AN ARTIST-DETECTIVE.
THE family assembled with great punctuality at the breakfast-table
next morning. Will and Sigismund crowded round young Grantley, who
had acquired great importance in their eyes, since he had assumed his
novel rôle of detective. Hal, on the contrary, looked rather serious,
wondering who the culprit would turn out to be, and what punishment he
would have to undergo.
Immediately breakfast was over, the Squire rose and took his
gold-headed cane. Young Grantley and the boys followed him out on to
the verandah, Hal's mother accompanying them, to shade her eyes with
her hand and watch them off, as Dick had seen her do on the first
occasion of his peeping over the plantation palings at the Manor House.
Outside the lodge they chanced upon Dick, who had been down to the
railway with his father. The squire gave him a benevolent salute, and
the boys stopped to speak.
"We can't stay though," said Sigismund. "Turn back with us."
So Dick turned back.
"We're off to the Manor Farm," explained Will. And he went on to give
the details of the theft, and how suspicion had come to rest upon the
boy whom Mr. Grantley had put in his sketch of the church, but whose
name was of course unknown to him. "We're going to identify him by the
sketch," added he.
"Mr. Grantley leaves his easel at the farm," put in Sigismund. "I think
it's splendid fun. It's exactly like a real police case, isn't it?"
Dick's face had become nearly as serious as Hal's at this intelligence.
If the theft should be brought home to Bill, his own share in the
affair was certain to come out, and then it would be all up with his
pleasant footing at the Manor House.
"Whoever it was, pretty nearly killed the goose," added Will.
And between them, they narrated the events of the preceding evening,
and how the Grig family had feasted on the poor goose's remains.
This was getting hotter and hotter for Dick. At length, he grew so
uncomfortable that on reaching the gate of the farm, he said he would
go no farther and in spite of all their pressing that he should wait
outside and see the picture when Mr. Grantley brought it out, he
turned, and left them to go in alone.
They had no sooner knocked at the kitchen door, however, than Dick
changed his mind, and followed on towards the cottages beyond the farm.
If Bill were anywhere about, he might give him a hint to keep out of
the way a bit, until the storm blew over.
Dick's chief motive in this design was to avoid getting his character
blackened in the Squire's eyes by association with Bill. He overlooked
the more important consideration that he who meddles with mire is
blackened, whether other people know it or not; and that there is One,
before whose piercing gaze no hiding can avail, since He "looketh on
the heart."
As it happened, Bill was just outside, off for a stroll. Seeing Dick,
he turned the other way; but Dick ran after him.
"I say," cried he, "you're in for a pretty row. It's all come out about
the goose and those two eggs you stole."
"I daresay!" flung out Bill. "Of course you've been and told."
"Of course I haven't," answered Dick. "The gentleman that put you in
his picture smelt it out; and the Squire's gone up with him to the
farm, to see the picture and identify your phiz."
This information was so startling that poor Bill's hair positively
stood on end.
"It's only to be hoped he hasn't drawn you well," continued Dick; "but
somehow these things always do come out. It's what they call the law of
justice I expect. If I were you, I guess I'd hide away a bit. You see,
you don't exactly know what they may do. You wouldn't get less than a
month, you may make pretty sure, with the Squire after you, and Farmer
Bluff behind, to back him up."
"But where am I to go?" asked Bill, so seriously that Dick perceived at
once how terrified he was.
"Why, right away somewhere," said he, determined upon striking whilst
the iron of Bill's fear was hot. "If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't
even stay to think. I'd set off this very minute, and I'd go on running
till I dropped. I'd walk till night. I'd do anything, short of jumping
into the river, to escape a month in gaol. I saw inside a cell once,"
continued Dick impressively.
And then he shook his head with such effect that Bill looked round,
almost expecting that his gaolers were at hand. As nothing was to be
seen of them, however, Bill began to examine the matter more closely.
"How can I get food to eat, if I run away?" said he.
"Work for it, of course," returned Dick contemptuously. "A boy your
size must be a donkey if he can't pick up enough to buy his victuals.
You mightn't get much else but bread; but if you come to think, you'd
get no more than that in gaol."
And it struck Bill that bread and water, with liberty, would be sweeter
far than the daintiest fare in a prison cell.
"You'd have your hair cropped too," urged Dick; "and all the boys would
pelt you, and call names, when you came out again."
"I should have nowhere to sleep," said Bill, still hesitating.
"Oh! You could get a lodging cheap enough," said Dick; "and anyhow—I'll
tell you what. If don't make your mind up pretty quick, you'll have 'em
down on you. The Squire's sure to recognise your picture; and he'll
come right straight off here. If I were you, I'd go inside and grab
whatever I could find to stuff my pockets with, and then I'd be off
like a shot. I wouldn't stand stock-still and let 'em put the handcuffs
on; not I!"
Bill turned. His mother had gone out, and he could take just what he
liked.
"Look here," said Dick, with a sudden show of generosity, "I'll start
you with that sixpence I was to give you for the egg; and then, you
mind!—You've never got to say a word about my name, d'ye hear?"
And Bill, convinced that he had better escape, and glad to get so much
to start him on his wanderings, promised, and ran indoors. A minute
later, he reappeared, his jacket-tails stuffed out to twice their size,
and in his hand a huge hunch of bread, which he was cramming down his
throat as fast as he could swallow.
"I'm off!" said he; and away he ran along the road.
"Good luck to you!" cried Dick. And having watched him out of sight, he
clambered over the gate of a field just opposite the cottages, and hid
behind the hedge, to wait and see what would happen.
Meanwhile, Elspeth had been astonished beyond measure at the formidable
party that besieged her kitchen door. In the first place, she was not
accustomed to let the Squire in that way; and in the second, she caught
up at once, from odd remarks, that something was amiss; so having
brought the easel out from its place behind the churn, she retired to a
respectful distance to listen and pick up what hints she could.
The Squire was the first to look. He examined the canvas closely for an
instant; then he said,—"Now, boys; let each one take a look; then tell
me who this is. To my mind, there's no doubt."
"Why, Bill the Kicker!" sang out all three with one voice.
[Illustration]
"And so say I," confirmed the Squire.
"It's splendid!" added Will.
"The rascal!" said the Squire. "He shall smart for it."
Elspeth came a step or two towards the group.
"Would it be the lad that fetched the chair?" asked she.
"The same," nodded young Grantley. "Will you like to look?"
And he politely turned the canvas towards her, whilst the boys made way.
"That was Bill Mumby—Bill the Kicker, as they call him," said Elspeth
as she approached. "And so is this," she added, the instant she was
near enough to see. "You've drawed him very true, sir, too."
"Then there remains no doubt," returned the Squire, summing up
the evidence, and tapping briskly on the red-brick floor with his
gold-headed cane. "We know whose door the mischief lies at now. The
portrait does you credit, Grantley. You'll be a great man yet."
"Of whom it will be told in after days," said Grantley, not displeased,
"that his first hit was made as a detective in the case of a country
bumpkin versus a goose. Ah! Well, it remains to be seen whether or not
it will be counted worthy of a place in the Academy."
"It shall certainly have a place in the Manor House," returned the
Squire warmly, "if you will name your price."
So the picture found a purchaser before it was completed; and the young
artist went out to his work well pleased.
[Illustration]