BETTER THAN A BLUNDERBUSS.
It was the Runner's custom to call at Mr. Gerard's every evening, no
matter how often he might have been there during the day, in order to
report progress, or that there was none; and when his knock at the
front-door was heard, I perceived the rector wince upon his chair, like
one who has been roasted a little already, and expects to be before the
fire again immediately. Mr. Townshend, however, did not even so much as
allude to our Will-o'-the-Wisp pursuit, cautioned, perhaps, not to do so
by our host, or besought by his daughter, as I fancy. I do not think
that the gravity of the intelligence he brought with him would, of
itself, have blunted Mr. Townshend's appetite for acrimonious jesting,
which was insatiable; and, indeed, the issues of Death or Life, and of
Lost or Found, formed so much the ordinary business of his life, that
any discovery, no matter of what nature, disturbed him as little as
finding a gentleman with his head off disturbs the King of Dahomey.
"Well, Mr. Long, I am glad to see you back again," said he; "you are the
very man I want. Does a farmer of the name of Arabel happen to reside in
or near your parish?"
"He lives at Fairburn, within a stone's throw----"
"You will never make a Bow Street runner," interrupted Mr. Townshend,
shaking his head.
"Well, then," continued my tutor good-humouredly, "if accuracy is so
essential, I will say within half a mile and a few yards of my own
Rectory."
"That is better, sir," returned the detective gravely. "And what sort of
a character do you consider this man to bear?"
"Mr. Arabel is an honest man and a good churchman," replied the rector
positively; "and but for a little occasional excess----"
"A drunkard, eh?" observed the Bow Street officer, briskly.
"No, certainly not, Mr. Townshend. He takes too much liquor now and
then, I believe; but, I regret to say it, there are few more sober
persons in my parish than Richard Arabel."
"Indeed," observed the other reflectively; "and yet he was the man who
paid No. 82979 to Mr. Vanderseld, who trades in grain. I have heard
from Hamburg, and have traced the note back again to Fairburn. I start
for that place this evening by post-chaise; and if you or Mr. Meredith
want a lift, I shall be happy to take one or both of you along with me."
This intelligence astonished us all immensely, and my tutor and myself,
who knew the farmer, more than the rest. Such news would have been
itself sufficient to have taken the rector home at once; besides, he was
not only anxious, as usual, to get back to his own parish, but somewhat
grudged our long-continued absence and intellectual holiday. There did
not seem, too, to be any sort of necessity for my remaining longer with
Marmaduke, who had found, it was impossible to doubt, a companion far
more capable of upholding and encouraging him than I. The Bow Street
runner's offer was therefore accepted by both of us; and in a few hours
we took our seats in the same vehicle for Midshire. The chaise was as
roomy a one as could be procured, but still, as there was but one seat,
I had to assume the position of "bodkin" between my two companions.
Their conversation was at first entirely confined to the subject of our
expedition, namely, Farmer Arabel, concerning whom the detective
expressed his suspicions the more darkly, the more extravagantly he was
eulogized by Mr. Long. So vehement was their dispute, that I did not
like to interrupt it for a considerable period, during which I endured
great inconvenience from sitting upon a substance at once both sharp and
hard, contained in one of Mr. Townshend's pockets. If he had been a lady
of the present day, I should have known what it was, and perhaps have
modestly suffered on without remonstrance; but since he was not of the
softer sex, and certainly did not wear crinoline, I ventured to ask what
it was which inflicted such torture.
"I beg your pardon, young gentleman," observed the Bow Street runner,
removing the article objected to; "you was only sitting upon a pair of
bracelets with which I may have perhaps to present Mr. Richard Arabel."
"You don't mean to say that you carry handcuffs in your pocket!"
observed my tutor, with a shudder of disgust.
"I mean to say I do, and should as soon think of moving about without
'em, as without my hat and breeches," returned the runner, with a
coolness that froze us both into a protracted silence.
The rain fell heavily, as the night drew on, and dashed against the
streaming panes with fitful violence. The wind and wet poured in
together whenever the window was put down to pay the postboys. I pitied
the poor fellows, exposed to such weather, and was glad to see that Mr.
Townshend paid them liberally. "There are no persons who are more
open-handed travellers than your Bow Street runners," observed Mr. Long,
when I remarked to him upon this circumstance in the absence of our
friend, who had stepped out while we were changing horses somewhere, for
brandy and water; "and the reason of their generosity is this, that
other people have to pay for it." I had never heard my tutor utter so
severe a speech, and I gathered from it that his indignation against our
fellow-wayfarer was as poignant as ever; and yet within half an hour it
was fated that all his resentment should be neutralized by gratitude,
leaving a large margin of the latter sentiment over and above.
The next stage was over a desolate, treeless heath, where the elements
had their own way against us more than ever, and our vehicle seemed
actually to shrink and shudder from the force of their onslaught. All of
a sudden, I was thrown forward against the opposite window by the
stoppage of the postchaise. At first I thought a horse had fallen; but
immediately afterwards the window next to Mr. Long was violently pushed
down from without, and a something black and small, which was a pistol,
was protruded into the carriage.
"Your money or your life! Come, be quick, curse you, and don't keep
gentlemen waiting in the wet," said a rough voice. "Be quick, I say." A
volley of oaths accompanied this unpleasant request.
"I have only a couple of guineas with me," cried Mr. Long, quietly,
"and you will not make it more by swearing."
"That's a lie!" remarked the voice very uncivilly, "for you're a parson,
you are, and they've always money enough. Ain't he a parson, postboy?
Didn't you say so, when. I asked you who you'd got inside there? Come
here, won't yer?"
At these words, one of the wretched postboys, shivering and dripping,
came forward to the window, and stammered out, "Really, gentlemen, I
couldn't help it; he swore as he'd blow out my brains, if I didn't tell;
so I told him as one was a clergyman, I believed, but the other two----"
"My name is Townshend," interrupted the Bow Street runner, with great
distinctness. "If you had happened to know that, boy, and had informed
these gentlemen of the circumstance, I am sure they would never have
stopped us, unless, indeed, it was to inquire after my health." At the
same time he thrust his broad face out of the window into the light
thrown by a lantern carried by one of the robbers; for there were
several dim forms on horseback, as I could now perceive. If a
blunderbuss had been exhibited instead, it could not have caused
one-half of the panic which the sight of his features occasioned; each
robber turned his back at once, as though to prevent the recognition
being mutual, and spurred away into the darkness, leaving nothing but
the dismounted postboy to evidence that they were not mere phantoms of
the night.
"Get to your saddle, and make you up for lost time," said the Runner
sternly; and when this mandate had been obeyed, and we were once more on
our way, he added, "That postboy sold us; I saw him whispering to a man
on horseback in the inn-yard while I was taking some drink in the
back-parlour; he was never asked any question when the chaise was
stopped. That was Jerry Atherton, too, who put his shooting-iron in at
that window; I should know his voice though a mob were shouting with
him. A man who wishes to do something of which the consequences are so
very serious, should not only wear crape, but keep his mouth shut."
"We have to thank you very much, I am sure," said Mr. Long. "It was a
great providence for us that you were with us."
"Very likely, sir," returned Mr. Townshend, grimly; "but not for Jerry,
nor yet for the postboy."