To retrace one's steps is always a difficult, and very often a most
unpleasant task, as every one must have felt who has left his
note-book at home and had to go back for it. Imagination,
however--kind, quick, ready Imagination--with one bound skips over the
intervening space, and plants us on the wished-for spot without
tracking back the weary footprints of our advance. She shall lend us
her wings for a moment, to take us back to the spot where we left our
worthy friend Joshua Brown, the pedlar.
From the door of Henry Hayley's room he walked down-stairs, spoke for a
moment with Farmer Graves, took what little breakfast he would accept,
and then departed, bending his steps towards the same common which he
had passed during the preceding evening. He followed the same track
exactly, and he had his reasons for so doing; for he very much desired
to obtain some little information in regard to those rough friends who
had become too familiar with his pack and his companion's pocket-book.
His first resting-place was at the sandpit where the tinker's family
had taken up their abode, but there he only found the old man and his
daughter; and sitting down with them, he chatted over the adventures
of the preceding night, expressing his determination to try if he
could not find out the men who had plundered him, and punish them as
they deserved.
"You won't find them at the hovel under Knight's-hill," said the old
tinker; "for James has been upon the lookout this morning with some of
Mr. Payne's men, and the place is empty: they have gone farther off,
because they know one trick of this kind is enough for the
neighbourhood. They have left your box there, however, Joshua; and
James would not bring it away, because he did not know you might come
here, and thought it very likely you might get the people from the
farm and go down to the hut yourself."
"I will go down alone, if you are sure there is nobody there--though I
rather fancy the box is empty enough by this time, and it is not of
much use when there is nothing in it."
"It's always worth something, though," answered the tinker. "I never
saw anything that man made which might not be turned into something
for a second turn after it had served a first. However, the hut's
empty enough, and they'll not come back in a hurry--you may be sure of
that."
After some further conversation of the same kind, the pedlar plodded
on upon his way. He did not approach the hut without precaution, for
the impression of the man's knee upon his chest was not as yet effaced
from his memory; and being a peaceful personage, he was not at all
inclined to encounter rough treatment himself or bestow it upon
others.
He paused, then, upon the hill, from which a sight was obtained of the
hovel, and watched with a keen eye for any indication of the place
being inhabited.
Having satisfied himself so far, he descended the hill still farther,
looking into every dell and hollow of the moor. Nothing was seen,
however, that moved or had the breath of life, except a few lapwings
hovering about, and every now and then resting upon the little knolls
and mole-hills. Cautiously approaching the wretched hut, the pedlar
looked through what had once been a glazed window, and then pushed
open the crazy door and went in. On the floor lay his mahogany box,
wide open, with all the contents taken out, while a little tray which
it had contained had been thrown to some distance. Scattered round the
hovel in every direction were small pieces of bright yellow carded
cotton, on which his small articles of jewellery were usually
displayed to attract the attention of admiring damsels; and numerous
were the scraps of paper which had likewise been cast down. The worthy
pedlar perhaps felt more vexed at the sight of the small reverence
which had been shown to his cherished wares than he had even been to
their loss at first.
"The rascals have taken them all out to carry them easily," he said,
"and now they'll go and sell them all for ten shillings or a pound,
I'll warrant."
With habitual care, however, he set to work, gathering up all the
pieces of cotton and scraps of paper, and placed them hurriedly in the
box. The lock had been dexterously picked with some instrument,
showing that the gentry into whose hands it had fallen had come armed
and well prepared for the various contingencies of their profession.
The pedlar's own key easily locked it again; but the strap was gone,
and he was obliged to take it under his arm, comforting himself by
saying--
"It is light enough now, so it won't be heavy to carry."
This done, he trudged away, walking stoutly on over the three or four
miles of common ground which lay between that hovel and the hut which
had been lately inhabited by poor Rebecca Hayley. As he approached it,
he was surprised to see the door and windows once more open; and he
asked himself, not without some sort of apprehension, whether his
assailants of the preceding night might not have migrated thither. He
was relieved the moment after by seeing the apparition of the boy Jim
at the door of the hut, and walking on confidently he said--
"Why, Jim, my man, I thought you were gone. I was here last night, and
found a gentleman looking for you."
"Ay, I ought to have been in London," said the boy; "but I found a
whole heap of things belonging to poor Bessy, whom they took away from
me; and I didn't know what to do with them, so I packed them all up,
and took them over to Mr. White, the parson, who was always so kind to
us both; but he was away, so I was obliged to bring them back again. I
am sure I don't know what to do with them."
"In London!" exclaimed the pedlar, seizing upon the only part of the
boy's speech which surprised him: "what are you going to do in London,
my lad? You'll never get on there."
"Oh, yes, I shall," replied the boy. "I've got a place there, and am
going to be made a footman of."
"What! with the young gentleman I saw here last night, I suppose?"
said the pedlar.
"No, not with the young one--with the old one," replied Jim; and then,
following the train of his own ideas, he went on: "she had hid them
away so cunningly under her bed that nobody saw them when they were
taking her away."
"Saw what?" demanded the pedlar.
"Why, all manner of things," answered the boy: "bits of silk and
shawls, and old gloves, and a quantity of paper and music, and a brass
scent-box."
"Let me look at the scent-box," said the pedlar, "if you've got it
here."
"Oh, yes, I've got it," replied Jim, "for I did not like to leave them
with Mr. White's housekeeper. I put that in my pocket, too, for fear
it should fall out of the bundle: here it is."
"Brass, you fool!" exclaimed the pedlar, examining a very large and
richly-wrought vinaigrette. "Why, that is gold, and these are real
stones, too, I do believe. Yes, they are, indeed," he continued,
carrying the trinket to the door for better light. "That's worth more
than a hundred guineas, or I'm no judge."
"All the worse for me," answered Jim in a desponding tone; "for what I
am to do with these things I do not know."
"Why, the best thing you can do with them is to take them to the poor
old woman herself," said the pedlar.
"But I don't know where she is," rejoined the boy. "I think I'll take
them up with me to London, and give them into the charge of my master;
for he's a very kind gentleman, and perhaps may find out where poor
Bessy is."
"That's the best thing you can do," replied the pedlar; "but how are
you to get them up?"
"I'm to go by the coach, which passes every day at three," was the
boy's reply: "he gave me money, and told me how to come."
"Then I think I'll go by it too," observed the pedlar, thoughtfully,
"if before it comes I can get to G---- and back;" and he named a town
which I shall leave nameless, for fear any of the gentlemen of the
place should judge what is to follow too personal.
"Why, it's only five miles there," answered the boy, "and the coach
stops at the 'Tame Bear.' It can take you up there if you like to go,
Joshua."
"Don't you show that gold box to any one, then," said the pedlar; "for
there are a good many rascals about, as I know to my cost, and many a
man would think it worth his while to give you a knock on the head
just to get that box. But I'll tell you what will be better still, my
lad," he added after a moment's thought:--"If you can get ready quick,
you had better come along with me. I can carry something for you, for
my pack's light enough now, and we shall be a sort of protection to
each other by the way."
"Ay, there's been a sad heap of rascals down here lately," replied
Jim; "but I'm quite ready this minute, Joshua. There's all I'm going
to take: Mr. Galland, at the inn, has promised to send up some one to
carry away the other things."
"Not much to take care of," answered the pedlar. "But come along; shut
the door and windows close, and then give the key to Mr. Galland as we
go."
The poor boy's arrangements were soon made; for whether, when justly
weighed, the gifts of fortune be or be not more cumbersome than the
cares of poverty, certain it is that little is more lightly looked
after than much. Man is the most self-pampering creature upon earth;
and he takes not into consideration whether in increasing his
conveniences he does not increase his wants--whether in increasing his
wants he does not increase his cares. He seeks that which is
comfortable to him at the moment, without asking if it do not imply
that he must seek for more, which may be more difficult to obtain; and
the instinct of progress still carries him on, at once an evidence of
his imperfection and his immortality. The instinct of beasts is wiser
for this world. Offer a sheep, which stands half sheltered from the
north-east wind under a leafless hedge, a coat, waistcoat, and
breeches, and the beast will run away or butt you in disdain. Content
with what he has, he looks not beyond the present hour, and shrinks
from the luxury that may become a trammel, the comfort that must
become a care. His life, his thought, his desire is for the present.
But how different is man! His life is in the future; and every act,
and thought, and aspiration, and custom, the history of the
individual, the history of the species, the traditions of other years,
the prophecies of time to come, the feelings of each moment, the deeds
known or unchronicled--all show that there is a voice in the human
heart crying ever, "On! on!--on to eternity!--on to progress, to
improvement, to perfection!--on towards immortality and God!"
Happy, however, are those who have few cares--upon whose early years
fortune, often called hard, has not showered desires, and tasks, and
responsibilities. It cannot, indeed, be said of them, as it was
sublimely said of the lily of the field, that "they toil not, neither
do they spin;" yet the labour is light and has its reward--the
privations are comparatively little felt, and the cares are few. The
fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil contains in itself the
seed of all desire and all regret; and those who eat the least of it
retain, I do believe, the most of paradise, in paradise's best
blessing--content.
The boy had little to care for, and his preparations were soon made.
The barren spot on which his youth had passed was left with little
regret, though perhaps regret might come afterwards. There was nothing
to attach him to it firmly, for the only things which had given it
sunshine had been taken away; and on he went, walking beside the
pedlar, thinking and talking of what he was to do next.
His heart was a very open one: he had nothing to conceal; he had no
motive whatsoever for keeping back, disguising, or adulterating one
idea that rose in his mind, one fact that had occurred, one purpose
for the future; and he naturally told the pedlar all the events of the
last few days, and his great and strong anxiety again to see her whom
he called Bessy. He could have opened his mind to no one better fitted
to advise him than his accidental companion: and, to say truth, few
were better fitted to understand his feelings and to take an interest
in them.
"If you want to find out where she is, Jim," said Joshua Brown,
"nothing can be easier. You say the driver was one of Mr. Galland's
postboys. Well, they've each a line, and go to the same inns; we can
easily get a posting-card, and trace them from one inn to another till
we come to the last; and then a pot of beer to the boy who drove them
on will make him tell you where he took the poor thing."
This hint of so simple a proceeding, which he had never thought of,
was a ray of light to the poor lad, and he determined to act upon it
without delay.
At Mr. Galland's he begged a card of the house, which, as was
customary at those times of posting, had a list of the stages and inns
on the road to London; and, satisfied thus far, he walked on more
cheerfully with his companion till they came to the town, lying a
little out of the direct road, at which Joshua Brown had some business
to transact.
It was a large and populous place, with one broad street running up a
hill, and several smaller ones deviating from the main road at right
angles, with numerous lanes and alleys meandering at the back. Here
Joshua Brown paused at the inn where the coach stopped, and at which
he was well known and respected; and leaving the boy there, with a
strong recommendation, he himself walked up the hill, stopping for a
moment or two at one of those shops which, as is common in country
towns, combined the sale of jewellery with that of pasteboard, stamps
and books, soap, toys, and sealing-wax.
A few very significant words passed between him and the master of the
shop; and then Joshua Brown sallied forth again, turned into one of
the side streets, then down a narrow sort of lane, with small houses
on either hand, and stopped opposite a portentous-looking black baby
in a white cap and long-clothes, which hung suspended from an iron
stanchion on the left hand side of the door. On the other side was a
shop, with very small panes of glass in the window, over which was an
inscription, purporting that Mingleton Bowes was a dealer in marine
stores. Now, what anybody could want with marine stores in one of the
most inland towns of all England, from which there was no
communication whatever with the sea, except by wagon or stage-coach,
the inscription did not set forth.
However, Joshua Brown entered the shop, and found it vacant of
everything but rusty pieces of iron, coils of rope, rolls of lead,
copper and iron weights, an immense variety of scales and balances, a
great quantity of links and torches, the most complete assortment of
candle-ends in Europe, large stone jars filled with dripping, two or
three piles of rags, bundles of quills, packets of cocoa, numerous
red-herrings, stock-fish, and kippered salmon, a jar of Russian
cranberries, and an infinite variety of odoriferous articles, squalid
to look upon, and not much more agreeable to the nose than to the eye.
In short, it would seem the title of "dealer in marine stores"
implies, that a man buys and sells everything under the sun.
As there was no human being in the shop, nor any other animate
creature whatever except an enormous white cat sitting upon the
counter, her hairy back resting upon the cut side of a single
Gloucester cheese, Joshua first rubbed his feet upon the floor to call
attention to his presence, and not finding that to succeed, he stamped
once or twice. It is wonderful how indifferent the people of the house
were to the chances of robbery; for, though he stamped, nobody came,
and he might have carried off the large jar of cranberries itself
without attracting any attention.
Now, whether it was that Joshua Brown thought it might be rude or
dangerous to intrude upon the privacy of some persons who were talking
together in the back shop with the door shut, or whether there was a
touch of the fantastic in his disposition, I will not take upon myself
to say; but certain it is that the method he took to bring the master
of the house from his fit of absence was somewhat eccentric.
Having a good thick glove on his right hand, he approached it quietly
to the tail of the large tom-cat, and getting the last joint between
his finger and thumb, he said, in an authoritative tone, "Call your
master!" adding at the same time an awful twisting pinch, which nearly
wrenched the bone from its next neighbour.
A frightful squall was the first result, and then, with the rapidity
of lightning, Tom's claws were applied to his assailant's hand and
arm. The teeth would have followed; but at the same moment Joshua
Brown shook the beast off, and a little white-faced man, with red
eyelids and a rugged, pock-marked countenance, rushed in from the back
shop, closing the door sharply behind him. He stared at the pedlar
with his bleared eyes for an instant, and then, walking round behind
the counter, asked in a very obsequious tone what he wanted.
Joshua put his head across, and whispered a few words in the man's
ear.
The dealer in marine stores looked somewhat suspiciously at the
stranger, and then shook his head, replying--
"I don't understand what you mean, sir."
The tone was the most innocent in the world, and the countenance
expressed a dull surprise; but Joshua again advanced his head, and
addressed a few more words in a whisper to the worthy shopkeeper,
producing a slight smile upon the lips, which were very much like
those of a toad, while a ray of intelligence shot from the dull eyes.
"All safe?" he said.
"Safe as a nut," replied the pedlar, "otherwise I shouldn't have
pinched the cat's tail."
"I don't know anything about it at present," replied the man of marine
stores; "but I dare say I can find out. Is it the box you want?"
"No, no," answered Joshua, impatiently; "I've been paid the full worth
of the box already: I told you it is the pocket-book, and all that is
in it."
"Where are you lodging?" said the shopkeeper. "I dare say I can find
out something about it in a day or two."
"I am lodging nowhere," answered the pedlar, "for I'm only waiting for
the coach to go to town; and as to staying a day or two, that's no go
at all, Master Mingy Bowes; for if I don't take the book up with me,
the whole business will be put in the hands of the Peelers, and then
you know quite well I shall lose my share, you'll lose yours, and the
gentlemen will lose theirs."
"Stay a minute," said the man; "I will just go and look in my books--I
may have got it down, for aught I know. Two or three little matters
have come in since the morning."
"Ay, do," said the pedlar; "and remember, we're all upon honour, and
share according to rule."
The man retired into the back shop; and his books must have been
somewhat difficult to read, though rather loquacious, for he remained
a considerable time, during which there was a sort of buzz heard
through the door, apparently proceeding from more tongues than one.
At length the shopkeeper put his head out and beckoned to the pedlar,
saying--
"Just step in here for a minute."
Joshua Brown accepted the invitation, and walking round the end of the
counter, entered the back shop. There, as he had expected, he found
that the marine store dealer was not alone; for on one of the two
chairs which were unencumbered by inanimate lumber sat a tall,
powerful fellow, of no very prepossessing appearance, with a red and
white handkerchief bound round his head, and a large, rough great-coat
on. His chair was near the fire, his feet were upon the fender, and
his back was towards the door; but he turned half round as he sat when
the pedlar entered, and scowled at him with one eye--for the other was
nearly closed, evidently from the effects of a blow.
With a quiet, deliberate step Joshua Brown walked straight to the
other chair, and seated himself in silence, so that he had his face
turned partly towards the grate on his right hand, partly towards the
door of the shop and the preceding tenant of the room, while his back
was exactly opposite to a window in a small paved court which ran at
the rear of the house.
The position is in some degree important; and it may also be necessary
to remark that the window was shaded by a wire blind, which prevented
any one seeing distinctly into the room from without, while those who
were inside could clearly perceive all that passed within certain
limits in the lane.
Some men are born diplomatists; and, although I do not mean to say
that this was the case with the pedlar, yet upon the present occasion
he showed that he possessed one very important quality for skilful
negociation--namely, that of holding his tongue. He had already taken
the initiative in his communication with the master of the house; and
that, he thought, was quite sufficient for the time.
This silence on his part seemed not at all satisfactory to the other
parties present. The man by the fire glared at him with his one
undimmed orb, but said nothing; and the first effort of the dealer in
marine stores--who observed, as a sort of introduction to the
conference, "This here is the gentleman, Sam"--produced no result, for
both still sat perfectly silent.
He tried again, however, addressing himself now to the pedlar,
saying--
"This here is the gentleman, sir. You must speak to him about what you
were mentioning to me."
"What am I to say to him?" asked Joshua Brown. "I don't know who he
is."
"Why, what the devil has that to do with it?" asked the man who had
been denominated Sam. "You come here for something--don't you? Why
don't you say what it is?"
"Because I don't like to talk of things to people who may have no
concern with them," answered the pedlar. "However, as I suppose Master
Mingy Bowes has told ye something of the business, all I mean to say
is, that I know where a hundred pound is to be got for a certain
pocket-book that was boned last night, about a mile and a half on
t'other side of Knight's-hill."
"That won't do," muttered the other man to himself, in a tone which
was perhaps not exactly intended to conceal the observation from the
pedlar. "Those who have got it know well enough what it is worth, and
it's worth more than that."
"I don't know," answered the pedlar, aloud: "all I know is what will
be given; and I think, out of the hundred, I ought to have ten pounds
for my share."
The man raised his eye to the pedlar's face, without, however, lifting
his head, and muttered a low and very ferocious curse, condemning very
grievously his own blood and eyes--though one of the latter seemed
mortgaged to its full value--if any one got the pocket-book for that
money.
"Well, I'm very sorry we can't make a deal, then," said the pedlar. "I
always like to turn an honest penny when I can, and I thought this was
a good chance; but if people won't be reasonable, I can't help it.
I've a notion they won't get more, however, do what they may and think
what they like."
"I know better," said the ruffian, lifting up his head; "and I tell
you what, master: it shall cost him a cool two hundred, or he shan't
have it. I don't care about any nonsense. There's that in this here,"
and he took the pocket-book out of his pocket, "which would hang a man
or save a man. I've found that out, at all events; so you may go and
tell him that if he doesn't choose, before to-morrow night at ten
o'clock, to pay down two hundred pound in golden sovereigns, in this
here parlour, I'll pitch the pocket-book and everything in it into
that fire. Then he may find his neck twisted some day, before he knows
what he's about; so he'd better mind what he's doing--that's all."
"I don't know anything of what's in the book," answered the pedlar,
who was a little anxious to hear more. "I know there are things in it
worth having, but that's all I've heard about it. I know, too, that if
I go back without it, you will have the beaks put upon the scent, and
they'll soon have it one way or another, as you know well. They'll
think a hundred pound worth having, if you don't."
"Say that again!" said the man, with a threatening look, and holding
the pocket-book between his finger and thumb, as if he were about to
throw it into the fire. "You don't know but what's in this book might
save the fellow from dancing a hornpipe upon nothing, and his neck's
worth more than a couple of hundreds, I should think. If you like to
promise upon your life and soul to go and get me a couple of hundred,
I'll wait till to-morrow; if not, here goes!----"
"Come, come, Sam!" said the dealer in marine stores; "don't put
yourself in a passion. I dare say the gentleman will do what's
reasonable."
"Well, then, let him go and bring me the tin," cried the other, in a
surly tone; but the moment after, with an eager gesture, he beckoned
the master of the house to him, demanding in a low voice, "Who the
devil's that, Mingy, walking up and down in the court? That's the
third time he's passed."
The master of the house immediately turned his eyes to the window, and
his cheek became a little whiter.
"Why--why," he said, in a faltering tone, "that's Jones, the
constable! I say, Sam, you had better take the gentleman's offer.
Come, come; let him have the book--you know worse may come of it."
"D--n me if he shall!" cried the ruffian, pitching the pocket-book at
once into the midst of the fire. "He shall neither have it nor me.
That's the only thing to show against me, and there it goes. D--n you,
stand off!" he continued, snatching up the poker and planting himself
in the way, as both the pedlar and Mingy Bowes were starting forward
to snatch the pocket-book from the fire: "if you try to touch it, I'll
make your brains fly about! There!--you may go and tell him what
you've done, by bringing a blackguard like that to walk up and down
the court. You think yourself safe enough, master; but I'll have a
turn out of you yet, some of these days. I've a great mind to have it
now, whatever may come of it, so you had better be off as fast as
possible."
The pedlar thought so too, and moved towards the door; but when he had
reached it, and got the handle of the lock in his hand, he turned
round, saying--
"You're a fool, and have lost a good hundred pound. As to the fellow
walking before the window, I never saw him in my life, and he may be
the constable, or the muffin-man, for aught I know; so you have
spoiled your own market, and are a fool for your pains."
The man sprang at him like a tiger; but Joshua snatched up a heavy
chair, and threw it against his shins with such force as to send him
hopping about the room in agony, during which time the pedlar escaped
into the outer shop, and thence into the street, without waiting to
take leave of Mr. Mingy Bowes.
No attempt was made to pursue him, though the ruffian in the long
loose coat continued to swear most vehemently, and rub his shins to
allay the pain he still suffered. The dealer in marine stores, at the
same time, carefully locked the door of the back room in which they
were, and then opened the iron door of a tall cupboard, which seemed
destined as a place of security for the most valuable articles he
possessed. On the various shelves, indeed, which were all of the same
metal as the door, appeared a number of rare and curious articles,
which no one would have expected to find in a little shop in the back
street of a country town. He paused not, however, to contemplate his
treasures; but with a rapid and quiet motion, though with strength
greater than he seemed to possess, laid hold of the middle shelf and
pulled hard. The whole of the iron lining of the cupboard with the
contents instantly moved forward, apparently rolling upon castors,
till the back was what builders would call flush with the wall. A very
slight effort then turned the whole of this moveable case round upon a
pivot in the right hand corner, leaving not only the aperture which it
had previously filled exposed to the eye, but a considerable depth
beyond, apparently a passage to some other part of the building.
"There, get in, Sam," said Mr. Mingy Bowes. "Hide away for a minute or
two, and I'll see what that fellow Jones is about out there."
His companion did not seem at all surprised at anything that he saw or
heard, but hobbled into the vacant space in the wall, as if he were as
fond of a burrow as a rabbit. Mr. Bowes rolled back the iron cupboard
into its proper place and shut the door upon it; and, the room having
resumed its ordinary appearance, he issued forth through the shop into
the street, and speedily found his way to the back lane, which the
constable was still perambulating.
"Good morning, Mr. Jones," he said, with a look of haste and
eagerness; "have you seen a stout man in a brown coat with grey
stockings and gaiters just pass by?"
"No," answered the constable; "no man has come this way."
"You had better look after him if he does," said Mingy Bowes, "for he
came offering me things to sell which I didn't choose to buy. I'm sure
he's stolen them, and I thought you might be watching for him."
"Oh, no," answered the constable; "I'm looking for young Wilson, who
lives up there in number four. He came home drunk last night, and
thrashed his wife till she was nearly dead. She was taken to the
hospital this morning, and as the surgeon says she's in great danger,
the magistrates will have him up. He's keeping out of the way,
however; but he'll be starved home soon, for he hasn't a penny in his
pocket, and nobody will trust him, I'm sure."
Mingy Bowes laughed, and the constable laughed; for there are some
people to whom sorrows which would make most men melancholy, and
crimes which ought to make all men melancholy, are very good jokes.
Mr. Bowes was well satisfied too with the information, although upon
other points he was a little inclined to be sulky. Hurrying home
again, he soon set free his concealed companion, who had by this time
recovered from the blow upon his shins, and who now walked quietly--I
might say absently--to the fire, and took his old seat again; but Mr.
Bowes was not well pleased with him, and proceeded to read him a
lecture.
"I wonder how you can be such a fool, Sam," he said. "Jones has
nothing to do with the cove who was here just now. He's looking for
young Wilson; and just because you thought it was a trap, you must go
and throw the pocket-book into the fire, when you might have got a
hundred pound for it. Now you've done for yourself. The gentleman will
put the beaks upon you, and they'll soon nab you, you may depend upon
it."
"He daren't," said the other, with a twist of his mouth; "and you're a
fool, Mingy, for talking about what you don't understand."
"Not so great a fool as you," answered Mingy Bowes, boldly; "for what
was the use of burning the book? That was no good at all: whatever you
intend to do, you might as well have kept it."
"There you're out," said the other: "'twas the very best thing I could
do with it. You're not up to snuff yet, Master Mingy, I can tell you.
I didn't read what was in the book for nothing; and I've got this
young fellow, whoever he is, in a vice that'll squeeze him pretty
hard, as you'll see before long. I could hang him to-morrow if I
liked--though that, indeed, would be no great good to me or anybody
else; but I'll sweat him, notwithstanding."
"I don't understand," said Mingy Bowes. "If you could hang him, he
could hang you, I fancy; and that wouldn't suit you, Master Sam--at
least, I should think not."
"No, certainly," replied the other man; "but I'll let you know all how
it is, Master Bowes, for you must give me some help;" and he proceeded
to explain to the receiver of stolen goods that he had found in the
pocket-book that paper which had been given by Mr. Hayley to his son,
just on the eve of Henry's flight from England, and which has already
been laid before the reader.
It is true, the man knew nothing of the story, or, if he ever had
heard anything of it, had forgotten it altogether; but the paper
itself showed that a forgery had been committed, and that the document
had been given to exculpate, in case of need, one who had voluntarily
borne the imputation of the crime to save a parent. The names were
there before him, and consequently, so far as the past was concerned,
he had full information. Then as to the present, and the means of
connecting the history of Henry Hayley with the personage who had been
robbed on the preceding night, there were several papers, comprising
letters addressed to Colonel Middleton at a hotel in London, and some
memoranda of things to be done, which, without any great stretch of
imagination, might be discovered to apply to the other paper referring
to the forgery.
As I may have to notice the contents of that pocket-book hereafter, I
will not pause longer upon them now, but merely say that the
explanation of his worthy friend was quite satisfactory to Mr. Mingy
Bowes; and that he applied himself, with due zeal and diligence, to
concoct with Mr. Samuel a plan for their future proceedings, in the
execution of which he flattered himself he might obtain even more than
he should have gained by his commission, had the hundred pounds
offered by the pedlar been accepted without hesitation.
There, then, for the present we will leave them, perfectly satisfied
as they were that they had got a firm hold upon a victim who would not
be able to escape from their clutches till they had drained him as dry
as hay.