THE STATION-HOUSE.
OF all the persons who were in the gambling-house at the moment when the
police, alarmed by the report of the pistol, broke in, Richard Markham
was alone captured. The others, aware of the means of egress in
emergencies of this kind, had rushed up stairs, entered upon the leads,
and thus obtained admittance into the adjacent dwelling, from whose
friendly doors they subsequently issued one by one when all was once
more quiet in the street.
The police-officer conducted Markham to the nearest station-house. They
entered a low dark gloomy apartment, which was divided into two parts by
means of a thick wooden bar running across the room, about two feet and
a half from the ground. There was a small dull fire in the grate; and in
a comfortable arm-chair near it, was seated the inspector--a short,
stout, red-faced, consequential-looking man, with a pen stuck behind his
left ear. A policeman in uniform was standing at a high desk, turning
over the leaves of a large book; and another officer in plain clothes
(and very plain and shabby they were too) was lounging before the fire,
switching the dust out of his trousers with a thin cane.
"Well, what now?" said the inspector, gruffly, as Markham was conducted
into the office, and led behind the bar, towards the fire.
"Me, and Jones, and Jenkins, broke into No.--, in the Quadrant, as we
heard a pistol--or else we should ha' known ourselves better; and this
young feller is all we caught. Jones and Jenkins is staying in the house
along with the dead body of the man as killed his self."
The inspector indulged in a good long stare at Markham; and, when his
curiosity was completely gratified, he said, "Now, Crisp, we'll enter
that charge, if you please."
The policeman standing at the desk turned to the proper leaf in the
large book before him, and then took down the deposition of the officer
who had apprehended Markham.
When this was done, the inspector proceeded, in a very pompous and
magisterial manner, to question the prisoner.
"What is your name, young man?"
"Richard Markham."
"Oh! Richard Markham. Put that down, Crisp. Where do you live?"
"At Markham Place, near Holloway."
"Put that down, Crisp. Now, do you want to let any of your friends know
that you are in trouble?"
"First tell me of what I am accused, and why I am detained."
"You are accused of being in an unlawful house for an unlawful
purpose--namely, gambling; and a suicide has been committed there, they
say. You will be wanted afore the coroner as well as the magistrate."
"Can I be released until to-morrow by giving security for my
appearance?"
"No--I can't part with you. It is said that it is suicide--and I believe
it: still it might be murder. But you seem a respectable young
gentleman, and so you sha'nt be locked up in a cell all night. You may
sit here by the fire, if you'll be quiet."
"I am at least obliged to you for this courtesy. But can you give me any
idea of the extent of the penalty to which I am liable? I did not gamble
myself--I merely accompanied----"
"You need'nt criminate anybody, you know," interrupted the Inspector.
"The Magistrate will fine you a few pounds, and that will be all."
"Then I should prefer not to acquaint my friends with my position," said
Markham, "since I can release myself from my present difficulty without
their assistance."
Reassured by this conviction, though still strangely excited by the
appalling scene which he had witnessed, Richard seated himself by the
fire, and soon fell into conversation with the policemen. These men
could talk of nothing but themselves or their pursuits: they appeared to
live in a world of policeism; all their ideas were circumscribed to
station-houses, magistrates' offices, prisons, and criminal courts of
justice. Their discourse was moreover garnished with the slang terms of
thieves; they could not utter a sentence without interpolating a
swell-mob phrase or a Newgate jest. They seemed to be so familiar with
crime (though not criminal themselves) that they could not devote a
moment to the contemplation of virtue: they only conversed about persons
who were "in trouble," but never condescended to lavish a thought to
those who were out of it.
"Crankey Jem has done it brown at last, has'nt he?" said Crisp.
"He has indeed," replied the inspector. "But what could he have done
with all the swag?"[1]
"Oh! he's fadded[2] that safe enough," observed the officer in plain
clothes. "My eye! What a slap-up lily benjamin[3] he had on when he was
nabbed."
"Yes--and sich a swell bandanna fogle[4] in the gropus."[5]
"He had'nt any ready tin though; for he wanted to peel,[6] and put the
white-poodle up the spout[7] for a drop of max."[8]
"And because you would'nt let him he doubled you up with a wallop in
your dumpling-depot,[9] did'nt he?"
"Yes--but I bruised his canister[10] for him though."
"This'll be the third time he's been up afore the beaks[11] at the Old
Bailey."
"Consequently he's sartain sure to be lagged."[12]
"Ah! it must be a clever nob in the fur trade[13] who'll get him off."
"Well--talking makes me thirsty," said Crisp. "I wish I'd someot to
sluice my ivories[14] with."
Markham entertained a faint idea that Mr. Crisp was athirst; he
accordingly offered to pay for anything; which he and his brother
policemen chose to drink.
The officer in plain clothes was commissioned to procure some
"heavy-wet"--_alias_ porter; and even the pompous, and magisterial
inspector condescended to take what he called "a drain," but which in
reality appeared to be something more than a pint.
The harmony was disturbed by the entrance of a constable dragging in a
poor ragged, half-starved, and emaciated lad, without shoes or
stockings.
"What's the charge?" demanded the inspector.
"A rogue and vagabond," answered the constable.
"Oh! very well: put that down, Crisp. How do you know?"
"Because he's wandering about and hasn't no where to go to, and no
friends to refer to and I saw him begging."
"Very good; put that down, Crisp. And I suppose he's without food and
hungry?"
"I have not tasted food--" began the poor wretch, who stood shivering at
the bar.
"Come, no lies," ejaculated the inspector.
"No lies!" echoed the constable, giving the poor wretch a tremendous
shake.
"Have you put it all down, Crisp?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, let him have a bit of bread, and lock him up. He'll get three
months of it on the stepper to-morrow."
The poor creature was supplied with a cubic inch of stale bread, and
then thrust into a filthy cell.
"What do you think that unfortunate creature will be done to?" enquired
Markham.
"Three months on the stepper--the treadmill, to be sure."
"But what for?"
"Why, for a rogue and vagabond."
"A vagabond he may be," said Markham, "because he has no home to go to;
but how do you know he is a rogue?"
"Why--he was found begging, wasn't he?"
"And does that make a man a rogue?"
"Certainly it do--in the eye of the law."
"Ah! and that eye can see without spectacles too," added Mr. Crisp with
a laugh.
Markham was reflecting profoundly upon the law's definitions of _rogue_
and _vagabond_, when another constable entered, leading in an elderly
man, belonging to the humbler class, but very cleanly in appearance.
"Well, what's the charge?" demanded the inspector.
"This fellow will come upon my beat with his apple-cart, and I can't
keep him off. So I've sent his cart to the Green Yard, and brought him
here."
"Please, sir," said the poor fellow, wiping away a tear from his eye, "I
endeavour to earn an honest living by selling a little fruit in the
streets. I have a wife and seven children to support, and I only stayed
out so long to-night because I had had a bad day of it, and the money is
so much wanted at home--it is indeed, sir! I do hope you'll let me go,
sir: my poor wife will be ready to break her heart when she finds that I
don't come home; and my eldest boy always sits up for me. Poor little
fellow! he will cry so if he don't kiss _Father_ before he goes to bed."
There was something profoundly touching in this poor man's manner and
language; and Markham felt inclined to interfere in his behalf. He,
however, remembered that he was only allowed to sit in that room by
suffrance, and that he was at the mercy of the caprice of ignorant,
tyrannical, and hard-hearted men: he accordingly held his tongue.
"Come, Crisp--have you got that down?" said the inspector.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, let the man be locked up: the magistrate must decide in the
morning."
And the poor fellow, in spite of his remonstrances, was removed to a
cell.
"I could not exactly understand what this new prisoner has done," said
Markham.
"Obstructed the way and created a nuisance," replied the inspector
pompously.
"But he is endeavouring to earn his bread honestly, I think; and the
road is open to every one."
"Oh! no such thing. Those little carts frighten the horses in the great
folks' carriages, and can't be allowed. He must have a month of it--he's
been warned several times, and is incorrigible. I'll tell the magistrate
so."
"And what will become of his family?"
"Family! why, go to the workhouse, to be sure!" Presently a third
constable made his appearance, accompanied by a poor miserable-looking
woman and three small children--all wretchedly clad and careworn.
"What's the charge now?"
"Charge from the workus. This here o'oman was admitted to-night to the
Union with them three children; and 'cos the master ordered her to be
separated from her children, she kicked up hell's delight. So the master
turned 'em all out together, called me up, and give 'em in charge."
"Put that down, Crisp."
"Yes--and it is true too," sobbed the poor woman. "I am not ashamed to
own that I love my children; and up to this blessed hour they have never
been separated from me. It would break their poor little hearts to be
torn away from me--that it would, God bless them! I love them all,
poor--miserable as I am!"
A flood of tears drowned the voice of this wretched mother.
"Inspector," said Markham, touched to the quick by this affecting scene,
"you will allow me----"
"Silence, young man. It's a charge from the workus, and the workus is
paramount."
"So it appears, indeed!" cried Richard bitterly.
"Silence, I say. Don't interfere, there's a good lad. Crisp, have you
got it all down?"
"Yes, sir."
"Lock 'em up, then."
"At least we shall be together!" exclaimed the unfortunate mother, to
whom the three little children clung with all the tenacity of sincere
affection.
An hour elapsed, when another policeman entered, bringing in a man
dressed as an ostler, and whose face was all covered with blood.
"Well--what now?"
"Fighting in the _Blue Dragon_: the landlord turned him out, and so I
took him up."
"Put that down, Crisp. What's your name, my fine fellow?"
"John Snoggles."
"Put that down, Crisp. He's a nice bird, isn't he, Mr. Markham?" added
the inspector.
"Markham!" ejaculated the new prisoner.
"Yes--that is my name," said Richard: "do you know me?"
"Not that I am aweer of sir. Only the name reminded me that I have been
this evening in the company of a gentleman as is in the service of a
Mr. Markham. I left the _Servants' Arms_ at twelve precisely, and walked
straight down to this here wicinity--I ain't been more than half an hour
coming--when I gets into a row----"
"Well, well," said Richard, somewhat impatiently "and what is the name
of the person with whom you have passed the evening?"
"With several gentlemen--but the one I named was Vittingham."
"Whittingham! he is my butler. Poor fellow! how anxious he will be about
me."
"He's too drunk to be anxious," said Snoggles drily: "I was the on'y one
as come away sober."
"I tell you what he could do, if you like," observed the inspector, who
now began to entertain an idea of Markham's standing in society by the
mention of the word _butler_: "there is no one here to make any charge
against the fellow--the constable will withdraw it, and he can take a
note home for you."
"A thousand thanks!" ejaculated Markham. "But you intimated that he was
tipsy?"
"He is certainly elevated," answered Snoggles.
"Well, can you be at my house to-morrow morning by six or seven
o'clock?"
"Of course I can, sir."
"I need not write: you can say that you have seen me, and that I shall
be home in the course of the day. Do not mention where I am: I would not
have him coming here to seek me."
Markham slipped half a sovereign into the hands of Snoggles, who took
his departure with a faithful promise to execute the commission
entrusted to him, and not a little pleased at having so pleasantly
escaped a night in the station-house.
It was now past one o'clock; and Markham, feeling rather drowsy, lay
down to slumber for a few hours upon a bench, wrapped up in Mr. Crisp's
police-coat.