CHRISTOPHER RECOGNIZES AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
Yes, it was Stuart! There could be no possible doubt about that; nor,
indeed, did the culprit attempt to deny his identity. Perhaps he
realized that to do so would be futile. There he was in his wig,
whiskers, glasses, ulster, and slouch hat; and the next moment, presto,
valeted by Mr. Inspector, there he was in his fur coat--the elegant
gentleman who had invaded Burton and Norcross' jewelry store!
Hollings recognized him in a twinkling and without a shade of hesitation
singled him out from twelve other men; so, also, did Mr. Rhinehart and
Christopher.
Poor Stuart! He was too genuine a sport to whine when he saw the game
was up. On the contrary he assumed a good-natured, almost humorous
stoicism, as if his capture were nothing more than a feature of the
day's work. Only one fact regarding it did he appear to resent and that
was that a person wary as himself should have been tracked down and
trapped by a mere boy. Incontestably this wounded his pride.
Nevertheless he tried valiantly to conceal his chagrin, maintaining
throughout the ordeal of identification his jaunty pose and saluting
Christopher, whom he instantly remembered having seen on the car, with
a mocking bow and a smile of admiration.
"It was a neat trick you played me, youngster," announced he, as the lad
approached. "They will be annexing you to the staff here if you don't
look out."
"I had to do it, you know," Christopher answered, half apologizing for
the double-faced role he had played. "I'm not usually a
squealer--honest, I'm not. But the diamonds belonged to my father, and I
saw you take them."
"Of course, sonny, of course. I'm not kicking--it was a fair game," the
big fellow returned without a shadow of anger. "So you saw me take them,
did you? Why didn't you sing out at the time?"
"It all happened so quickly that I could hardly trust my eyes," was the
response. "Besides, you looked so much like a gentleman that I couldn't
believe you were just a--a--"
"Thief," cut in Stuart sharply, supplying the word at which the boy had
halted. Nevertheless despite the glibness with which he uttered it, he
cringed and a flood of telltale color rose to his hair. It was the first
time he had exhibited the slightest feeling.
Uncomfortably Christopher nodded.
"Well, that's what I am, you see," continued the man who had now
regained his former debonnaire manner, "so the next time look out and
don't be taken in. There are gentlemen who are thieves, sonny, and then
again there are thieves who are gentlemen--at least I hope so."
So unruffled was his temper, so brave the front he put on the
inevitable, that as Christopher saw him led away between two guards a
momentary pang of regret passed over him. If Stuart had only happened to
have turned his talents to some profession besides diamond stealing,
what a delightful acquaintance he might have proved.
But the next instant Corrigan, the head inspector, broke in on this
reverie, and his words banished further repining:
"The scoundrel won't open his lips," declared he to Mr. Burton. "What
he's done with those diamonds we can't find out. He's mum as an oyster.
I hoped we might tempt him into making a clean breast of the matter--but
not he! He's too hardened a chap for repentance, I reckon."
"His pal, Tony, may have them."
"No doubt," acquiesced the chief. "The two probably have a cache where
they stow their loot."
"I wish we could find it."
"So do I, with all my heart. We may, too, if we succeed in running down
the other chap," Corrigan returned. "I shan't give up hope with Mr.
Christopher on the job."
"I fancy my son isn't going into the business of tracking down criminals
permanently," Burton, Senior, retorted a bit stiffly.
"Like enough not," came tartly from Corrigan.
"Still, he can keep his peepers open, eh, youngster?"
He smiled down upon Christopher from beneath his shaggy brows, and
Christopher smiled back. There was something very likeable about
Corrigan.
"I'll look alive," grinned the boy. "Only of course you know this kill
was just a fluke."
The modest words evidently pleased the inspector.
"That's all right," said he. "You may make another. Who knows?"
He patted the lad's shoulder encouragingly and in friendly fashion
added:
"Nobody bags a diamond robber every day."
They went out--Mr. Burton, his son, and the two clerks.
"We may as well go to luncheon now," announced Christopher's father,
when the men had left them. "Where shall we go? We'll have a real
celebration in honor of Stuart's capture."
"Poor Stuart!" murmured the lad.
"Mercy on us! Surely you are not regretting that you landed him in
jail."
"No-o. Still, I'm sorry for him."
"Of course. We're always sorry to see a person of his ability go wrong.
But he has only himself to thank for his fate. He might have known at
the outset where he would bring up. They all are trapped sooner or
later."
"I suppose so."
"Come, come, son! Don't go wasting any romantic sympathy on Stuart--or
whatever his name is. He wouldn't appreciate it. Why, he would rob us
again to-morrow if he got the chance," the head of the firm asserted
harshly.
"Probably he would."
"You know he would."
"Y-es. But he was such a good sport."
"He knew there was nothing to be gained by whining and making himself
disagreeable."
Nevertheless, in spite of his father's arguments, Christopher could not
entirely put the unlucky Stuart out of his mind. Nor did the fried
scallops, grilled sweet potatoes, and salad which his father ordered for
him wholly blot out a lurking depression or the haunting memory of the
criminal's face. It took two chocolate ice creams and an ample square of
fudge cake to dispel his gloom and bring his spirits back to their
accustomed cheerfulness.
By the time he and his father returned to the store, however, they were
practically normal, and he ascended to the fourth floor to hunt up
McPhearson, who amid the general excitement he had left somewhat
abruptly.
"Well, so you landed your light-fingered friend, did you, laddie?"
remarked the Scotchman.
"Mr. Corrigan did."
"It was thanks to you, I guess."
"Partly!"
"Humph! You don't seem very triumphant about it." The old man peered at
the boy over the top of his glasses.
"I'm not. It made me sick--the whole thing."
"I know, sonny--I know. But we can't have such persons about,"
McPhearson said gently. "Of course you are sorry to put a fellow behind
the bars, but--"
"He was so darned decent about it--and so plucky," exclaimed
Christopher. "Why, he was almost a gentleman."
The sentence ended in a tremulous laugh.
"No doubt he may have started out to be a gentleman--poor chap--and then
got on the wrong track. Well, you did what was right. You know that."
"I hope so," was the dull answer.
"We'll not talk about it any more. Come, let's shift the subject to
something else."
"To clocks?"
"Aren't you tired of clocks?"
"No. Are you?"
"I never get tired of them," smiled McPhearson. "If I did, it would be
fatal. They are my daily bread."
"And mine, too, for that matter," rejoined Christopher.
"Perhaps," admitted the Scotchman. "Still you do not subsist wholly on
clocks. Your bread is studded with pearls, emeralds, and rubies."
The fancy pleased the boy, and he laughed.
"Rather indigestible eating," he protested.
"And yet you look fit as a king."
There was a moment's pause; then the man said:
"Well, if we are to talk clocks, where shall we begin?"
"Anywhere you like," returned the lad, with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Suppose, then, since you are so docile and accommodating, we leap to
somewhere near the year 1650, when the inspiration to attach the
pallets of the escapement to the pendulum rod, thereby making the
escapement horizontal, came almost simultaneously to an Englishman named
Harris and a Dutchman named Huyghens. These, together with the later
ideas of anchor escapement evolved by Graham, put clocks, within the
span of a few years, on an almost modern basis. Other improvements such
as using steel springs in place of weights and the perfecting of
movements have of course been made since; but this period covers the
time of most vital improvement in the art of clockmaking. At this time,
too, some of the finest of old English watches and clocks were made.
Thomas Tompion, sometimes called the father of English clock making,
took his place at the head of these, and to this day beautiful old
clocks that are still in service testify to his skillful workmanship."
"What sort of clocks did he make?" inquired Christopher with interest.
"Just about every design of the period--bracket clocks similar to those
of Richard Parsons'; long-case, or what we call grandfather, clocks;
even brass clocks with projecting dials; and in addition, the greater
part of the finest watches turned out at this time were of his making.
There were few who could equal him. Possibly Daniel Quare and Joseph
Knibb made clocks as good, but they certainly made no better. Were you
to visit Buckingham Palace or Windsor Castle, you would find there
wonderful chiming grandfather clocks made by this same Thomas Tompion.
They are genuine treasures and would bring almost any price. So
remember, in journeying through the world, if you ever run across a
clock or a watch made by Thomas Tompion, you are looking at a very fine
bit of handicraft."
"I'm afraid I never shall," Christopher shook his head.
"One never can tell where his path through life will take him,"
McPhearson said. "For example, I never expected my wanderings would lead
me from Glasgow to America. Nor, probably, did Stuart dream when he woke
up to-day that his morning ride in a Fifth Avenue bus would land him in
jail. So you must not despair of seeing London and some of Thomas
Tompion's clocks. Moreover, should you go there, I hope you will hunt up
in Westminster Abbey the grave of this famous man."
"Was he buried at Westminster? Why, I thought only kings, queens, poets,
and great people had places there," Christopher ventured, a trifle
incredulous.
"Usually they do, but Thomas Tompion well merited the honor due him, I
assure you. To begin with, he was no ordinary tradesman. He was a person
of culture who all his life associated with the foremost philosophers
and mathematicians of his day. So widely was his ability recognized that
he was made leading watchmaker to the court of Charles II. Now, although
timekeepers had vastly improved, they were still pretty faulty,
experimental contrivances, whose outside trappings counted with the
public far more than did their interior mechanism. Tompion changed all
this. Seizing upon all that was good offered by the inventors preceding
him, he carefully re-proportioned the various parts and produced English
clocks and watches that were at once the pride and despair of his
brother craftsmen. Watches were something of an avocation with him, for
his primary trade was in clocks, to which for many years he devoted his
entire labor. Probably, however, the problems a watch presented won his
interest and led him to try his skill in this new field, with the result
that he was soon making watches that as far surpassed his associates' as
did his clocks. He made a watch for the king, the fame of which traveled
to France and prompted the Dauphin to order two like it. These watches
all had two balances and balance springs fashioned after the scheme
Hooke had worked out. They also, like most of Tompion's timekeepers, had
an hour and a minute hand. One more innovation which he presented (and
it was a very practical one) was the numbering of his watch movements
for purposes of identification--a plan very generally followed since by
present-day workmen. And yet all this which I have told you does not
give you half an idea of what Tompion really was."
McPhearson paused thoughtfully.
"Thomas Tompion stood for something more than any of these things. He
was a genuine lover of his art, and when we see or read of the many
kinds of clocks and watches he produced, we cannot but feel the joy he
had in making them. He made, for example, a marvellous clock that would
run a year without winding, which William III had in his bedroom at
Kensington Palace, it having been left to him by the Earl of Leicester.
This clock, although small, struck the hours and quarter-hours, and was
of ebony with silver mountings. And to prove to you that it was no
novelty timepiece to be used merely for ornament, I will tell you that
now, after a hundred and fifty years, it is still running and faithfully
doing its duty."
"Who owns it?" queried Christopher.
"It has for a century and a half been in the possession of the family of
Lord Mostyn and so famous has been its history that this nobleman has
kept the names of those who have wound it during the last hundred
years."
"All sorts of bigwigs, I suppose," put in Christopher.
"A list of celebrated persons, you may be sure."
"Was Ebenezer on it?" Christopher chuckled mischievously.
"Most likely he would have been had he not been so busy winding Mr.
Hawley's treasures," replied the Scotchman, smiling at the jest. "Then
in 1695 Tompion made a very fine traveling striking and alarm watch with
case beautifully chased. The Pump Room at Bath boasts a tall clock of
his make--a present from him to the city in acknowledgment of the
benefits he derived from its mineral waters. There are also examples of
his craft in famous clock collections both here and in England, the
Wetherfield collection owning eighteen made by him."
"And did his tall clocks have weights?"
"Yes, their driving power was a big lead weight. The clock at Bath has
a thirty-two-pound weight of lead which drops monthly six feet."
"Is it only wound each month?"
"That's all. Some of these tall clocks made by Tompion ran a year
without winding. Nor must you get the impression that clocks and watches
were the only things this remarkable mechanic produced, for at Hampton
Court is a barometer of his construction, proving him to be a master of
more intricate science than the mere art of time-keeping. In fact many
of his clocks show the days and the months, as well as the difference
between sun time and mean time."
"I don't quite understand what mean time is. Isn't all time alike?"
"Mercy, no! Sun time and our time are two quite different things. Some
day I will tell you why. Of this Thomas Tompion, although he lived long
ago, was well aware. You see, therefore, he was no ordinary uneducated
clockmaker. What wonder that he and George Graham, one of the
illustrious pupils he trained, should have been buried together at
Westminster Abbey!"
"You haven't told me anything about Graham."
"He was a nephew of Tompion and a very clever craftsman whose clocks did
honor to his teacher. _Honest George Graham_, he was called--not a bad
way to come down through history. Personally I would rather have that
handle before my name than to have _Lord_ or _Duke_ precede it and I
fancy George Graham was of a type who felt that way too! So devoted were
he and Tompion and so closely linked was their work that when Graham
died, the grave of Tompion was opened in order that the two men might be
buried together. Then a stone was made reading:
Here lies the body of Mr. Tho. Tompion who departed this life
the 20th of November 1713 in the 75th year of his age.
* * * * *
Also the body of George Graham of London watchmaker and F.R.S.
whose curious inventions do honour to ye British genius whose
accurate performances are ye standard of Mechanic Skill. He died
ye XVI of November MDCCLI in the LXXVIII year of his age.
"Now a bit of interesting history is attached to this stone. Several
years after it had been put in place a younger generation came along who
knew very little of either Tompion or his pupil Graham, and seeing the
large tablet, some of them decided to take it up and put instead smaller
stones with only the inscriptions:
Mr. T. Tompion 1713
Mr. G. Graham 1751
upon them. Perhaps the authorities felt the big stone took up too much
room; or perhaps they felt it heaped undue honor on two men who in their
estimation were really nothing but tradesmen; or, worse yet, perhaps
they had forgotten all Tompion and Graham did for the rest of us.
However that may be, in 1842 a Bond Street watchmaker had loyalty and
courage enough to protest, and through the late Dean Stanley the old
stone, fortunately uninjured, was hunted up and reinstated in its
original position, thereby proving that England does not after all
forget her debt to these splendidly intelligent workmen."
"I'm glad the first stone was put back," Christopher asserted. "Who on
earth would ever know from the skimpy marking on the other one who Mr.
T. Tompion or Mr. G. Graham were?"
"Probably very few persons--only those, most likely, who had made a
study of clocks. To my mind it is far better to remind the ignorant who
perhaps never heard of Tompion or Graham, to hold their memory in
grateful respect. Possibly, too, the inscription on the tablet may
prompt the casual passer-by to look up what these two men did, and if so
a keener appreciation of them will be established."
"I shall go and see that stone if I ever go to London," Christopher
declared.
"Do, laddie. And see some of their clocks, too. Graham was a clever,
broadly educated man, who worked out many astronomical instruments in
addition to his clockmaking. When you view either his handiwork or that
of Tompion, you will see the product of master craftsmen. And in the
meantime don't forget Daniel Quare, Samuel Knibb, or Ahasuerus
Fromanteel, who although unhonored by stones in the Abbey, are well
worthy of being remembered."