can't see that he has got a great hulking chap to dog me
about. But I always give him the slip somehow or another; and every
evening when I go out I take a different direction. So I'll be bound
that I've set Tidkins and his man at fault. The night afore last I saw
the spy, as I call him—I mean the chap that is set to dog me—go to
Tidkins's house; and about an hour afterwards a man I once knew well—one
Jack Wicks, who is called the Buffer—went there also. Ah! there's a
precious nest of them!"
[Illustration]
"I say, Jem," exclaimed Henry Holford, abruptly, "I wish you would lend
me your pistols for a few hours."
"And what do you want with pistols, young feller?" demanded the returned
convict, laying down his knife, and looking Holford full in the face.
"A friend of mine has made a wager with another man about hitting a
halfpenny at thirty paces," said Henry, returning the glance in a manner
so confident and unabashed, that Jem's suspicions were hushed in a
moment.
"Yes—you shall have the pistols till this evening," said he: "but mind
you bring 'em back before dusk."
With these words, he rose, went to a cupboard, and produced the weapons.
"I'll be sure to bring them back by the time you go out," said Holford.
"Are they loaded?"
"No," answered Jem. "But here's powder and ball, which you can take
along with you."
"I wish you would load them all ready," observed Holford. "I—I don't
think my friend knows how."
"Not know how to load a pistol—and yet be able to handle one skilfully!"
ejaculated Jem, his vague suspicions returning.
"Many persons learn to fire at a mark at Copenhagen House, or a dozen
other places about London," said the young man, still completely
unabashed; "and yet they can't load a pistol for the life of them."
"Well—that's true enough," muttered Jem.
Still he was not quite reassured; and yet he was unwilling to tax
Holford with requiring the pistols for any improper purpose. The young
lad's reasons might be true—they were at least feasible; and Jem was
loth to hurt his feelings by hinting at any suspicion which the demand
for the weapons had occasioned. Moreover, it would be churlish to refuse
the loan of them—and almost equally so to decline loading them;—and the
returned convict possessed an obliging disposition, although he had been
so much knocked about in the world. He was also attached to Henry
Holford, and would go far to serve him.
Nevertheless, he still hesitated.
"Well—won't you do what I ask you, Jem?" said Holford, observing that he
wavered.
"Is it really for your friends?" demanded the man, turning short round
upon the lad.
"Don't you believe me?" cried Holford, now blushing deeply. "Why, you
cannot think that I'm going to commit a highway robbery or a burglary in
the day-time—even if I ever did at all?"
"No—no," said Jem; "but you seemed so strange—so excited—when you first
came in——"
"Ha! ha!" cried Holford, laughing: "you thought I was going to make away
with myself! No, Jem—the river would be better than the pistol, if I
meant _that_."
"Well—you must have your will, then," said Crankey Jem; and, turning to
the cupboard, he proceeded to load the pistols.
But still he was not altogether satisfied!
Holford rose from his seat with an assumed air of indifference, and
approached the table where the little models of the ships were standing.
A few minutes thus elapsed in profound silence.
"They're all ready now," said Jem, at length; "and as your friends don't
know how to load them, it's no use your taking the powder and ball. I
suppose they'll fire a shot each, and have done with it?"
"I suppose so," returned Holford, as he concealed the pistols about his
person. "I shall see you again presently. Good bye till then."
"Good bye," said Jem.
But scarcely had Holford left the room a minute, when the returned
convict followed him.
The fact was that there shot forth a gleam of such inexpressible
satisfaction from Holford's eyes, at the moment when he grasped the
pistols, that the vague suspicions which had already been floating in
the mind of Crankey Jem seemed suddenly to receive confirmation—or at
least to be materially strengthened; and he feared lest his young friend
meditated self-destruction.
"The pistols are of no use to him," muttered Jem, as he hastened down
the stairs, slouching his large hat over his eyes; "but if he is bent on
suicide, the river is not far off. I don't like his manner at all!"
When he gained the street, he looked hastily up and down, and caught a
glimpse of Holford, who was just turning into Russell Street, leading
from Drury Lane towards Covent Garden.
"I will watch him at all events," thought Crankey Jem. "If he means no
harm, he will never find out that I did it; and if he does, I may save
him."
Meantime, Holford, little suspecting that his friend was at no great
distance behind him, pursued his way towards St. James's Park.
Now that his mind was bent upon a particular object, and that all
considerations had resolved themselves into that fixed determination,
his countenance, though very pale, was singularly calm and tranquil; and
neither by his face nor his manner did he attract any particular notice
as he wandered slowly along.
He gained the Park, and proceeded up the Mall towards Constitution Hill.
Crankey Jem followed him at a distance.
"Perhaps, after all, it is true that he has got some friends to meet,"
he muttered to himself; "and it may be somewhere hereabouts that he is
to join them."
Holford stopped midway in the wide road intersecting Constitution Hill,
and lounged in an apparently indifferent manner against the fence
skirting the Green Park.
There were but few persons about, in that particular direction, at the
time,—although the afternoon was very fine, and the sun was shining
brightly through the fresh, frosty air.
It was now three o'clock; and some little bustle was visible amongst
those few loungers who were at the commencement of the road, and who
were enabled to command a view of the front of the palace.
They ranged themselves on one side:—there was a trampling of horses; and
in a few moments a low open phaeton, drawn by four bays, turned rapidly
from the park into the road leading over Constitution Hill.
"They are coming!" murmured Holford to himself, as he observed the
equipage from the short distance where he was standing.
Every hat was raised by the little group at the end of the road, as the
vehicle dashed by—for in it were seated the Queen and her illustrious
husband.
By a strange coincidence Her Majesty was sitting on the left hand of
Prince Albert, and not on the right as usual: she was consequently
nearest to the wall of the palace-gardens, while the Prince was nearest
to the railings of the Green Park.
And now the moment so anxiously desired by Holford, was at hand:—the
phaeton drew nigh.
He hesitated:—yes—he hesitated;—but it was only for a single second.
"Now to avenge my expulsion from the palace!—now to make my name a
subject for history!" were the thoughts that, rapid as lightning,
flashed across his mind.
Not another moment did he waver; but, advancing from the railings
against which he had been lounging, he drew a pistol from his breast and
fired it point-blank at the royal couple as the phaeton dashed past.
The Queen screamed and rose from her seat; and the postillions stopped
their horses.
"Drive on!" cried the Prince, in a loud tone, as he pulled Her Majesty
back upon the seat; and his countenance was ashy pale.
Holford threw the first pistol hastily away from him, and drew forth the
second.
But at that moment a powerful grasp seized him from behind,—his arm was
knocked upwards,—the pistol went off into the air,—and a well-known
voice cried in his ears, "My God! Harry, what madness is this?"
Several other persons had by this time collected on the spot; and the
most cordial shouts of "God save the Queen!" "God save the Prince!"
burst from their lips.
Her Majesty bowed in a most graceful and grateful manner: the Prince
raised his hat in acknowledgment of the sympathy and attachment
manifested towards his royal spouse and himself;—and the phaeton rolled
rapidly away towards Hyde Park, in obedience to the wishes of the Queen
and the orders of the Prince.
"What madness is this, I say, Harry?" repeated Crankey Jem, without
relaxing his hold upon the would-be regicide.
But Holford hung down his head, and maintained a moody silence.
"Do you know him?" "Who is he?" were the questions that were now
addressed to Crankey Jem from all sides.
But before he could answer his interrogators, two policemen broke
through the crowd, and took Holford into custody.
"We must take him to the Home Office," said one of the officers, who was
a serjeant, to his companion.
"Yes, Mr. Crisp," was the reply.
"And you, my good feller," continued the serjeant, addressing himself to
Crankey Jem, "had better come along with us—since you was the first to
seize on this here young miscreant."
"I'd rather not," said Jem, now terribly alarmed on his own account:
"I——"
"Oh! nonsense," cried Mr. Crisp. "The Home Secretary is a wery nice
genelman, and will tell you how much obleeged he is to you for having
seized——But, I say," added Mr. Crisp, changing his tone and assuming a
severe look as he gazed on the countenance of the returned convict,
"what the deuce have we here?"
"What, Mr. Crisp?" said the policeman, who had charge of Holford.
"Why! if my eyes doesn't deceive me," cried the serjeant, "this here
feller is one James Cuffin, generally known as Crankey Jem—and he's a
'scaped felon."
With these words Mr. Crisp collared the poor fellow, who offered no
resistance.
But large tears rolled down his cheeks!
Policemen and prisoners then proceeded across the park to the Home
Office, followed by a crowd that rapidly increased in numbers as it
rolled onwards.