Jared Pellet was right. Mr Gray was in a sad way about the affair, for
it was a problem that he was not likely to solve. At first he had made
a point of keeping the matter secret, but as months slipped by, and no
discovery was made, he ceased to be reticent. Nothing was learned as to
the cause, but the effect was plain enough--the money still went. He
held long consultations with Mr Timson, and together, more than before,
they set to and suspected everybody connected with the church,
beginning, jestingly, with themselves, and then going downwards through
the other churchwardens, Jared, the clerk, Purkis, Mrs Ruggles, Ichabod
Gunniss, and the bellringers, who never entered the church. But, though
every one was suspected in turn, no accusation was made; for, said the
vicar--
"Timson, I would not, in my weak, short sighted way, be guilty of an act
of injustice to any man!"
"Why not set the police to work?" said Mr Timson. "A detective would
furridge the matter out."
"No," said the vicar, "I don't like the idea. I would not care if
they'd rob me, Timson, but they will not; and this business is something
I really cannot get over. If I put more in the box to make up what I
reckon may be the deficiency, it seems to make no difference; and though
your advice may be good, I don't feel as if I could take it. I have
acted upon some of your hints, but still we don't find anything out."
Mr Timson shook his head, and said, "Just so," which might have meant
anything.
After smoking a pipe or two, the churchwarden always left, declaring
that he had got hold of the right end of the thread, and that he
intended following up the clue, telling it mysteriously, and promising
news by his next visit; for, being old and single, the vicar thought it
no shame to play nightly at cribbage with his churchwarden, and in his
company to smoke long clay pipes and drink whisky and water. But the
only result of Mr Timson's clue-following was the getting of himself
into a tangle, and, to the vicar's great disgust, he would seriously
settle the offence upon a fresh head each time.
"I tell you what it is, Timson," he one day exclaimed, pettishly, after
listening for some time to the rumbling of the churchwarden's mountain,
and then being rewarded with no grand discovery, but a very mouse of an
information,--"I tell you what it is, Timson, you are getting into your
dotage."
"No, I ain't," said Timson, gruffly; for Mr Timson's life had two
phases--as Mr Timson, tea-dealer, and Mr Timson, vicar's churchwarden.
In trade he metaphorically wore his apron fastened by a brass heart and
a steel hook, and said, "Sir" to the world at large; while, as Mr
Timson, the worthy old bachelor, who could have retired from business
any day, and who smoked pipes and played cribbage at his own or the
vicar's residence, he was another man, and as sturdy and independent as
an Englishman need be. "No, I ain't," he said, gruffly. "I'm sure now
as can be that it's old Purkis--a fat, canting, red-faced, hypocritical
old sinner."
"Don't be so aggravating, Timson," said the vicar. "How can you accuse
him!"
"Why what does he mean by always hanging about the boxes, and polish,
polish, polishing them till the steel-work grows quite thin?"
"That proves nothing," said the vicar.
"Don't it?" exclaimed the churchwarden. "It proves that he has always
been hanging about, till the money tempted him, and he could not resist
it."
"Nonsense!" said the vicar, crossly, as he broke a piece off his pipe.
"Why, the very last time you were here, you were quite sure that it was
Pellet."
"Well, and so I'll be bound to say that it was," said Timson. "I was
sure of it last week, only you would not have it that I was right."
"Of course not," said the vicar, "when you declared only two days before
that it was the organ-boy, whom you had caught spending money. How much
did he spend, by the by?"
"Well, only a halfpenny at a potato-can, certainly," said Timson; "but
he must have been flush of money."
"Pish!" ejaculated the vicar, contemptuously,--"nonsense!"
"Ah! you may say `Pish,'" exclaimed Timson, angrily; "but it isn't
nonsense. The money goes, don't it? and they're all in it, every man
jack of 'em. It's a regular conspiracy."
"I never in all my experience met with a less consistent man than you
are, Timson," said the vicar. "I believe you would accuse me as soon as
look at me, and then give some one else into custody for the theft."
"No, I shouldn't," grumbled Mr Timson. "We should have found it all out
by this time, only you will be so obstinate. I'd soon find it out if I
had my way."
"I do wish you would have a little more charity in you, Timson,"
continued the vicar, taking up and dealing the cards. "I honestly
believe that if it had not been for me, you would have made two or three
homes wretched by accusing people of the theft."
"No business to steal poor-box money, then," said Mr Timson, through his
nose, for his hands being occupied with his cards, his lips were tightly
closed over the waxy end of his pipe. "It was Pellet, I'm sure."
"No more Pellet than it was Purkis," said the vicar. "I never knew a
more quiet, respectable man."
"Nor a better organist, if he wouldn't be so long-winded," said Mr
Timson, coolly.
"Nor a better organist," acquiesced the vicar. "Fifteen--six, and six
are a dozen," he continued, throwing down his cards.
"Three, and one for his nob," said Mr Timson, following the example of
his host; "and that's what I should give him, Mr Gray, if I knew who it
was."
"Humph!" ejaculated the vicar, thoughtfully.
But in spite of his thoughtfulness he came no nearer to his point, and
in the course of time the Rev. John Gray was distant, and then, in
manner, apologetic, to all the church officials. He even went so far as
to send the little asthmatical old razor-faced clerk a present, so as to
set his own mind at rest for having judged him hastily. He had fresh
locks placed upon the boxes--locks with cunningly-devised keys, which
the maker assured him it was impossible to imitate; but a fortnight had
not elapsed before the boxes were plundered again--the culprit
apparently growing bolder with success.
The vicar grew more and more anxious. He was in dread now that the
communion-plate might be taken, and, lest a raid should be made upon it,
he watched it himself to and from the churchwarden's house.
At times, too, Mr Gray would feel almost disposed to take his friend's
advice, and call in the aid of the police; but even then he did not feel
certain of success, and he shrank from such stringent measures on
account of the publicity they would entail; besides, he wished to
discover the culprit himself, and take him to task, for he considered
that his own conscience would be sufficient punishment so soon as he was
detected.
In Duplex Street, the vicar's words were well taken into consideration,
and the whole affair was canvassed with animation, Tim Ruggles the while
listening attentively, and giving his opinion when asked, otherwise
perfectly silent, until, to use his own words, "he was set going."
"I like clergymen sometimes," said Tim, "and sometimes I don't; but this
vicar of ours seems a man worth knowing. Mrs Ruggles says, sir, it's a
pleasure to have anything to do for him, and she's a great judge of
character, sir. But there are some parsons I never could like, for
they're as easy and plausible as country solicitors, and that's saying a
great deal. But really it does seem a wonder that this little matter is
not found out I'll talk to Mrs Ruggles about it again to-night--
wonderful woman--I like to hear her opinion; full of point and keenness.
Authority for saying so," muttered Tim, beneath his breath, for he had
been taking himself to task for his frequent usage of this his favourite
expression.
Conversation was here stayed by a terrible vocal explosion up-stairs,
accompanied by cries for mother, the cause being that a juvenile member
of the Pellet family had choked himself with an angular fragment of
pudding, given to him by Mrs Jared to keep him out of mischief--a cold
heavy pudding of a most economical texture, frequently made in Jared's
establishment, and called by him "extinguisher" from its wondrous power
of putting out appetite to the last faint spark.
A due amount of patting and shaking sufficed to place the little
sufferer in his normal state; and mother and father once more descended,
to find Tim Ruggles ready for starting homeward, after exhibiting a
newly-made pair of trousers--his first--upon the young gentleman for
whom they were intended.
"Yes, sir," said Tim, taking up, in a most unexpected manner, the
principal subject of the evening's conversation, "I'll have a long talk
to Mrs Ruggles about it; and if I might ask it as a favour of you and
Mrs Pellet, sir, please don't send anything any more for little Pine.
I'm so much obliged, and thank you kindly; but Mrs Ruggles, sir, is a
little bit particular upon some points, and just perhaps the least touch
proud. I know you won't be offended with me for telling you."
Mrs Jared, who had on several occasions sent little delicacies that she
thought the child might fancy--poor-people's delicacies--promised, and
Tim left; and probably from the sharp look-out kept by Mrs Ruggles after
the conversation she had with her husband, for quite a month the vicar
enjoyed peace of mind, from a feeling that the poor-box had not been
disturbed.
"And a good job, too," said Mr Timson, one evening; "for I'm quite sick
of hearing sermons and texts about pieces of money--`render unto
Caesar,' or `current money of the merchant,' or Achan's covetousness, or
the Judas pieces of silver. You know they only did harm, acting like
charity-sermons, and making people get money ready, expecting to see a
plate held at the door, and then, only naturally, dropping it into the
poor-box, so as to give more plunder to the thief, who has been laughing
at you all the time."
"For shame, Timson!" said the old clergyman, sternly. "Don't you think
that even thieves have consciences?"
"Humph! well, I don't know," said Timson, "perhaps they have, but they
don't keep them from stealing. But I thought you said you would keep
the subject out of your sermons?"
The vicar did not reply, but his eyes twinkled, and a dry little crease
or two appeared at the corners of his mouth.
Volume 2, Chapter VI.