Mr John Screwby's face would have formed a worthy study for a painter;
or, could some instantaneous photographer have secured his aspect, a
_carte_ could have been produced that would have made the fortune of any
speculator in heads of eminent men. For, as he started away, his jaw
half dropped, his eyes staring, and fists clenched, he seemed, for the
moment, turned into stone--a statue gazing at the quiet unmoved intruder
upon the scene.
"How do, Jack?" said the new-comer, quietly, as he took a slight glance
from the corners of his eyes at the informer.
"You're werry civil all 'twunst," said the fellow, recovering himself a
little; "but you ain't got nothin' agen me!"
"Not I, Jack--at least, not yet," said the new-comer, smiling. "But
what brings you here? Smelt the reward?"
The man stared, sniffed, rubbed his nose viciously upon his sleeve, and
shuffled uneasily from foot to foot; but he did not answer.
"He professes to hold the required information," said Sir Francis; "and
he is afraid that we shall not duly perform our part of the contract.
He is suspicious lest we should withhold part of the money--my friend
here thinking that he ought first to prove the value of his tidings."
"Of course," said the new-comer, with a commendatory nod of the head at
Clayton; "he knows what business is, evidently. Not though, that our
friend Jack Screwby here would do anything but what was of the most
honourable description. He's a gent who would scorn a mean action, and
as to taking advantage of anybody, there, bless your heart, you might
trust him with a baby unborn."
"None o' your gammon, now, can't you?" growled Jack.
"Gammon! nonsense, Jack! It's all straightforward and above-board. You
shall be all right. Now, look here--what do you know? If it's worth
the two hundred pounds, you shall have the money clean down in your
fist. I'll see that you do. Now are you satisfied?"
"Fain sweatings," growled Mr Screwby, who was apparently far from being
in as confident a state as he could have wished.
"What does he say?" exclaimed Sir Francis.
"He means, sir, that he don't want the reward money to be fiddled."
"Fiddled?" said Sir Francis.
"Yes, sir--thinned down, and deducted from."
"Oh, no! let him earn the reward, and he shall have it in full,"
exclaimed Sir Francis.
"To be sure," said the new-comer. "There, Jack, do you hear? All fair
and above-board. Money down as soon as the gentleman is found--_by your
information, mind_."
"Well, never mind about no informations," growled Screwby; "if I find
him, eh?"
"Yes, if you find the gentleman."
"Dead or alive?" said Screwby, brutally.
"Dead or alive," said the new-comer, turning, as did also Clayton, to
glance at Sir Francis Redgrave, who was very pale, but who remained
unmoved, save for the corners of his mouth, which twitched sharply.
Mr John Screwby evidently had great faith in his own powers as a reader
of physiognomy, for he glanced from one to the other, and allowed his
eyes to rest long upon each face; then he had a long stare at the door,
and another at the window, as if meditating flight, or probably from his
foxy wild-beast-like nature, which prompted him to mistrust everybody,
and to have both an avenue of entrance and another for escape. Then he
took another vicious rub at his nose, and refreshed himself with a
nibble at his cap, off which he evidently obtained a few woolly scraps;
but at last he allowed his furtive-looking eyes to rest upon the
new-comer, who had been all the time thoughtfully tapping his teeth with
his pencil, and apparently taking not the slightest notice of him
whatever.
The fellow then prepared to speak, by hitching himself closer to the
stranger, who only gave him a nod, which was interpreted to mean--"Stay
where you are!"
For Mr John Screwby stood shuffling from foot to foot, and then placed
his hand before his mouth, to direct the flow of his discourse only into
the stranger's ear.
"Speak out, Jack!" said the latter, coolly; "you needn't be afraid."
"Who's afeard?" growled Jack, sourly.
"Oh! not you, Jack, of course," said the other; "you've a heart above
that sort of thing, you know."
"You're gallus witty, you are," growled Jack, below his breath.
"Well, speak up, Jack; the gentlemen would like to hear what you have to
say, I'm sure."
"Look ye here, then, Master Falkner," said Jack, in a hoarse whisper,
that sounded as harsh and grating as the sharpening of a saw,--"look ye
here; that there young chap's been hanging about D. Wragg's crib for
months past."
"To be sure he has, Jack--to be sure; we know that; and what does it
mean? Pigeons, or rats, or dogs, or something of that sort, eh?"
Mr Falkner, sergeant of police, half closed his eyes as he spoke, and
thrust his hands beneath his coat-tails, as, with head on one side, he
waited to hear further news.
"Pigins--dorgs! Not a bit of it. He warn't arter them," said Screwby.
"Gents like him don't have no 'casion to come our way; 'cos why? Lots
o' dealers comes arter them, and'll bring 'em any number o' rats, or
dorgs either, for the matter o' that. You knows better nor that, Master
Falkner. If I was to tell you as I come down here to make these here
gents' minds easy, you wouldn't believe me, would you?"
"Well, not to put too fine a point on it, Jack Screwby," said the
sergeant, "no, I should not."
"No," said the fellow, chuckling, "in coorse you wouldn't; and no more
you don't believe as he went down our way arter rats or dorgs."
"Well, suppose he did not: what then?" said the sergeant.
"Don't you hurry no man's cattle; you may have a moke o' your own some
day," said Screwby, with a grin. "I'm a coming to it fast, I am; so
look out. Look ye here, governor," he said in his hoarse whisper, and
he craned his neck towards the impassive officer, "lars Chewsday night
was a week as I see him go in theer all alone."
"Go in where, Jack--in where?" said the sergeant, quietly, but with his
eyes a little closer, his ears twitching, and every nerve evidently on
the strain.
"Why, ain't I a tellin' on ye?--in theer!"
"To be sure, yes, of course," said the sergeant, quietly, "in there--all
right!"
"Yes," continued Screwby, "in theer--in at D. Wragg's; and," continued
the fellow, in deep tones, harsh, husky, and like a hoarse whisper sent
through some large tube--"and he didn't come out no more."
Volume 2, Chapter XXV.