THE SNARE WHICH THEY DIGGED FOR OTHERS
The same day on leaving Jenny, the Turnkey who conducted me to the gate,
offered me congratulations--rather gruff and even forced--on the turn
things had taken.
'I assure you, Sir,' he said with feeling, 'that we know generally
beforehand what will happen, and we'd quite made up our minds as to your
case, spite of Madame's interest. There didn't seem any doubt. Some of
us are a bit disappointed: we don't like, you see, for anyone to slip
out. Well: there's always disappointments. Would you like to cast an eye
on your friends--them that hatched that pretty plot? Come this way,
then. I wouldn't like to be in their shoes if it comes to Pillory--and
it will.'
So he led me out of the passage into one of the yards. At the sight of
the place my heart sank to think how I had myself trodden those
flagstones and stepped from side to side of those dismal walls. The
place was the Master's side: there were twenty prisoners or more in it.
One or two were sitting on the stone bench drinking beer and smoking
tobacco: one was playing a game of fives by himself. My two principal
witnesses, the Bishop and his friend the Captain, were walking side by
side, both in irons. Mr. Probus sat in a corner his head hanging down:
taking no notice of anything. Mr. Merridew walked by himself with an
assumption of being in the wrong place by accident and with an air of
importance, the prisoners making way for him right and left, for the
terror of his name accompanied him even into Newgate.
The turnkey called him. 'Merridew,' he said, with familiarity. 'Come and
see the young gentleman you tried to hang. Now he'll hang you. That's
curious, isn't it? Here we go up,' he turned to me with a philosophic
smile, 'and here we go down.'
'Sir,' Mr. Merridew obeyed the call and approached me, bowing with great
humility. His cringing salute was almost as nauseous as the impudent
brutality which he had shown in the Thieves' Kitchen. 'Sir, I am
pleased to make your honoured acquaintance. I hardly expected, in this
place where I am confined by accident----'
'Oh! Sir, I did not come here to make your acquaintance, believe me.'
'Sir, I am pleased to have speech with you, even in this place, and if
only to remove a misunderstanding which seems to have arisen regarding
my part in the late unhappy business. If you will kindly remember, Sir,
I merely testified to what I saw, being an accidental eye-witness. The
night was dark: there was a scuffle. You will bear me out, Sir--so
far--a scuffle--whether you were attacking that fellow'--he pointed to
the Bishop who with his friend the Captain was now looking on--'or that
other fellow'--he indicated the Captain--'villains both,
Sir,--both--who, but for my mistaken kindness, would have been hanged
long ago--I cannot exactly say. I may have been--perhaps--we all make
mistakes--too ready to believe the other side, and what they said.
However, that is all over and, of course, I shall be set free in an hour
or two. With expressions of sorrow, for an undeserved imprisonment----'
He looked in my face for some expression of sympathy but, I believe,
found none. 'No malice, Sir, I hope.' He held out the abominable hand
which was steeped in the blood of his victims and rank with the stink of
his wickedness. 'I hope, Sir, that if the case comes to trial, I may not
see you among the prosecutors.' I maintained silence and took no notice
of his proffered hand. 'But indeed, I shall certainly be out in an hour
or two: or perhaps a day or two. My case has not yet, perhaps, been laid
before the authorities. I am here as a mere matter of form.
Ha!--form--in fact I have no business here--no business at all--no
business.' His voice sank to a whisper, showing the real agitation of
his mind.
'Mr. Merridew, I have not come here with any desire to converse with
you.'
'You are not going to bear malice, Mr. Halliday? Be content with
exposing two villains. Two will be enough--If you want more there is
Probus. He's an extraordinary villain. As for you, Sir, consider: you
are a fortunate man, Sir. You ought to be in the condemned cell. You
have got off against all expectation, and when everybody, to a man,
thought it was a certainty. Had I been consulted by your sweetheart I
should have advised her, Sir, I should, indeed, so strong a case was
it--to my experienced mind, Sir, I should have advised her, Sir, to buy
the cap and the ribbons and the nosegay and the Orange--Oh! a fortunate
man, indeed!'
As if he had had nothing whatever to do with the case! As if there had
been no Conspiracy!
I was turning away in disgust, when the other pair of villains drew
near. I prepared for some volley of abuse and foul language, but was
disappointed. They addressed me, it seemed in no spirit of hostility,
but quite the contrary. They were lamb like.
'Sir,' said the Bishop, 'what was done by my friend the Captain and
myself was done by orders of Mr. Merridew here. He said, "Do it, or
swing." So we had no choice. Merridew gave us the orders and Probus
invented the plot. "Do it or swing," was the word.'
'You shall swing, too,' the Thief taker turned upon him savagely, 'as
soon as I get out. A pair of villains, not fit to live.'
'You won't hang anybody any more,' said the Captain, with defiance.
'Your own time's up at last, Merridew. Your own rope has come to an
end.'
'Wait till I get out. Wait till I get out,' he roared.
'That won't be just yet, brother,' said the turnkey. 'Conspiracy's an
ugly word, friend Merridew. There's imprisonment in it--and flogging,
sometimes--and pillory. But make up your mind for a long stay and be
comfortable.'
'Dick,' said Mr. Merridew. He knew every turnkey as well as most of the
prisoners. It was said that he often had to go shares with the turnkeys.
'Dick, you know me, of old.'
'Ay--ay--We all know you.'
'We've worked together----'
'That is as may be. But go on.'
'Well, Dick, I am a sheriff's officer. I know all the rogues in London,
don't I?'
'Why, certainly.'
'I know where to lay my hands upon every one. I know where they practise
and what they do.'
'Correct,' said the turnkey.
'They don't dare to lock me up. Do they? Lock _me_ up?' he snorted.
'Why, if I am kept here long, all the villains will go free. London will
no longer be safe. There won't be fifty hangings in a year. Who fills
your gaols? John Merridew. Who fills your carts? John Merridew. You know
that, Dick. Nobody knows better than you.'
'Correct,' said Dick.
'The judges can't send me to prison. They can't do it, I say. Why--of
course--of course----' Again his voice sank to a whisper.
I looked at the man with amazement. He was evidently seeking consolation
by delusive assurances. At heart he was filled with terror. For beside
the prison, there was the dread of pillory. They might be set in
pillory. He knew, none better, that the thief-taker who is also the
thief-maker, has not a single friend in the whole world. What would be
done to him if he should stand in pillory?
'Let me get out as soon as possible,' he went on, appealing to me. 'Why,
Sir, unless I go out the whole criminal procedure of this country will
be thrown out of gear. I am the only man--the only man, Sir--ask Dick,
here.' The turnkey shook his keys and nodded.
'But they'll give you a heavy sentence, my friend,' he said.
'The only man that can't be spared--the only man--the only man----'
Again his voice dropped to a whisper. He turned away babbling and
shaking his head, all the insolence gone out of him.
'His power is gone,' said the Bishop. 'He won't get my more rewards.'
'Yes,' said the turnkey. 'But he has had a long innings. Why, he must be
nearly fifty. There's a many would envy Merridew.'
The Bishop once more addressed himself to me. 'Sir,' he said, 'I grieve
to hear that our friends wrecked the Black Jack and Madame's house. I
fear these acts of violence may make you vindictive.'
'Madame herself was brought in yesterday--for receiving stolen goods.'
'Madame? Madame brought here? On a charge----?' The Bishop's face
expressed the liveliest concern.
'Why,' said the Captain. 'It's----' A motion of his fingers to his
throat showed what he meant.
'Nothing could have been more disastrous,' said the Bishop. 'Believe me,
Sir, we have nothing to do with the wreck of the houses, and we were
ignorant of this charge, I assure you, Sir. Oh! This is a great
misfortune!'
The misfortune, it appeared, lay in the danger--nay, the certainty, that
this persecution would make both Madame and myself more vindictive. Now
the events of the Trial, when at a word, as it seemed, from
Madame--witnesses sprang up in a cloud to confront them with their
villainy, made them believe that she had friends everywhere.
'It cannot be,' said the Bishop, 'but she will get off. Who is the
principal evidence?'
'Ask the Captain. And that is enough.'
I stepped across the yard and laid my finger on Probus's shoulder as he
sat with bowed form and hanging head. He looked up with lack-lustre
eyes. I believe that the loss of his money and the result of his
conspiracy had affected his brain, for he seemed to pay no heed to
anything.
'Mr. Probus,' I said. 'I must tell you that my cousin is now bankrupt.'
He stared without any look of recognition.
'Mr. Probus,' I repeated, 'my cousin Matthew is a bankrupt. I tell you,
in order that you may send in your claim with those of the other
creditors.'
'Ay--ay--' he replied. 'Very like.'
'Bankrupt!' I said again. 'Even had you succeeded in your plot you would
have been too late.'
He nodded without attention.
'And another mass of debts has been added. His wife's house has been
wrecked by the mob and all her property destroyed. Therefore her
liabilities have been presented to her husband.'
'All gone!' he moaned. 'All gone! The work of an honest lifetime wasted
and thrown away. Nothing will ever be recovered.'
'Mr. Probus,' I said, 'the money is gone. That is most true. But more
than that is gone. Your character--your honour--it is all gone--wasted
and thrown away--none of it will be recovered.'
'All gone--all gone,' he repeated.
The turnkey stood beside me. 'Queer, isn't it?' he said. 'He's lost his
money and his wits have gone after it. A money lender, he was. He's put
more poor folk into the Fleet and the King's Bench than his friend
Merridew has put prisoners here. And he ought to be thinking of
something else--his trial and his sentence.'
'His sentence?'
'Well--you see, Merridew, he knows. This one doesn't. The Bishop, he
knows--and the Captain--and they don't like it. This man doesn't care.
For you see they will certainly have to stand in Pillory--and if the mob
don't love money lenders they love thief takers less, and Merridew's the
most notorious thief taker in town. Well--it's a wonderful country for
Law and Justice. Now, I suppose they poor French would be content to
hang up a man at once. We don't. We give 'em an hour's ride in a cart
where they sometimes gets roses but more often gets addled eggs. Or we
put 'em in pillory where they may get dead cats or they may get flints
and broken bottles.'
I came away. The heavy gate closed: the key turned in the lock; the four
wretches were shut in once more, there, at least, the prey to the
keenest terrors, dying a thousand deaths before they should be taken out
for the dead cats and the addled eggs and perhaps the flints and broken
bottles.