reconciled, "but that is not _ruin_, you know. Your pay still remains
to us."
"I--I fear not. That is to say, believing the estate to be mine, I have
come under obligations which must be met and, besides, I have spent
considerable sums which must be refunded--all of which, if I understand
the law of the land rightly, means ruin."
For some moments Mrs Brentwood sat in silent meditation. "Well," she
said at length, with the air of one who has made up her mind, "I don't
understand much about the law of the land. All I know is that my purse
is full of gold just now, so I will snap my fingers at the law of the
land and go right off to visit and succour our dear old Liz."
CHAPTER FIVE.
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES.
According to arrangement, David Laidlaw was taken the following evening
by his landlord, Mr Spivin, to see one of the low lodging-houses of
London.
Our adventurous Scot had often read and heard that some of the low
quarters of London were dangerous for respectable men to enter without
the escort of the police, but his natural courage and his thorough
confidence in the strength of his bulky frame inclined him to smile at
the idea of danger. Nevertheless, by the advice of his new friend the
landlord, he left his watch and money, with the exception of a few
coppers, behind him--carefully stowed under the pillow of his bed in his
shoulder-bag. For further security the door of his room was locked and
the key lung on a nail in an out-of-the-way corner, known only, as Mr
Spivin pointed out, to "their two selves."
"But hoo dis it happen, Mr Speevin," asked David, as they walked along
the streets together, "that _ye_ can gang safely amang the thieves
withoot a polisman t' proteck ye?"
"Oh, as to that," replied the jolly landlord, "I'm connected with a
religious society which sends agents down among them poor houtcasts to
convert 'em. They hall knows me, bless you. But I ain't a-goin' with
you myself. You see, I'm a very busy man, and engagements which I 'ad
forgotten prevents me, but I've made an arrangement with one o' the
converted thieves to take you to a few of the worst places in London.
Of course he can pass you hevery where as one of his friends."
To this David made no reply, save with a slight "Humph!" as he looked
earnestly at his companion. But Mr Spivin wore an expression of
seraphic candour.
"Here he is," added the landlord, as they turned a corner and drew near
to a man in mean attire, who seemed to be waiting for some one. "He's
rather disreputable to look at, only just been converted, an' not 'avin'
'ad the chance yet to better himself.--But--hallo!--you seem to know
him."
The last exclamation and remark were called forth by the look of
surprise on Laidlaw's face, and the air almost of alarm on that of the
mean-looking man--alarm which was by no means unnatural, seeing that he
was none other than the fellow who had attempted to rob our Scotsman the
previous night.
David, however, was quick to recover himself. "Know him!" he cried,
with a hearty laugh, "ay, I ken him weel. I lent him a helpin' haund
last nicht, no' far frae here."
"Surely he was not beggin'?" exclaimed Mr Spivin in tones of virtuous
reproof, "for a noo convert to go a-beggin', you know, would be
houtrageous!"
"Na, na," answered David, with a quiet and somewhat cynical smile, "he
wasna beggin', puir lad, but I took peety on 'im, an' gee'd 'im some
bawbees. So this is yer new convert, is he? an' he's to be my guide?
He'll do. He'll do. Sae I'll bid ye guid-nicht, Mr Speevin."
As the Scot held out his hand in a very decided manner the landlord was
obliged to depart without further enlightenment, after cautioning the
"converted" thief to take good care of his friend.
When he was gone the Scotsman and the ex-convict stood looking silently
at each other, the first with an earnest yet half-sarcastic smile, the
other with a mingled expression of reckless amusement, in which,
however, there was a trace of anxiety.
"Weel noo," said the former, "aren't ye an oot-an'-oot blagyird?"
"If you mean by that an out-and-out blackguard," answered the thief,
"you're not far wrong."
"Ye're honest the noo, ony way," remarked the Scot, with a nod. "Noo,
my man, look ye here. Ye are nae mair convertit than yer freen' Speevin
is, though I took him for a rale honest man at first. But bein' a
blagyird, as ye admit, I'm wullin' t' hire ye in that capacity for the
nicht. Noo, what I want is t' see low life in Lun'on, an' if ye'll tak'
me to what they may ca' the warst haunts o' vice, I'll mak' it worth yer
while--an' I've got mair siller than ye think for, maybe."
A stern frown settled on the thief's face as David spoke.
"I suppose," he said, "that you want me to show you the misery and
destitootion among the poor of London, that you may return to your 'ome
in the North and boast that you 'ave `done the slums!'"
"Na--na, ye're quite mista'en, man," returned David quickly; "but I want
t' see for mysel' what I've heard sae muckle aboot--to see if it's a'
true, for I'm wae--I'm" (correcting himself) "sorry--for the puir
craturs, an' wud fain help some o' them if I could. Noo, freen'," he
continued, laying his huge hand gently on the man's shoulder, "if ye
want to earn something, an'll tak' me t' where I want t' gang--guid. If
no'--I'll bid ye guid-nicht."
"Do you know," said the man, with a furtive glance at David's kindly
face, "the risk you run from the men who live in such places if you go
alone and unprotected?"
"I ken the risk _they_ run if they daur t' meddle wi' _me_! Besides,
I'll be naether alane nor unproteckit if I've _you_ wi' me, for I can
trust ye!"
A peculiar smile played for a moment on the haggard features of the
thief.
"Scotchman," he said, "whatever your name may be, I--"
"My name is David Laidlaw, an' I've nae cause t' be ashamed o't."
"Well, Mr Laidlaw," returned the thief, in vastly improved language and
tone, "I'm indebted to you for a good supper and a warm bed last night.
Besides, yours is the first friendly touch or kind voice that has
greeted me since I was discharged, and you've said you can _trust_ me!
So I'll do my best for you even though you should not give me a penny.
But remember, you will go among a rough lot whom I have but little power
to control."
"Hoots! c'way, man, an' dinna waste time haverin'."
Saying this, he grasped his guide by the arm in a friendly way and
walked off, much to the surprise of a policeman with an aquiline nose,
who turned his bull's-eye full on them as they passed, and then went on
his way, shaking his head sagaciously.
As the ill-assorted pair advanced, the streets they traversed seemed to
grow narrower and dirtier. The inhabitants partook of the character of
their surroundings, and it struck our Scotsman that, as ordinary shops
became fewer and meaner, grog-shops became more numerous and
self-assertive. From out of these dens of debauchery there issued loud
cries and curses and ribald songs, and occasionally one or two of the
wretched revellers, male or female, were thrust out, that they might
finish off a quarrel with a fight in the street, or because they
insisted on having more drink without having the means to pay for it.
At one particular point a woman "in unwomanly rags" was seen leaning up
against a lamp-post with an idiotical expression on her bloated face,
making an impassioned speech to some imaginary person at her elbow. The
speech came to an abrupt end when, losing her balance, she fell to the
ground, and lay there in drunken contentment.
At the same moment the attention of our explorer was drawn to a riot
close at hand, occasioned by two men engaged in a fierce encounter.
They were loudly cheered and backed by their friends, until all were
scattered by two powerful constables, who swooped suddenly on the scene
and captured one of the combatants, while the other almost overturned
David as he ran against him in passing, and escaped.
"Come down here," said the thief, turning sharp to the left and passing
under a low archway.
It led to a narrow alley, which seemed to terminate in total darkness.
Even Laidlaw's stout heart beat somewhat faster as he entered it, but he
did not hesitate.
At the end of the passage a dim light appeared. It was thrown by a very
dirty lamp, and disclosed a small court of unutterable meanness and
inconceivable smells. One or two men had brushed past them, and David
observed that his guide accosted these in a language, or slang, which he
did not understand.
"I've got a friend in here," said his guide, opening a door and
disclosing an extremely dirty room of about ten feet square. A woman
with her back towards the door was busy at a wash-tub. Ragged clothes
were drying on a clothes-line. A shattered bed, on which lay a bundle
of straw and a torn blanket, stood in one corner; a rickety table in
another. Water and soapsuds blotched the broken floor, amongst which
played two little boys, absolutely naked.
"That's a woman that tries to keep respectable," whispered the thief,
with something like a bitter laugh. "Hallo, Molly! here's a gen'lem'n
as wants to bid 'ee good-night."
Molly raised herself, cleared the soapsuds from her thin arms, and
turned a haggard but not dissipated face towards her visitor, who was
almost choked, not only by the smell of the place, but by an
uncontrollable gush of pity.
"My puir wumin!" he exclaimed, hastily thrusting his ever-ready hand
into his pocket, "I didna mean t' come in on 'ee unawears. Hae, ye'll
no' objec' to a wheen bawbees?"
He put all the coppers he possessed into the woman's hand and hurried
out of the room.
"Weel, weel," muttered David, as they continued their walk through the
miserable region, "I've gane an' gie'd her a' the siller I had i' my
pouch. Pair thing! She'll need it, but I've naething left for onybody
else!"
"It's just as well, for there's nothing left now for any one to steal,"
said his companion.
"Whar are 'ee gaun noo?" asked Laidlaw.
The question put was not answered, for his guide, bidding him wait a
minute, turned into a doorway and engaged in a low-toned conversation
with a man. Returning to his friend with an air of indecision about
him, the thief was on the point of speaking when a small party of men
and women--evidently of the better classes--came round the corner and
approached.
"Oho!" exclaimed the thief, drawing his companion into the shade of the
opposite doorway, "we're in luck. You see, this is what they call a low
lodging-house, and the door-keeper thought that, respectable as you are
in dress and looks, it might not be wise to take you in. But we'll go
in now at the tail o' this lot, and nobody will take notice of you.
Only follow close to me."
Two of the "lot" who approached appeared to be respectably-dressed young
men, carrying something like a large box between them. There were five
altogether in the party, two of whom seemed to be plainly-dressed
ladies.
They entered the house at once with a quiet "good-night" to the
door-keeper, and were followed by the thief and David. Entering a very
large irregularly-formed room, they proceeded to the upper end, where a
huge coal fire blazed. The room was crowded with men and boys of varied
appearance and character. From every rank in society they had
gravitated--but all were stamped with the same brand--destitution! They
were not, however, destitute of lungs, as the babel of sounds proved--
nor of tobacco, as the clouds of smoke demonstrated.
Little notice was taken of the visitors. They were well known in that
haunt of crime and woe. Angels of mercy they were, who, after the
labours of each day, gave their spare time to the work of preaching
salvation in Jesus to lost souls. To the surprise of Laidlaw, the box
before referred to became a harmonium when opened up, and soon the
harmony of praise to God ascended from the reeking den. Then followed
prayer--brief and to the point--after which an earnest appeal was made
to the sorrowing, the suffering, and the criminal to come and find
deliverance and rest in the Saviour.
We may not dwell on this. Some listened carelessly, some earnestly,
others not at all.
"Come now," whispered the thief to his friend, towards the close,
"they'll have spotted you, and will want to have a talk. We've no time
for that. Follow me."
David, who had been deeply interested, also wanted to have a talk with
these servants of the King of kings, but his guide being already halfway
down the room he was constrained to follow. Another moment and they
were in the street.
CHAPTER SIX.
ENEMIES TURNED TO FRIENDS.
"You want to see as much as you can, I suppose?" remarked the thief as
he hastened along. "Come, I'll take you to our den."
It seemed as if the man were leading his companion into deeper and
deeper depths, for the dark passage into which they finally turned, and
along which they groped their way, seemed to be the very vestibule of
Pandemonium; cries as of fierce and evil spirits being heard at the
farther end of it.
"Now," said the thief, stopping, "whatever you do here, don't show
fight. This is a thieves' den."
The passage at its farther end became absolutely dark, so that the thief
had to lead our hero by the hand. Turning abruptly to the right, they
came upon a door through which there issued sounds of terrible revelry.
A knock produced no effect. A second and louder knock resulted in dead
silence. Then a female voice was heard inside. To it our thief replied
in the language of the slums. Immediately the door was opened just
enough to let the two men glide in; then it was shut with a bang and
bolted.
"Hallo, Trumps, who 'ave you got here?" "W'ere did you pick 'im up?"
"Is he a noo member?" shouted several voices, amid general laughter.
The speakers were among a company of men and women whose general
appearance and reckless expressions of countenance seemed to indicate
that they were past redemption. The den in which they sat drinking,
smoking, and gambling consisted of a dirty room fitted with narrow
tables, out of which opened an inner apartment. The door of this had
been removed--probably for firewood in a time of scarcity. Both rooms
were lighted with dim oil-lamps. Some of the company were beggars and
tramps of the lowest type, but most were evidently of the vicious and
criminal order. There was a tendency to unpleasant curiosity in regard
to the stranger, but the thief, whom we may now call Trumps, put an end
to this with a few slang words, and led his friend to a seat in the
inner room, whence he could observe nearly the whole party and all that
went on.
Some of the more intoxicated among them objected to be snubbed by
Trumps, and were beginning to scowl at the visitor, no doubt with
sinister intentions, when the outer door was again opened, and a young
thief, obviously familiar with the place, entered, closely followed by a
respectable-looking man in a surtout and a light topcoat. It required
no second look to tell that the new-comer was a city missionary. Like
our Scot, he had gained admission to the place through the influence of
a friendly thief.
"Hullo, _more_ visitors!" growled a big savage-looking man with an
apron, who proved to be the landlord of the den.
Advancing quickly to this man, the missionary said, in a quiet gentle
tone--
"You supply coffee, I see. May I have a cup?"
"No you mayn't, you spy! I know you, you canting wretch!"
He locked the door as he spoke, and then, striding forward in a towering
rage, threatened vengeance on the intruder. The company, expecting a
scene, rose _en masse_ to their feet, while those in the inner room
crowded to the front. Laidlaw, who was for the moment forgotten in this
new excitement, followed them. He was well enough informed in reference
to the work of the London City Missionaries to understand at a glance
that one of those fearless men had managed to worm his way into the
thieves' den, and was perhaps in danger of his life. That the man
realised his danger was apparent from the fact that he stood erect and
closed his eyes for a moment--evidently in silent prayer for help in the
hour of need. The act probably saved him, for the ferocious landlord,
although ready enough to crush defiance with a savage blow, did not
quite see his way to dash his great fist into a mild, manly face with
shut eyes! It was such an unusual way of receiving his onset that he
hesitated and lowered his fist. Suddenly the missionary drew out a
pocket-Bible, and, pointing upwards with it, said, in loud solemn tones,
"A great white throne will be set up among the stars above us. The
Saviour who died for sinners will sit upon it, and the dead that are in
their graves shall hear His voice and live. _We_ shall be there!"
At this the people were silenced, apparently under a spell--some gazing
upwards as if to see the throne; others staring into the missionary's
face in wonder.
"And I and you and you," he continued, pointing to one and another,
"shall be there: `We must all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ.'
I am not an enemy, or a spy, but a servant of the Lord Jesus, who will
be your judge at the last day. He is now the Saviour of the ruined and
lost, and in His name I offer you mercy through the blood He shed for
you upon the Cross. In His blessed Book it is written, `Whosoever
believeth on Him shall be saved.' I hope to come again before long to
see you, friends. Now, landlord, open that door and let me out."
The landlord, who seemed to be thoroughly taken aback, unlocked the door
with a trembling hand, and the missionary passed out. But that was not
the end of this remarkable visit. It was only the beginning of a grand
work for Christ which afterwards took place in and around that thieves'
den. On this, however, we may not do more than touch here. Smitten in
conscience, that landlord hurried out after the missionary and actually
begged of him to repeat his visit. Then he returned to the den and
found his people recovering somewhat from their surprise.
But, touched though the landlord was, he had by no means changed his
character.
"Now, then," he demanded, going up to David Laidlaw, "are _you_ a
missionary too?"
"Na, freen', I am not; but I 'maist wush that I was, for it's a graund
wark t' carry help t' the destitute."
"Well, guv'nor," cried one fellow with a crushed nose and a huge black
eye, "if that's wot you're a-'ankerin' arter you can go a-'ead 'ere an'
'elp us to yer 'eart's content, for we're all destitoot in this 'ere
den. So, come along, table down all the cash you've got about you."
"I'll dae that wi' pleasure," said David, rising promptly, and turning
all his pockets inside out. "Ye shall hae every bodle I possess."
A general laugh greeted this proceeding, and one young thief shouted,
"Well done, checkers," (referring to his garments); "but 'ow comes it
that you've bin cleaned out?"
"Plain as pea-soup," cried another. "Don't you see? He's bin keepin'
company with Trumps!"
Here Trumps rose to explain. "No, pals, that's not the reason; but just
before comin' here he gave away every rap he had to poor widow Grain."
"He's a brick!" cried one man, with a fierce oath.
"He's a fool!" shouted another, with a fiercer oath. Regardless of the
interruption, Trumps went on to explain how he had attempted to rob our
hero, and been caught by him, and let off with a mild reproof and a lot
of coppers. He also explained how that black-hearted villain Tandy
Spivin (meaning David's landlord) had hired him--Trumps--to take this
"gen'lem'n" (pointing to David) "down into the den _for a purpus_--ahem!
Of course, on bein' introdooced to him," continued Trumps, "I at once
recognised the Scotchman I had tried to rob, and expected he would
refuse to go with me; but I soon found that Scotty was a deep as well as
a plucky cove, and wasn't to be done out of his fun by trifles, for he
said he would go to the slums with me because he could _trust me--trust
me_, pals--note that!"
A loud explosion of laughter interrupted the speaker at this point.
"What!" exclaimed several voices, "said 'e could trust _you_, Trumps?"
"Ay," cried the thief, looking suddenly fierce, "and why not? Isn't it
said, `There's honour among thieves?'"
"Thrue for ye," cried a big burglarious-looking Irishman, "sure there's
honour 'twixt the likes o' you an' me, Trumps, but that gen'lem'n an't a
thief!"
"That's so, Bill," exclaimed another man, with bloodshot eyes and
beetling brows; "an' it's my opinion that as the cove hain't got no
browns 'e ought to contribute 'is checker suit to the good o' the 'ouse.
It would fetch summat."
The interest in the missionary's words seemed to be passing away, for at
this point the language and looks of some of the company made David
Laidlaw feel that he was indeed in a ticklish position. The threats and
noise were becoming louder and more furious, and he was beginning to
think of the hopeless resource of using his fists, when a loud
exclamation, followed by a dead silence, drew every eye to the door.
The girl to whom the keeping of it had been intrusted had neglected her
duty for a moment. In letting one of the company out she incautiously
stood looking through the open chink into the dark passage. That
instant was seized by two tall and powerful limbs of the law, in cloth
helmets and with bull's-eye lanterns, who pushed quietly but quickly
into the room. Shutting the door, one of the constables stood with his
back against it, while the other advanced and examined the faces of the
company one by one.
There was dead silence, for the constables were men of business, not of
words, while the criminals, some of whom became grave as well as silent,
seemed very anxious not to attract undue attention.
The particular person "wanted," however, was not there at that time. On
coming to David, who met the glare of the bull's-eye with his grave
smile, the constable looked surprised.
"I think, young man," he said in a low voice, "you've come to the wrong
shop here."
"That's _my_ business," replied David coolly.
"Well, you know best of course, but if you'll take my advice you'll come
out of this place along with us."
"Na. I'll bide where I am. I'll _trust_ them."
"Brayvo! well done, Scotty!" burst from the company, whose courage
quickly revived when they found that no one there was "wanted."
The policemen laughed and went out.
"Noo, freen's, I want to say a word," said David, rising. "I'm gaun
awa', an' it's ower late t' mak' a speech the nicht, but I want t' ask
leave t' come back here again an' hae a crack wi' ye. I want t' ask 'ee
some questions, an' gie ye some guid advice. May I come?"
"Of course you may, Scotty," said the landlord, grasping David's hand
and receiving a good-humoured squeeze that made him wince. "You're a
trump, and we'll give you the freedom of the 'ouse. Won't we, pals?"
"Agreed, agreed," shouted the whole company; "and we've got two Trumps
now!" added a wag, amid much laughter and staves of, "He's a jolly good
fellow," during the singing of which Laidlaw and his friend took their
departure.
Having marked the position of the den well and taken its bearings they
said good-night cordially and separated, the thief to his lair, and the
Scotsman to his lodging, where he fully expected that the "villain"
Tandy Spivin had availed himself of the opportunity to rob him.
But he was wrong. He found his bag, with his watch and money and his
little all, intact as he had left it.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
MISCHIEF BREWING.
David Laidlaw was one of those comfortably constituted men who eat
heartily, sleep profoundly, and lie thinking in bed in the mornings--
when awake--with philosophic intensity.
On the morning after his first day in London our hero's mind had to
grapple with the perplexing question, whether it was possible that a man
with a jovial face, a hearty manner, well-off to all appearance in a
worldly point of view, and who chanced to have a man's money at his
mercy yet did not take it, _could_ be a deceiver and in league with
thieves. Impossible! Yet there were the damaging facts that Mr Spivin
had introduced a thief to him as a true and converted man, and that this
thief, besides denying his own conversion, had pronounced him--Spivin--a
black-hearted villain!
"It bothers me!" said David at length, getting over the side of the bed,
and sitting there for some time abstractedly stroking his chin.