A DETECTIVE OF HALF A CENTURY AGO.
Mr. Gerard had hardly finished speaking, when the butler announced Mr.
Clint and "another gentleman," for even among friends the famous Bow
Street officer, exercised his usual caution; and yet there was scarcely
a more public character than Townshend, or better known both to the
classes whom he protected, and to that against which he waged such
constant war. His personal appearance was itself sufficiently
remarkable. A short squab man, in a light wig, kerseymere breeches, and
a blue Quaker-cut coat, he was not, to look at, a very formidable
object. But he possessed the courage of a lion, and the cunning of a
fox. The ruffians who kept society in terror, themselves quailed before
_him_. They knew that he was hard to kill, and valued not his own life
one rush, when duty called upon him to hazard it; that he was faithful
as a watch-dog to the government which employed him, and hated by nature
a transgressor of the law, as a watch-dog hates a wolf. When Townshend
fairly settled himself down upon the track of an offender, the poor
wretch felt like the hare whose fleeing footsteps the stoat relentlessly
pursues; he might escape for the day, or even the morrow, but sooner or
later his untiring foe was certain to be up with him. In those early
days, when the telegraph could not overtake the murderer speeding for
his life, and set Justice upon her guard five hundred miles away, to
intercept him, and when the sun was not the slave of the Law, to
photograph the features of the doomed criminal, so that he can be
recognized as easily as Cain, thief-catching was a much more protracted
business than it is now; nevertheless, it was at least as certain.
If the facilities for capture were not so great, neither were the
opportunities of escape for the offender so many and various. London was
not the labyrinth that it has since become, and if any criminal of note
forsook it for the provinces, his fate was almost certain. Travellers
did not then rush hither and thither, in throngs of a hundred strong,
impossible to be individually identified by the railway porter to whom
they surrender their tickets; but each man was entered in a way-bill, or
scanned with curiosity by innkeeper and post-boy, wherever his chaise
changed horses. When any considerable sum was sent by mail-coach,
whether by the government or by London bankers, to their provincial
agents, it was not unusual to employ Mr. Townshend as an escort. Nor was
it altogether unexampled for him to be sent for, as in the present
instance, to unravel some domestic mystery; although he was perhaps the
first police-officer who had been so employed, the father of all the
Fields and Pollakies of the present day. He was on intimate terms,
therefore, with many great people, and an especial favourite with the
court, his professional services being engaged at all drawing-rooms and
state occasions. This, combined with the natural assurance and sense of
power in the man, caused Mr. Townshend to hold his head pretty high, and
to treat with persons vastly superior in social station to himself upon
at least an equal footing. His easy nod, with which the great Bow
Street runner favoured us in Harley Street that evening, upon his first
introduction, was not very much unlike the salutation which Mr. Brummel,
at the same period, was wont to bestow upon British marquises and dukes.
Having taken his seat at the dessert-table, at the host's desire, he at
once began to compliment Mr. Gerard upon the contents of the bottle with
the yellow seal, and, in short, behaved himself in all respects as any
other guest would have done who was an intimate friend of the family,
and had dropped in after dinner upon his own invitation. No sooner,
however, did Mr. Clint introduce the subject which had called us up to
town, and Mr. Long begin to recapitulate the story of Sir Massingberd's
disappearance, than this singular person dropped at once all social
pretension, and showed himself the really great man he was. One glass of
wine was sufficient for him during the whole narration, and that he
seemed to sip mechanically, and rather as an assistance to thought, than
because he really enjoyed it, which, however there is no doubt he did.
He only interrupted my tutor twice or thrice, in order to make some
pertinent interrogation, and when all had been described (including a
slight sketch of Marmaduke's position), he sat for a little silent and
noiseless, tapping his wine-glass with his forefinger, and staring into
the fire.
"Well, Mr. Townshend, and what is your opinion?" inquired Mr. Gerard a
little impatiently. "Do you think that this Lost Sir Massingberd is
alive or dead?"
"That is a question which a fool would answer at once, sir, but a wise
man would take some time to reply to," returned the Bow Street runner
coolly, "But one thing you may depend upon, that he will not be 'Lost'
long. I have blotted that word out of my dictionary. I know Sir
Massingberd Heath well, or, at least, I did know him, and that is a
great advantage to start with; he was not a man, I should think, to
change with age. Tall figure and strong; large piercing eyes; much
beard; a mouth that tells he likes to have his own way; and on his
forehead a mark as if the devil had kicked him."
"That is excellent," cried Mr. Gerard; "you could not mistake him for
any other man in London."
"He is _not_ in London, sir," observed the runner dogmatically. "If he
were mixing with the lot that he used to be amongst, I should surely
have heard of it; and if he is with people much beneath him in station,
I should have learned it still more certainly. As for that, however, he
is not one--if I remember him right--to hide himself, or work much
underground."
"If you mean that he would not stoop to deception, Mr. Townshend,"
remarked my tutor gravely, "I am afraid you are mistaken; the very money
which, as I have said, he obtained from me upon the day of his
disappearance, was dishonourably come by. His pretext of the Methodists
having bidden for a piece of ground upon which to build a chapel within
the Park, and almost opposite the Rectory, was, I have since discovered,
entirely false; and I cannot but fear that some judgment has overtaken
this unhappy man."
Here, I am sorry to say, that Mr. Clint and Mr. Gerard looked at one
another in rather a comic manner, and the Bow Street runner helped
himself to a glass of the particular with an open chuckle.
"Well, sir," responded that gentleman, "you see Judgments isn't much in
my way. When I catches a chap, he generally knows its judgment and
execution too; but barring that, I doubt whether there is much of a
special Providence for rascals--even when they rob a Church minister.
Not, of course, that I am saying Sir Massingberd Heath, baronet, is a
rascal, or anything like it; I never had anything to do with him in all
my life before this, and that's a good sign, look you. When I said he
was not a man to work underground, however, I did not mean that he would
not employ every ingenious device--and the one you mention was one of
the neatest I ever heard on--to procure money, but that he is of too
domineering and masterful a nature to lurk and spy about. The young
gentleman here need not be in much alarm, I think, of his relative's
turning up in Harley Street; notwithstanding which, he is a very
ticklish customer, no doubt, and one as I should not have been in the
least surprised to find myself under orders to fit with a pair of
bracelets, for such a thing, for instance, as murder."
I think each of us started and looked at one another in hushed amazement
at this statement; and the wine-glass which Marmaduke was twisting
nervously in his fingers, rattled against the table in spite of his
efforts to remain calm.
"I mean," observed Mr. Townshend, in explanation, "as the baronet, when
I knew him at least, was venomous, yet likewise hasty; and though
cunning enough, if his temper got the better of him, would do imprudent
things, I remember him well-nigh killing his jockey on the course at
Doncaster--it was the second year as ever the Leger was ran for--and
all for no fault of his, but just because he didn't win when his master
expected it. I remember how the crowd hissed the gentleman, and the ugly
look which he gave them in reply. There was no fuss made about the
matter afterwards; but Sir Massingberd had to supply a deal of Golden
Ointment to the poor lad's bruises: he was very free-handed with his
money at that time. I suppose, by the pace he was then going, that he
has not much left."
"He has almost literally not a shilling," replied Mr. Long. "I am quite
certain that he had no ready-money in his possession besides the twenty
one-pound notes which he obtained from me upon that evening."
"And no means of raising any?" inquired Mr. Townshend.
"None whatever," replied my tutor positively.
"That simplifies the business a good deal," remarked the Bow Street
runner, drawing out his pocket-book. "Now, I suppose you kept the
numbers of those notes?"
"Yes, I did. Peter, did you not write them down for me?"
"The notes ran from 82961 to 82980 inclusive," said I.
"A very concise and sensible statement, young gentleman,"[1] remarked
the police-officer, approvingly; "I should like, however, to see the
figures in black and white." When these had been found among certain
memorandums of my tutor, Mr. Townshend copied them, and thus continued:
"Now, the first thing as has to be done, gentleman all--by which no
offence is meant to the young lady--is this: we must go to the Bank of
England, and find out if any of these here notes have been paid in since
November 16th. If they have been, one of two things is certain--Sir
Massingberd is spending them, or somebody else is spending them for him.
If the latter, it is probable that it is not with his consent; that is,
that he can't help it; that is, that he's dead as a ten-penny nail;" and
with that the speaker brought down his fist upon the mahogany, as though
he were hammering one in.
"We shall leave the case, Mr. Townshend, entirely in your hands,"
observed Mr. Gerard; "and please to look to me for any expenses you may
require."
"Very good, sir," replied the runner, rising as if to take his leave;
"but since two or three heads are always better than one, in cases of
this sort, and the present company has their wits about them--which is
by no means the case with many as I have to do with--I should be glad of
a little assistance from yourselves."
"Don't you think we ought to advertise the baronet as missing, and offer
a reward?" suggested Mr. Clint.
"There will be no harm in that, of course," replied Mr. Townshend
carelessly; "although I can't say as I have much confidence in
advertisements; my own experience is, that parties who put them in
derive some satisfaction from reading them over to themselves, but the
advantage don't go much beyond that---except that it sometimes puts
people upon their guard as one wants to be off it. I have got a little
pressing business on hand to-morrow--in the forging line--and must now
be off; but if one or two of you will be at the Bank to-morrow
afternoon, at, let us say three o'clock, I shall be sure to be there to
meet you."
[1] Every lad in my position, not yet turned twenty-one, was a "young
gentleman" in these times; we were not so tenacious of our dignity as
the young men of to-day.