"Hullo! I say! what's all this here about?" cried a familiar voice, and
D. Wragg began to jerk himself fiercely into the shop. "Don't you make
no mistake. What! hullo! eh! I say!" he exclaimed, with a grin of
delight taking the place of his surprise; "what! my lovely Jack Screwby!
Nabbed at last?"
"No, I ain't nabbed at last neither, Muster D. Wragg," sneered the
gentleman addressed; "and, as they says to me wunst--well, more 'n
wunst, if you like," he growled, as he caught the sergeant's eye fixed
upon him--"as they says to me, says they, `Don't you be so jolly free
with your tongue, 'cos what you says now may be used as evidence agen
you.'"
D. Wragg's features twitched furiously as he turned up the gas, and
then, for the first time, he caught sight of Harry Clayton, and jerked
violently, to the great delight of Screwby, who stood grinning and
rubbing his hands, thoroughly enjoying the discomfiture of his enemy.
"Now, don't you make no mistake, sir," exclaimed D. Wragg; "the dog
ain't here this time, and I ain't seen it, as I'll take my Bible oath on
it. There ain't neither a bird, nor a hanimal, nor nothink o' no kind
as ain't mine, and paid for down on the nail; so don't you make no
mistake now, come! You can do as you like, you know; only mind this
here--there's law for me, as well as law for you. You can think as I've
got the dorg, if you like; only 'spectable houses o' business ain't to
be entered at all times without things being made square."
"There! why don't you take advice when it's given you, old chap?" said
the sergeant. "You know what we've come about, though, I dessay?"
"Know what you've come about!" said D. Wragg; "why, of course I do.
You've come about that there gent's friend's dorg, same as they've been
together about it before, and I helped 'em into getting of it; but
you're in the wrong box this time, so I tell you. But what do you
expect you're going to do?"
"What's the good of being a fool, Wragg? The game's up; so you may just
as well give in quietly, and not go into a pack of stuff about dogs."
But D. Wragg protested again that he knew they must be come about some
dog or another, till, assuming an injured air, he took out his pipe and
lit it, and then stood with folded arms, jerking himself about, and
muttering, while, without further ceremony, the police, accompanied in
every movement by Sir Francis and Harry Clayton, thoroughly searched the
house, beginning with the underground kitchen, and then proceeding
upwards, but not until due precautions had been taken to prevent the
escape of the inmates.
"This is all very well, sir, you know," said the sergeant; "but of
course we don't expect to find anything more than a clue of some kind,
and I've my doubts even about that. Old Wragg does not look so much
like a foxy terrier for nothing. Whatever has been done, I don't give
the old chap credit for having bungled it; but, all the same, it seemed
the thing to come--not quite regular, you know," he added,
confidentially, "but we'll risk that."
Room after room was examined, until the second floor was reached, and
here Harry expected to find the abode of Canau. His heart accelerated
its beating--perhaps though only with the ascent; but he thought, all
the same, that here would Janet be, and perhaps with her Patty Pellet,
for he knew how strong was the tie between them.
It proved to be as he anticipated, for Janet and Patty stood by the
window, and with them Mrs Winks, who had hurried up-stairs at the first
arrival of the visitors, to spare the girls from needless alarm.
"I trust you will not lay this intrusion to my charge," said Clayton,
approaching. "You gave me your word that you knew nothing of my
friend's disappearance, and I believed you."
"And then to prove your faith, you brought the police here to search our
rooms," said Janet, fiercely, as she turned away.
"Do not be unjust," said Harry; "information has been given to us that
my poor friend was seen to enter this house upon the night of his
disappearance, and was not seen to return."
"Oh, my! good 'evins! what a horrid story!" exclaimed Mrs Winks; "when I
was at home all that very night, bad with the tic, same as I am
to-night, and no gentleman come here then, as I'll take my oath on. And
me abusin' the tic all the while as was a blessin' in disguise, for it's
glad enough I am to be at home this night, my dears. He never come
anigh here that Chewsday night though."
"Yes, he did now; so don't you make no mistake. Come about a new
dog-collar, he did, and took it away with him while you was up-stairs,
Mother Winks."
D. Wragg had spoken these words to the extreme delight of Screwby, who
grinned and rubbed his hands down his sides upon hearing this voluntary
corroboration of his evidence.
But the sergeant merely shook his head, feeling convinced that the lame
gentleman who had jerked his body up-stairs was far too old a stager to
commit himself by such an open statement unless he had good reason for
so doing.
Meanwhile the master of the house looked on, while the police peered
into all sorts of impossible places; passing over things that might
perhaps have served as a clue, to stop to examine a scrap of paper or
pieces of furniture that could not relate to the matter in hand. Walls
were tapped, chimneys examined, cupboards peered into, and the light of
bull's-eye lanthorns was made to startle spiders in many a dark corner.
"This here wall's hollow!" exclaimed one of the policemen suddenly, as
he started upon finding a certain resonant echo to the blows he bestowed
at one side of the room.
"Most likely," said the sergeant, drily, "Why, where are your brains,
man? Don't you see that the staircase is behind?"
The man relieved himself of his hard hat, wiped his forehead, and then
resumed his search, till the sergeant declaring himself satisfied so
far, a move was made for the upper regions.
"There ain't nothing up there; so now then," cried D. Wragg,
desperately; "I protest against all this here. You needn't go up; and
don't you make no mistake; I ain't agoin' to stand having my place
searched without a warrant. I'll have it outer some on you for this."
As he spoke, D. Wragg started to the foot of the attic staircase, and
made as if he would have barred the way; but the sergeant laid one firm
hand upon his shoulder, and D. Wragg seemed to shrink away from that
touch like the leaves of a mimosa. He glided aside, as if in dread lest
the hand that touched him should remain there, and his face grew ashy
and careworn--abject too in the extreme--until he encountered the
triumphant grins of Mr John Screwby, when he roused himself directly,
and stared his tormentor full in the face.
"You see, my friend," said the sergeant, upon whom not one of D. Wragg's
changes of countenance was lost,--"you see, my friend, now that we are
up so high, we may as well go up a little higher--save coming again,
perhaps."
D. Wragg muttered uneasily, and glanced right and left, and then the
creaking stairs were ascended, when he moved slowly off.
"Stop him there, will you!" cried the sergeant, who saw through the
little dealer's design.
"What d'yer mean? what's all this?" cried D. Wragg, struggling with the
man, who caught the wrist of his coat in a tight grasp. "If you're
going to take a fellow up, take him up; but don't get playing at fast
and loose. Don't you make no mistake, I ain't agoin' to stand this
sorter thing. I ain't got his dorg, as I've told you 'arf a dozen
times; but some on you shall pay for it, so I tell you."
D. Wragg's evasion being stayed, and his small person forced to the
front, he was one of those who filled up the landing, close by a couple
of doors--one strongly padlocked, and the other cobwebbed and dirty, as
if it had not been opened for years.
"Now then, where are the keys of these doors?" said the sergeant.
"Break 'em open while you are about it," cried D. Wragg, in tones that
bordered upon a howl. "But don't you make no mistake; I protest against
this here, once more. I ain't agoin' to have my house sacked like this
here for nothing. I should have thought as them gents would ha' stopped
it all; but never mind, I don't care. It shan't go to the bottom
without some on you hearin' of it."
"Hold your tongue, will you, and give up the keys," said the sergeant
who looked just a trifle less impassive than usual.
"What is it you all mean?" cried D. Wragg, excitedly, "what is it you
are all thinking about? You don't suppose as I'm giving up my
respectable business of a nat'ralist to go in for burking and doctor's
work, do you? You don't suppose as I know anything of the young chap as
is gone. Don't you make no mistake: I can see through it all. You've
been crammed and filled up with all sorts o' gammon; but I wonder at
you, Sergeant Falkner, a-listening to what such a thing as _that_ says."
D. Wragg pointed as he spoke at Mr John Screwby, which gentleman had,
from a scarcity of watchers, and from doubts as to the probability of
his staying so long as he was wanted, been brought up from stage to
stage, to stand now, shuffling from foot to foot, and staring first at
the irate dealer, and then at the door which concealed the interior of
the attic from his graze.
"Somebody shall pay for all this, though," cried D. Wragg, "as I said
afore, and as I'll say half a score o' times."
As he spoke, he looked full at Sir Francis, as if identifying him with
the "somebody" who should be made to pay, although at the present time
no mean sum of the baronet's money had made its way into his pockets.
But at last, seeing that Sergeant Falkner would not be trifled with, and
that in another moment the door or doors would be kicked down, he
produced the keys with a great many protestations, ending at last in a
perfect whine of misery, one that strangely reminded the eager
bystanders of the dogs below.
But the keys produced, D. Wragg's importance decreased on the instant;
for though there were those present who trembled at the thought of the
door being thrown back, the majority were devoured by curiosity--the
morbid curiosity which used to take a crowd to an execution, and even at
the present day attracts hundreds to the Old Bailey that they may catch
a glimpse of the black flag, and imagine for themselves the horrors
going on behind the grim black stony walls.
There were no stony walls here though--only a few slight boards between
the gazers and the mystery whose solution they were so eager to read.
"Here! stop him, will you!" cried the sergeant. "Have you any brains at
all, Smith?"
P.C. Smith raised his hand to his head, as if to feel whether those
thought-producers--brains--were really there; but he contented himself
with a vicious scratch, as he once more took hold of D. Wragg, that
gentleman having made another attempt to limp away.
"Don't you make no mistake," half-whimpered the dealer, rubbing his
hands together, bending down as if in pain, and limping about to the
extent of his tether--to wit, his own arm and that of the policeman.
"I'll be squared for this; just you see if I ain't."
"Very well--very well," exclaimed the sergeant, with something of
excitement in his tones; "only don't make quite so much noise about it.
Now then," he cried, as he unlocked the fastening, and threw open the
rickety door, whose rusty hinges creaked dismally, while the door itself
was stopped, when little more than ajar, by the warped framework, which
forced one corner upon the floor.
"Now I hope you're happy," said D. Wragg.
"Not yet--not yet," said the sergeant, "but we mean to get there soon.
Now then, pass him here, Smith. That's right. Now Mr Wragg, you go
first, and we'll follow."
Again, there was the dealer's strong resemblance to the ragged terrier
brought out; for the sergeant treated him precisely as a keeper would a
dog that he was about to place in some fox's hole, D. Wragg being thrust
forward into the room--going, though, most unwillingly, and had he
suddenly broken out into a sharp wailing bark, no one would have felt
much surprised.
The sergeant laid his hands upon D. Wragg's shoulders as he forced him
in, peering over the said shoulders into the dingy place ahead, and then
he drew back for a few moments.
"Here, Smith, you take my place," he said; and the constable went next,
while his leader crossed the low landing to where, arm-in-arm, stood
Clayton and Sir Francis. "Just a moment, please, sir," he said to
Clayton, in a low voice; and then aloud to the others present, "Stand
back there, will you: I go next!"
"What do you want to say?" said Clayton, glancing uneasily at the
sergeant's stern face, as the latter turned his eyes for a moment to
where they had left Sir Francis.
"Only, sir," said the sergeant, in a whisper, "that if I was in your
place, I should think it my duty at any cost to get him away."
The young man shook his head, for he knew that the sergeant counselled
an impossibility.
"Well, sir, I thought it my duty to advise," said the sergeant.
"Quite right--quite right," said Clayton, hastily; "but he would not
stir an inch. Now, pray end this horrible suspense."
Clayton looked round once more to see that the women were not within
hearing, and then, with Sir Francis and the other constable, he passed
into the low, dingy, sloping-ceiled room.
There had once evidently been a partition, but this had been removed,
and the attics turned into one long place, so that the whole of the top
floor could be seen through at a glance, with its lumber of old cages,
bundles of dried herbs, baskets of feathers, and broken furniture--
chairs lame of one leg, halt and rickety tables, and an old wash-stand.
In three different corners, chained to staples in the wall, and each
with its straw bed, were as many wretched captives, wasting their days
in their lofty prison. But these were only three dogs, kept there for
reasons best known to the occupant of the house.
"Nothing here," was the mental remark of the sergeant, as he made his
light play about the place, its rays falling strangely upon each of the
dogs in turn, and eliciting howls that were doleful in the extreme.
That light, though, was allowed to rest longest upon the fourth corner
of the room, where there were three well-filled sacks and a large flat
basket.
"Look outside the window; there's a parapet out there in the front. One
of you had better crawl along a little each way, and see if you can make
anything out," said the sergeant, who directly after turned to another
of his men. "Here, you!" he exclaimed, "climb up there," and he pointed
to a half-closed trapdoor in the ceiling.
His orders were obeyed, the bystanders watching eagerly the progress of
events, till the man who had somewhat nervously forced his way through
the trap came back covered with whitewash and cobwebs, which he brushed
impatiently from his uniform.
"Well?" said the sergeant, as the man descended by means of the broken
wash-stand and chair, which had been used for escalading purposes.
"No one been up there this side o' six months ago, I'll swear," said the
man; "the cobwebs would have told you that if you'd liked to look."
The sergeant turned sharply upon his muttering subordinate, but his
attention was taken off by the return of the man who had been sent
outside to examine the gutter.
"Well?" said the sergeant again, as this man climbed back.
"Well, I ain't seen nothing," said the latter, dragging one leg after
him into the room. "Quiet, will you?" he cried to a dog which bayed at
him furiously. "You can go along out there for best part of a mile if
you like, dodging in and out, for it seems to be a reg'lar rat's run
from winder to winder. There's some nice games carried on, I'll be
bound, and any manner of thing might be done here or there, and hidden
from place to place without us being a bit the wiser."
"How many men would it take to make a good search?" said the sergeant.
"Hundred," said his subordinate, gruffly, "would be nowhere. You'd want
a man at every door, and at every attic window; and when you tried to
stop 'em, they'd slip out somewhere else."
The sergeant stood for a moment thinking, and then he made a step
towards the sacks, looking curiously at the dog-fancier.
"Shouldn't wonder if there was a tale hanging to every one of those
dogs," he said, grimly. "But what's in these sacks?"
"Now look ye here--look ye here!" exclaimed D. Wragg, assuming not to
have heard the last remark; "don't you make no mistake. You've searched
all from top to bottom now, gents, so let's have an end of all this
game."
"Stand aside, will you," cried the sergeant, roughly; and forcing D.
Wragg back, he strode up to the sacks, threw them down one after the
other, and felt through them.
"Pooh! corks!" he exclaimed, contemptuously, after a few moments'
examination. "Don't know what you want with corks up here though,
master. What's in the basket? Tied down, eh?"
"Now look here, don't you make no mistake--don't now--I purtest agen it
all."
With a fierce rush, D. Wragg threw himself upon the great basket,
clinging frantically thereto, and struggling viciously, and kicking with
his club boot at the men who tried to drag him away.
A sharp scuffle ensued, for the dealer clung tightly to the great flat
hamper, and it was not till after quite a battle that D. Wragg was
dragged from his hold, to stand panting, hot, and glaring of eye, gazing
from one to the other.
"Now do, sir--do take my advice," said the sergeant, once more drawing
Harry Clayton aside. "I tell you frankly, I don't like the look of
things; and only think of the old gentleman, sir, if anything should
prove to be wrong. You'd better take him away--you had indeed."
He left Clayton, and, as if seeking to make delays, went and spoke to
the constables, and then threatened to handcuff the dealer if he did not
quietly submit.
"I don't care," said D. Wragg; "you may handcuff me, and leg-cuff me,
and put a collar round my neck if you like; but I ain't agoin' to stand
still and see my place pulled all to pieces for nothing at all. Don't
you make--"
"There! hold your tongue!" cried the sergeant; and he turned round to
gaze at Harry Clayton, who had slowly crossed to where Sir Francis was
standing, pondering the while upon the detective's meaning looks and
words.
He laid his hand upon the old man's arm, but Sir Francis, on hearing his
words, although he shudderingly turned from where lay the basket,
sternly refused to go, and moved Harry aside as he grew more earnest and
pressing.
Sergeant Falkner shrugged his shoulders, and muttered something about
the obstinacy of old folks. Then he turned away, and, as a groan burst
from D. Wragg, and he struggled with his captors, the basket was
approached, the string that tied down the lid was cut; the said lid, set
quite free, was dashed open, and then the sergeant stood gazing
excitedly down into the straw which covered something with which the
great wicker case was filled.
"Here! hold a lanthorn here, somebody," cried the sergeant; and one of
the men who were holding D. Wragg darted eagerly forward, making the
rays of his bull's-eye fall full upon the straw, when, after parting it
a little, the lid was dashed down again, and the sergeant sat upon it,
wiping his hot forehead.
"Pooh! what a fool I am!" he ejaculated the next instant; "but really
for a while I thought--. Well, Mr Wragg, I think we've done up here for
the present; but 'pon my soul, if I had a lot of stolen hams in my
attic, I don't think I should tell the police quite so plainly as you
did that every one of them belonged to some one else."