“’Ere’s a chance for some one,” said the porter, as he called it off.
“Sunset, old chum, these’d do your palate good.”
“Silly thing to mark ’em like that,” remarked the new man. “It’s
throwing temptation in anybody’s way. I should say they’re likely enough
worth about fifteen pence to one-and-six a-piece.”
“How d’you know?”
“I don’t profess to know,” said the new man hurriedly. “I’m only giving
a rough estimate. But bless my soul,” he went on after a pause, “what a
refining influence a cigar has.”
“If it’s a good one,” suggested a boy porter.
“They’re all good,” declared the new man with enthusiasm. “They’re like
the ladies in that respect. Some are better’n others, but they’re all
good.”
“Not a married man, then?” asked a foreman.
“I’m a bloomin’ bachelor,” said the new chum. “And what a thing it is on
your Sunday off, when you’re waiting at the end of her road, to light up
a cigar with a fine aroma to it. It not only gives you an air of
belonging to the ’igher aristocracy, but it also carries away any
suspicion of corduroy that might be ’anging about.”
“I’ve never give less than twopence,” remarked the boy porter.
“I’m sorry for you,” said the new man. “I should have thought a chap
with your fore’ead had got more ambition. Why, when I was a lad of your
height—”
“Pardon me,” interrupted the foreman, “you seem to ’ave a most
extr’ordinary flow of conversation.”
“I’m celebrated for it.”
“I wonder,” said the foreman curiously, “whether you’d mind stopping it
for a moment and doing a bit of work instead. Reason I suggest it is
that the Company pays you for what you do and not for what you talk.”
“I can take a ’int,” said the new man coldly.
There seemed a desire on the part of the others that night to make Porter
Jones work as hard as it is possible for a man to work. The heaviest
hampers were confided to his care; the slimiest cases of fish were placed
upon his shoulder; he it was who was told off to see to some consignments
of rather advanced venison. The parcel of valuable cigars remained in
the Number Five bin to be transferred to another Company by the first
delivery in the morning, and it was observed that whenever Porter Jones
came into the office he glanced in that direction. Now the Up Office, as
I have hinted, had been perturbed over the recent complaints, and the
mere fact that they had to fill up memoranda in regard to the various
investigations, to the effect that, “I beg to say in reference to the
attached papers that I know nothing whatever of the matter, I am, sir,
your obedient servant,” this in itself was enough to put a keener edge on
observation. Wherefore, a secret meeting was held near the gas-stove by
the booking-up desk, and it was decided that the new man should be
watched closely; it was felt it would be a proud and estimable thing for
the office, the character of which was at this period slurred, if it
could itself detect a wrong-doer and take him to justice. And should it
happen that the detected one proved to be a new man with no friends in
the department to lament his fall, then the most doubtful would have to
revert to old beliefs in a wise and thoughtful Providence. Their
suspicions were increased by the fact that whenever Porter Jones, in the
brief intervals between work from nine o’clock onwards, resumed
conversation, he invariably bent its direction towards the subject of
cigars.
“Take no notice,” whispered the foreman to his colleagues. “At least
when I say take no notice, I mean take all the notice you can, but keep
your little heads shut as tight as possible.”
“Shall one of us lay up for him?”
“Who’s the smallest?” asked the foreman, with an air of having already
thought of this device.
“I are,” said the boy porter.
“Evidently,” remarked the foreman, looking down at him, “evidently a chap
of superior education. Country born, ain’t you?”
“I were.”
“Then,” said the foreman, “up you jump behind them ‘books off’ and you
watch, my lad, watch Sunset for all you are worth.”
The Up Office closed at midnight in order to sleep for a few hours.
Before that time the men had made preparations for departure, packing
shining hand-bags and exchanging the official cap for a bowler hat, and
brushing their boots; this last act is one of which the railway man never
tires. Porter Jones alone seemed to be taking no preliminary steps, and
when asked where he lived replied lightly and evasively that he should
probably finish up at the Carlton Club. The gas lights were turned down
one by one and darkness increased its possession of the office. Porter
Jones went up to the end where Bin Number Five was situated; the others
hummed to give a suggestion of unconcern. Suddenly there was commotion
at the darkened end of the office, and seizing hand lamps, they hurried
forward.
“’Old him, ’old him,” cried the boy porter. The counsel seemed
unnecessary, for he gripped Porter Jones most effectively by the collar
of the corduroy jacket. “Set on his ’ead. Lam him one.”
“What’s all this fuss about?” demanded the foreman.
“He’s got it,” screamed the boy porter. “Sunset’s got it hid under his
jacket.”
“Got what hid?” asked the foreman. “Let’s ’ave the facts first of all.”
“I can easily explain,” gasped the new man. “I only wanted to see if—
Make him leave go. He’s—he’s throttling me.”
“He’s a-trying to,” admitted the boy porter.
“Let him loose,” ordered the foreman. “Men, stand around him so as he
can’t make his escape. What’s that bulging under your arm, matey?”
The new man gave an awkward laugh, as he withdrew the labelled parcel.
“I can explain it all to you,” he said, addressing the foreman and trying
to rebutton his torn collar, “if you will favour me with two minutes
alone outside.”
“Don’t you do it,” advised the others. “See him ’anged first.”
“Whatsoever you ’ave to say,” declared the foreman steadily, “you’d
better say it here and now.”
“Well, it’s like this. I’m the detective.”
“Ho!” said the foreman satirically. “Detective and thief in one, eh?
Vurry ’appy combination, I must say.”
“See here,” said the other, annoyed at the incredulous tone, “I’ll take
off this beard and then you can some of you identify me.”
As he did so the foreman held up his hand lamp, examining the features
carefully.
“Do any of you chaps recognise him?”
The staff replied at once that to the best of their belief they had never
before in this world set eyes on him.
“Don’t play the goat,” he urged anxiously. “We’ve all got our duties to
perform.”
“That’s true; we shall ’ave to lock you up for the night.”
“Right you are,” said the other gleefully. “Take me round to the nearest
police station and then—”
“That would mean losing our last train ’ome,” pointed out the foreman.
“I s’pose,” said the boy porter respectfully, “it wouldn’t do to put him
in the lamp room?”
“Chaps,” said the foreman, “my idea is we’d better, I think, put him in
the lamp room. Get Porter Swan to lend you the keys, my lad. As for
you, you scoundrel—”
“If you so much as dare to lock me up there I’ll see that you regret it
every day of your lives.” He argued vehemently.
“Look ’ere, me man,” said the boy porter, returning with the keys, “we
want none of your empty threats. If you think we’re going to be bluffed
by a chap of your calibre—”
“My what?” shouted the indignant man, struggling to get at the lad.
“Go on, my child,” said the foreman approvingly. “Let him have some of
your long ones.” The foreman turned to the others.
“This is where your school teaching comes in ’andy,” he whispered.
“A chap of your calibre,” repeated the boy porter, encouraged; “you’re
labouring under the very worst misapprehension—”
“Good!” said the others.
“Worst misapprehension that you ever suffered from or endured or
tolerated or submitted to or underwent or—”
“That’s enough for him,” interrupted the foreman, “we’d best not overdo
it. Got his arms tied, lads?”
“You’ll suffer for this,” he cried.
“I’ll take me oath you will,” said the foreman. “Now then, two of you at
each arm and—march! Boy, blow out the gas and lock up.”
No one was encountered on the way to the lamp room who had authority to
interfere with the plans of the Up Office, and the unfortunate man was
conducted at a sharp walk to that gloomy, sooty, greasy haven. The place
reeked with oily waste, and some appeared to have been smouldering,
giving a result that nice people would call displeasing. The uneven
flooring was laid out with lakes of dirty water; zinc counters did not
permit themselves to be touched. The foreman turned out the one glimmer
of light as though by accident.
“Got a match on you?” he asked the prisoner in a kindly tone.
“Only one box.”
“Hand it over,” ordered the foreman, “for a moment. Thanks,” slipping it
into his pocket. “Now we can catch our twelve-fifteen. Good night, old
sort.”
“’Appy dreams,” cried the others.
“Don’t be late in the morning,” called out the boy porter.
The imprisoned man, not daring to trust himself to reply, heard the door
close, heard the lock shoot. He groaned, and began to reckon the black
hours that he would have to endure in the place; at the least, the number
would be six; he did not care to think what it might be at the most.
Throughout the whole of the time he was unable to close his eyes, and his
only relief to the length of the hours came by thinking of the report
that he would indite the following morning. He polished up in his mind
some of the references to the boy porter, and to the man who gripped his
arm in bringing him from the Up Office; it seemed that his suspicions in
regard to the pilferages were centred, for some reason, on those who had
most aggrieved him. Before daylight began to grin at him through the
barred window of the lamp room he had mentally completed his report, and
the last paragraph he felt was especially good.
“I am able to speak with absolute certainty, and I can go so far as
to say the men who are undoubtedly responsible for the recent
pilferages are those I have named, and I beg to suggest respectfully
that steps be taken to relieve them of their present duties at the
earliest possible moment. The only alternative is a clean sweep of
the whole of the Up Office staff, and this, sir, I hesitate to
recommend. But for reasons that I have stated, and for others which
I think it wise not to place upon paper, I earnestly hope that the
recommendation I have made will be acted upon without delay.
“W. BELLCHAMBERS.
“P.S.—Especially the foreman and the junior.”
“Can’t make it hotter for them,” said Sergeant Bellchambers to himself
regretfully, “without it looking as though I’d got some personal spite.”
The night seemed endless, but it proved to have a finish, and
Bellchambers, when the lamp-man opened the door in the morning, went out,
a tired, oil-scented, yawning, but a determined official. A wash and a
shave increased the last quality, and when the Superintendent arrived at
nine o’clock, morning paper under his arm, Sergeant Bellchambers was
waiting for him in the lobby of the office with confidence written all
over his face in large letters.
“Evening, sir.”
“Good-morning, Sergeant.”
“I mean morning,” corrected Bellchambers. “I’ve been up all night over
that little affair you spoke about.”
“Ah!” said the Superintendent, sitting down in his arm-chair, “with no
result?”
“On the contrary, sir,” said Sergeant Bellchambers importantly. “If it
isn’t troubling you too much I’ll trouble you to cast your eyes over this
report of mine.”
The Superintendent let his glasses flick open and adjusted them on his
nose. The Sergeant, leaning one arm on the mantelpiece, watched his
superior officer, waiting for the sign of gratified approval. This, to
his great astonishment, did not come, and the Superintendent’s face
remained unchanged when he had thrown the report on the shining table.
“Do you mean to say that you want me to get rid of these men?”
“That was the impression,” said the Sergeant, with a touch of acidity, “I
intended to convey.”
“And you think they’re guilty?”
“I’ll stake my reputation on it, sir,” said Sergeant Bellchambers.
“That is not much of a bet,” remarked the other.
“You can take it from me that these pilferages will never cease until the
men I’ve referred to are turned out.”
“I’m very anxious to do something,” said the Superintendent, taking up a
ruler thoughtfully.
“Like myself, sir,” said Bellchambers. “That’s me all over.”
“But not,” said the Superintendent, hitting the table, “not in the
direction you suggest. Read this!”
He handed over the morning paper to Sergeant Bellchambers, pointing to a
letter headed “Recent Complaints of Pilferages.”
“Ah!” said the Sergeant exultingly, “they’re going for us again, then.
‘Dear Sir,’ he read. ‘With reference to our letters to you complaining
of abstraction from our parcels of cigars sent by railway, we think it
only right to inform you that we have discovered these pilferages were
made by one of our own men. It appears that after delivering the parcels
at the station here, and after they were weighed, he was in the habit of
offering to take them to the train, and whilst doing this effected the
robberies to which reference has been made. We need scarcely point out
that if the station had been wisely managed these lamentable occurrences
would in all probability never have taken place; the only question is,
who is responsible? We are, dear sir, yours faithfully—’”
“A paltry trick to play on anybody,” said the Sergeant. “At the same
time, sir, I think there’ll be no harm in making a change in the staff.”
“I intend to do so. Will you keep your eyes open, Sergeant—”
“Ain’t they always?”
“And,” said the Superintendent, “look out for another berth. Shut the
door quietly after you.”