Nihil est furacius illo Non fuit Autolyci tam piccata manus.--Martial.
Quo teneam vultus mutantem Protea nodo?--Horace.
When I left the magistrate, I knew not whither my next step should
tend. There was, however, no time to indulge the idle stupor, which
Glanville’s situation at first occasioned; with a violent effort, I
shook it off, and bent all my mind to discover the best method to
avail myself, to the utmost, of the short reprieve I had succeeded in
obtaining; at length, one of those sudden thoughts which, from their
suddenness appear more brilliant than they really are, flashed upon my
mind. I remembered the accomplished character of Mr. Job Jonson, and
the circumstance of my having seen him in company with Thornton. Now,
although it was not very likely that Thornton should have made
Mr. Jonson his confidant, in any of those affairs which it was so
essentially his advantage to confine exclusively to himself; yet the
acuteness and penetration visible in the character of the worthy Job,
might not have lain so fallow during his companionship with Thornton,
but that it might have made some discoveries which would considerably
assist me in my researches; besides, as it is literally true in
the systematized roguery of London, that “birds of a feather flock
together,” it was by no means unlikely that the honest Job might be
honoured with the friendship of Mr. Dawson, as well as the company of
Mr. Thornton; in which case I looked forward with greater confidence to
the detection of the notable pair.
I could not, however, conceal from myself, that this was but a very
unstable and ill-linked chain of reasoning, and there were moments, when
the appearances against Glanville wore so close a semblance of truth,
that all my friendship could scarcely drive from my mind an intrusive
suspicion that he might have deceived me, and that the accusation might
not be groundless.
This unwelcome idea did not, however, at all lessen the rapidity with
which I hastened towards the memorable gin shop, where I had whilom met
Mr. Gordon--there I hoped to find either the address of that gentleman,
or of the “Club,” to which he had taken me, in company with Tringle and
Dartmore: either at this said club, or of that said gentleman, I thought
it not unlikely that I might hear some tidings of the person of Mr.
Job Jonson--if not, I was resolved to return to the office, and employ
Mr.--my mulberry-cheeked acquaintance of the last night, in a search
after the holy Job.
Fate saved me a world of trouble; as I was hastily walking onwards, I
happened to turn my eyes on the opposite side of the way, and discovered
a man dressed, in what the newspapers term, the very height of the
fashion, namely, in the most ostentatious attire that ever flaunted at
Margate, or blazoned in the Palais Royale. The nether garments of this
petit maitre, consisted of a pair of blue tight pantaloons, profusely
braided, and terminating in Hessian boots, adorned with brass spurs of
the most burnished resplendency; a black velvet waistcoat, studded with
gold stars, was backed by a green frock coat, covered, notwithstanding
the heat of the weather, with fur, and frogged and cordonne with the
most lordly indifference, both as to taste and expense: a small French
hat, which might not have been much too large for my Lord of P--, was
set jauntily in the centre of a system of long black curls, which
my eye, long accustomed to penetrate the arcana of habilatory art,
discovered at once to be a wig. A fierce black mustacheo, very much
curled, wandered lovingly from the upper lip, towards the eyes, which
had an unfortunate prepossession for eccentricity in their direction. To
complete the picture, we must suppose some colouring--and this consisted
in a very nice and delicate touch of the rouge pot, which could not be
called by so harsh a term as paint; say, rather that it was a tinge.
No sooner had I set my eyes upon this figure, than I crossed over to
the side of the way which it was adorning, and followed its motions at a
respectful but observant distance.
At length my freluquet marched into a jeweller’s shop in Oxford-street;
with a careless air, I affected, two minutes afterwards, to saunter
into the same shop; the shopman was shewing his bijouterie to him of the
Hessians with the greatest respect; and, beguiled by the splendour of
the wig and waistcoat, turned me over to his apprentice--another time,
I might have been indignant at perceiving that the air noble, on which
I piqued myself far more than all other gifts of nature, personal or
mental, was by no means so universally acknowledged as I had vainly
imagined--at that moment I was too occupied to think of my insulted
dignity. While I was pretending to appear wholly engrossed with some
seals, I kept a vigilant eye on my superb fellow customer: at last, I
saw him secrete a diamond ring, and thrust it, by a singular movement
of the fore finger, up the fur cuff of his capacious sleeve; presently,
some other article of minute size disappeared in the like manner.
The gentleman then rose, expressed himself very well satisfied by the
great taste of the jeweller, said he should look in again on Saturday,
when he hoped the set he had ordered would be completed, and gravely
took his departure amidst the prodigal bows of the shopman and his
helpmates; meanwhile, I bought a seal of small value, paid for it, and
followed my old acquaintance, for the reader has doubtless discovered,
long before this, that the gentleman was no other than Mr. Job Jonson.
Slowly and struttingly did the man of two virtues perform the whole
pilgrimage of Oxford-street. He stopped at Cumberland-gate, and, looking
round, with an air of gentlemanlike indecision, seemed to consider
whether or not he should join the loungers in the park: fortunately for
that well bred set, his doubts terminated in their favour, and Mr.
Job Jonson entered the park. Every one happened to be thronging to
Kensington Gardens, and the man of two virtues accordingly cut across
the park, as the shortest, but the least frequented way thither, in
order to confer upon them the dangerous honour of his company.
Directly I perceived that there were but few persons in the immediate
locality to observe me, and that those consisted of a tall guardsman
and his wife, a family of young children, with their nursery-maid, and
a debilitated East India captain; walking for the sake of his liver, I
overtook the incomparable Job, made him a low bow, and thus reverently
accosted him--
“Mr. Jonson, I am delighted once more to meet you--suffer me to remind
you of the very pleasant morning I passed with you in the neighbourhood
of Hampton Court. I perceive, by your mustachios and military dress,
that you have entered the army since that day; I congratulate the
British troops on such an admirable acquisition.”
Mr. Jonson’s assurance forsook him for a moment, but he lost no time in
regaining a quality which was so natural to his character. He assumed a
fierce look, and relevant sa moustache sourit amerement, like Voltaire’s
governor [Note: Don Fernand d’Ibarra in the “Candide”]--“D--n your
eyes, Sir,” he cried, “do you mean to insult me? I know none of your Mr.
Jonsons, and I never set my eyes upon you before.”
“Lookye, my dear Mr. Job Jonson,” replied I, “as I can prove not only
all I say, but much more that I shall not say--such as your little
mistakes just now, at the jeweller’s shop in Oxford-street, perhaps it
would be better for you not to oblige me to create a mob, and give you
in charge--pardon my abruptness of speech--to a constable!--Surely there
will be no need of such a disagreeable occurrence, when I assure you,
in the first place, that I perfectly forgive you for ridding me of
the unnecessary comforts of a pocket-book and handkerchief, the
unphilosophical appendage of a purse, and the effeminate gage d’amour
of a gold bracelet; nor is this all--it is perfectly indifferent to me,
whether you levy contributions on jewellers or gentlemen, and I am
very far from wishing to intrude upon your harmless occupations, or to
interfere with your innocent amusements. I see, Mr. Jonson, that you are
beginning to understand me; let me facilitate so desirable an end by
an additional information, that, since it is preceded with a promise
to open my purse, may tend somewhat to open your heart; I am, at this
moment, in great want of your assistance--favour me with it, and I will
pay you to your soul’s content. Are we friends now, Mr. Job Jonson?”
My old friend burst out into a loud laugh. “Well, Sir, I must say that
your frankness enchants me. I can no longer dissemble with you; indeed,
I perceive, it would be useless; besides, I always adored candour--it is
my favourite virtue. Tell me how I can help you, and you may command my
services.”
“One word,” said I: “will you be open and ingenuous with me? I shall ask
you certain questions, not in the least affecting your own safety, but
to which, if you would serve me, you must give me (and since candour is
your favourite virtue, this will be no difficult task) your most candid
replies. To strengthen you in so righteous a course, know also, that
the said replies will come verbatim before a court of law, and that,
therefore, it will be a matter of prudence to shape them as closely
to the truth as your inclinations will allow. To counterbalance this
information, which, I own, is not very inviting, I repeat, that the
questions asked you will be wholly foreign to your own affairs, and
that, should you prove of that assistance to me which I anticipate, I
will so testify my gratitude as to place you beyond the necessity
of pillaging rural young gentlemen and credulous shopkeepers for the
future;--all your present pursuits need only be carried on for your
private amusement.”
“I repeat, that you may command me,” returned Mr. Jonson, gracefully
putting his hand to his heart.
“Pray, then,” said I, “to come at once to the point, how long have you
been acquainted with Mr. Thomas Thornton?”
“For some months only,” returned Job, without the least embarrassment.
“And Mr. Dawson?” said I.
A slight change came over Jonson’s countenance: he hesitated. “Excuse
me, Sir,” said he; “but I am, really, perfectly unacquainted with you,
and I may be falling into some trap of the law, of which, Heaven knows,
I am as ignorant as a babe unborn.”
I saw the knavish justice of this remark; and in my predominating zeal
to serve Glanville, I looked upon the inconvenience of discovering
myself to a pickpocket and sharper, as a consideration not worth
attending to. In order, therefore, to remove his doubts, and, at
the same time, to have a more secret and undisturbed place for our
conference, I proposed to him to accompany me home; at first, Mr.
Jonson demurred, but I soon half persuaded and half intimidated him into
compliance.
Not particularly liking to be publicly seen with a person of his
splendid description and celebrated character, I made him walk before me
to Mivart’s, and I followed him closely, never turning my eye, either to
the right or the left, lest he should endeavour to escape me. There was
no fear of this, for Mr. Jonson was both a bold and a crafty man, and it
required, perhaps, but little of his penetration to discover that I was
no officer nor informer, and that my communication had been of a nature
likely enough to terminate in his advantage; there was, therefore, but
little need of his courage in accompanying me to my hotel.
There were a good many foreigners of rank at Mivart’s, and the waiters
took my companion for an ambassador at least:--he received their homage
with the mingled dignity and condescension natural to so great a man.
As the day was now far advanced, I deemed it but hospitable to offer Mr.
Job Jonson some edible refreshment. With the frankness on which he so
justly valued himself, he accepted my proposal. I ordered some cold
meat, and two bottles of wine; and, mindful of old maxims, deferred
my business till his repast was over. I conversed with him merely upon
ordinary topics, and, at another time, should have been much amused
by the singular mixture of impudence and shrewdness which formed the
stratum of his character.
At length his appetite was satisfied, and one of the bottles emptied;
with the other before him, his body easily reclining on my library
chair, his eyes apparently cast downwards, but ever and anon glancing
up at my countenance with a searching and curious look, Mr. Job Jonson
prepared himself for our conference; accordingly I began.
“You say that you are acquainted with Mr. Dawson; where is he at
present?”
“I don’t know,” answered Jonson, laconically.
“Come,” said I, “no trifling--if you do not know, you can learn.”
“Possibly I can, in the course of time,” rejoined honest Job.
“If you cannot tell me his residence at once,” said I, “our conference
is at an end; that is a leading feature in my inquiries.”
Jonson paused before he replied--“You have spoken to me frankly, let us
do nothing by halves--tell me, at once, the nature of the service I can
do you, and the amount of my reward, and then you shall have my answer.
With respect to Dawson, I will confess to you, that I did once know him
well, and that we have done many a mad prank together, which I should
not like the bugaboos and bulkies to know; you will, therefore, see that
I am naturally reluctant to tell you any thing about him, unless your
honour will inform me of the why and the wherefore.”
I was somewhat startled by this speech, and by the shrewd, cunning eye
which dwelt upon me, as it was uttered; but, however, I was by no means
sure, that acceding to his proposal would not be my readiest and
wisest way to the object I had in view. Nevertheless, there were some
preliminary questions to be got over first: perhaps Dawson might be too
dear a friend to the candid Job, for the latter to endanger his safety;
or perhaps, (and this was more probable,) Jonson might be perfectly
ignorant of any thing likely to aid me: in this case my communication
would be useless; accordingly I said, after a short consideration--
“Patience, my dear Mr. Jonson--patience, you shall know all in good
time; meanwhile I must--even for Dawson’s sake--question you blindfold.
What, now, if your poor friend Dawson were in imminent danger, and that
you might have the power to save him, would you not do all you could?”
The small, coarse features of Mr. Job, grew blank, with a curious sort
of disappointment: “Is that all?” said he. “No! unless I were well paid
for my pains in his behalf, he might go to Botany Bay, for all I care.”
“What!” I cried, in a tone of reproach, “is this your friendship?
I thought, just now, that you said Dawson had been an old and firm
associate of yours.”
“An old one, your honour; but not a firm one. A short time ago, I was
in great distress, and he and Thornton had, God knows how! about two
thousand pounds between them; but I could not worm a stiver out of
Dawson--that gripe-all, Thornton, got it all from him.”
“Two thousand pounds!” said I, in a calm voice, though my heart beat
violently; “that’s a great sum for a poor fellow like Dawson. How long
ago is it since he had it?”
“About two or three months,” answered Jonson.
“Pray, have you seen much of Dawson lately?” I asked.
“I have,” replied Jonson.
“Indeed!” said I. “I thought you told me, just now, that you were
unacquainted with his residence?”
“So I am,” replied Jonson, coldly, “it is not at his own house that I
ever see him.”
I was silent, for I was now rapidly and minutely weighing the benefits
and disadvantages of trusting Jonson as he had desired me to do.
To reduce the question to the simplest form of logic, he had either
the power of assisting my investigation, or he had not: if not, neither
could he much impede it, and therefore, it mattered little whether he
was in my confidence or not; if he had the power, the doubt was, whether
it would be better for me to benefit by it openly, or by stratagem; that
is--whether it were wiser to state the whole case to him, or continue
to gain whatever I was able by dint of a blind examination. Now, the
disadvantage of candour was, that if it were his wish to screen Dawson
and his friend, he would be prepared to do so, and even to put them on
their guard against my suspicions; but the indifference he had testified
with regard to Dawson seemed to render this probability very small. The
benefits of candour were more prominent: Job would then be fully aware
that his own safety was not at stake; and should I make it more his
interest to serve the innocent than the guilty, I should have the entire
advantage, not only of any actual information he might possess, but
of his skill and shrewdness in providing additional proof, or at least
suggesting advantageous hints. Moreover, in spite of my vanity and
opinion of my own penetration, I could not but confess, that it was
unlikely that my cross-examination should be very successful with so old
and experienced a sinner as Mr. Jonson. “Set a thief to catch a thief,”
is among the wisest of wise sayings, and accordingly I resolved in
favour of a disclosure.
Drawing my chair close to Jonson’s, fixing my eye upon his countenance,
and throwing into my own the most open, yet earnest expression I could
summon, I briefly proceeded to sketch Glanville’s situation (only
concealing his name), and Thornton’s charges. I mentioned my own
suspicions of the accuser, and my desire of discovering Dawson, whom
Thornton appeared to me artfully to secrete. Lastly, I concluded, with
a solemn promise, that if my listener could, by any zeal, exertion,
knowledge, or contrivance of his own, procure the detection of the men,
whom I was convinced were the murderers, a pension of three hundred
pounds a-year should be immediately settled upon him.
During my communication, the patient Job sat mute and still, fixing his
eyes on the ground, and only betraying, by an occasional elevation
of the brows, that he took the slightest interest in the tale: when,
however, I touched upon the peroration, which so tenderly concluded with
the mention of three hundred pounds a-year, a visible change came over
the countenance of Mr. Jonson. He rubbed his hands with an air of great
content, and one sudden smile broke over his features, and almost buried
his eyes amid the intricate host of wrinkles it called forth: the smile
vanished as rapidly as it came, and Mr. Job turned round to me with a
solemn and sedate aspect.
“Well, your honour,” said he, “I’m glad you’ve told me all; we must see
what can be done. As for Thornton, I’m afraid we shan’t make much out
of him, for he’s an old offender, whose conscience is as hard as a
brick-bat; but, of Dawson, I hope better things. However, you must let
me go now, for this is a matter that requires a vast deal of private
consideration. I shall call upon you tomorrow, Sir, before ten o’clock,
since you say matters are so pressing; and, I trust, you will then see
that you have no reason to repent of the confidence you have placed in a
man of honour.”
So saying, Mr. Job Jonson emptied the remainder of the bottle into his
tumbler, held it up to the light with the gusto of a connoisseur, and
concluded his potations with a hearty smack of the lips, followed by a
long sigh.
“Ah, your honour!” said he, “good wine is a marvellous whetter of the
intellect; but your true philosopher is always moderate: for my part, I
never exceed my two bottles.”
And with these words, this true philosopher took his departure.
No sooner was I freed from his presence, than my thoughts flew to Ellen:
I had neither been able to call nor write the whole of the day; and I
was painfully fearful, lest my precautions with Sir Reginald’s valet had
been frustrated, and the alarm of his imprisonment reached her and Lady
Glanville. Harassed by this fear, I disregarded the lateness of the
hour, and immediately repaired to Berkeley-square.
Lady and Miss Glanville were alone and at dinner: the servant spoke with
his usual unconcern--“They are quite well?” said I, relieved, but still
anxious: and the servant replying in the affirmative, I again returned
home, and wrote a long, and, I hope, consoling letter to Sir Reginald.
VOLUME VIII.