"Honoured Sir,--Seeing your advertisement in to-day's _Times_, I
believe I know a gentleman who was followed by a dog answering the
description of your bull-tarrier; so I will do myself the honour of
waiting upon you this evening, at eight o'clock.--Your obedient
servant,
"Fancy."
"Your obedient servant," repeated Lionel.
"`To command' scratched out," said Harry.
"That's a rum sort of letter to come in a lady's hand, and in French
style--isn't it? Is it spelt right?"
"Perfectly, and the writing is exquisite."
"Dog-stealing cad safe, and he has got some one to write for him."
"He'll be here directly, if he keeps his appointment," said Harry,
referring to his watch; "it only wants a few minutes to eight. What
shall you do? See Mr Fancy, or hand him over to the police?"
"See him, of course! What's the good of handing him over to the police?
Cost me just as much money, and I should not get my dog."
Harry shrugged his shoulders, while Lionel lay back a little farther on
his lounge, so that he could hold up and admire the set of his close,
groomy-looking, drab trousers.
"Not a bad fit, are they, Hal?" he said, after a pause.
"Excellent for a stable-helper," was the sarcastic reply.
"H'm! Perhaps so. But they are like the real thing, though, ain't
they? Bilstob's an out-and-outer for taking up an idea, if you give it
him."
"Stably ideas, I suppose," said Harry.
"Yes, if you like," said Lionel, rather sulkily; and then the young men
smoked on in silence, till, forgetting the sneers of his companion,
Lionel again spoke.
"Wonder whether this chap will turn up, Clayton? Try another
advertisement if he don't. I wouldn't have lost that dog for twenty
pounds."
"And I would give twenty pounds sooner than keep the ugly wretch," said
Harry.
"Perhaps so; but then you see you can't appreciate breed. Don't be
cross, old chap," he continued, laughing. "You must be bear-leader, and
lick me into shape."
Harry shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.
"There! turn up the gas a little higher, Harry; and do, for goodness'
sake, give up that confounded French shrug; and, I say, Hal, if this cad
does come, leave me to manage him. His won't be a classic tongue, old
fellow, and I know how to deal with these fellows so much better than
you. By Jove, though, here he is! Come in!"
For there had been another knock at the door, and the maid once more
appeared.
"Plee, sir, there's a man down-stairs, as says he have an appointment
with you, sir. Is he to come up?"
"Yes; send him up, Mary; that is, if he's fit."
"Fit, sir?" said the girl, looking puzzled.
"Yes; clean--decent," said Lionel, laughing, and the girl withdrew.
A minute later, a heavy, halting step was heard upon the stairs, and the
visitor, none other than Canau's landlord from Decadia, was ushered into
the room.
Volume 1, Chapter XXIV.
"D. WRAGG, NAT'RALIST."
"Sarvant, gentlemen," said the new-comer, who must now be fully
introduced. He made four steps forward into the room, each step being
accomplished by the planting of a heavy boot with a club-sole, some six
inches thick, a couple of feet forward, when, with a bow and a jerk, the
other leg was brought to the front, and the man stood upright, took
another step, bowed, and again jerked himself into the perpendicular--
each effort of locomotion being accompanied by an automaton flourish of
one arm, similar to that of a farming man sowing turnips broadcast.
He was a wiry-looking little fellow, with sharp ferrety eyes, and short
bristly hair standing up at the sides of his head, giving him the look
of a fierce Scotch terrier--the resemblance being heightened by an
occasional twitch of the facial muscles, which might have been taken for
displays of annoyance at the workings of troublous insects beyond the
reach of teeth or paws.
"Sarvant, gentlemen," he said; "and if so be as it ain't a liberty--"
He paused in his utterance, jerked himself back to the door, opened it,
peered out as if seeking a rat--if not smelling one--closed the door
again, jerked himself back, and laid one finger beside his very small
nose, saying--
"I'll make all snug afore I begin."
This was evidently in completion of his sentence; and then, while in a
half-amused, half-contemptuous manner, Lionel Redgrave watched his
actions, the man leaned his body first on one side, then on the other,
as if, with ultra caution, he were endeavouring to peer behind the two
occupants of the room; peeping beneath the table; and finishing the
performance by tip-toeing, and straining his neck to look here and there
in the most mysterious way imaginable.
"Confound you! why don't you look up the chimney while you are about
it?" cried Lionel, at last. "What the deuce does the fellow mean?"
"It's all right, gentlemen," said the man, taking a handkerchief out of
his hat, wiping his face, and then placing the very tall head-covering
upon the floor, while out of a shabby old dress-coat pocket he dragged a
copy of a newspaper.
"Which of you gents is L.R.?" he continued, when, after much jerking and
fumbling, he had contrived to open and refold the paper to his taste,
and with one extremely dirty finger to fix, as it were, the
advertisement.
"Never you mind about that," said Lionel, gruffly. "Have you brought
the dog?"
"Brought the dorg, gentlemen? Now, is it likely?" was the answer, in
tones of remonstrance. "Not likely! How could I bring the dorg when I
hadn't got it? It was only through seeing that ad. in the paper, that I
says, says I, `Why that there's just like the dorg as I see Mr Barkles
with'--a dorg as he said follered him 'ome lars night's a week."
Lionel growled, and the visitor jerked himself a step forward.
"So I says to our Janet, I says, `Jest drop a line,' I says, `to that
pore gent as has lost his dorg,' I says; `and I'll see if I can't be the
'appy mejum of gettin' on it back for him.'"
"Look here, my man," said Harry, regardless of his pupil's frowns;
"bring the dog back, and my friend will pay the offered reward."
"Bring the dorg back here, sir! Well no, that ain't likely. How do I
know what might happen? Don't you make no mistake about me, sir. I'm a
respectable tradesman, and that's my card, `D. Wragg, Nat'ralist, Dealer
in Br'ish and Furren Birds, and setrer, 12 Brownjohn Street, Decadia.'"
As he spoke he held out a dirty, glazed, worn-edged card to the last
speaker, who motioned to him to place it upon the table, which was done
with a great deal of jerking and twitching, Mr D. Wragg pushing the
piece of pasteboard well into view, and then, apparently not satisfied,
standing it up on edge against a book before continuing--
"I'm good for what you like, gents, from a dorg down to a pegging finch.
Do you want a 'arf dozen o' rats to try a terrier? send to me. Is it a
good blackish ferret? I'm ready for you. It were only last week I had
a badger. I've squirrels as'll crack nuts, fit to give to any lady in
the land. Do you want a few score o' blue rocks for 'Ornsey or
Battersea? I've got 'em;--'arf a 'undred o' sparrers--a hedge 'og--a
toy tarrier--or a poll-parrot as wouldn't say swear to save its life,
and I'm your man. That's my card, `D. Wragg, Nat'ralist, Dealer in
Br'ish and Furren Birds, and setrer, 12 Brownjohn Street, Decadia.' And
what's more, make it a tenner, and I'll undertake to say as I'll wurk
the gent as your dorg follered, so as you can come on to my place
to-morrer, put down the stiff, and bring your dorg 'ome again."
Mr D. Wragg, the "nat'ralist's," countenance had been a study as he
delivered himself of this harangue, jerking, twitching, and showing his
teeth, as if he were constantly about to make at an obtrusive fly
settled upon his nose, but never achieving thereto. But now, stooping,
he took his handkerchief from the hat upon the floor, put the newspaper
in its place, and then indulged in a good wipe, as his sharp ferrety
eyes gazed inquiringly from face to face.
"Now, look here, you, sir," said Lionel, roughly; "I offered a fiver for
the dog, because that's what he's worth. I believe him to have been
stolen; but never mind about that. I'll give five pounds to have him
back, and there's an end of it. If you like to earn the money, bring
the dog back; if not--cut!"
"Now, just a minute, gentlemen. See here now;" and resting his elbow
upon his hip, the visitor stretched out one open palm, and patted it
softly with the other; but instead of looking at any one, his restless
eyes wandered from the sporting prints to the ballet-dancers upon the
wall, and from them again to the cigar-boxes, pipes, and other evidences
of the owner's tastes. "Now look here, gents; don't you make no
mistake. I'm a respectable tradesman, and if it rested with me--there's
your dorg. I don't want no rewards for doing what's right. I get my
reward in making a good customer. But, don't you see, it's a gent as
has got the dorg. It follered him, and he's took a fancy to it. He's a
reg'lar customer of mine, and he says to me, he says--`I wouldn't part
with that dorg,' he says, `for ten pound, I wouldn't. He polished off
ten rats in two minutes this very morning,' he says."
"That's the dog and no mistake," cried Lionel, excitedly.
"Toe be sure it is, gents," said D. Wragg, with his eyes twinkling; "and
that there gent as has got him, sir, is a man as I never knowed to break
his word. I says to him, though, I says--`Suppose,' I says, `as the
real owner of him was to turn up; you'd let him go then?' I says.
`Well,' he says, `if he were a real gent, 'praps I might; but sech a
noble beast as that ere didn't ought to be in anybody's hands.'"
Lionel looked, half-amused, half inquiringly, at Harry, who, however,
only turned over the leaves of a book and avoided his gaze.
"What do you say to it all, Hal?" said Lionel at last.
"Ring the bell and send for a policeman," was the laconic reply.
"Was that there meant for me, sir?" said D. Wragg, with a snap which
must have dislodged the fly had it been present, and giving himself a
doggy twist that plainly indicated a tormenting flea. "Well, gents, if
it's coming to that, I'm off. There's my card--that's me--D. Wragg,
Nat'ralist. But don't you make no mistake; I aint a running away
because of the police, which is a body of men as I despises, and well
they knows it, too. I aint got your dorg--'taint likely; and you may
search my place if you like with all the police in London; and if you
can get your dorg back, why all I can say is, as you'll be luckier than
most gents is; so goodnight to you."
D. Wragg jerked himself down, picked up his hat, and was about to put it
on; but he dropped it the next moment, for with a bound Lionel leaped
from his chair, and before Harry Clayton had recovered from his
astonishment, D. Wragg was seized by the throat and being forcibly
shaken, as the young man hissed between his teeth--
"You scoundrel! What have you done with my dog?"
Harry Clayton leaped up in his turn, and, partly by force, partly by
entreaty, made Lionel quit his hold upon the trembling man, who once
more picked up his hat and endeavoured to plant it in its proper place;
but, what with his shaking hands, and the roughly folded paper inside,
the attempt proved a failure.
The danger being removed, the confidence of D. Wragg began to return,
and with an amount of jerking and twisting that was almost frightful in
the way it threatened dislocation of sundry members, even if it did not
break the man's back, he took the paper from his hat, and contrived to
stuff it into one of the tight coat-pockets; then the head-piece was
thrust on defiantly, and its owner began to jerk himself towards the
door, shaking his fist the while.
"Here! confound you, stop!" roared Lionel, who was hot and excited.
"Name your time and I'll come and fetch the brute. I know that it is a
stealing case. I can see that, though you think I'm a flat; but I'm not
going to put myself to trouble, so I tell you at once."
"Don't you make no mistake," cried D. Wragg, defiantly; "and don't you
call things by no hard names. I didn't steal your dorg. I'm a
respectable tradesman, I am; and if you want a score--"
"Confound you! what time?" roared Lionel, angrily, as he once more
started to his feet.
"Any time before one, gents--any time in the morning; but don't you make
no mistake about me. And look here, gents, I know that there party well
as has got your dorg--leastwise," he added, with a wink, "if it is the
same dorg--and he's one of them suspicious sorter parties, that, if so
be as he thought as there'd be any gammon--"
"Gammon! what do you mean?" cried Lionel, for the man paused.
"Dodges, gents, dodges; such as suspecting on him of having stolen the
dorg, and getting of his name dirty. Why, if there was any of that
sorter thing, that there dorg would never be seen again; and as to
bringing the police, either uniform or plain clothes, it's my belief as
he'd smell 'm a mile away, sure as my name's D. Wragg, nat'ralist; so
don't you make no--"
"There, there! we've had enough of that," growled Lionel; and apparently
bearing no malice for his rough treatment, now that there was a prospect
of the reward being paid, the little man jerked himself to the door,
turned, winked solemnly at Harry, and the next moment he was gone.
"What do you think of that, Harry?" said Lionel, as the heavy step was
heard descending the stairs.
"Shall I tell you? You will not be offended?"
"Offended! Not I. Say what you like."
"Better not," said Harry, bluntly; "for my thoughts run upon
self-government, and the way in which some part with their money."
Lionel did not seem to understand the allusion, for he only whistled
softly as he set light to another cigar; while Harry raised his book,
but not to read, for he began to think of the letter received that
night, and to compare it with the appearance of D. Wragg, ending by
dismissing the matter from his thoughts, with the remark, beneath his
breath, that it was very strange, and a hope that it was not a trap.
"Perhaps I can act as friend, as well as tutor," he said to himself,
with a smile; and then his thoughts roved off to Patty Pellet.
Volume 1, Chapter XXV.