It was, of course, always a part of Martin Hewitt's business to be
thoroughly at home among any and every class of people, and to be able
to interest himself intelligently, or to appear to do so, in their
various pursuits. In one of the most important cases ever placed in his
hands, he could have gone but a short way toward success had he not
displayed some knowledge of the more sordid aspects of professional
sport, and a great interest in the undertakings of a certain dealer
therein. The great case itself had nothing to do with sport, and,
indeed, from a narrative point of view, was somewhat uninteresting,
but the man who alone held the one piece of information wanted was a
keeper, backer, or "gaffer" of professional pedestrians, and it was
through the medium of his pecuniary interest in such matters that
Hewitt was enabled to strike a bargain with him.
[Illustration: "I'VE GOT THE WINNER IN THIS HOUSE."]
The man was a publican on the outskirts of Padfield, a northern town
pretty famous for its sporting tastes, and to Padfield, therefore,
Hewitt betook himself, and, arrayed in a way to indicate some
inclination of his own toward sport, he began to frequent the bar of
the "Hare and Hounds." Kentish, the landlord, was a stout, bull-necked
man, of no great communicativeness at first: but after a little
acquaintance he opened out wonderfully, became quite a jolly (and
rather intelligent) companion, and came out with innumerable anecdotes
of his sporting adventures. He could put a very decent dinner on the
table, too, at the "Hare and Hounds," and Hewitt's frequent invitation
to him to join therein and divide a bottle of the best in the cellar
soon put the two on the very best of terms. Good terms with Mr. Kentish
was Hewitt's great desire, for the information he wanted was of a sort
that could never be extracted by casual questioning, but must be a
matter of open communication by the publican, extracted in what way it
might be.
"Look here," said Kentish one day, "I'll put you on to a good thing, my
boy--a real good thing. Of course, you know all about the Padfield 135
Yards Handicap being run off now?"
"Well, I haven't looked into it much," Hewitt replied. "Ran the first
round of heats last Saturday and Monday, didn't they?"
"They did. Well"--Kentish spoke in a stage whisper as he leaned over
and rapped the table--"I've got the final winner in this house." He
nodded his head, took a puff at his cigar, and added, in his ordinary
voice, "Don't say nothing."
"No, of course not. Got something on, of course?"
"Rather--what do _you_ think? Got any price I liked. Been saving him
up for this. Why, he's got twenty-one yards, and he can do even time
all the way! Fact! Why, he could win runnin' back'ards. He won his heat
on Monday like--like--like that!" The gaffer snapped his fingers, in
default of a better illustration, and went on. "He might ha' took it
a little easier, _I_ think--it's shortened his price, of course, him
jumpin' in by two yards. But you can get decent odds now, if you go
about it right. You take my tip--back him for his heat next Saturday,
in the second round, and for the final. You'll get a good price for the
final, if you pop it down at once. But don't go makin' a song of it,
will you, now? I'm givin' you a tip I wouldn't give anybody else."
"Thanks very much--it's awfully good of you. I'll do what you advise.
But isn't there a dark horse anywhere else?"
"Not dark to me, my boy, not dark to me. I know every man runnin'
like a book. Old Taylor--him over at the Cop--he's got a very good
lad--eighteen yards, and a very good lad indeed; and he's a tryer this
time, I know. But, bless you, my lad could give him ten, instead o'
taking three, and beat him then! When I'm runnin' a real tryer, I'm
generally runnin' something very near a winner, you bet; and this time,
mind, _this_ time, I'm runnin' the certainest winner I _ever_ run--and
I don't often make a mistake. You back him."
"I shall, if you're as sure as that. But who is he?"
"Oh, Crockett's his name--Sammy Crockett. He's quite a new lad. I've
got young Steggles looking after him--sticks to him like wax. Takes
his little breathers in my bit o' ground at the back here. I've got a
cinder sprint path there, over behind the trees. I don't let him out
o' sight much, I can tell you. He's a straight lad, and he knows it'll
be worth his while to stick to me: but there's some 'ud poison him, if
they thought he'd spoil their books."
Soon afterward the two strolled toward the tap-room. "I expect Sammy'll
be there," the landlord said, "with Steggles. I don't hide him too
much--they'd think I'd got something extra on, if I did."
In the tap-room sat a lean, wire-drawn-looking youth, with sloping
shoulders and a thin face, and by his side was a rather short,
thick-set man, who had an odd air, no matter what he did, of
proprietorship and surveillance of the lean youth. Several other men
sat about, and there was loud laughter, under which the lean youth
looked sheepishly angry.
[Illustration: "IN THE TAP-ROOM."]
"'Tarn't no good, Sammy lad," someone was saying. "You a makin' after
Nancy Webb--she'll ha' nowt to do with 'ee."
"Don' like 'em so thread-papery," added another. "No, Sammy, you aren't
the lad for she. I see her----"
"What about Nancy Webb?" asked Kentish, pushing open the door. "Sammy's
all right, anyway. You keep fit, my lad, an' go on improving, and some
day you'll have as good a house as me. Never mind the lasses. Had his
glass o' beer, has he?" This to Raggy Steggles, who, answering in the
affirmative, viewed his charge as though he were a post, and the beer a
recent coat of paint.
"Has two glasses of mild a-day," the landlord said to Hewitt. "Never
puts on flesh, so he can stand it. Come out now." He nodded to
Steggles, who rose, and marched Sammy Crockett away for exercise.
* * * * *
On the following afternoon (it was Thursday), as Hewitt and Kentish
chatted in the landlord's own snuggery, Steggles burst into the room in
a great state of agitation and spluttered out: "He--he's bolted; gone
away!"
"What?"
"Sammy--gone. Hooked it. _I_ can't find him."
The landlord stared blankly at the trainer, who stood with a sweater
dangling from his hand, and stared blankly back. "What d'ye mean?"
Kentish said, at last. "Don't be a fool. He's in the place somewhere;
find him."
But this Steggles defied anybody to do. He had looked already. He had
left Crockett at the cinder-path behind the trees, in his running-gear,
with the addition of the long overcoat and cap he used in going between
the path and the house, to guard against chill. "I was goin' to give
him a bust or two with the pistol," the trainer explained, "but when we
got over t'other side, 'Raggy,' ses he, 'it's blawin' a bit chilly. I
think I'll ha' a sweater--there's one on my box, ain't there?' So in I
coomes for the sweater, and it weren't on his box, and when I found it
and got back--he weren't there. They'd seen nowt o' him in t' house,
and he weren't nowhere."
Hewitt and the landlord, now thoroughly startled, searched everywhere,
but to no purpose. "What should he go off the place for?" asked
Kentish, in a sweat of apprehension. "'Tain't chilly a bit--it's
warm--he didn't want no sweater; never wore one before. It was a piece
of kid to be able to clear out. Nice thing, this is. I stand to win two
years' takings over him. Here--you'll have to find him."
"Ah--but how?" exclaimed the disconcerted trainer, dancing about
distractedly. "I've got all I could scrape on him myself; where can I
look?"
Here was Hewitt's opportunity. He took Kentish aside and whispered.
What he said startled the landlord considerably. "Yes, I'll tell you
all about that," he said, "if that's all you want. It's no good or harm
to me, whether I tell or no. But can you find him?"
"That I can't promise, of course. But you know who I am now, and what
I'm here for. If you like to give me the information I want, I'll go
into the case for you, and, of course, I sha'n't charge any fee. I may
have luck, you know, but I can't promise, of course."
The landlord looked in Hewitt's face for a moment. Then he said, "Done!
It's a deal."
"Very good," Hewitt replied; "get together the one or two papers you
have, and we'll go into my business in the evening. As to Crockett,
don't say a word to anybody. I'm afraid it must get out, since
they all know about it in the house, but there's no use in making
any unnecessary noise. Don't make hedging bets or do anything that
will attract notice. Now we'll go over to the hack and look at this
cinder-path of yours."
Here Steggles, who was still standing near, was struck with an idea.
"How about old Taylor, at the Cop, guv'nor, eh?" he said, meaningly.
"His lad's good enough to win, with Sammy out, and Taylor is backing
him plenty. Think he knows anything o' this?"
"That's likely," Hewitt observed, before Kentish could reply. "Yes.
Look here--suppose Steggles goes and keeps his eye on the Cop for
an hour or two, in case there's anything to be heard of? Don't show
yourself, of course."
Kentish agreed, and the trainer went. When Hewitt and Kentish arrived
at the path behind the trees, Hewitt at once began examining the
ground. One or two rather large holes in the cinders were made, as the
publican explained, by Crockett, in practising getting off his mark.
Behind these were several fresh tracks of spiked shoes. The tracks led
up to within a couple of yards of the high fence bounding the ground,
and there stopped abruptly and entirely. In the fence, a little to the
right of where the tracks stopped, there was a stout door. This Hewitt
tried, and found ajar.
"That's always kept bolted," Kentish said; "he's gone out that way--he
couldn't have gone any other without comin' through the house."
"But he isn't in the habit of making a step three yards long, is he?"
Hewitt asked, pointing at the last footmark and then at the door, which
was quite that distance away from it. "Besides," he added, opening the
door, "there's no footprint here nor outside."
The door opened on a lane, with another fence and a thick plantation of
trees at the other side. Kentish looked at the footmarks, then at the
door, then down the lane, and finally back towards the house. "That's a
licker," he said.
[Illustration: "THAT'S A LICKER!"]
"This is a quiet sort of lane," was Hewitt's next remark. "No houses in
sight. Where does it lead?"
"That way it goes to the Old Kilns--disused. This way down to a turning
off the Padfield and Catton Road."
Hewitt returned to the cinder-path again, and once more examined
the footmarks. He traced them back over the grass toward the house.
"Certainly," he said, "he hasn't gone back to the house. Here is
the double line of tracks, side by side, from the house--Steggles's
ordinary boots with iron tips and Crockett's running pumps--thus they
came out. Here is Steggles's track in the opposite direction alone,
made when he went back for the sweater. Crockett remained--you see
various prints in those loose cinders at the end of the path where
he moved this way and that, and then two or three paces toward the
fence--not directly toward the door, you notice--and there they stop
dead, and there are no more, either back or forward. Now, if he had
wings, I should be tempted to the opinion that he flew straight away in
the air from that spot--unless the earth swallowed him and closed again
without leaving a wrinkle on its face."
Kentish stared gloomily at the tracks, and said nothing.
"However," Hewitt resumed, "I think I'll take a little walk now, and
think over it. You go into the house and show yourself at the bar. If
anybody wants to know how Crockett is, he's pretty well, thank you.
By-the-bye, can I get to the Cop--this place of Taylor's--by this back
lane?"
"Yes, down to the end leading to the Catton Road, turn to the left, and
then first on the right. Anyone'll show you the Cop," and Kentish shut
the door behind the detective, who straightway walked--toward the Old
Kilns.
In little more than an hour he was back. It was now becoming dusk,
and the landlord looked out papers from a box near the side window of
his snuggery, for the sake of the extra light. "I've got these papers
together for you," he said, as Hewitt entered. "Any news?"
"Nothing very great. Here's a bit of handwriting I want you to
recognise, if you can. Get a light."
Kentish lit a lamp, and Hewitt laid upon the table half-a-dozen small
pieces of torn paper, evidently fragments of a letter which had been
torn up, here reproduced in facsimile.
The landlord turned the scraps over, regarding them dubiously. "These
aren't much to recognise, anyhow. _I_ don't know the writing. Where did
you find 'em?"
"They were lying in the lane at the back, a little way down.
Plainly they are pieces of a note addressed to someone called Sammy
or something very like it. See the first piece with its 'mmy'? That
is clearly from the beginning of the note, because there is no line
between it and the smooth, straight edge of the paper above; also,
nothing follows on the same line. Someone writes to Crockett--presuming
it to be a letter addressed to him, as I do for other reasons--as
Sammy. It is a pity that there is no more of the letter to be found
than these pieces. I expect the person who tore it up put the rest in
his pocket and dropped these by accident."
[Illustration]
Kentish, who had been picking up and examining each piece in turn, now
dolorously broke out:
"Oh, it's plain he's sold us--bolted and done us; me as took him
out o' the gutter, too. Look here--'throw them over'; that's plain
enough--can't mean anything else. Means throw _me_ over, and my
friends--me, after what I've done for him. Then 'right away'--go right
away, I s'pose, as he has done. Then," he was fiddling with the scraps
and finally fitted two together, "why, look here, this one with 'lane'
on it fits over the one about throwing over, and it says 'poor f' where
it's torn; that means 'poor fool,' I s'pose--_me_, or 'fathead,' or
something like that. That's nice. Why, I'd twist his neck if I could
get hold of him; and I will!"
Hewitt smiled. "Perhaps it's not quite so uncomplimentary after all,"
he said. "If you can't recognise the writing, never mind. But if he's
gone away to sell you, it isn't much use finding him, is it? He won't
win if he doesn't want to."
"Why, he wouldn't dare to rope under my very eyes. I'd--I'd----"
"Well, well; perhaps we'll get him to run after all, and as well as he
can. One thing is certain--he left this place of his own will. Further,
I think he is in Padfield now--he went toward the town I believe. And I
don't think he means to sell you."
"Well, he shouldn't. I've made it worth his while to stick to me. I've
put a fifty on for him out of my own pocket, and told him so; and if he
won, that would bring him a lump more than he'd probably get by going
crooked, besides the prize money, and anything I might give him over.
But it seems to me he's putting me in the cart altogether."
"That we shall see. Meantime, don't mention anything I've told you to
anyone--not even to Steggles. He can't help us, and he might blurt
things out inadvertently. Don't say anything about these pieces of
paper, which I shall keep myself. By-the-bye, Steggles is indoors,
isn't he? Very well, keep him in. Don't let him be seen hunting about
this evening. I'll stay here to-night and we'll proceed with Crockett's
business in the morning. And now we'll settle _my_ business, please."
* * * * *
In the morning Hewitt took his breakfast in the snuggery, carefully
listening to any conversation that might take place at the bar. Soon
after nine o'clock a fast dog-cart stopped outside, and a red-faced,
loud-voiced man swaggered in, greeting Kentish with boisterous
cordiality. He had a drink with the landlord, and said: "How's things?
Fancy any of 'em for the sprint handicap? Got a lad o' your own in,
haven't you?"
"Oh, yes," Kentish replied. "Crockett. Only a young 'un--not got to his
proper mark yet, I reckon. I think old Taylor's got No. 1 this time."
"Capital lad," the other replied, with a confidential nod. "Shouldn't
wonder at all. Want to do anything yourself over it?"
"No--I don't think so. I'm not on at present. Might have a little
flutter on the grounds just for fun: nothing else."
There were a few more casual remarks, and then the red-faced man drove
away.
[Illustration: "'CAPITAL LAD,' THE OTHER REPLIED."]
"Who was that?" asked Hewitt, who had watched the visitor through the
snuggery window.
"That's Danby--bookmaker. Cute chap; he's been told Crockett's missing,
I'll bet anything, and come here to pump me. No good though. As a
matter of fact, I've worked Sammy Crockett into his books for about
half I'm in for altogether--through third parties, of course."
Hewitt reached for his hat. "I'm going out for half an hour now," he
said. "If Steggles wants to go out before I come back, don't let him.
Let him go and smooth over all those tracks on the cinder-path, very
carefully. And, by-the-bye, could you manage to have your son about the
place to-day, in case I happen to want a little help out of doors?"
"Certainly; I'll get him to stay in. But what do you want the cinders
smoothed for?"
Hewitt smiled and patted his host's shoulder. "I'll explain all my
little tricks when the job's done," he said, and went out.
* * * * *
On the lane from Padfield to Sedby village stood the "Plough"
beerhouse, wherein J. Webb was licensed to sell by retail beer to be
consumed on the premises or off, as the thirsty list. Nancy Webb, with
a very fine colour, a very curly fringe, and a wide-smiling mouth
revealing a fine set of teeth, came to the bar at the summons of a
stoutish old gentleman with spectacles, who walked with a stick.
The stoutish old gentleman had a glass of bitter beer and then said, in
the peculiarly quiet voice of a very deaf man: "Can you tell me, if you
please, the way into the main Catton Road?"
"Down the lane, turn to the right at the cross roads, then first to the
left."
The old gentleman waited with his hand to his ear for some few seconds
after she had finished speaking, and then resumed, in his whispering
voice, "I'm afraid I'm very deaf this morning." He fumbled in his
pocket and produced a note-book and pencil. "May I trouble you to write
it down? I'm so very deaf at times, that I--thank you."
The girl wrote the direction, and the old gentleman bade her good
morning and left. All down the lane he walked slowly with his stick.
At the cross roads he turned, put the stick under his arm, thrust the
spectacles into his pocket, and strode away in the ordinary guise
of Martin Hewitt. He pulled out his note-book, examined Miss Webb's
direction very carefully, and then went off another way altogether,
toward the "Hare and Hounds."
Kentish lounged moodily in his bar. "Well, my boy," said Hewitt, "has
Steggles wiped out the tracks?"
"Not yet--I haven't told him. But he's somewhere about--I'll tell him
now."
"No, don't. I don't think we'll have that done, after all. I expect
he'll want to go out soon--at any rate, some time during the day. Let
him go whenever he likes. I'll sit upstairs a bit in the club room."
"Very well. But how do you know Steggles will be going out?"
"Well, he's pretty restless after his lost _protégé_, isn't he? I don't
suppose he'll be able to remain idle long."
"And about Crockett. Do you give him up?"
"Oh, no. Don't you be impatient. I can't say I'm quite confident yet of
laying hold of him--the time is so short, you see--but I think I shall
at least have news for you by the evening."
* * * * *
[Illustration: "NANCY WEBB."]
Hewitt sat in the club-room until the afternoon, taking his lunch
there. At length he saw, through the front window, Raggy Steggles
walking down the road. In an instant Hewitt was downstairs and at the
door. The road bent eighty yards away, and as soon as Steggles passed
the bend the detective hurried after him.
All the way to Padfield town and more than half through it Hewitt
dogged the trainer. In the end Steggles stopped at a corner and gave
a note to a small boy who was playing near. The boy ran with the note
to a bright, well-kept house at the opposite corner. Martin Hewitt was
interested to observe the legend "H. Danby, Contractor," on a board
over a gate in the side wall of the garden behind this house. In five
minutes a door in the side gate opened, and the head and shoulders of
the red-faced man emerged. Steggles immediately hurried across and
disappeared through the gate.
This was both interesting and instructive. Hewitt took up a position
in the side street and waited. In ten minutes the trainer reappeared
and hurried off the way he had come, along the street Hewitt had
considerately left clear for him. Then Hewitt strolled toward the
smart house and took a good look at it. At one corner of the small
piece of forecourt garden, near the railings, a small, baize-covered,
glass-fronted notice-board stood on two posts. On its top edge appeared
the words "H. Danby. Houses to be Sold or Let." But the only notice
pinned to the green baize within was an old and dusty one, inviting
tenants for three shops, which were suitable for any business, and
which would be fitted to suit tenants. Apply within.
Hewitt pushed open the front gate and rang the door-bell. "There are
some shops to let, I see," he said, when a maid appeared. "I should
like to see them, if you will let me have the key."
"Master's out, sir. You can't see the shops till Monday."
"Dear me, that's unfortunate. I'm afraid I can't wait till Monday.
Didn't Mr. Danby leave any instructions, in case anybody should
inquire?"
"Yes, sir--as I've told you. He said anybody who called about 'em must
come again on Monday."
"Oh, very well, then; I suppose I must try. One of the shops is in High
Street, isn't it?"
"No, sir; they're all in the new part--Granville Road."
"Ah, I'm afraid that will scarcely do. But I'll see. Good day."
Martin Hewitt walked away a couple of streets' lengths before he
inquired the way to Granville Road. When at last he found that
thoroughfare, in a new and muddy suburb, crowded with brick-heaps and
half-finished streets, he took a slow walk along its entire length. It
was a melancholy example of baffled enterprise. A row of a dozen or
more shops had been built before any population had arrived to demand
goods. Would-be tradesmen had taken many of these shops, and failure
and disappointment stared from the windows. Some were half covered
by shutters, because the scanty stock scarce sufficed to fill the
remaining half. Others were shut almost altogether, the inmates only
keeping open the door for their own convenience, and, perhaps, keeping
down a shutter for the sake of a little light. Others again had not
yet fallen so low, but struggled bravely still to maintain a show of
business and prosperity, with very little success. Opposite the shops
there still remained a dusty, ill-treated hedge and a forlorn-looking
field, which an old board offered on building leases. Altogether a most
depressing spot.
There was little difficulty in identifying the three shops offered
for letting by Mr. H. Danby. They were all together near the middle
of the row, and were the only ones that appeared not yet to have been
occupied. A dusty "To Let" bill hung in each window, with written
directions to inquire of Mr. H. Danby or at No. 7. Now, No. 7 was a
melancholy baker's shop, with a stock of three loaves and a plate of
stale buns. The disappointed baker assured Hewitt that he usually kept
the keys of the shops, but that the landlord, Mr. Danby, had taken them
away the day before, to see how the ceilings were standing, and had
not returned them. "But if you was thinking of taking a shop here,"
the poor baker added, with some hesitation, "I--I--if you'll excuse
my advising you--I shouldn't recommend it. I've had a sickener of it
myself."
[Illustration: "I'VE HAD A SICKENER OF IT MYSELF."]
Hewitt thanked the baker for his advice, wished him better luck in
future, and left. To the "Hare and Hounds" his pace was brisk. "Come,"
he said, as he met Kentish's inquiring glance, "this has been a very
good day, on the whole. I know where our man is now, and I think we can
get him, by a little management."
"Where is he?"
"Oh, down in Padfield. As a matter of fact, he's being kept there
against his will, we shall find. I see that your friend, Mr. Danby, is
a builder as well as a bookmaker."
"Not a regular builder. He speculates in a street of new houses now and
again, that's all. But is he in it?"
"He's as deep in it as anybody, I think. Now, don't fly into a passion.
There are a few others in it as well, but you'll do harm if you don't
keep quiet."
"But go and get the police--come and fetch him, if you know where
they're keeping him; why----"
"So we will, if we can't do it without them. But it's quite possible we
can, and without all the disturbance and, perhaps, delay that calling
in the police would involve. Consider, now, in reference to your own
arrangements. Wouldn't it pay you better to get him back quietly,
without a soul knowing--perhaps not even Danby knowing--till the heat
is run to-morrow?"
"Well, yes, it would, of course."
"Very good, then, so be it. Remember what I have told you about keeping
your mouth shut--say nothing to Steggles or anybody. Is there a cab or
brougham your son and I can have for the evening?"
"There's an old hiring landau in the stables you can shut up into a
cab, if that'll do."
"Excellent. We'll run down to the town in it as soon as it's ready.
But, first, a word about Crockett. What sort of a lad is he? Likely to
give them trouble, show fight, and make a disturbance?"
"No, I should say not. He's no plucked 'un, certainly--all his
manhood's in his legs, I believe. You see, he ain't a big sort o' chap
at best, and he'd be pretty easy put upon--at least, I guess so."
"Very good, so much the better, for then he won't have been damaged,
and they will probably only have one man to guard him. Now the
carriage, please."
Young Kentish was a six-foot sergeant of Grenadiers, home on furlough,
and luxuriating in plain clothes. He and Hewitt walked a little way
towards the town, allowing the landau to catch them up. They travelled
in it to within a hundred yards of the empty shops and then alighted,
bidding the driver wait.
"I shall show you three empty shops," Hewitt said, as he and young
Kentish walked down Granville Road. "I am pretty sure that Sammy
Crockett is in one of them, and I am pretty sure that that is the
middle one. Take a look as we go past."
When the shops had been slowly passed, Hewitt resumed: "Now, did you
see anything about those shops that told a tale of any sort?"
"No," Sergeant Kentish replied. "I can't say I noticed anything beyond
the fact that they were empty--and likely to stay so, I should think."
"We'll stroll back, and look in at the windows, if nobody's watching
us," Hewitt said. "You see, it's reasonable to suppose they've put
him in the middle one, because that would suit their purpose best.
The shops at each side of the three are occupied, and if the prisoner
struggled, or shouted, or made an uproar, he might be heard if he
were in one of the shops next those inhabited. So that the middle
shop is the most likely. Now, see there," he went on, as they stopped
before the window of the shop in question, "over at the back there's a
staircase not yet partitioned off. It goes down below and up above: on
the stairs and on the floor near them there are muddy footmarks. These
must have been made to-day, else they would not be muddy, but dry and
dusty, since there hasn't been a shower for a week till to-day. Move
on again. Then you noticed that there were no other such marks in the
shop. Consequently the man with the muddy feet did not come in by the
front door, but by the back; otherwise he would have made a trail from
the door. So we will go round to the back ourselves."
It was now growing dusk. The small pieces of ground behind the shops
were bounded by a low fence, containing a door for each house.
"This door is bolted inside, of course," Hewitt said, "but there is
no difficulty in climbing. I think we had better wait in the garden
till dark. In the meantime, the gaoler, whoever he is, may come out;
in which case we shall pounce on him as soon as he opens the door.
You have that few yards of cord in your pocket, I think? And my
handkerchief, properly rolled, will make a very good gag. Now over."
They climbed the fence and quietly approached the house, placing
themselves in the angle of an outhouse out of sight from the windows.
There was no sound, and no light appeared. Just above the ground about
a foot of window was visible, with a grating over it, apparently
lighting a basement. Suddenly Hewitt touched his companion's arm, and
pointed toward the window. A faint rustling sound was perceptible, and
as nearly as could be discerned in the darkness, some white blind or
covering was placed over the glass from the inside. Then came the sound
of a striking match, and at the side edge of the window there was a
faint streak of light.
"That's the place," Hewitt whispered. "Come, we'll make a push for it.
You stand against the wall at one side of the door and I'll stand at
the other, and we'll have him as he comes out. Quietly, now, and I'll
startle them."
He took a stone from among the rubbish littering the garden and flung
it crashing through the window. There was a loud exclamation from
within, the blind fell, and somebody rushed to the back door and flung
it open. Instantly Kentish let fly a heavy right-hander, and the man
went over like a skittle. In a moment Hewitt was upon him and the gag
in his mouth.
"Hold him," Hewitt whispered, hurriedly. "I'll see if there are others."
He peered down through the low window. Within, Sammy Crockett, his bare
legs dangling from beneath his long overcoat, sat on a packing-box,
leaning with his head on his hand and his back towards the window. A
guttering candle stood on the mantelpiece, and the newspaper which had
been stretched across the window lay in scattered sheets on the floor.
No other person besides Sammy was visible.
They led their prisoner indoors. Young Kentish recognised him as
a public-house loafer and race-course ruffian well known in the
neighbourhood.
"So it's you, is it, Browdie?" he said. "I've caught you one hard
clump, and I've half a mind to make it a score more. But you'll get it
pretty warm one way or another, before this job's forgotten."
Sammy Crockett was overjoyed at his rescue. He had not been
ill-treated, he explained, but had been thoroughly cowed by Browdie,
who had from time to time threatened him savagely with an iron bar, by
way of persuading him to quietness and submission. He had been fed, and
had taken no worse harm than a slight stiffness from his adventure, due
to his light under-attire of jersey and knee-shorts.
Sergeant Kentish tied Browdie's elbows firmly together behind, and
carried the line round the ankles, bracing all up tight. Then he ran a
knot from one wrist to the other over the back of the neck, and left
the prisoner, trussed and helpless, on the heap of straw that had been
Sammy's bed.
[Illustration: "THE PRISONER--TRUSSED AND HELPLESS."]
"You won't be very jolly, I expect," Kentish said, "for some time. You
can't shout and you can't walk, and I know you can't untie yourself.
You'll get a bit hungry, too, perhaps, but that'll give you an
appetite. I don't suppose you'll be disturbed till some time to-morrow,
unless our friend Danby turns up in the meantime. But you can come
along to gaol instead, if you prefer it."
They left him where he lay, and took Sammy to the old landau. Sammy
walked in slippers, carrying his spiked shoes, hanging by the lace, in
his hand.
"Ah," said Hewitt, "I think I know the name of the young lady who gave
you those slippers."
Crockett looked ashamed and indignant. "Yes," he said; "they've done me
nicely between 'em. But I'll pay her--I'll----"
"Hush, hush!" Hewitt said: "you mustn't talk unkindly of a lady, you
know. Get into this carriage, and we'll take you home. We'll see if I
can tell you your adventures without making a mistake. First, you had
a note from Miss Webb, telling you that you were mistaken in supposing
she had slighted you, and that as a matter of fact she had quite done
with somebody else--left him--of whom you were jealous. Isn't that so?"
"Well, yes," young Crockett answered, blushing deeply under the
carriage-lamp: "but I don't see how you come to know that."
"Then she went on to ask you to get rid of Steggles on Thursday
afternoon for a few minutes, and speak to her in the back lane. Now,
your running pumps, with their thin soles, almost like paper, no heels
and long spikes, hurt your feet horribly if you walk on hard ground,
don't they?"
"Ay, that they do--enough to cripple you. I'd never go on much hard
ground with 'em."
"They're not like cricket shoes, I see."
"Not a bit. Cricket shoes you can walk anywhere in."
"Well, she knew this--I think I know who told her--and she promised to
bring you a new pair of slippers, and to throw them over the fence for
you to come out in."
"I s'pose she's been tellin' you all this?" Crockett said, mournfully.
"You couldn't ha' seen the letter--I saw her tear it up and put the
bits in her pocket. She asked me for it in the lane, in case Steggles
saw it."
"Well, at any rate, you sent Steggles away, and the slippers did come
over, and you went into the lane. You walked with her as far as the
road at the end, and then you were seized and gagged, and put into a
carriage."
"That was Browdie did that," said Crockett, "and another chap I don't
know. But--why, this is Padfield High Street!" He looked through the
window and regarded the familiar shops with astonishment.
"Of course it is. Where did you think it was?"
"Why, where was that place you found me in?"
"Granville Road, Padfield. I suppose they told you you were in another
town?"
"Told me it was Newstead Hatch. They drove for about three or four
hours, and kept me down on the floor between the seats so as I couldn't
see where we was going."
"Done for two reasons," said Hewitt. "First, to mystify you, and
prevent any discovery of the people directing the conspiracy; and,
second, to be able to put you indoors at night and unobserved. Well, I
think I have told you all you know yourself now as far as the carriage.
"But there is the 'Hare and Hounds' just in front. We'll pull up here
and I'll get out and see if the coast is clear. I fancy Mr. Kentish
would rather you came in unnoticed."
In a few seconds Hewitt was back, and Crockett was conveyed indoors by
a side entrance. Hewitt's instructions to the landlord were few but
emphatic. "Don't tell Steggles about it," he said; "make an excuse to
get rid of him, and send him out of the house. Take Crockett into some
other bedroom, not his own, and let your son look after him. Then come
here, and I'll tell you all about it."
Sammy Crockett was undergoing a heavy grooming with white embrocation
at the hands of Sergeant Kentish, when the landlord returned to Hewitt.
"Does Danby know you've got him?" he asked. "How did you do it?"
"Danby doesn't know yet, and with luck he won't know till he sees
Crockett running to-morrow. The man who has sold you is Steggles."
"Steggles?"
"Steggles it is. At the very first, when Steggles rushed in to report
Sammy Crockett missing, I suspected him. You didn't, I suppose?"
"No. He's always been considered a straight man, and he looked as
startled as anybody."
"Yes, I must say he acted it very well. But there was something
suspicious in his story. What did he say? Crockett had remarked a
chilliness, and asked for a sweater, which Steggles went to fetch.
Now, just think. You understand these things. Would any trainer who
knew his business (as Steggles does) have gone to bring out a sweater
for his man to change for his jersey in the open air, at the very time
the man was complaining of chilliness? Of course not. He would have
taken his man indoors again and let him change there under shelter.
Then supposing Steggles had really been surprised at missing Crockett,
wouldn't he have looked about, found the gate open, and _told_ you it
was open, when he first came in? He said nothing of that--we found the
gate open for ourselves. So that from the beginning, I had a certain
opinion of Steggles."
"What you say seems pretty plain now, although it didn't strike me at
the time. But if Steggles was selling us, why couldn't he have drugged
the lad? That would have been a deal simpler."
"Because Steggles is a good trainer and has a certain reputation to
keep up. It would have done him no good to have had a runner drugged
while under his care--certainly it would have cooked his goose with
_you_. It was much the safer thing to connive at kidnapping. That put
all the active work into other hands, and left him safe, even if the
trick failed. Now you remember that we traced the prints of Crockett's
spiked shoes to within a couple of yards of the fence, and that there
they ceased suddenly?"
"Yes. You said it looked as though he had flown up into the air; and so
it did."
"But I was sure that it was by that gate that Crockett had left, and by
no other. He couldn't have got through the house without being seen,
and there was no other way--let alone the evidence of the unbolted
gate. Therefore, as the footprints ceased where they did, and were not
repeated anywhere in the lane, I knew that he had taken his spiked
shoes off--probably changed them for something else, because a runner
anxious as to his chances would never risk walking on bare feet, with
a chance of cutting them. Ordinary, broad, smooth-soled slippers would
leave no impression on the coarse cinders bordering the track, and
nothing short of spiked shoes would leave a mark on the hard path in
the lane behind. The spike tracks were leading, not directly toward the
door, but in the direction of the fence, when they stopped--somebody
had handed, or thrown, the slippers over the fence and he had changed
them on the spot. The enemy had calculated upon the spikes leaving a
track in the lane that might lead us in our search, and had arranged
accordingly.
"So far, so good. I could see no footprints near the gate in the lane.
You will remember that I sent Steggles off to watch at the Cop before
I went out to the back--merely, of course, to get him out of the way.
I went out into the lane, leaving you behind, and walked its whole
length, first toward the Old Kilns and then back toward the road. I
found nothing to help me except these small pieces of paper--which are
here in my pocket-book, by-the-bye. Of course, this 'mmy' might have
meant '"Jimmy' or 'Tommy,' as possibly as 'Sammy,' but they were not to
be rejected on that account. Certainly Crockett had been decoyed out
of your ground, not taken by force, or there would have been marks of
a scuffle in the cinders. And as his request for a sweater was probably
an excuse--because it was not at all a cold afternoon he must have
previously designed going out--inference, a letter received: and here
were pieces of a letter. Now, in the light of what I have said, look at
these pieces. First there is the 'mmy'--that I have dealt with. Then,
see this 'throw them ov'--clearly a part of 'throw them over'; exactly
what had probably been done with the slippers. Then the 'poor f,'
coming just on the line before, and seen, by joining up with this other
piece, might easily be a reference to 'poor feet.' These coincidences,
one on the other, went far to establish the identity of the letter, and
to confirm my previous impressions. But then there is something else.
Two other pieces evidently mean 'left him,' and 'right away'--send
Steggles 'right away,' perhaps; but there is another, containing almost
all of the words 'hate his,' with the word 'hate' underlined. Now, who
writes 'hate' with the emphasis of underscoring--- who but a woman?
The writing is large and not very regular; it might easily be that of
a half-educated woman. Here was something more--Sammy had been enticed
away by a woman.
"Now, I remembered that when we went into the tap-room on Wednesday,
some of his companions were chaffing Crockett about a certain Nancy
Webb, and the chaff went home, as was plain to see. The woman, then,
who could most easily entice Sammy Crockett away was Nancy Webb. I
resolved to find who Nancy Webb was and learn more of her.
"Meantime I took a look at the road at the end of the lane. It was
damper than the lane, being lower, and overhung by trees. There were
many wheel tracks, but only one set that turned in the road and went
back the way it came--- towards the town--and they were narrow wheels,
carriage wheels. Crockett tells me now that they drove him about for a
long time before shutting him up--probably the inconvenience of taking
him straight to the hiding-place didn't strike them when they first
drove off.
"A few inquiries soon set me in the direction of the 'Plough' and
Miss Nancy Webb. I had the curiosity to look round the place as I
approached, and there, in the garden behind the house, were Steggles
and the young lady in earnest confabulation!
"Every conjecture became a certainty. Steggles was the lover of whom
Crockett was jealous, and he had employed the girl to bring Sammy out.
I watched Steggles home, and gave you a hint to keep him there.
[Illustration: "STEGGLES AND THE YOUNG LADY IN EARNEST CONFABULATION."]
"But the thing that remained was to find Steggles's employer in this
business. I was glad to be in when Danby called--he came, of course, to
hear if you would blurt out anything, and to learn, if possible, what
steps you were taking. He failed. By way of making assurance doubly
sure, I took a short walk this morning in the character of a deaf
gentleman, and got Miss Webb to write me a direction that comprised
three of the words on these scraps of paper--'left,' 'right,' and
'lane'--see, they correspond, the peculiar 'f's,' 't's,' and all.
"Now, I felt perfectly sure that Steggles would go for his pay to-day.
In the first place, I knew that people mixed up with shady transactions
in professional pedestrianism are not apt to trust one another
far--they know better. Therefore, Steggles wouldn't have had his bribe
first. But he would take care to get it before the Saturday heats were
run, because once they were over the thing was done, and the principal
conspirator might have refused to pay up, and Steggles couldn't have
helped himself. Again I hinted he should not go out till I could follow
him, and this afternoon when he went, follow him I did. I saw him
go into Danby's house by the side way and come away again. Danby it
was, then, who had arranged the business; and nobody was more likely,
considering his large pecuniary stake against Crockett's winning this
race.
"But now, how to find Crockett? I made up my mind he wouldn't be in
Danby's own house--that would be a deal too risky, with servants about,
and so on. I saw that Danby was a builder, and had three shops to
let--it was on a paper before his house. What more likely prison than
an empty house? I knocked at Danby's door and asked for the keys of
those shops. I couldn't have them. The servant told me Danby was out (a
manifest lie, for I had just seen him), and that nobody could see the
shops till Monday. But I got out of her the address of the shops, and
that was all I wanted at the time.
"Now, why was nobody to see those shops till Monday? The interval
was suspicious--just enough to enable Crockett to be sent away again
and cast loose after the Saturday racing, supposing him to be kept
in one of the empty buildings. I went off at once and looked at the
shops, forming my conclusions as to which would be the most likely for
Danby's purpose. Here I had another confirmation of my ideas. A poor,
half-bankrupt baker in one of the shops had, by the bills, the custody
of a set of keys; but _he_, too, told me I couldn't have them; Danby
had taken them away--and on Thursday, the very day--with some trivial
excuse, and hadn't brought them back. That was all I wanted, or could
expect in the way of guidance; the whole thing was plain. The rest you
know all about."
"Well, you're certainly as smart as they give you credit for, I must
say. But suppose Danby had taken down his 'to let' notice, what would
you have done then?"
"We had our course even then. We should have gone to Danby, astounded
him by telling him all about his little games, terrorized him with
threats of the law, and made him throw up his hand and send Crockett
back. But as it is, you see, he doesn't know at this moment--probably
won't know till to-morrow afternoon--that the lad is safe and sound
here. You will probably use the interval to make him pay for losing
the game--by some of the ingenious financial devices you are no doubt
familiar with."
"Aye, that I will. He'll give any price against Crockett now, so long
as the bet don't come direct from me."
"But about Crockett, now," Hewitt went on. "Won't this confinement be
likely to have damaged his speed for a day or two?"
"Ah, perhaps," the landlord replied: "but, bless ye, that won't matter.
There's four more in his heat to-morrow. Two I know aren't tryers, and
the other two I can hold in at a couple of quid apiece any day. The
third round and final won't be till to-morrow week, and he'll be as fit
as ever by then. It's as safe as ever it was. How much are you going to
have on? I'll lump it on for you safe enough. This is a chance not to
be missed--it's picking money up."
"Thank you: I don't think I'll have anything to do with it. This
professional pedestrian business doesn't seem a pretty one at all. I
don't call myself a moralist, but, if you'll excuse my saying so, the
thing is scarcely the game I care to pick up money at in any way."
"Oh! very well, if you think so, I won't persuade ye, though I don't
think so much of your smartness as I did, after that. Still, we won't
quarrel--you've done me a mighty good turn, that I must say, and I only
feel I aren't level without doing something to pay the debt. Come, now,
you've got your trade as I've got mine. Let me have the bill, and I'll
pay it like a lord, and feel a deal more pleased than if you made a
favour of it--not that I'm above a favour, of course. But I'd prefer
paying, and that's a fact."
"My dear sir, you have paid," Hewitt said, with a smile. "You paid in
advance. It was a bargain, wasn't it, that I should do your business if
you would help me in mine? Very well, a bargain's a bargain, and we've
both performed our parts. And you mustn't be offended at what I said
just now."
"That I won't. But as to that Raggy Steggles, once those heats are over
to-morrow, I'll ---- well ----!"
* * * * *
It was on the following Sunday week that Martin Hewitt, in his rooms in
London, turned over his paper and read, under the head "Padfield Annual
135 Yards Handicap," this announcement: "Final Heat: Crockett, first;
Willis, second; Trewby, third: Owen, 0; Howell, 0. A runaway win by
nearly three yards."
[Illustration: