all day, and when at last business was over at a late hour, he went along
to see Mr. Horace Dobb and tell him all that there was to be told.
“Ah, now you’re all right!” said Mr. Dobb, patronizingly. “So mind you
do the job satisfactory, and keep your eyes well open.”
“I shall give Poskett notice at the end of the week,” said Mr. Clark.
“Now I’m hindependent of ’im, I want to get shut of ’is nasty little job
as soon as possible.”
“But you mustn’t,” pointed out Horace. “Far as I can see, the main
reason why Lupcott, the landlord of the ‘Flag and Pennant,’ ’as given you
the job of ferryman is that so you can get rid of this ’ere rival for
’im.”
“I forgot that,” admitted Mr. Clark. “Never mind, I’ll soon nab the pair
of ’em now, and then I can turn over a new leaf.”
But, indeed, Mr. Clark had not succeeded in catching even a glimpse of
Mr. William Jones by the next day, nor the next, nor the next after that.
Confessing his failure rather apprehensively to his patron, Mr. Lupcott,
he was relieved when that gentleman, bidding him cheer up, cited the
precedent of Bruce’s spider.
A few more days passed. Mr. Clark, now well established in his new
sphere of activity, was winning custom and popularity by the nice
distinction of his manners and the careful choice of his vocabulary, and
was almost forgetting the very existence of the secretive Mr. Jones, when
one morning the affair of Miss Poskett’s love passage suddenly loomed
large again before him.
It so chanced that Mr. Clark had just started from the further side of
the river, when loud shouts for his immediate presence claimed his
attention.
“Bit of a ’urry, seemingly,” commented Mr. Clark, and obligingly began to
row back.
There were two male figures awaiting him. One of them was brandishing
his arms and bellowing; the other, taking matters more calmly, leaned in
repose against a post, smiling at his companion’s vehemence. The
excitable gentleman was Mr. Poskett, the other was Mr. Horace Dobb.
“A nice thing! A nice thing!” raved Mr. Poskett, as the nose of the
ferry-boat grounded and Mr. Clark stepped ashore. “You’re a fraud! A
impostor! A broken reed! A foolish virgin!”
The bewildered Mr. Clark, gazing from this figure of wrath to the placid
mien of Mr. Dobb, received a slow, significant wink from that gentleman.
“I’ve been betrayed!” shrilly declaimed Mr. Poskett. “I’ve been wounded
in my tenderest feelings! While you’ve been pretendin’ to be so watchful
and alert, my niece ’as slipped away and got married! She’s just sent me
a telegram, telling me about it, and ’ow she was starting off on ’er
’oneymoon!”
“’As she—’as she married ’im, after all?” queried Mr. Clark, in a
surprised tone that was not entirely devoid of approval.
“She ’as! She’s been meetin’ ’im regular the last few days, it seems,
and—”
“Married that ’ere Jones, and I never so much as set eyes on ’im!”
marvelled Mr. Clark. “There’s artfulness!”
Mr. Poskett, gasping for words, shook his head helplessly.
“It was Mr. Lupcott, of the ‘Flag and Pennant,’ she married, Sam,” said
Mr. Dobb, softly.
“Ah, ’e told me this morning that ’e was going away for a few days, and
’e clapped me on the shoulder and laughed, and I wondered why!” cried Mr.
Clark. “But—but that ’ere Jones—”
“There never was any Jones, Sam,” explained Mr. Dobb, in gentle accents.
“Lupcott invented ’im simply to keep you fixed in one spot, so ’e could
go on meeting Miss Poskett. Matter of fact, I invented ’im for Lupcott!
It was Lupcott ’oo was after ’er all along, as I knew.”
“But—but—”
Mr. Dobb nodded significantly towards Mr. Poskett.
“Look ’ere!” readily cried Mr. Clark, advancing on that gentleman
threateningly. “This ’ere slipway is private property, and I’m in charge
of it. And I don’t want you ’anging about ’ere listening to gentlemen’s
conversation! I don’t like the looks of you, me man. I never did, and I
never shall, so clear out!”
“’Ear, ’ear!” murmured Horace, shamelessly.
“If you’ve got anything to say to me,” warned Mr. Clark, “I advise you
not to say it! Get! See? Get!”
Mr. Poskett, noting the terrible earnestness of Mr. Clark’s visage,
glanced wildly about him, and discovered how remote the slipway was from
civilization. Yielding suddenly to panic, he turned and trotted away,
followed by the heartless laughter of Mr. Dobb and certain blood-curdling
threats from Mr. Clark.
“That’s settled ’im!” stated Mr. Dobb. “’E ain’t the sort to trouble you
again.”
“And a good job too!” declared Mr. Clark. “It’s the first really
comfortable minute I’ve spent since first I took ’is little job on.”
“Never mind, Sam, it served its purpose,” said Mr. Dobb. “Soon as ever
’e spoke to me about ’is niece, and as soon as ever I knew that Lupcott
was in it, I began to look round for a chance. And when I learned
Lupcott’s ferryman was leaving ’im, I saw the chance sticking out as
plain as plain. Luckily I was friendly with all parties. It was me what
put Lupcott up to the plan of giving you the ferry to look after to keep
you from interfering; it was me what suggested you to Poskett for the job
of watching ’is niece; and it was me, Sam, what advised Lupcott not to
let you know ’ow things really stood, in case you might want to be too
’elpful. And I know what you are when you tries to be clever.”
“Well, I’m sure I’m very much obliged to you,” murmured Mr. Clark.
“Put two and two neatly together, ’ave you, and found out ’oo the answer
is?” bantered Mr. Dobb. “Ain’t I a wonder? All that ’ead work done by
me, and you only ’ad to stand by and wait—and you didn’t even know you
was standing by and waiting. So now, if you likes, you can take me into
the ‘Flag and Pennant’ and stand me something to drink success to your
new career.”
“Wait a bit,” said Mr. Clark, counting his available wealth. “Get in the
boat, and let me take you across the river and back again. The fare’ll
be tuppence. And then we can both ’ave a drink!”
_EPISODE III_
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
Superlative virtues of construction and design, never before suspected,
were boldly claimed for the “Jane Gladys” in the auctioneer’s
announcement which advertised her imminent sale. So respect-compelling
was the list of good qualities now stated to be embodied in the unlovely
hulk of that ancient vessel that even the two members of her crew who
lingered on in residence as caretakers felt that their social standing
was enhanced by association with such a superior craft. In order to
demonstrate their new-found dignity, they left unperformed as much menial
work as possible, preferring to sun themselves on deck in more fitting
and gentlemanly leisure.
Thus it was that Mr. Joseph Tridge was idly leaning against the side one
morning, surveying the horizon with a certain bored restfulness, and Mr.
Peter Lock was reclining on deck in triple enjoyment of pipe and
newspaper and slippered ease, when a voice hailed the “Jane Gladys” from
a small boat further out in the river.
In the boat was the venerable Mr. Samuel Clark, formerly the doyen of the
“Jane Gladys’” crew, and now, by the grace of Fate and the artifice of
man, the motive-power of the little ferry which plied across Shorehaven
Harbour at its mouth.
“Why, ’ullo, Sam!” greeted Mr. Tridge, waking to extreme cordiality.
“Just the chap I was ’oping to see! Tie up and come aboard!”
“Not me!” replied Mr. Clark, very definitely.
“Not just for a chat?” wheedled Mr. Tridge. “It’s a bit dull for us
’ere, you know, Sam.”
“I ain’t going to risk it,” replied Mr. Clark. “I only give you a
friendly shout as I was passing, like. You ain’t going to cut my ’air
again to-day, Joe, so you might just as well understand that at once.
You cut it yesterday, and you cut it last Thursday, and you cut it last
Toosday. I don’t mean to be unfriendly or un’elpful, Joe, but you’ve got
to give it a rest to-day!”
“Well, I must practice on something!” protested Mr. Tridge.
“Practice on Peter Lock, then,” recommended Mr. Clark.
Mr. Lock rose and looked over the side. Mr. Lock’s hair, oiled and
combed to a miracle of sleekness, glistened in the sun; Mr. Lock’s chin
and cheeks, bizarrely ornamented with strips of sticking-plaster,
presented an object-lesson in first aid to the injured.
“I’ve struck!” announced Mr. Lock. “I ain’t going to humour him no more.
I’ve let ’im practise shaving on me till me face looks as if some one had
been playing noughts-and-crosses on it in red ink, and I’ve let him
shampoo and brilliantine my hair till I can’t hardly read for the smell
of it.”
“’Orace told me to put in all the practice I could,” said Mr. Tridge,
stoutly. “And I’m going to.”
“But what for?” queried Mr. Clark. “What for? That’s what I wants to
know.”
“So do I!” admitted Mr. Tridge. “’Orace ’asn’t told me yet. All ’e’s
told me to do is to train meself for ’air-dressing, and that’s what I’m
doing. What ’Orace says is good enough for me!”
Mr. Clark nodded approval of such simple loyalty. He mentioned that even
when Horace had been cook to the “Jane Gladys” he was always averse from
premature revelation of the workings of his mind; and went on to say that
now Horace was no longer Horace the cook, but had blossomed out into Mr.
Horace Dobb, second-hand dealer, carrying on business in a little shop in
Fore Street, Shorehaven, he cultivated an even greater reticence in
matters of diplomacy.
“‘Learn a bit of ’air-dressing,’ says ’Orace to me,” narrated Mr. Tridge,
“and I’m learning a bit of ’air-dressing according. ’Orace ’as got
something in ’is mind, you can depend on that. And I take it a bit
uncharitable of you, Sam, not to ’elp me and ’Orace. ’Ow can I practise
’air-dressing if I don’t get no ’air to dress?”
“Practise on the ship’s mop,” put forward Mr. Clark.
“I’ve done that,” said Mr. Tridge, with scorn for so obvious a
suggestion. “I’ve propped that up and give it a ’air-cut over and over
again, till it’s only a bare stump now. Yes, and I’ve clean-shaved the
ship’s scrubbing-brush, too, to see how I’d get on with a really stiff
beard. But you must ’ave living models to do any good. ’Ow else can you
tell if you’re ’urting?”
“Oh, well,” yielded Mr. Clark, “just to keep your ’and in, I’ll let you
shave the back of my neck if you like, only don’t forget that the back of
me neck don’t leave off level with the top of my ears.”
He fastened his boat and went aboard his old home. Seating himself
resignedly on a packing-case, he submitted to the ministrations of Mr.
Tridge. So that Mr. Horace Dobb, appearing presently on the gang-plank,
expressed commendation of the assiduity with which Mr. Tridge was seeking
to acquire tonsorial skill.
“All the same, ’Orace,” remarked Mr. Tridge, “I should like to know what
the idea is.”
“Only another day or two, Joe,” promised Mr. Dobb, “and then, if things
pan out right, you’ll be cutting ’air in a little shop practically your
own. ’Ow’s that, eh?”
“Well, I take it as very kind of you, ’Orace,” said Mr. Tridge, with
gratitude.
“Then you takes it wrong,” retorted Mr. Dobb. “You know my motter, don’t
you?”
“Yes, we all knows it,” put in Mr. Lock, a little hostilely. “It’s
‘Strictly Business!’ Saved you a pint or two in its time, hasn’t it,
that motter?”
“It ’as,” confirmed Mr. Dobb, by no means abashed. “It is a jolly good
motter, far as I’m concerned. And this ’air-dressing idea is strictly
business. I’m working it for all our sakes, and mine most of all. When
I’ve got Joe settled as a barber and found something for you, Peter, the
four of us ought to work some good deals together, from my little place.”
“A ferryman, a barber, a—a something else, and a second-hand dealer,”
catalogued Mr. Lock. “It ain’t a bad web to spread. Lots of rubbish
gets sold because of rumours about them being vallyble.”
“Exackly!” concurred Mr. Dobb. “And barbers’ shops and ferry-boats is
the place for gossip. And there’s lots of strangers visits Shore’aven
during the year.”
“And so you’re going to start me in a barber’s shop!” remarked Mr.
Tridge, with great satisfaction. “Will there be a cash-register?” he
asked, as an interesting after-thought.
“No, _I_ ain’t going to start you, Joe,” corrected Mr. Dobb. “It’s a
Mrs. Jackson what’s going to start you, only she don’t know it yet.”
“A widow!” divined Mr. Tridge.
“A old widow, and a bit of a pal of my missis’s,” supplemented Mr. Dobb.
“Ah, I guessed there was a catch somewhere!” sourly stated Mr. Tridge.
“Well, I ain’t going to get married, see? I ain’t at all the marrying
sort. I prefers to remain single, thank you. Besides which, I’ve got
one somewhere, already.”
“That’s all right, Joe,” returned Mr. Dobb, soothingly. “I expect she’d
turn up ’er eyes at you in ’oly ’orror in any case. She’s a pillar of
temp’rance, Joe, and a anti-smoker and a anti-gambler, and all the rest
of it.”
“No wonder she’s a widow!” softly commented Mr. Lock.
“And, anyway,” said Mr. Tridge, churlishly, “I don’t want no business
dealings with a woman like _that_!”
“You won’t see ’er often, Joe,” returned Mr. Dobb. “She only comes into
Shore’aven once a month or so, just to collect the rents of a few
cottages she’s got. Comes in for the day, she does, settles ’er
business, gets a cheap tea along of my missis, and back she goes ’ome, a
good three miles away.”
“Well, where do I come in?” asked Mr. Tridge.
“You comes in at one hundred and twenty-one, ’Igh Street,” replied Mr.
Dobb. “That belongs to ’er. It’s a little, tiny, squeezed-in shop what
she owns. It’s a barber’s shop.”
“I see. And I’m to be the hassistant,” surmised Mr. Tridge.
“Hassistant? Why, it’s so small that if there was to be a hassistant
there’d be no room left for a customer! No, Joe; you’re to run the ’ole
show. The chap what’s there now is leaving soon, you see.”
Mr. Dobb, anticipating the further curiosity of Mr. Tridge, went on to
explain that the present tenant was in occupation of the premises on
profit-sharing terms with the landlady. The stock and fixtures had
recently come into Mrs. Jackson’s possession in the course of business,
subsequent to the temporary employment of a broker’s man.
And now Mrs. Jackson, loth to lose her interest in the barbering
profession, designed to procure yet another hairdresser to fill the
place, on the same terms of partnership, of the dispossessed tenant.
“Of course,” said Mr. Dobb, “I ain’t supposed to know much about it. I
only know what she’s told my missis in gossip, and I must say my missis
is a good ’un at asking a few simple questions over a cup of tea without
appearing nosey over it.”
“Well, and what do I do now?” asked Mr. Tridge. “Go up and ask ’er for
the job?”
“Bless you, no!” was Horace’s baffling response. “Why, she’s filled it
already, far as she’s concerned.”
“That’s the back of my neck, Joe, when you’ve finished cutting rashers
out of it,” came Mr. Clark’s mild reminder.
“Well, ’Orace shouldn’t go giving me shocks like that!” indignantly
exclaimed Mr. Tridge. “’Ere ’ave I been spending a ’ole week learning
’air-dressing in all its branches, and now, just when I’m perfect, ’e
breaks the noos to me in a roundabout way that I’ve wasted my time for
nothing!”
“I said as far as _she_ was concerned, Joe,” remarked Mr. Dobb. “Not as
far as _I_ was concerned. That’s a very different matter. You just
carry on and wait a day or two. And you, Sam Clark, you tell your boss
that you’re rather hexpecting to ’ave another attack of colic soon, and
stand by to take horders from me at any minute.”
Refusing to shed further enlightenment at this juncture, Mr. Dobb turned
and left the “Jane Gladys” with rather a consciously Napoleonic stride.
For the rest of that day Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock found engrossing
employment in devising theories as to the exact nature of Mr. Dobb’s
machinations. Mr. Lock was of opinion that Mr. Tridge would be called on
to impersonate Mrs. Jackson’s new partner in the hairdressing business,
though he admitted that he could not imagine how this was to be carried
through to complete success. On the other hand, Mr. Tridge, displaying a
truculent species of pessimism, obstinately inclined to the belief that
yet a parson and a wedding-ring would be found to be lurking at the back
of Mr. Dobb’s strategy.
And Mr. Samuel Clark, ever somewhat crude and confused in his ideas,
plied his ferry all that afternoon, oblivious of his surroundings even to
the point of returning thanks for a tip of a French halfpenny. The only
thing his mind could dwell on was that, at some near date, the widowed
Mrs. Jackson was to be lured by Horace into a hairdressing saloon and
there relieved, by some pretext, of the money she had been collecting in
rents. The morality of such a proceeding did not trouble the plump
sailorman; he found sufficient extenuation in the thought that it was the
job of the police to prevent such things.
But late that same evening, at the “Jolly Sailors,” Mr. Dobb exhibited
himself in a more communicative mood. Assembling his former shipmates
around him, he extended a strictly rationed hospitality towards them, and
then, of his own free-will, reverted to the twin subjects of the
hairdressing business and Mrs. Jackson.
“The old gal came in to tea quite unexpected to-day,” he said. “That’s
three times in a little over a fortnight. ’Owever, I sold ’er a
second-’and dish-cover, so she’s paid for more than she’s ate up to now.
She sat a long time over ’er tea chatting to my missis. Of course it
didn’t hinterest me, so I went out into the shop. Only I couldn’t ’elp
’earing a lot, because some-’ow I’d left the door open, and it would ’ave
looked so rude to ’ave closed it deliberate between us.”
He leaned back and, with a smile of profound self-satisfaction, eyed each
of his friends in turn.
“Well?” prompted Mr. Tridge.
“The new chap she’s got ’er eye on is arriving the day after to-morrow to
see the place and fix up finally with ’er. Oh, she’s very took with ’im!
She ain’t ever seen ’im yet, but ’is letters ’ave touched ’er ’eart
proper. It seems ’e’s just the very sort of chap she’s been advertising
for—a lifelong teetotaller, a nonsmoker, never bets nor swears, always
punctual, steady, and methodical.”
“In short,” restively summarized Mr. Tridge, “just the sort of chap I
_ain’t_! Seems to me I stands a fine chance against ’im with a silly old
geezer like ’er!” he added, ungallantly. “’Owever, go on!”
“’E’s coming down from London by the hexpress. Well, now, supposing ’e
didn’t harrive, or something went wrong and they failed to come to a
hagreement? Why, the shop would be standing empty from next Saturday,
and she’d be at ’er wits’ ends to find some one else! She’s spent pounds
in hadvertising for a teetotal, non-smoking barber as it is. Well, up
you goes to see ’er, Joe Tridge, gives _me_ as a reference, and gets the
job temporary. And once you’re in, you ain’t the man you used to be if
anything short of dynamite gets you out of that job again.”
“But why couldn’t you ’ave recommended me to start with?”
“I didn’t know in time. And, for another thing, she was so set on
getting a pattern of virtue. But when she finds things ’ave gone wrong,
and there’s no time to spare, unless she’s willing to lose money by it,
she won’t be so partic’lar, and she’ll overlook some of your faults, Joe,
if you keeps the rest of ’em dark.”
“You seem pretty sure things are going wrong,” said Mr. Tridge.
“I can feel it in me bones,” returned Mr. Dobb. “Anyway Mrs. Jackson’s
coming in the day after to-morrow to meet this chap at one hundred and
twenty-one, ’Igh Street. Now, I _may_ be at the station when ’e arrives,
and pass the time of day with ’im.”
“I can ’ear the dawn breaking,” observed Mr. Tridge, humorously. “You’ll
tell ’im there’s nothing doing, and say you were sent by ’er to meet ’im
and tell ’im so. And she’ll think ’e never come?”
“Helementary, Joe,” criticized Mr. Dobb. “Most helementary! ’E’d write
to ’er when ’e got back, and then the fat ’ud be out of the frying-pan
and into the fire. No, I mean to fix it so that she’s finished with ’im
for good and all two minutes after she’s first set eyes on ’im!”
“And ’ow do you do that?” asked Mr. Lock. “Mesmerism?”
“No, circumstantial hevidence,” returned Mr. Dobb, happily. “There’s
more people comes a cropper over circumstantial hevidence than over the
truth coming out by haccident, and that’s saying a lot!”
He glanced warily about him, and then raised his arms in a gesture
inviting closer heed to his words. Four heads bent over the table; three
pairs of ears listened attentively. From one pair of lips came a
whispered fluency of instruction and explanation. Finally, Mr. Dobb sat
back with simpering pride, and his three companions unanimously expressed
their awed respect for his brain-powers.
Again Mr. Dobb bent forward to add sundry details, promising to instruct
those selected for dramatic roles at a more private opportunity on the
morrow.
Mr. Samuel Clark, flattered by having the star part assigned to him,
promised that he would rehearse on every possible occasion during the
following day. Some twenty-two hours later Mr. Dobb called at Mr.
Clark’s lodgings to see whether he was fulfilling this promise, and Mr.
Clark at once afforded him something in the nature of a dress rehearsal.
“Puffect!” declared Horace, with enthusiasm. “A born actor couldn’t do
it better, especially when you rolls your eyes up like that. I see it
was blowing a bit fresh when I come along just now, so there’ll be a nice
little ground-swell off the ’arbour-mouth to-morrow. ’Ave you arranged
to ’ave colic to-morrow, like I told you?”
“All fixed up; and I’ve got some one else to look after the ferry for the
day, and I’ve borrowed a small boat, like what you said. And I shall be
waiting where you told me all the morning.”
“That’s the idea!” approved Horace. “And now we’ll just go and see if
Peter Lock remembers all he’s got to say, and then we’ll see if the clock
in the ‘Jolly Sailors’ keeps good time.”
Mr. Horace Dobb was patrolling the platform of Shorehaven railway-station
next morning when the express from London came to a standstill there.
Of the few passengers that thankfully alighted, the majority were
sailormen. Several women and children made up a goodly share of the rest
of the number. Of the half-dozen residue, five were gentlemen known to
Mr. Dobb by sight or personally. The sixth was a complete stranger, and
Mr. Dobb, with a pious expression of gratitude for this simplification of
his task of identifying Mrs. Jackson’s expected visitor, at once
approached him.
“Are you going straight back to the Town ’All, Mr. Binson?” asked Horace,
innocently.
“I’m afraid you’re making an error,” was the reply. “My name is not
Binson.”
“Mean to tell me you’re not Mr. Binson, our town-clerk of Shore’aven
’ere?” demanded Mr. Dobb, incredulously.
“No, I am not. I am a complete stranger to this town.”
“Well, well,” marvelled Mr. Dobb, “you are the exact image of Mr. Binson,
that’s all I can say.”
“Indeed?” returned the other, with scant interest in the coincidence.
“Well, as I say, I am a perfect stranger here. I should be glad, in
fact, if you would tell me the nearest way to the High Street. I have a
business appointment there.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Dobb, with equal listlessness. “Which end of ’Igh Street?
It makes a difference ’ow you goes from ’ere, according to which end you
want.”
“Number one hundred and twenty-one. It’s a barber’s shop.”
“I know it,” said Mr. Dobb. “Name of Bonner.”
“At present, yes,” conceded the other. “It really belongs to a lady,
though—to Mrs. Jackson. Perhaps you know her?”
“’Eard of ’er, I fancy,” returned Mr. Dobb, cursorily. “Pity you got out
at this station, though. Your nearest would ’ave been the station the
other side of the river. ’Owever, you come along of me, and I’ll see you
on the right road. Shall we just ’ave one gargle before we start?”
“Gargle?” asked the other one, in perplexity.
“Tonic,” elucidated Mr. Dobb. “Drink.”
“Thank you, no,” was the reply. “I am a lifelong abstainer from all
alcoholic drinks.”
“Just as you like,” said Mr. Dobb, readily. “Well, come along with me,
and I’ll take you down to the ferry and get you taken across the river,
and you’ll soon be there.”
“I didn’t know there was another station. I suppose the ferry _is_ the
shortest way? I’m not a good sailor, and—”
Mr. Dobb’s eyes glinted.