'And I ma'sel in cramoisie,'
sang Merton, who had the greatest fear of being asked local questions
about Moss End and Motherwell. 'I dinna ken what cramoisie is, ma'sel','
he added. 'Hae a drink!'
'Man, ye're a bonny singer,' said the rough, who, hitherto, had taken no
hand in the conversation.
'Ma faither was a precentor,' said Merton, and so, in fact, Mr. Merton
_pere_ had, for a short time, been--of Salisbury Cathedral.
They were approaching Portobello, where Merton rushed to the window,
thrust half of his body out and indulged in the raucous and meaningless
yells of the festive artisan. Thus he tided over a rather prolonged
wait, but, when the train moved on, the inquiring rough returned to the
charge. He was suspicious, and also was drunk, and obstinate with all
the brainless obstinacy of intoxication.
'Aw 'm sayin',' he remarked to Merton, 'you're no Lairdie Bower.'
'Hear till the man! Aw 'm Tammy Hamilton, o' Moss End in Lanerick. Aw
'm ganging to see ma Jean.
'For day or night
Ma fancy's flight
Is ever wi' ma Jean--
Ma bonny, bonny, flat-footed Jean,'
sang Merton, gliding from the strains of Robert Burns into those of Mr.
Boothby. 'Jean's a Lanerick wumman,' he added, 'she's in service in the
Pleasance. Aw 'm ganging to my Jo. Ye'll a' hae Jos, billies?'
'Aw 'm sayin',' the intoxicated rough persisted, 'ye're no a Lanerick
man. Ye're the English gentleman birkie that cam' to Kirkburn yestreen.
Or else ye're ane o' the polis' (police).
'_Me_ ane o' the polis! Aw 'm askin' the company, _div_ a look like a
polisman? _Div_ a look like an English birkie, or ane o' the gentry?'
The other passengers, decent people, thus appealed to, murmured
negatives, and shook their heads. Merton certainly did not resemble a
policeman, an Englishman, or a gentleman.
'Ye see naebody lippens to ye,' Merton went on. 'Man, if we were na a'
freens, a wad gie ye a jaud atween yer twa een! But ye've been drinking.
Tak anither sook!'
The rough did not reject the conciliatory offer.
'The whiskey's low,' said Merton, holding up the bottle to the light,
'but there's mair at Embro' station.'
They were now drawing up at the station. Merton floundered out, threw
his arms round the necks of each of the roughs, yelled to their
companions in the next carriage to follow, and staggered into the third-
class refreshment room. Here he leaned against the counter and feebly
ogled the attendant nymph.
'Ma lonny bassie, a mean ma bonny lassie,' he said, 'gie's five gills,
five o' the Auld Kirk' (whisky).
'Hoots man!' he heard one of the roughs remark to another. 'This falla's
no the English birkie. English he canna be.'
'But aiblins he's ane o' oor ain polis,' said the man of suspicions.
'Nane o' oor polis has the gumption; and him as fou as a fiddler.'
Merton, waving his glass, swallowed its contents at three gulps. He then
fell on the floor, scrambled to his feet, tumbled out, and dashed his own
whisky bottle through the window of the refreshment room.
'Me ane o' the polis!' he yelled, and was staggering towards the exit,
when he was collared by two policemen, attracted by the noise. He
embraced one of them, murmuring 'ma bonny Jean!' and then doubled up, his
head lolling on his shoulder. His legs and arms jerked convulsively, and
he had at last to be carried off, in the manner known as 'The Frog's
March,' by four members of the force. The roughs followed, like chief
mourners, Merton thought, at the head of the attendant crowd.
'There's an end o' your clash about the English gentleman,' Merton heard
the quieter of his late companions observe to the obstinate inquirer.
'But he's a bonny singer. And noo, wull ye tell me hoo we're to win back
to Drem the nicht?'
'Dod, we'll make a nicht o't,' said the other, as Merton was carried into
the police-station.
He permitted himself to be lifted into one of the cells, and then
remarked, in the most silvery tones:
'Very many thanks, my good men. I need not give you any more trouble,
except by asking you, if possible, to get me some hot water and soap, and
to invite the inspector to favour me with his company.'
The men nearly dropped Merton, but, finding his feet, he stood up and
smiled blandly.
'Pray make no apologies,' he said. 'It is rather I who ought to
apologise.'
'He's no drucken, and he's no Scotch,' remarked one of the policemen.
'But he'll pass the nicht here, and maybe apologise to the Baillie in the
morning,' said another.
'Oh, pardon me, you mistake me,' said Merton. 'This is not a stupid
practical joke.'
'It's no a very gude ane,' said the policeman.
Merton took out a handful of gold. 'I wish to pay for the broken window
at once,' he said. 'It was a necessary part of the _mise en scene_, of
the stage effect, you know. To call your attention.'
'Ye'll settle wi' the Baillie in the morning,' said the policeman.
Things were looking untoward.
'Look here,' said Merton, 'I quite understand your point of view, it does
credit to your intelligence. You take me for an English tourist,
behaving as I have done by way of a joke, or for a bet?'
'That's it, sir,' said the spokesman.
'Well, it does look like that. But which of you is the senior officer
here?'
'Me, sir,' said the last speaker.
'Very well, if you can be so kind as to call the officer in charge of the
station, or even one of senior standing--the higher the better--I can
satisfy him as to my identity, and as to my reasons for behaving as I
have done. I assure you that it is a matter of the very gravest
importance. If the inspector, when he has seen me, permits, I have no
objections to you, or to all of you hearing what I have to say. But you
will understand that this is a matter for his own discretion. If I were
merely playing the fool, you must see that I have nothing to gain by
giving additional annoyance and offence.'
'Very well, sir, I will bring the officer in charge,' said the policeman.
'Just tell him about my arrest and so on,' said Merton.
In a few minutes he returned with his superior.
'Well, my man, what's a' this aboot?' said that officer sternly.
'If you can give me an interview, alone, for five minutes, I shall
enlighten you,' said Merton.
The officer was a huge and stalwart man. He threw his eye over Merton.
'Wait in the yaird,' he said to his minions, who retreated rather
reluctantly. 'Weel, speak up,' said the officer.
'It is the body snatching case at Kirkburn,' said Merton.
'Do ye mean that ye're an English detective?'
'No, merely a friend of Mr. Logan's who left Kirkburn this evening. I
have business to do for him in London in connection with the
case--business that nobody can do but myself--and the house was watched.
I escaped in the disguise which you see me wearing, and had to throw off
a gang of ruffians that accompanied me in the train by pretending to be
drunk. I could only shake them off and destroy the suspicions which they
expressed by getting arrested.'
'It's a queer story,' said the policeman.
'It _is_ a queer story, but, speaking without knowledge, I think your
best plan is to summon the chief of your detective department, I need his
assistance. And I can prove my identity to him--to _you_, if you like,
but you know best what is official etiquette.'
'I'll telephone for him, sir.'
'You are very obliging. All this is confidential, you know. Expense is
no object to Mr. Logan, and he will not be ungrateful if strict secrecy
is preserved. But, of all things, I want a wash.'
'All right, sir,' said the policeman, and in a few minutes Merton's head,
hands, and neck, were restored to their pristine propriety.
'No more kailyard talk for me,' he thought, with satisfaction.
The head of the detective department arrived in no long time. He was in
evening dress. Merton rose and bowed.
'What's your story, sir?' the chief asked; 'it has brought me from a
dinner party at my own house.'
'I deeply regret it,' said Merton, 'though, for my purpose, it is the
merest providence.'
'What do you mean, sir?'
'Your subordinate has doubtless told you all that I told him?'
The chief nodded.
'Do you--I mean as an official--believe me?'
'I would be glad of proof of your personal identity.'
'That is easily given. You may know Mr. Lumley, the Professor of
Toxicology in the University here?'
'I have met him often on matters of our business.'
'He is an old college friend of mine, and can remove any doubts you may
entertain. His wife is a tall woman luckily,' added Merton to himself,
much to the chief's bewilderment.
'Mr. Lumley's word would quite satisfy me,' said the chief.
'Very well, pray lend me your attention. This affair--'
'The body snatching at Kirkburn?' asked the chief.
'Exactly,' said Merton. 'This affair is very well organised. Your house
is probably being observed. Now what I propose is _this_. I can go
nowhere dressed as I am. You will, if you please, first send a
constable, in uniform, to your house with orders to wait till you return.
Next, I shall dress, by your permission, in any spare uniform you may
have here and in that costume I shall leave this office and accompany you
to your house in a closed cab. You will enter it, bring out a hat and
cloak, come into the cab, and I shall put them on, leaving my policeman's
helmet in the cab, which will wait. Then, minutes later, the constable
will come out, take the cab, and drive to any police office you please.
Once within your house, I shall exchange my uniform for any old evening
suit you may be able to lend me, and, when your guests have departed, you
and I will drive together to Professor Lumley's, where he will identify
me. After that, my course is perfectly clear, and I need give you no
further trouble.'
'It is too complicated, sir,' said the chief, smiling. 'I don't know
your name?'
'Merton,' said our hero, 'and yours?'
'Macnab. I can lend you a plain suit of morning clothes from here, and
we don't want the stratagem of the constable. You don't even need the
extra trouble of putting on evening dress in my house.'
'How very fortunate,' said Merton, and in a quarter of an hour he was
attired as a simple citizen, and was driving to the house of Mr. Macnab.
Here he was merely introduced to the guests--it was a men's party--as a
gentleman from England on business. The guests had too much tact to
tarry long, and by eleven o'clock the chief and Merton were ringing at
the door bell of Professor Lumley. The servant knew both of them, and
ushered them into the professor's study. He was reading examination
papers. Mrs. Lumley had not returned from a party. Lumley greeted
Merton warmly.
'I am passing through Edinburgh, and thought I might find you at home,'
Merton said.
'Mr. Macnab,' said Lumley, shaking hands with the chief, 'you have not
taken my friend into custody?'
'No, professor; Mr. Merton will tell you that he is released, and I'll be
going home.'
'You won't stop and smoke?'
'No, I should be _de trop_,' answered the chief; 'good night, professor;
good night, Mr. Merton.'
'But the broken window?'
'Oh, we'll settle that, and let you have the bill.'
Merton gave his club address, and the chief shook hands and departed.
'Now, what _have_ you been doing, Merton?' asked Lumley.
Merton briefly explained the whole set of circumstances, and added, 'Now,
Lumley, you are my sole hope. You can give me a bed to-night?'
'With all the pleasure in the world.'
'And lend me a set of Mrs. Lumley's raiment and a lady's portmanteau?'
'Are you quite mad?'
'No, but I must get to London undiscovered, and, for certain reasons,
with which I need not trouble you, that is absolutely the only possible
way. You remember, at Oxford, I made up fairly well for female parts.'
'Is there absolutely no other way?'
'None, I have tried every conceivable plan, mentally. Mourning is best,
and a veil.'
At this moment Mrs. Lumley's cab was heard, returning from her party.
'Run down and break it to Mrs. Lumley,' said Merton. 'Luckily we have
often acted together.'
'Luckily you are a favourite of hers,' said Lumley.
In ten minutes the pair entered the study. Mrs. Lumley, a tall lady, as
Merton had said, came in, laughing and blushing.
'I shall drive with you myself to the train. My maid must be in the
secret,' she said.
'She is an old acquaintance of mine,' said Merton. 'But I think you had
better not come with me to the station. Nobody is likely to see me,
leaving your house about nine, with my veil down. But, if any one _does_
see me, he must take me for you.'
'Oh, it is I who am running up to town incognita?'
'For a day or two--you will lend me a portmanteau to give local colour?'
'With pleasure,' said Mrs. Lumley.
'And Lumley will telegraph to Trevor to meet you at King's Cross, with
his brougham, at 6.15 P. M.?'
This also was agreed to, and so ended this romance of Bradshaw.