There was far from being peace in the house of Wragg, for the place had
gained a most unenviable notoriety. Wrong-doings were prevalent enough
in Decadia, but they were ordinary wrong-doings, and those who were
guilty of peculiar acts were, as a rule, patted on the back by the
fraternity. In fact, if 'Arry Burge, or Tom Gagan, or Micky Green was
taken for a burglary or robbery with violence, there would always be a
large following of admiring companions to see the culprit off to the
station, to be present at the hearing, and to give him a friendly cheer
during his handcuffed walk to the black van. They had no very great
objection to a murder, and more than once a good hundred of neighbours
had waited all night outside Newgate to see Bob, or Ben, or Joe, die
game at eight o'clock in the morning. But this mysterious disappearance
work was something not to be tolerated. There was too much of the Burke
and Hare, and body-snatching about it; and consequently the name of
Wragg stank in the nostrils of the clean-handed dwellers in Decadia, and
the house in Brownjohn Street enjoyed for the time being but little
peace.
D. Wragg could not show himself outside; and as for Canau, he had been
mobbed twice, to return storming and angry, ready to threaten all sorts
of vengeance upon his persecutors, foremost amongst whom was Mr John
Screwby.
This gentleman seemed to have devoted himself heart and soul to the task
of keeping alive in the Decadian mind the fact that Lionel Redgrave had
been seen to go into the Brownjohn Street house, and had not been seen
to come out; though all this rested on Mr Screwby's assertion, since he
brought no corroborative evidence to bear--only spoke of the matter
right and left, even haranguing excited mobs, who would have needed but
little leading to have made them wreck D. Wragg's dwelling, and
administer lynch-law to its inhabitants.
In fact, instead of the matter being a nine-days' wonder, and then
passing off, interest in the mystery seemed to be ever on the increase;
and a feeling of dread more than once seized all the members of the
household lest some terrible evil should befall them.
"I tell you what it is, young fellow," said P.C. Brace one evening to Mr
John Screwby, whom he had warned to move on, just at a time when he was
haranguing a pack of boys,--"I tell you what it is, young fellow; if you
get opening your mouth so wide about all this here, people will begin to
think as you know as much about it as any one else."
Mr John Screwby's jaw fell, and he stood gazing speechlessly at the
policeman, as that worthy wagged his head expressively, to indicate the
words "Move on;" and then, without uttering another syllable, on he
moved, rubbing his jaw with one hand, pulling his cap a little more over
his ears, and in various ways acting as if not quite at peace within
himself.
It was impossible for those within the house not to observe how they
were looked upon by their neighbours. The trade of the shop had dropped
off day by day, till there was absolutely nothing doing, although D.
Wragg sat hour after hour smoking his pipe behind the counter, and
muttering to himself.
Even Mrs Winks looked troubled and scared, coming up one morning from
the cellar-kitchen, with her curl papers all limp, to declare in
confidence to Janet that she "dursen't go down no more, for she had
heard a noise;" and then, in a very low whisper, she declared her
conviction that there was something wrong.
This was soon after daybreak one washing-day; and from that time Mrs
Winks decided in favour of the central portions of the house, refusing
absolutely either to ascend to the attics or descend to the basement.
"But is it not foolish?" said Janet to her, one day. "What can there be
up-stairs or down-stairs to hurt you?"
"There! don't ask me, child," exclaimed Mrs Winks. "I don't know; I
only know what I think. There's something wrong about the place; and
you can feel it in the air; and if it wasn't for you, child, I wouldn't
stop another day--see if I would!"
That day passed in a cheerless, dreary way, but not quite in peace, for
more than once a rude shout or laugh made Janet start from her seat, and
stand trembling for what might be to come. But the demonstrations
proved to be harmless, and no more offensive than they could be made by
jeering words, and the hurling into the shop of a few stones and broken
ginger-beer bottles, occasioning a vast amount of fluttering amongst the
birds, and a fierce yelping from the prisoned dogs.
The night came at last, and D. Wragg was heard stumping and jerking
about the house, as if busy examining all fastenings, and putting out
the gas; and then there was a knock at the outer door--a well-known
tap--to which Janet hastened to reply, and admitted Canau, who entered
sideways, with the door only opened a few inches, and then closed it
hastily, as if in dread of pursuit, when he stood looking at Janet, and
wiping the perspiration from his forehead with an old silk handkerchief.
"Is there any news?" he faltered, looking hard at the deformed girl the
while.
"No," she replied, hoarsely; "there is no news."
D. Wragg opened the back-room door at this moment, to glance out
hastily, when seeing who it was, he re-closed the door and waited till
his lodgers had gone up-stairs, when his head once more appeared like
that of a rat from its hole, and he listened till all was still before
again closing his door.
Silence fell upon the house at last; not, though, that all its inmates
were at rest, for Canau lay for long enough sleepless, and turning over
thought after thought. D. Wragg, too, was rather uneasy that night,
while to Janet the hours dragged heavily on.
At last, though, in spite of her agitation, Janet was sleeping soundly,
while, soon after daybreak, D. Wragg was astir, to gently draw up his
blind and inspect the morning, a proceeding that did not seem to prove
highly satisfactory, for he groaned more than sighed, shook his head,
jerked about as he crossed the room, and then, without his boots, he
stepped into the passage, and began to climb the stairs, pausing,
though, upon each landing, to listen whether any one else were stirring.
But as far as he could judge, every one was sunk in that sound slumber
of early morn,--Mrs Winks loudly announcing her state as he passed her
door.
There seemed to be a great deal of indecision, though, in D. Wragg's
movements; his haltings were many, and the cautious manner in which he
peered about seemed to indicate that the errand upon which he was bound
was one of no trivial import.
At last, though, he climbed to the top, stood listening for awhile, and
then entered the attic, closing the door carefully behind him, but
apparently taking no steps to make it fast.
D. Wragg had not been out of sight five minutes, before there was the
soft grating noise of a key turning in the wards of a lock; then there
was a loud crack, and a door below opened to give exit to Monsieur
Canau, who stood in the doorway listening for a few moments, and then,
shoes in hand, descended softly and swiftly to the bottom of the house.
On reaching the cellar-kitchen, he lit a candle, and after unbolting a
door, passed under the area grating, with his pinched old hat held
lanthorn-wise over the candle; and then, drawing open a second door, he
entered a large cellar, in one corner of which was the small stock of
coals in use for the house, and in another the ashes and refuse.
But Monsieur Canau had hardly a look for these; he merely glanced round
the place, and then drew back the fastening of the inner cellar, one
which seemed to extend far beneath the street.
His candle flickered here, and burned dimly for a few moments, as he
walked backwards and forwards in the cobwebbed, vaulted place, holding
his candle low down, and examining the reeking floor, particularly in
one spot--the furthest corner from the door. This he scraped a little
with his hands, then stamped upon several times; held the candle down to
see what impression his feet had made; and then, taking up a rough piece
of wood, he carefully drew it backwards and forwards over where he had
stamped, and lastly, extinguished his candle. He then closed the cellar
doors, crossed the area, and, after leaving all below as he had found
it, hurried up-stairs once more, but, in spite of his years, with all
the activity of a boy.
He stopped by his own room, entered it for a few moments, and then
reappeared, to step up softly to the attic landing, where he again
paused to listen attentively for fully five minutes. But though Mrs
Winks was as stertorous as ever in her breathing, not another sound was
to be heard in the house; and laying his hand upon the attic latch,
Canau raised it very gently, not the eighth of an inch at a time,
coaxing the door, as it were, to open without noise, till, by slow
degrees, he had pressed it back sufficiently far to allow the passage of
his head, when, cautiously inserting it to peer round, the door was
pressed back upon his neck, holding it between the edge and the
door-jamb, while, within a few inches, and gazing malignantly into his
eyes, he found himself suddenly confronted by D. Wragg.
Volume 3, Chapter VIII.