ON THE COP
When Viney followed the limy man from Musky Mag's door he kept him well
in view as far as the Hole in the Wall, and there waited. But when
Grimes emerged, and Viney took up the chase, he had scarce made
three-quarters of the way through the crooked lanes toward the
Commercial Road, when, in the confusion and the darkness of the
turnings, or in some stray rack of fog, the man of lime went wholly
amissing. Viney hurried forward, doubled, and scoured the turnings about
him. Drawing them blank, he hastened for the main road, and there
consumed well nigh an hour in profitless questing to and fro; and was
fain at last to seek out Blind George, and confess himself beaten.
But Blind George made a better guess. After Viney's departure in the
wake of Grimes, he had stood patiently on guard in the black archway,
and had got his reward. For he heard Musky Mag's feet descend her
stairs; noted her timid pause at the door; and ear-watched her progress
to the street corner. There she paused again, as he judged, to see that
nobody followed; and then hurried out of earshot. He was no such fool as
to attempt to dog a woman with eyes, but contented himself with the
plain inference that she was on her way to see Dan Ogle, and that the
man whom Viney was following had brought news of Dan's whereabouts; and
with that he turned to the Highway and his fiddling. So that when he
learned that the limy man had called at the Hole in the Wall, and had
gone out of Viney's sight on his way east, Blind George was quick to
think of Kemp's Wharf, and to resolve that his next walk abroad should
lead him to the Lea bank.
The upshot of this was that, after some trouble, Dan Ogle and Blind
George met on the Cop, and that Dan consented to a business interview
with Viney. He was confident enough in any dealings with either of them
so long as he cockered in them the belief that he still had the notes.
So he said very little, except that Viney might come and make any
proposal he pleased; hoping for some chance-come expedient whereby he
might screw out a little on account.
And so it followed that on the morning after his unsuccessful
negotiation with Captain Nat, Dan Ogle found himself face to face with
Henry Viney at that self-same spot on the bank-side where he had talked
with Blind George.
Dan was surly; first because it was policy to say little, and to seem
intractable, and again because, after the night's adventure, it came
natural. "So you're Viney, are you?" he said. "Well, I ain't afraid o'
you. I know about you. Blind George told me _your_ game."
"Who said anything about afraid?" Viney protested, the eternal grin
twitching nervously in his yellow cheeks. "We needn't talk about being
afraid. It seems to me we can work together."
"O, does it? How?"
"Well, you know, you can't change 'em."
"What?"
"O, damn it, you know what I mean. The money--the notes."
"O, that's what you mean, is it? Well, s'pose I can't?"
"Well--of course--if you can't--eh? If you can't, they might be so much
rags, eh?"
"P'raps they might--_if_ I can't."
"But you know you can't," retorted the other, with a spasm of
apprehension. "Else you'd have done it and--and got farther off."
"Well, p'raps I might. But that ain't all you come to say. Go on."
Viney thoughtfully scratched his lank cheek, peering sharply into Dan's
face. "Things bein' what they are," he said, reflectively, "they're no
more good to you than rags; not so much."
"All right. S'pose they ain't; you don't think I'm a-goin' to make you a
present of 'em, do you?"
"Why no, I didn't think that. I'll pay--reasonable. But you must
remember that they're no good to you at all--not worth rag price; so
whatever you got 'ud be clear profit."
"Then how much clear profit will you give me?"
Viney's forefinger paused on his cheek, and his gaze, which had sunk to
Dan Ogle's waistcoat, shot sharply again at his eyes. "Ten pounds," said
Viney.
Dan chuckled, partly at the absurdity of the offer, partly because this
bargaining for the unproducible began to amuse him. "Ten pound clear
profit for me," he said, "an' eight hundred pound clear profit for you.
That's your idea of a fair bit o' trade!"
"But it was mine first, and--and it's no good to you--you say so
yourself!"
"No; nor no good to you neither--'cause why? You ain't got it!" Dan's
chuckle became a grin. "If you'd ha' said a hundred, now----"
"What?"
"Why, then I'd ha' said four hundred. That's what I'd ha' said!"
"Four hundred? Why, you're mad! Besides I haven't got it--I've got
nothing till I can change the notes; only the ten."
Dan saw the chance he had hoped for. "I'll make it dirt cheap," he said,
"first an' last, no less an' no more. Will you give me fifty down for
'em when you've got 'em changed?"
"Yes, I will." Viney's voice was almost too eager.
"Straight? No tricks, eh?"
Viney was indignant at the suggestion. He scorned a trick.
"No hoppin' the twig with the whole lot, an' leavin' me in the cart?"
Viney was deeply hurt. He had never dreamed of such a thing.
"Very well, I'll trust you. Give us the tenner on account." Dan Ogle
stuck out his hand carelessly; but it remained empty.
"I said I'd give fifty when they're changed," grinned Viney, knowingly.
"What? Well, I know that; an' not play no tricks. An' now when I ask you
to pay first the ten you've got, you don't want to do it! That don't
look like a chap that means to part straight and square, does it?"
Viney put his hand in his pocket. "All right," he said, "that's fair
enough. Ten now an' forty when the paper's changed. Where's the paper?"
"O, I ain't got that about me just now," Dan replied airily. "Be here
to-morrow, same time. But you can give me the ten now."
Viney's teeth showed unamiably through his grin. "Ah," he said; "I'll be
here to-morrow with that, same time!"
"What?" It was Dan's honour that smarted now. "What? Won't trust me with
ten, when I offer, free an' open, to trust you with forty? O, it's off
then. I'm done. It's enough to make a man sick." And he turned loftily
away.
Viney's grin waxed and waned, and he followed Dan with his eyes,
thinking hard. Dan stole a look behind, and stopped.
"Look here," Viney said at last. "Look here. Let's cut it short. We
can't sharp each other, and we're wasting time. You haven't got those
notes."
Dan half-turned, and answered in a tone between question and retort. "O,
haven't I?" he said.
"No; you haven't. See here; I'll give you five pounds if you'll show 'em
to me. Only show 'em."
Dan was posed. "I said I hadn't got 'em about me," he said, rather
feebly.
"No; nor can't get 'em. Can you? Cut it short."
Dan looked up and down, and rubbed his cap about his head. "I know where
they are," he sulkily concluded.
"You know where they are, but you can't get 'em," Viney retorted with
decision. "Can I get 'em?"
Dan glanced at him superciliously. "You?" he answered. "Lord, no."
"Can we get 'em together?"
Dan took to rubbing his cap about his head again, and staring very
thoughtfully at the ground. Then he came a step nearer, and looked up.
"Two might," he said, "if you'd see it through. With nerve."
Viney took him by the upper arm, and drew close. "We're the two," he
said. "You know where the stuff is, and you say we can get it. We'll
haggle no more. We're partners and we'll divide all we get. How's that?"
"How about Blind George?"
"Never mind Blind George--unless you want to make him a present. _I_
don't. Blind George can fish for himself. He's shoved out. We'll do it,
and we'll keep what we get. Now where are the notes? Who's got them?"
Dan Ogle stood silent a moment, considering. He looked over the bank
toward the London streets, down on the grass at his feet, and then up at
an adventurous lark, that sang nearer and still nearer the town smoke.
Last he looked at Viney, and make up his mind. "Who's got 'em?" he
repeated; "Cap'en Nat Kemp's got 'em."
"What? Cap'en----"
"Cap'en Nat Kemp's got 'em."
Viney took a step backward, turned his foot on the slope, and sat back
on the bank, staring at Dan Ogle. "Cap'en Nat Kemp?" he said. "Cap'en
Nat Kemp?"
"Ay; Cap'en Nat Kemp. The notes, an' the leather pocket-book; an' the
photo; an' the whole kit. Marr's photo, ain't it, with his mother?"
"Yes," Viney answered. "When he was a boy. He wasn't a particular
dutiful son, but he always carried it: for luck, or something.
But--Cap'en Kemp! Where did _he_ get them?"
Dan Ogle sat on the bank beside Viney, facing the river, and there told
him the tale he had heard from Mrs. Grimes. Also he told him, with many
suppressions, just as much of his own last night's adventure at the Hole
in the Wall as made it plain that Captain Nat meant to stick to what he
had got.
Viney heard it all in silence, and sat for a while with his head between
his hands, thinking, and occasionally swearing. At last he looked up,
and dropped one hand to his knee. "I'd have it out of him by myself," he
said, "if it wasn't that I want to lie low a bit."
Dan grunted and nodded. "I know," he replied, "The _Juno_. I know about
that."
Viney started. "What do you know about that?" he asked.
"Pretty well all you could tell me. I hear things, though I am lyin' up;
but I heard before, too. Marr chattered like a poll-parrot."
Viney swore, and dropped his other hand. "Ay; so Blind George said.
Well, there's nothing for me out of the insurance, and I'm going to let
the creditors scramble for it themselves. There'd be awkward questions
for me, with the books in the receiver's hands, and what not. So I'm not
showing for a bit. Though," he added, thoughtfully, "I don't know that I
mightn't try it, even now."
Dan's eyes grew sharp. "We're doin' this together, Mr. Viney," he said.
"You'd better not go tryin' things without me; I mightn't like it. I
ain't a nice man to try games on with; one's tried a game over this
a'ready, mind."
"I'm trying no games," Viney protested. "Tell us your way, if you don't
want to hear about mine."
Dan Ogle was sitting with his chin on his doubled fists, gazing
thoughtfully at the muddy river. "My way's rough," he replied, "but it's
thorough. An' it wipes off scores. I owe Cap'en Nat one."
Viney looked curiously at his companion. "Well?" he said.
"An' there'd be more in it than eight hundred an' ten. P'raps a lump
more."
"How?" Viney's eyes widened.
"Umph." Dan was silent a moment. Then he turned and looked Viney in the
eyes. "Are you game?" he asked. "You ain't a faintin' sort, are you? You
oughtn't to be, seein' you was a ship's officer."
Viney's mouth closed tight. "No," he said; "I don't think I am. What is
it?"
Dan Ogle looked intently in his face for a few seconds, and then said:
"Only him an' the kid sleeps in the house."
Viney started. "You don't mean breaking in?" he exclaimed. "I won't do
that; it's too--too----"
"Ah, too risky, of course," Dan replied, with a curl of the lip. "But I
don't mean breakin' in. Nothing like it. But tell me first; s'pose
breakin' in _wasn't_ risky; s'pose you knew you'd get away safe, with
the stuff. Would you do it then?" And he peered keenly at Viney's face.
Viney frowned. "That don't matter," he said, "if it ain't the plan.
S'pose I would?"
"Ha-ha! that'll do! I know your sort. Not that I blame you about the
busting--it 'ud take two pretty tough 'uns to face Cap'en Nat, I can
tell you. But now see here. Will you come with me, an' knock at his side
door to-night, after the place is shut?"
"Knock? And what then?"
"I'll tell you. You know the alley down to the stairs?"
"Yes."
"Black as pitch at night, with a row o' posts holding up the house. Now
when everybody's gone an' he's putting out the lights, you go an' tap at
the door."
"Well?"
"You tap at the door, an' he'll come. You're alone--see? I stand back in
the dark, behind a post. He never sees me. 'Good evenin',' says you. 'I
just want a word with you, if you'll step out.' And so he does."
"And what then?"
"Nothing else--not for you; that's all your job. Easy enough, ain't it?"
Viney turned where he sat, and stared fixedly at his confederate's face.
"And then--then--what----"
"Then I come on. He don't know I'm there--behind him."
Viney's mouth opened a little, but with no grin; and for a minute the
two sat, each looking in the other's face. Then said Viney, with a
certain shrinking: "No, no; not that. It's hanging, you know; it's
hanging--for both."
Dan laughed--an ugly laugh, and short. "It ain't hanging for _that_," he
said; "it's hanging for gettin' caught. An' where's the chance o' that?
We take our own time, and the best place you ever see for a job like
that, river handy at the end an' all; an' everything settled beforehand.
Safe a job as ever I see. Look at me. I ain't hung yet, am I? But I've
took my chances, an' took 'em when it wasn't safe, like as this is."
Viney stared at vacancy, like a man in a brown study; and his dry tongue
passed slowly along his drier lips.
"As for bein' safe," Dan went on, "what little risk there is, is for
_me_. You're all right. We don't know each other. Not likely. How should
you know I was hidin' there in the dark when you went to speak to Cap'en
Nat Kemp? Come to that, it might ha' been _you_ outed instead o' your
friend what you was talkin' so sociable with. An' there's more there
than what's in the pocket-book. Remember that. There's a lump more than
that."
Viney rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "How do you know?" he
asked, huskily.
"How do I know? How did I know about the pocket-book an' the notes? I
ain't been the best o' pals with my sister, but she couldn't ha' been
there all this time without my hearing a thing or two about Cap'en Nat;
to say nothing of what everybody knows as knows anything about him.
Money? O' course there's money in the place; no telling how much; an'
watches, an' things, as he buys. P'raps twice that eight hundred, an'
more."
Viney's eyes were growing sharper--growing eager. "It sounds all right,"
he remarked, a little less huskily. "Especially if there's more in it
than the eight hundred. But--but--are you--you know--sure about it?"
"You leave that to me. I'll see after my department, an' yours is easy
enough. Come, it's a go, ain't it?"
"But perhaps he'll make a row--call out, or something."
"He ain't the sort o' chap to squeal; an' if he was he wouldn't--not the
way I'm goin' to do it. You'll see."
"An' there's the boy--what about him?"
"O, the kid? Upstairs. He's no account, after we've outed Cap'en Nat. No
more'n a tame rabbit. An' we'll have all night to turn the place over,
if we want it--though we shan't. We'll be split out before the potman
comes: fifty mile apart, with full pockets, an' nobody a ha'porth the
wiser."
Viney bit at his fingers, and his eyes lifted and sank, quick and keen,
from the ground to Ogle's face, and back again. But it was enough, and
he asked for no more persuasion. Willing murderers both, they set to
planning details: what Viney should say, if it were necessary to carry
the talk with Captain Nat beyond the first sentence or so; where they
must meet; and the like. And here, on Viney's motion, a change was made
as regarded time. Not this immediate night, but the night following, was
resolved on for the stroke that should beggar the Hole in the Wall of
money and of life. For to Viney it seemed desirable, first, to get his
belongings away from his present lodgings, for plain reasons; so as to
throw off Blind George, and so as to avoid flight from a place where he
was known, on the very night of the crime. This it were well to do at
once; yet, all unprepared as he was, he could not guess what delays
might intervene; and so for all reasons Captain Nat and the child were
reprieved for twenty-four hours.
Thus in full terms the treaty was made. Dan Ogle, shrink as he might
from Captain Nat face to face (as any ruffian in Blue Gate would), was
as ready to stab him in the back for vengeance as for gain. For he was
conscious that never in all his years of bullying and scoundrelism had
he cut quite so poor a figure in face of any man as last night in face
of Captain Nat. As to the gain, it promised to be large, and easy in the
getting; and for his sister, now that she could help no more,--she could
as readily be flung out of the business as Blind George. The opportunity
was undeniable. A better place for the purpose than the alley leading to
the head of Hole-in-the-Wall Stairs could never have been planned. Once
the house was shut, and the potman gone, no more was needed than to see
the next police patrol go by, and the thing was done. Here was the
proper accomplice too: a man known to Captain Nat, and one with whom he
would readily speak; and, in Ogle's eyes, the business was no more than
a common stroke of his trade, with an uncommon prospect of profit. As
for Viney, money was what he wanted, and here it could be made, as it
seemed, with no great risk. It was surer, far, than going direct to
Captain Nat and demanding the money under the old threat. That was a
little outworn, and, indeed, was not so substantial a bogey as it might
seem in the eyes of Captain Nat, for years remorseful, and now
apprehensive for his grandchild's sake; for the matter was old, and
evidence scarce, except Viney's own, which it would worse than
inconvenience him to give. So that a large demand might break down;
while here, as he was persuaded, was the certainty of a greater gain,
which was the main thing. And if any shadow of scruple against direct
and simple murder remained, it vanished in the reflection that not he,
but Ogle, would be the perpetrator, as well as the contriver. For
himself, he would but be opening an innocent conversation with Kemp. So
Viney told himself; and so desire and conscience are made to run
coupled, all the world over, and all time through.
All being appointed, the two men separated. They stood up, they looked
about them, over the Lea and over the ragged field; and they shook
hands.