Sam Brandon was more asleep than awake when he made his way into
Westhall Station, and took a ticket for town. He had taken nearly an
hour to get over the last mile, after struggling hard during the first
part of the night to get as far as possible away from Furzebrough,
haunted as he was by the belief that the theft would be discovered
before many minutes had passed, and that he would be pitched upon as the
criminal. For though the struggle had been in the dark, and he had not
spoken a word, he felt sure that Tom must have known him, and that some
one would start very soon in pursuit. Hence, with his brain full of
handcuffs, prison cells, magistrates, and other accessories of the law,
he had toiled on through the night until utterly exhausted.
The early morning train soon came gliding into the station, and Sam took
his place, trying in vain to look careless and indifferent, and as if he
were occupied over his ordinary affairs; but it could not be done. He
looked dusty as to his boots and trousers; there was a bloodshot
appearance in his eyes; his cheeks were hollow, and his lips feverish
and cracked.
Then the other passengers kept on staring at him, and the more so
because he looked uneasily at them. In fact, as one passenger said to
himself, he looked "as if he been up to no good."
The drowsy sensation which had made him feel as if walking in a dream
had now completely passed away, and though he rested his head in a
corner, and, after buttoning up his jacket tightly, tried to sleep, he
could not lose consciousness, but sat there with every joint aching, and
a miserable feeling of weariness in his back, listening to the rattle of
the train, which kept up what sounded like some weird tune, always
beginning and never ending.
There came minutes when he felt as if he were going to be seriously ill,
for his head throbbed, and there was a burning sensation at the back of
his eyes, while the events of the past night seemed as if they had
happened a long time back.
Once when the train stopped--though stop it did at every station--Sam
closed his eyes tightly and shammed sleep, feeling convinced that when
the carriage door was opened, he would hear a rough voice ordering him
to get out, consequent upon his description having been telegraphed all
along the line; and then the door was opened and banged to again after a
man had spoken in a rough voice, but only said jocularly--
"Got room for a little 'un?"
He then squeezed in close to Sam, and proved to be a huge fellow of
about twenty stone.
Every one in the compartment laughed but Sam, who went through the same
agony again and again, till the tickets were taken at Vauxhall, when the
collector looked so much like a detective that the mental suffering was
worse than ever.
Waterloo at last. He was parched with fever; his throat felt dry, and
there was hot coffee waiting at the buffet, such as would relieve the
faintness from which he suffered; but he dared not stop to partake of
it. He hurried out of the great station, and walked fast across the
bridge, and only began to feel more safe when he was amongst the crowd
going and coming in the busy streets.
At last, after dodging in and out in all directions to baffle pursuit,
he jumped into a cab to be taken home, but began to feel the next moment
that if he were pursued it would be known where he had taken refuge.
Taken altogether, Sam Brandon began to taste very bitterly the agonies
of those who break out of straight paths, never having realised till
then how thorny the wrong course was, and how deep the pits and chasms
in the way.
The cabman looked at him peculiarly when he got in, but that was nothing
to the grin which overspread his face when the lad alighted and went up
to the front door; while upon his summons being answered, the maid
saluted him with the expressive words--"Oh, lor!"
"Is my father down yet?" asked Sam.
"No, sir, and it's lucky for you as he ain't. My! he would kick up a
fuss, if he see you such a sight after being out all night."
"Bah!" ejaculated Sam, and he ran up-stairs to his room.
"Bah! indeed," cried the indignant girl; "serve you right if I was to
tell master what time you come home. But I won't."
And there was no need. For Sam had hardly shut himself in before there
was a hand upon the lock of the door, and his father entered in his
dressing-gown, looking haggard and pale, consequent upon a sleepless,
anxious night.
He closed and locked the door, before turning excitedly to his son.
"Well?" he whispered in a husky voice.
"Got back," said Sam laconically.
"Yes; and you have not succeeded?" cried James Brandon.
Sam was silent.
"I say, you have not succeeded?"
"I heard what you said, father," replied Sam surlily.
"I knew it would be so," cried his father. "It's all because you would
be so rash, and ready to believe that you know everything. Now if you
had gone down as I advised, on a visit, everything would have been as
easy as a glove. You could have stayed there two or three days with
your cousin now your uncle is in London."
"Oh, then you knew Uncle Richard was in London?"
"Of course I did, or I shouldn't have let you go, sir. And then you
could have come back with what we wanted decently, and not come crawling
into the house as if you had been found out committing a theft, and the
detectives were after you."
Sam gave a sudden jump and glanced at the door, but laughed it off
directly with a sneer.
"Don't be absurd, father," he said. "Of course I only went on a very
honest mission--for you."
It was James Brandon's turn to wince now, and as he saw his son's
sneering laugh he turned upon him angrily.
"It's my own fault," he cried, "for trusting such an idiot. I might
have known what would be the consequences; but I thought you were
growing up into a man whom I could trust with important business."
"Legal business," said Sam sneeringly.
"Yes, sir, legal business," cried James Brandon. "You're worse than
your cousin."
"Ever so much," retorted Sam. "Well, dad, have you done?"
"Yes, sir, I have done--done with you too. You might have saved me
thousands, instead of--"
"How do you know I haven't?" said Sam sourly.
His father's mouth opened, and a curious change came over his
countenance.
"Why, Sam, my boy!" he panted. "You don't mean to say--"
"That the idiot has been of some use to you? Yes, I do. There, when
you've done rowing me let's get the business over, for I'm sick of it.
I want to go to bed."
"Then--then--you've--you've--" stammered James Brandon.
"Succeeded?--of course I have," said Sam coolly, as he lay back in a
chair, heavy-eyed, nervous, and utterly exhausted by his night's work.
"If I wasn't so tired I should have something more to say."
"My dear boy!" cried James Brandon effusively; and his son uttered a
low, unpleasant laugh. "Sam, you have the--the papers?"
"Yes."
"Quick then--give them to me."
Sam thrust his hand into the breast-pocket of his closely-buttoned coat,
and glancing in sidewise, he drew out a folded paper.
"That it?" he said coolly, as he handed it to his father, watching him
keenly the while.
"That? Absurd!" said James Brandon, taking it and tossing it back.
"The agreement for letting a house. You don't mean to say--"
Sam interrupted him.
"Try that then," he said.
But again his father tossed the paper away with an angry ejaculation,
while his face grew more haggard and anxious-looking.
"That's it then," said Tom. "I had to grab them in a hurry, and get
away."
"That is not the packet," cried his father. "There were four deeds tied
up with green silk ribbon. I explained to you exactly what they were
like. Surely you had more common-sense than to think these things were
what I wanted!"
"Don't I tell you I had to take them in a hurry?" said Sam, smiling at
his father's anxious face, as he kept one hand still in his breast, and
now with a triumphant air flourished out a great cartridge paper
envelope. "There," he cried; "will that do then?"
"No, no, no," said James Brandon angrily; "four deeds tied up with green
silk ribbon, I tell you;" and he waved the thick envelope aside, but Sam
still held it out.
"Don't you be in such a hurry, gov'nor," he cried. "That's the packet,
only perhaps the old man put the deeds in the envelope. Look inside."
Sam's father snatched the packet from his son's hand, dragged out its
contents, which were tied together with green ribbon indeed, and proved
to be written in a round legal hand; but as he read the endorsements one
by one, he threw them contemptuously down with a groan.
"What, ain't those right?" cried the lad, speaking anxiously now.
"Right? No," cried his father. "There, I see you are playing with me.
Where is the right packet?"
"Right? The right packet? I made sure that was it. I opened that old
bureau of his, and these deeds and things were all together."
"Oh, Sam! Sam!" groaned his father.
"It was quite dark, you know, and I had to work by feel till I got the
drawers open, and then I lit a match or two, so as to make sure which
was the packet I wanted. There were the four things together tied up
with green silk ribbon, and I had no time to read them even if I'd
wanted to; but I felt so sure it was not necessary."
"It was madness. You ought to have looked carefully," said James
Brandon.
"Yes; that sounds all right, but it's a wonder I got them. I only just
had time to stuff them into my pocket when he came, and then--"
"He came! Who came?" cried James Brandon.
"Tom; and a pretty fight I had for it before I could get away."
"Then he caught you steal--caught you seeking for those papers?" cried
James Brandon wildly.
"Of course he did; I told you so."
"Then it's all over. He has told your uncle by this time."
"Not he. How could he know? Didn't I tell you it was dark as pitch?"
"What? Then you think he does not know who it was?" cried James
Brandon, with the air of a man catching at a straw to save himself.
"Sure of it," said Sam coolly, as he opened one of the papers and began
reading--"`Instructions for grinding and polishing specula.'"
He opened another.
"`The various modes of mounting telescopes.'"