IN WHICH MR. SCARSDALE REAPS ANOTHER'S WHIRLWIND
Scarsdale was absolutely staggered by the word "arrest." Arrest! What
nonsense! Who was this man who talked of arresting _him_, Harold
Scarsdale, peaceably engaged in trying to find his wife and proceed on
his honeymoon? The first sensations of surprise and incredulity were
quickly followed, however, by a realisation of the horrible situation in
which his own stupidity had placed him. In the eyes of the law he was
not Harold Scarsdale, but Richard Allingford, and he shuddered to think
with what crime he might be charged; for, from what he had learned in
the last half-hour, he could not doubt that he was posing as one of the
most abandoned characters that had ever visited the town of Winchester.
A person who consorted with horse-thieves, cheated at cards, and thought
nothing of shooting friends who were not thirsty, would surely be
satisfied with no ordinary crime. Of what was he accused? He hardly
dared to ask. And how was he to get out of this dreadful dilemma? His
reflections, however, were cut short by the arrival of a burly
policeman, in answer to his captor's whistle. The little man at once
addressed the newcomer, quite ignoring Scarsdale.
"Here's your man Allingford; not a doubt of it," he said.
"Got your warrant?" inquired the policeman, laying a detaining hand on
the prisoner's shoulder.
"Here it is," replied the first speaker, producing a paper, which the
officer glanced at and returned, saying at the same time to Scarsdale:
"Now, then, come along o' me, and don't make no resistance if you knows
what's good for you."
"I do not intend to offer any resistance," replied that gentleman, and
turning to the little man he asked: "By what right do you arrest me, and
on what charge?"
"I'm Private Detective Smithers," replied his captor, "and this," again
producing the paper he had already shown to the policeman, "is my
warrant. You know the charge well enough."
"I'm entirely ignorant of it!" cried Scarsdale hotly.
"Of course," said the detective. "They always are," and he winked at the
officer.
"I tell you I don't know anything about it!" reiterated the unfortunate
bridegroom.
"I must caution you," remarked the policeman, "that anything you says
may be used against you as evidence."
"I demand to know why I am arrested. I have a right to do so."
"Tell him, Bill," said the detective, "and stop his row."
The officer, thus admonished, nodded his head, and replied shortly:
"Two charges: 'sault and battery on the landlord of the Lion's Head, and
disturbing the peace on last Wednesday night."
"I deny the charge!" cried Scarsdale.
"Of course you do," replied the policeman; "I suppose you would. Now
you've had your say, are you coming along peaceable, or are you not?"
"Certainly I am," replied the prisoner, and they started up the street,
followed by a small crowd, which had already collected.
"I must warn you," continued Scarsdale, when they were fairly under way,
"that you are making a mistake. I am not the man you take me for."
"I suppose you'll deny your name is Richard Allingford next," said the
detective, laughing.
"I do deny it."
"Well I'm blessed!" remarked his captor.
The policeman simply said: "Come on, that's too thin!" and jerked him
roughly by the arm.
Scarsdale quickened his pace, saying angrily:
"If you'd only give a man a chance to explain!"
"You'll have chance enough, when you come up to-morrow, to explain to
the court," replied the officer, "and a pretty bill of damages into the
bargain."
"Oh, if it's only a fine," remarked the prisoner, feeling much relieved,
"I'll pay it and welcome, rather than have a row."
"Maybe you won't have the option," replied one of his captors; while the
other added cheerfully: "What you needs is thirty days, and I 'opes
you'll get it."
At the police court Scarsdale did not help his case by insisting on
giving his right name, and denying all knowledge of the charge. His
statements were entered against him, he was relieved of his watch,
purse, and jewellery, and introduced to the cold comforts of the
lock-up.
On being asked if he wished to communicate with any one, he replied that
the next morning would be quite time enough; for he knew that Mrs.
Allingford could give him little help in his present predicament, and
he did not wish to disturb her night's rest to no purpose.
It can be well imagined that the accommodations of an English provincial
prison are not luxurious; but the room was clean, and fortune favoured
him in that he had only two companions, both of whom were stupid drunk,
and went to sleep very peaceably on the floor.
Scarsdale improvised a bed on a settee, and, using his coat as a pillow,
passed a fairly comfortable night. Luckily he was of a somewhat
phlegmatic temperament, and withal very tired after the day's exertions;
so, in spite of the misfortunes which were crowding about him, he was
able to resign himself to the inevitable, and eventually to drop off to
sleep.
Early next morning, however, he arranged to have a note delivered to
Mrs. Allingford at the hotel, in which he informed that lady of his
unfortunate predicament, begging her not to distress herself on his
account; and assuring her that in all probability it was merely a
matter of a trifling fine, and that he should be at liberty to rejoin
her within a few hours.
He felt very little of what he wrote; but as long as there was a chance
of things coming out right, he wished to spare her all possible worry.
His ready money procured him a better breakfast than he could have hoped
for, and by nine o'clock, when the court opened, he was refreshed and
ready for whatever might befall. His two companions in misfortune
preceded him for trial, but their cases were soon disposed of, and
Harold Scarsdale, _alias_ Richard Allingford, was put into the dock.
The court-room consisted of a plainly furnished apartment, containing a
raised platform at one end, on which were placed the desk and armchair
of the police magistrate, while in front were several rows of benches
for the accommodation of the public: but as the cases were of no general
interest, Scarsdale was relieved to see that the attendance was meagre.
Mrs. Allingford was present, however, looking very white and distressed,
but managing to muster up a smile to greet him as he entered.
The proceedings were short and to the point. The police constable, on
being called and given the oath, kissed the book and deposed that at
about a quarter to nine on the previous evening, while on his accustomed
beat, he had been summoned by Private Detective Smithers to aid in
arresting the prisoner, who had professed ignorance of the charge, the
truth of which he afterwards denied, and who persisted in asserting that
he was not Richard Allingford.
Private Detective Smithers now took the stand and stated the case from
his point of view; which was, in short, that the conversation he had
overheard at the hotel between the prisoner and another person here
present, and the statement which the prisoner made to him personally,
proved that he was without doubt the Richard Allingford mentioned in the
indictment. In conclusion he begged that the person styling himself Faro
Charlie should be summoned to corroborate his testimony. Faro Charlie
was accordingly called and placed in the dock, and after the usual
preliminaries the magistrate examined him as follows:
"What is your name?"
"Faro Charlie."
"Any other name?"
"Smith."
"Very well, Charles Smith; are you a citizen of the United States?"
"I be."
"Of what occupation?"
"Miner."
"Do you recognise the prisoner as the person whom you met at the George
last evening?"
"I do."
"Can you swear that he is Richard Allingford?"
"No."
Scarsdale's heart leaped at that "no"; salvation was at hand after all.
The magistrate continued:
"Do you believe this person to be Richard Allingford?"
"Yes, on the whole I think I do." The prisoner's heart sank. "But,"
continued the witness, "I can't be sure. Fifteen years is a long time. I
wouldn't have known him if he hadn't owned up to his name. He might be
playing me for a sucker."
"In other words, you think the prisoner to be Richard Allingford, but
are unwilling to swear to his identity?"
"That's the stuff," replied Faro Charlie. "I swored as a man was my
uncle, three years ago at 'Frisco, and he put a bullet into me next day,
'cause I lost him the case. After which I ain't swearing against a pal,"
and he left the stand.
The case now proceeded, and the detective related how on Wednesday, the
16th of October, the prisoner, Richard Allingford, in company with other
lawless characters, had dined at the Lion's Head, and, during a dispute
with the landlord concerning the quality of the wine, had thrown that
personage out of his own second-storey window; telling his wife, who
protested against such actions, to put her husband in the bill, which
they left without settling. Then they proceeded to paint the town of
Winchester a lurid crimson, breaking windows, beating a policeman who
interfered, and raiding a night coffee-stall in the process.
This recital of wrong and outrage being finished, the magistrate
addressed the prisoner as follows:
"What is your name?"
"Harold Stanley Malcolm St. Hubart Scarsdale."
Some one in the audience murmured, "O Lor'!"
"You refuse to admit that your name is Richard Allingford?" continued
the justice.
"I have just given you my name."
"Are you an American?"
"No, I am an Englishman."
"Where do you live?"
"'The Towers,' Sussex."
The audience again voiced its sentiments; this time to the effect that
the prisoner was "a 'owling swell"; but order was restored and the case
once more proceeded.
"What is your profession?"
"I am a clerk in the War Office."
"Does not that interfere with the management of your estate?" asked his
interlocutor, to whom the last two statements savoured of contradiction.
"I have just succeeded to the estate, through the death of an elder
brother."
"Ah, I see. Now in regard to last evening. Do you admit meeting at the
George the person who calls himself Charles Smith?"
"Yes."
"Did not you represent yourself to him as being Richard Allingford?"
"Yes."
This reply caused a sensation in the court.
"I suppose," said the magistrate, "that you realise that this is a
serious admission."
"It is the truth."
"Perhaps you can explain it to the satisfaction of the court."
"I assumed the name," said Scarsdale with an effort, "to screen from
possible annoyance a lady who was under my protection. With the
permission of the court, however, I should prefer not to go into this
matter further, as it has no direct bearing on the charge. My action was
foolish, and I have been punished for it."
"You certainly chose an unfortunate alias," commented the magistrate
drily, and, much to the prisoner's relief, turned to another phase of
the case.
"What are you doing in Winchester?"
"I am on my honeymoon. I was married yesterday."
A titter of laughter ran round the court-room; but the magistrate
frowned, and continued:
"I suppose that is the reason why you registered under an assumed name,
and are travelling with somebody else's wife?"
There was more laughter, for the justice had a local reputation as a
wit. Scarsdale boiled inwardly, but held his peace; while his judge, who
seemed to feel that he had strayed a little from the subject in hand,
after a moment's silence asked shortly:
"Do you plead guilty or not guilty to these charges?"
"Not guilty!"
"Do you wish this matter settled here or in a superior court?"
"I desire that it be settled here, provided I am given an opportunity to
prove my identity."
"You will be given every reasonable opportunity. What do you wish?"
"I wish to ask first by whom these charges are preferred."
"The charge of assault and battery has been brought by the landlord of
the Lion's Head."
"I infer that the landlord served Richard Allingford in person on the
night in question, and would be likely to know him if he saw him."
The magistrate conferred with the detective, and replied that such was
the case.
"If the question is not out of order," resumed the prisoner, "may I ask
if the landlord of the Lion's Head is a reputable witness, and one whose
testimony might be relied on?"
"I think you may trust yourself in his hands," replied the justice, who
had seen all along whither the case was tending.
"Then," said Scarsdale, "I shall be satisfied to rest my case on his
identification."
"That is quite a proper request," replied the magistrate. "Is the
landlord of the Lion's Head present?"
At this a dapper little man jumped up in the audience, and explained
that he was the landlord's physician, and that his patient, though
convalescent, was still disabled by his injuries and unable to attend
court.
On inquiry being made as to when he could put in an appearance, the
physician replied that he thought the landlord could come the next day.
The magistrate therefore consulted for a moment with the detective, and
then said to the prisoner:
"Your case is remanded for trial until to-morrow."
Scarsdale held up his hand in token that he wished to speak.
"Well," said the magistrate, "what else?"
"If I can, by the time this court meets to-morrow, produce reputable
witnesses from London to prove my identity," asked the prisoner, "will
their evidence be admitted?"
"If they can identify themselves as such to the satisfaction of the
court, yes."
The magistrate thereupon dismissed the case, and Scarsdale was removed
from the court-room.
He felt he had come off singularly well, and, except for the annoyance
and delay would have little further trouble. What he most desired was an
interview with Mrs. Allingford; but what with a change in his quarters,
owing to the deferment of the trial, and the difficulty of getting word
to her, it was the middle of the afternoon before this was accomplished.
The unfortunate little woman seemed completely broken down by this fresh
disaster, and it was some time before she could control herself
sufficiently to talk calmly with him.
"I shall never, never forgive myself," she sobbed. "It is all my fault
that you have incurred this disgrace. I can never look your wife in the
face again."
"Nonsense!" he said, trying to cheer her up. "There is no disgrace in
being arrested for what somebody else has done; and as for its being
your fault, why, it was I who proposed to pass myself off as your
husband's brother."
"But I allowed it, only I did not know anything about my brother-in-law,
except that he existed; his being in England is a complete surprise to
me." A remark which caused Scarsdale to be thankful that he had said
nothing to her about that scene at the club when the Consul heard of
Dick's arrival. "He must be very wicked. I'm so sorry. But we won't talk
about him now; we will talk about you. What can I do to retrieve
myself?" she continued.
"Let us consider your own affairs first," he replied. "I wasn't able to
send a telegram to Basingstoke last night; I was arrested on my way to
the office."
"I sent one, though, this morning, right after the trial."
"I didn't know that you knew where to go," he said.
"I didn't," she returned; "but that queer American person, who wouldn't
swear to your identity, sent it for me. He is very odd, but I'm sure he
has a good heart. He was so distressed over the whole affair, and
offered to be of any assistance he could."
"Oh!" said Scarsdale. He was not pre-possessed in Faro Charlie's favour.
"So I think," she went on, "that if they are at Basingstoke, they will
be here in a few hours. I told them all about your arrest and where I
was staying."
"So far so good. Allingford can identify me even to the satisfaction of
this magistrate, I think. But it is just as well to have two strings to
one's bow, so I have another plan to suggest; but first let me hear if
you have done anything else."
"No; but I think I shall telegraph to my mother. I can't spend another
night here alone."
"Why don't you wait and see if your husband does not turn up? I hate to
give our affairs more publicity than is necessary," he suggested.
"Would you prefer me to do so?"
"Yes, very much; if you don't mind."
"Then I will. I think, after my share in this unfortunate business, you
ought to have the first consideration. Now tell me your plan."
"I propose that we telegraph to your husband's best man, Jack
Carrington, asking him to come to Winchester this evening. He can
identify me, and identify himself also, for he has a brother who is an
officer in one of the regiments stationed here."
"Just the thing!" she cried. "I'll send it at once."
"No," replied Scarsdale. "You write it and I'll send it." He did not
wish any more of his plans to be revealed to Faro Charlie.