The police were searching everywhere for a sailor called Dent. They set
detectives to work, and had little doubt that long before the week had
expired for which Will had been remanded they would find their man, and
establish the truth, or otherwise, of Will's story.
When it commenced it seemed quite an easy search; but the days flew
quickly, and neither about the docks, nor loafing round the quays,
could anyone least bearing Isaac Dent's description be found. His name
was not on any ship's log, and the police came to the conclusion that
Liverpool really did not contain him. They advertised--they even
offered rewards for the slightest information; but no clue could they
obtain. On the seventh day of Will's captivity they gave the matter up
as a bad job, and said that the sailor Dent was not in the city.
They were mistaken. Dent had never left his native shores. He was not
particular as to his quarters--he was clever at disguising himself; and
as there are in Liverpool courts and slums into which no policeman
cares to venture, it was not very difficult for Dent to elude these
worthies.
Granger, however, had found him out, and Granger and he had many
colloquies, but not in a place where Mother Bunch could overhear.
"I ain't afeard," said Dent. "They can do nought to me, nor to you
neither, mate. I'd like to go to the police court--and I will, too. But
it won't be to clear Will--by no means, but quite the contrairy. Only I
don't choose the police to be dragging of me forward. I'll go when I
has made terms with Bet, and not afore."
Then the men whispered together again, and laid their plans, which were
quite as deep, and quite as wicked, as the most unprincipled could
desire.
Bet lived once more in Sparrow Street, earning thereby Mother Bunch's
contempt, and a queer, puzzled look from Hester Wright, who would not
forsake her, but who certainly failed to understand either her or her
motive. She brought the boys home; and now her father's room in Sparrow
Street was kept fairly neat, and the lads resumed the life which had
been broken off at their mother's death. They shrank from their father,
who, absorbed in other things, did not trouble them much just then; and
they looked with great wonder and perplexity at Bet. She was not the
Bet of old; she took scarcely any notice of them; she never smiled when
they came near her; she said nothing at all now about their being good
boys, and never by any chance did she allude to their mother's name
before them.
She spent her whole time watching and listening,--starting and changing
color at the merest sound, looking eagerly at her father whenever he
came into the house, avoiding Hester Wright, eating next to nothing,
wearing away her sleeping hours in long, exhausting fits of weeping.
Will's week in prison was nearly over, and Bet in the time had
changed--changed so much that it almost seemed as if years had gone
over her head. Her cheeks were thin, all the color had left her face,
and her eyes looked now too bright and large for beauty.
On the day previous to Will's again appearing before the magistrates
the poor girl's restlessness became almost unbearable. Granger still
gave her to understand that Dent was not in Liverpool. He would find
him--yes, he said, he was certain to find him; but Bet did not know
that he had done so, and her terrors were proportionately great. She
could not sit still for a moment--but paced up and down, up and down
the small room where her mother had died, like a caged animal.
The captain and the general were off on expeditions of their own; hours
passed, but no one came near the unhappy girl.
At last, when her impatience had almost burst bounds, Granger arrived.
"I ha' done it, Bet," he said. "It rests with you now--Dent is found."
"Thank God!" she exclaimed, involuntarily. She fell on her knees before
her father and clasped his hands. "Feel how my heart beats," she
said--"I were nearly going mad. Father, there'll never be a better
daughter to you than me in all Christendom, from this time out. You ha'
found Isaac Dent, and he'll be in the witness-box to save Will
to-morrow. Thank God Almighty! There's hope yet in the world."
"I ha' found Dent," continued Granger, rubbing his rough sleeves across
his mouth in a furtive manner. "I told him about Will, and he's willing
to go to the police-court to-morrow--that is, ef you're agreeable."
"I agreeable, father?" Bet laughed excitedly. "You know my mind on
that; and so does Dent. Why, I could almost find it in my heart to call
him a good feller, ef he saves my lad."
"Ay, Bet--that's just it." Granger shuffled again, and would not meet
his daughter's eye. "He wants you to call him a good feller; he wants
you to be werry particular kind to him, seeing as he won't stir hand
nor foot to save Will Scarlett until you takes yer oath as you'd wed
with him. Ay, that's it, Bet--you ha' got to face it; by no other means
can you set that lad of yourn free. You ha' got to face it, and Dent
must have his answer to-night."
Bet did not speak at all for about a minute.
"I feared as this might come," she said at last In a queer voice. "I
did hope as God Almighty might have spared me. But it weren't to be.
It's miles worse nor giving up my life."
She had been kneeling by her father; now she started to her feet, and
wrapped the plaid shawl about her head and shoulders.
"I'm going to Hester," she said. "I'll give you your answer when I
comes back."