STEPHEN'S TALE
Somebody had gone for a doctor, it was said, but a doctor was not always
easy to find in Wapping. Mrs. Grimes, who was at some late work
upstairs, was not disturbed at first by the noise, since excitement was
not uncommon in the neighbourhood. But now she came to the stairfoot
door, and peeped and hurried back. For myself, I squeezed into a far
corner and stared, a little sick; for there was a deal of blood, and Joe
the potman was all dabbled, like a slaughterman.
My grandfather returned almost on the doctor's heels, and with my
grandfather were some river police, in glazed hats and pilot coats. The
doctor puffed and shook his head, called for cold water, and cloths, and
turpentine, and milk. Cold water and cloths were ready enough, and
turpentine was easy to get, but ere the milk came it was useless. The
doctor shook his head and puffed more than ever, wiped his hands and
pulled his cuffs down gingerly. I could not see the man on the floor,
now, for the doctor was in the way; but I heard him, just before the
doctor stood up. The noise sent my neck cold at the back; though indeed
it was scarce more than the noise made in emptying a large bottle by
up-ending it.
The doctor stood up and shook his head. "Gone," he said. "And I couldn't
have done more than keep him alive a few minutes, at best. It was the
lung, and bad--two places. Have they got the man?"
"No," said Grandfather Nat, "nor ain't very likely, I'd say. Never saw
him again, once he got behind a tier o' lighters. Waterside chap,
certain; knows the river well enough, an' these stairs. I couldn't ha'
got that boat o' mine off quicker, not myself."
"Ah," said one of the river policemen, "he's a waterside chap, that's
plain enough. Any other 'ud a-bolted up the street. Never said nothing,
did he--this one?" He was bending over the dead man; while the others
cleared the people back from the door, and squeezed Mr. Cripps out among
them.
"No, not a word," answered Joe the potman. "Couldn't. Tried to nod once
when I spoke to 'im, but it seemed to make 'im bleed faster."
"Know him, Cap'en Nat?" asked the sergeant.
"No," answered my grandfather, "I don't know him. Might ha' seen him
hanging about p'raps. But then I see a lot doin' that."
I wondered if Grandfather Nat had already forgotten about the silver
watch with the M on it, or if he had merely failed to recognise the man.
But I remembered what he had said in the morning, after he had bought
the spoons, and I reflected that I had best hold my tongue.
And now voices without made it known that the shore police were here,
with a stretcher; and presently, with a crowding and squeezing in the
little bar-parlour that drove me deeper into my corner and farther under
the shelf, the uncomely figure was got from the floor to the stretcher,
and so out of the house.
It was plain that my grandfather was held in good regard by the police;
and I think that his hint that a drop of brandy was at the service of
anybody who felt the job unpleasant might have been acted on, if there
had not been quite as many present at once. When at last they were gone,
and the room clear, he kicked into a heap the strip of carpet that the
dead man had lain on; and as he did it, he perceived me in my corner.
"What--you here all the time, Stevy?" he said. "I thought you'd gone
upstairs. Here--it ain't right for boys in general, but you've got a
turn; drink up this."
I believe I must have been pale, and indeed I felt a little sick now
that the excitement was over. The thing had been very near, and the
blood tainted the very air. So that I gulped the weak brandy and water
without much difficulty, and felt better. Out in the bar Mr. Cripps's
thin voice was raised in thrilling description.
Feeling better, as I have said, and no longer faced with the melancholy
alternatives of crying or being ill, I bethought me of my grandfather's
tobacco-pouch. "You dropped your pouch, Gran'father Nat," I said, "and I
picked it up when I ran out."
And with that I pulled out of my jacket pocket--not the pouch at all;
but a stout buckled pocket-book of about the same size.
"That ain't a pouch, Stevy," said Grandfather Nat; "an' mine's here in
my pocket. Show me."
He opened the flap, and stood for a moment staring. Then he looked up
hastily, turned his back to the bar, and sat down. "Whew! Stevy!" he
said, with amazement in his eyes and the pocket-book open in his hand;
"you're in luck; luck, my boy. See!"
Once more he glanced quickly over his shoulder, toward the bar; and then
took in his fingers a folded bunch of paper, and opened it. "Notes!" he
said, in a low voice, drawing me to his side. "Bank of England notes,
every one of 'em! Fifties, an' twenties, an' tens, an' fives! Where was
it?"
I told him how I had run out at his heels, had trodden on the thing in
the dark, and had slipped it into my pocket, supposing it to be his old
leather tobacco-pouch, from which he had but just refilled his pipe; and
how I had forgotten about it, in my excitement, till the people were
gone, and the brandy had quelled my faintness.
"Well, well," commented Grandfather Nat, "it's a wonderful bit o' luck,
anyhow. This is what the chap was pulling away from him when I opened
the door, you can lay to that; an' he lost it when he hit the post, I'll
wager; unless the other pitched it away. But that's neither here nor
there.... What's that?" He turned his head quickly. "That stairfoot door
ain't latched again, Stevy. Made me jump: fancied it was the other."
There was nothing else in the pocket-book, it would seem, except an old
photograph. It was a faded, yellowish thing, and it represented a rather
stout woman, seated, with a boy of about fourteen at her side; both very
respectably dressed in the fashion of twenty years earlier. Grandfather
Nat put it back, and slipped the pocket-book into the same cash-box that
had held the watch with the M engraved on its back.
The stairfoot door clicked again, and my grandfather sent me to shut it.
As I did so I almost fancied I could hear soft footsteps ascending. But
then I concluded I was mistaken; for in a few moments Mrs. Grimes was
plainly heard coming downstairs, with an uncommonly full tread; and
presently she presented herself.
"Good law, Cap'en Kemp," exclaimed Mrs. Grimes, with a hand clutching at
her chest, and her breath a tumultuous sigh; "Good law! I am that bad!
What with extry work, an' keepin' on late, an' murders under my very
nose, I cannot a-bear it--no!" And she sank into a chair by the
stairfoot door, letting go her brush and dustpan with a clatter.
Grandfather Nat turned to get the brandy-bottle again. Mrs. Grimes's
head drooped faintly, and her eyelids nearly closed. Nevertheless I
observed that the eyes under the lids were very sharp indeed, following
my grandfather's back, and traversing the shelf where he had left the
photograph; yet when he brought the brandy, he had to rouse her by a
shake.