WHICH CONTAINS FURTHER MENTION OF A CERTAIN SNUFF-BOX
“To-day, Bob, is Thursday, I think?”
“It is, sir.”
“And your researches teach us that, upon every Thursday, Sturton rides
over to Seaford, generally in the evening?”
“Aye, your honour, to a small tavern called ‘The Anchor.’”
“And there meets a red-headed, seafaring man to whom he pays money.”
“Pre-cisely, sir.”
“The sailor-man’s name being Skag—Jonas Skag.”
“The same, your honour.”
“Why, then, Bob, see the horses saddled; we will go a-riding.”
“To Seaford, sir?”
“To Seaford, Bob.”
Thus they were presently ambling down Alfriston’s ancient street,
between neat and homely cottages from whose doors heads nodded in cheery
greeting, past flowery gardens, by fragrant rickyard, where they had
brief vision of Mr. Muddle virtuously busied with a pitchfork despite his
limp, and so to the winding, tree-shaded road that led uphill and down
towards the purple slopes of Windover.
“Sturton hath kept ye fairly busy o’ late, Bob.”
“His movements, sir, has been constant.”
“Indeed, Bob, since we gave up the harassing tactics for a more subtle
method, your days ha’ been fully occupied. Yet I trust you ha’ found time
to keep a friendly eye upon our Ancient Dumbrell?”
“I have, sir.”
“Good! And how is——”
“She is very well, your honour, and ... as young as ever!”
“Hum!” quoth Sir John, and they rode awhile in silence. Corporal Robert
made to drop behind, but his master stayed him with a gesture.
“Regarding Mrs. Rose, Bob, she often visits the Dumbrells, I think?”
“When not wi’ Dame Haryott, sir, or slave-driving Willum Thompson.... A
on-common dirty soldier he’d ha’ made, sir!”
“You see her—Mrs. Rose—frequently, then?”
“I do, sir.”
“And do you still think her ... ‘leggy’ was the term, I fancy?”
“Aye, sir, but I beg to withdraw ‘leggy’ as not being in order, Mrs. Rose
not being ex-actly what she seems.”
“Explain, Bob.”
“Well, sir, her speech don’t always match her country clothes, and
sometimes she’s that haughty!”
“Aye, I’ve noticed the same, myself.”
“Yes, your honour.”
“What d’ye mean by ‘yes,’ Bob?”
“I mean, sir, as ’tis nowise sup-rising you should notice, seeing as I’ve
noticed as your honour notices—I mean that she notices—that she an’ your
honour seem to take a powerful sight o’ notice of each other, sir.”
“Aye, we do, Bob.”
“No offence, your honour?”
“None in the world, Bob.”
“But, y’ see, sir, there’s others has noticed and a-noticing same—daily,
your honour.”
“Who, Robert?”
“Well, there’s Peter Bunkle for one, there’s nothing as he don’t notice!
And old Mr. Dumbrell, he talks o’ nothing else, lately.”
“Ah, he tells you that I am ‘sweet on her,’ I suppose?”
“Con-stantly, sir!”
“Well, Bob, the Aged Soul is right—so I am!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Ha, you were already aware o’ this incredible fact?”
“I sur-mised same, sir.”
“You see, Bob, I intend to marry her.”
The Corporal was, and actually looked, startled.
“Marry her!” he repeated in a strangled voice. “Your honour!... Marry
her!”
“Indeed, Bob, I intend to marry and settle down at High Dering at last,
unless—aye, unless the Fateful Sisters see fit to cut short the thread o’
my existence.”
“God forbid, sir!”
“Amen, Bob. And yet the world would wag as merrily without me.... Do you
believe in presentiments, Bob?”
“No, sir ... and yet——”
“Neither do I.”
“Sir, I’ve known men as did.”
“Aye, we mortals be queer creatures, Bob! An ill dream, a fit o’ the
indigestion, a chill on the liver, and we grow full o’ forebodings, see
dire omens and portents in everything and start at our own shadows....
Queer creatures!... And here we part awhile. You to keep an eye on the
unsuspecting Sturton should he ride hither, and I to ‘The Anchor,’ where
you will meet me at six.”
“Very good, sir!”
“’Tis like enough our quest may be ended sooner than we hoped, Robert.”
So saying, Sir John gave his steed the rein and rode on into Seaford
town. Dismounting before the small Anchor Inn, he gave his horse to the
ostler and his hand to Mr. Levitt the landlord, who forthwith ushered him
into cosy parlour.
Mr. Levitt was by nature a jovial soul but, just now, his good-natured
features were overcast, and he sighed, shaking despondent head over that
hard Fate which, as he mournfully declared, “’ad made o’ pore Potter
an ’omeless wanderer an’ drove Cap’n Sharkie Nye into the arms o’ them
French furrineers and ruinated my trade, sir. Aye, by the Pize, sir, I
moight jest as well close the ol’ ‘Anchor’ for arl the good I do these
days—crool ’ard, I calls it!”
“How, is trade so bad, Mr. Levitt?”
“Worser’n bad it be, sir!”
“Is the place quite empty, then?”
“As a blessed drum, sir! Never a soul ’cept a couple o’ naun-account
chaps. Lord, I dunno wot Sussex be a-comin’ tu, that I doan’t. Wot I sez
is as them theer Preventives will ruin old England, aye by Goles, they
will—dannel ’em! Shall us mak’ it French wine, sir, or summat a liddle
stronger?”
“Nay, let it be October ale, thank ye, Mr. Levitt. And I’ll take it in
the ‘tap.’”
“Why, sir,” demurred the landlord, “the ‘tap’ bean’t ’ardly the place for
a gen’elman o’ your quality, an’ Sir ’Ector’s friend an’ arl.”
“But I’m minded for a bench and sanded floor,” smiled Sir John, and into
the tap he took his way accordingly. It was a smallish chamber very
orderly and clean, but empty except for a carter, in smock and leggings,
who snored lustily with his head on the table, and a raw-boned individual
with a shock of red hair and a dull, fish-like eye, who sat huddled in a
corner and gloomed. To whom Sir John forthwith addressed himself:
“Friend, you drink nothing?”
“Well, an’ ’ow can I drink,” answered the red-headed man in surly tone;
“’ow’s any man to drink out of a empty tankard?”
“That is easily amended.”
“Oh, is it, an arl—when a honest man’s pockets be as empty as ’is tankard
an’ nobody to ax ’im to take nothin’?”
“Then I will. Fill for him, Mr. Levitt.”
“I wouldn’t, sir!” answered the landlord; “’e’s ’ad enough, I rackon!”
“’Oo’s ’ad enough?” demanded the red-haired man truculently. “I ain’t
never ’ad enough! I never do ’ave enough, no, nor ain’t likely to ’ave
enough! An’ if the loikes o’ ’im loikes to treat the loikes o’ me, what’s
to prevent?”
“Well, keep a civil tongue to the gen’elman, an’ dannel ye, Jonas Skag!”
and Mr. Levitt, setting down the refilled tankard with a bang, stalked
away.
“Jonas Skag!” repeated Sir John, eyeing his unlovely companion and
shifting nearer to him; “I’ve heard that name before.”
“No, you ain’t!” retorted the other fiercely. “Leastways if y’ave you’ve
never ’eard naun but good of it!”
“True,” nodded Sir John; “for you told it me yourself.”
“What—I did?” exclaimed the red-headed man leaning forward to scowl.
“Aye,” answered Sir John, leaning forward also until he might look into
the close-set eyes opposite. “You informed me that a more honest man
never trod a plank.”
“Well, ’tis true! Honest I be, aye, honest as the day—an’ I’d loike t’
see the man as says I bean’t!” So saying, he lifted the ale to unshaven
mouth and drank greedily.
“You don’t smoke tobacco!” said Sir John.
“No, I doan’t! An’ wot be that t’ you? Why should I smoke? I doan’t loike
smoke an’ I bean’t a-goin’ to smoke! Not for the loikes o’ you, no—nor no
man breathin’, I ain’t!”
“Perchance you prefer snuff?” Sir John suggested, finger and thumb in
waistcoat pocket.
“An’ wot if I do? I ain’t beggin’ an’ pleadin’—no, nor yet axin’ you for
any, be I?”
“No,” answered Sir John; “but you may have a pinch for good-fellowship’s
sake, none the less, if you’re so minded.”
“Well, s’posin’ I be so minded?”
“Then I make you welcome to my box.” And Sir John took snuff-box from
pocket and gave it to the red-haired man’s hairy fingers.
The box was shut, and in the act of opening it Jonas Skag grew suddenly
still, glaring down at the thing he held, speechless, motionless, scarce
breathing, as if indeed it had possessed some deadly power to blast
him as he sat; then he seemed to shrink in his clothes, his writhing
lips opened, closed again speechlessly, and slipping from his twitching
fingers the battered horn snuff-box rolled upon the tiled floor; even
then he stared down at it where it lay, until moving slowly like an old
man, he leaned down, shaking hand outstretched. But with an airy motion
of his riding-whip, Sir John flicked it from his reach and picking it up
slipped it back into his pocket.
With the same unnatural slowness Jonas Skag rose to his feet, and leaning
across the table stood glaring at that pocket of Sir John’s waistcoat
which held that dreadful thing; and after some interval, he spoke in
broken whisper:
“Gimme ... gimme——”
Sir John, leaning back against the wall, stared up into the twitching
face, while slowly, slowly, the wide, bloodshot eyes crept up and up
until they were glaring into his; thus for a long moment eyes met eyes,
and it seemed that Jonas Skag was halting between two courses, groping
meanwhile in his darkened soul and questioning passionately with his
look. At last, uttering a hoarse, inarticulate sound, he turned, lurched
to the door, opened it, leaned there a moment, and was gone.
Then Sir John arose and, leaving his ale untasted, went seeking the
landlord.
“Mr. Levitt,” said he, “I remember meeting yonder red-haired fellow
aboard the _True Believer_. Is he one of Captain Sharkie’s regular men?”
“Not by no manner o’ means, sir!” answered Mr. Levitt. “A drunken,
quarrelsome, naun-account chap be Jonas. Las’ toime Sharkie ’apped
along—ah, a-settin’ in that very cheer, ‘Levitt,’ says ’e, ‘I’m done wi’
that Jonas for good an’ arl!’ ’e says.”
“And you, like Captain Sharkie, do not trust him?”
“Not so fur as I can see ’im, sir.... Why, here be Corporal Doubleday!
How goes it, sir, an’ what’ll we make it?”
At a nod from Sir John, the Corporal, having “made it” ale, and finished
it with commendable speed, Sir John presently arose and, taking hearty
leave of Mr. Levitt, stepped into the yard and mounted.
“Well, Bob?” he inquired as they rode. “Our Sturton made hither as usual?”
“He did, sir, but——”
“Was met by the red-headed man, Bob.”
“Pre-cisely, sir. Which man seemed in mighty per-tub-ation about somewhat
or other, whereupon Sturton takes him into the Bull yonder. And soon
arter, sir, out they came from the yard and both of ’em mounted, and away
at a gallop. Which seems strange.”
“Hum!” exclaimed Sir John. “Did they ride towards Alfriston?”
“Aye, your honour.”
“About how long ago?”
“Eggs-ackly eighteen and a half minutes, sir.”
“You did not follow ’em?”
“Your honour’s orders were to call for you at——”
“Aye, very true, Bob!... Eighteen minutes!”
Sir John reined in his horse and sat as if deeply pondering, while the
Corporal watched him, serenely patient.
“Is aught wrong, sir?” he inquired at last.
Sir John glanced up and round about upon the peaceful beauty of the
countryside.
“’Twill be a lovely evening, Robert.”
“Quite so, sir.”
“We don’t believe in presentiments, do we, Bob?”
“No, sir—leastways——”
“Or omens and the like liverish fancies? Now, do we happen to believe in
warnings, by any chance?”
“Depends, sir, on who warns and what about.”
“And after all, Bob, as Mr. Potter once remarked: ‘What is to be, must
be!’ So let us on and be done with it one way or t’other.”