It would be unfair to Samuel Shuckleford to say that he had no
compunction whatever in deciding upon a course of action which he knew
would involve the ruin of Reginald Cruden.
He did not like it at all. It was a nuisance; it was a complication
likely to hamper him. He wished his mother and sister would be less
gushing in the friendships they made. What right had they to interfere
with his business prospects by tacking themselves on to the family of a
man who was afterwards to turn out a swindler?
Yes, it was a nuisance; but for all that it must not be allowed to
interfere with the course that lay before the rising lawyer. Business
is business after all, and if Cruden is a swindler, whose fault is it if
Cruden's mother breaks her heart? Not S.S.'s, at any rate. But S.S.'s
fault it would be if he made a mess of this "big job"! That was a
reproach no one should lay at his door.
Samuel may not have been quite the Solomon he was wont to estimate
himself. Still, to do him justice once more, he displayed no little
ability in tracing out the different frauds of the Select Agency
Corporation and establishing Reginald's guilt conclusively in his own
mind.
It all fitted in like a curious puzzle. His sudden mysterious departure
from London--his change of name--the selection of Liverpool as
headquarters--the distribution of the circulars among unsuspecting
schoolmistresses in the south of England--the demand for money to be
enclosed with the order--and the fiction of the dispatch of the goods
from London. What else could it point to but a deliberate, deeply-laid
scheme of fraud? The further Samuel went, the clearer it all appeared,
and the less compunction he felt for running to earth such a scoundrel.
But he was going to do nothing in a hurry. S.S. was not the man to dish
himself by showing his cards till he was sure he had them all in his
hand. Possibly Cruden was not alone in the swindle. He might have
accomplices. Even his mother and brother--who can answer for the
duplicity of human nature?--might know more of his operations than they
professed to know. He might have confederates among his old companions
at the _Rocket_, or even among his old school acquaintances. Yes; there
was plenty to go into before Samuel put down his foot, and who knew
better how to go into it than S.S.?
So he kept his own counsel, and, except for cautioning his mother and
sister to "draw off" from the undesirable connection, and intimidating
the maid-of-all-work at Number 6, Dull Street, by most horrible threats
of the penalties of the law, to detain and give to him every letter
bearing the Liverpool postmark which should from that time forward come
to the house, no matter to whom addressed--for in his zeal it was easy
to forget that by such a proceeding he was sailing uncommonly close to
the wind himself--showed no sign of taking any immediate step either in
this or any other matter.
Had he been aware that one Sniff, of the Liverpool detective police, had
some days ago arrived, by a series of independent and far more artistic
investigations, at as much knowledge as he himself possessed of the
doings of the Corporation, Samuel would probably have been content to
make the most of the cards he held before the chance of using them at
all had slipped by.
It is doubtful, however, whether in any case he would have succeeded in
forestalling the wary Mr Sniff. That gentleman had discovered in a few
hours what it had taken Samuel days of patient grubbing to unearth. And
his discoveries would have decidedly astonished the self-complacent
little practitioner. He would have been astonished, for instance, to
hear that the Liverpool post-office had received instructions from the
Home Office to hand over every letter addressed to Cruden Reginald, 13,
Shy Street, to the police. He would also have been astonished if he had
known that a detective in plain clothes dined every evening at the
Shades, near to the table occupied by Mr Durfy and his friends; that
the hall-porter of Weaver's Hotel was a representative of the police in
disguise, and that representatives of the police had called on business
at the _Rocket_ office, had brushed up against Blandford at street-
corners, and had even taken the trouble to follow him--Samuel
Shuckleford--here and there in his evening's perambulations.
Yes, small job as it was in Mr Sniff's estimation, he knew the way to
go about it, and had a very good notion what was the right scent to go
on and what the wrong.
The one thing that did put him out at first was Reginald's absolutely
truthful replies to all the pleasant clergyman's questions. This really
did bother Mr Sniff. For when a swindler is face to face with his
victim the very last thing you expect of him is straightforward honesty.
So when Reginald had talked about Weaver's Hotel and Mr John Smith,
and had mentioned the number of orders that had arrived, and the account
of money that had accompanied them, and had even confided the amount of
his own salary, Mr Sniff had closed one of his mental eyes and said to
himself, "Yes; we know all about that."
But when it turned out that, so far from such statements being
fabrications to delude him, they were simply true--when the letter
Reginald had written to Mr Medlock that very evening lay in his hands
and corroborated all he had said--when he himself followed the poor
fellow an hour or two later on his errand of mercy, and stood beside him
as he spent that precious sixpence over _Robinson Crusoe_ and the
_Pilgrim's Progress_, Mr Sniff did feel for a moment disconcerted.
But, unusual as it was, he made the bold venture of jumping to the
conviction of Reginald's innocence; and that theory once started,
everything went beautifully.
On the evening following Mrs Cruden's sudden illness, Mr Durfy
strolled down in rather a disconsolate frame of mind towards the Shades.
Since his expulsion from the _Rocket_ office things had not been going
pleasantly with him. For a day or two he had deemed it expedient to
keep in retirement, and when at last he did venture forth, in the vague
hope of picking up some employment worthy of his talents, he took care
to keep clear of the haunts of his former confederates, whom, after his
last failure, he rather dreaded meeting.
It had been during this period that he had made the acquaintance of
Shuckleford, and the prospect of revenge which that intimacy opened to
him was a welcome diversion to the monotony of his existence.
But prospects of revenge do not fill empty stomachs, and Durfy at the
end of a week began to discover that there might be an end even to the
private resources of the late overseer of an evening newspaper and the
part proprietor of an Agency Corporation. He was, in fact, getting hard
up, and therefore, putting his pride in his empty pocket, he strolled
down moodily to the Shades, determined at any rate to have a supper at
somebody else's expense.
He had not reckoned without his host, for after about half an hour's
impatient kicking of his heels outside, Mr Medlock and Mr Shanklin
appeared on the scene, arm in arm.
They appeared by no means elated at seeing him, but that mattered very
little to the hungry Durfy, who followed them into the supper-room and
took his seat at the table beside them. If he had been possessed of any
sensitiveness, it might have been wounded by the utter indifference,
after the first signs of displeasure, they paid to his presence. They
continued their conversation as though no third party had been near, and
except that Mr Medlock nodded when the waiter said "For three?" seemed
to see as little of him as Hamlet's mother did of the Ghost.
However, for the time being that nod of Mr Medlock's was all Durfy
particularly coveted. He was hungry. Time enough to stand on his
dignity when the knife and fork had done their work.
"Yes," said Mr Shanklin, "time's up to-day. I've told him where to
find us. If he doesn't, you must go your trip by yourself; I can safely
stay and screw my man up."
"Think he will turn up?"
"Can't say. He seems to be flush enough of money still."
"Well, he can't say you've not helped him to get rid of it."
"I've done my best," said Mr Shanklin, laughing.
"I shall be glad of a holiday. It's as hard work sponging one fool as
it is fleecing a couple of hundred sheep, eh?"
"Well, the wool came off very easily, I must say. I reckon there'll be
a clean £500 to divide on the Liverpool business alone."
"Nice occupation that'll be on the Boulogne steamer to-morrow," said
Mr Shanklin. "Dear me, I hope it won't be rough, I'm such a bad
sailor!"
"Then, of course," said Mr Medlock, "there'll be your little takings to
add to that. Your working expenses can't have been much."
Mr Shanklin laughed again.
"No. I've done without circulars and a salaried secretary. By the way,
do you fancy any one smells anything wrong up in the North yet?"
"Bless you, no. The fellow's pretty near starving, and yet he sent me
up a stray £2 he received the other day. It's as good as a play to read
the letters he sends me up about getting the orders executed in strict
rotation, as entered in a beautiful register he kept, and which I
borrowed, my boy. Ha! ha! He wants me to run down to Liverpool, he
says, as he's not quite satisfied with his position there. Ho! ho! And
he'd like a little money on account, as he's had to buy stamps and coals
and all that sort of thing out of his own thirteen shillings a week.
It's enough to make one die of laughing, isn't it?"
"It is funny," said Mr Shanklin. "But you're quite right to be on the
safe side and start to-morrow. You did everything in his name, I
suppose--took the office, ordered the printing, and all that sort of
thing?"
"Oh yes, I took care of that. My name or yours was never mentioned,
except mine on the dummy list of directors. That won't hurt."
"Well, the Corporation's had a short life and a merry one; and your
precious secretary's likely to have a merry Christmas after it all--
unless you'd like to go down and spend it with him, Durfy," added Mr
Shanklin, taking notice for the first time of the presence of their
visitor.
Durfy replied by a scowl.
"I shall be far enough away by then," said he.
"Why, where are you going?"
"I'm going with you, to be sure," said he, doggedly.
Messrs. Medlock and Shanklin greeted this announcement with a laugh of
genuine amusement.
"I'm glad you told us," said Mr Shanklin. "We should have forgotten to
take a ticket for you."
"You may grin," said Durfy. "I'm going, for all that."
"You're a bigger fool even than you look," said Mr Medlock, "to think
so. You can consider yourself lucky to get a supper out of us this last
night."
"You forget I can make it precious awkward for you if I like," growled
Durfy.
"Awkward! _You've_ a right to be a judge of what's awkward after the
neat way you've managed things," sneered Shanklin. "It takes you all
your time to make things awkward for yourself, let alone troubling about
us."
Durfy always hated when Mr Shanklin alluded to his blunders, and he
scowled all the more viciously now because he felt that, after all, he
could do little against his two patrons which would not recoil with
twofold violence on his own head. No, he had better confine his
reprisals to the Crudens by Mr Shuckleford's assistance, and meanwhile
make what he could out of these ungrateful sharpers.
"If you don't want me with you," said he, "you'll have to make it worth
my while to stay away, that's all. You'd think it a fine joke if you
found yourself in the police-station instead of the railway-station to-
morrow morning, wouldn't you?"
And Mr Durfy's face actually relaxed into a smile at this flash of
pleasantry.
"You'd find it past a joke if you found yourself neck-and-crop in the
gutter in two minutes," said Mr Shanklin, in a rage, "as you will do if
you don't take care."
"I'll take care for fifty pounds," said Durfy. "It's precious little
share I've had out of the business, and if you want me mum, that's what
will do it. There, I could tell you a thing or two already; you don't
know--"
"Tush! Durfy, you're a born ass! Come round to my hotel to-morrow at
eight, and I'll see what I can do for you," said Mr Medlock.
Durfy knew how to value such promises, and did not look by any means
jubilant at the prospect held out. However, at this moment Blandford
and Pillans entered the supper-room, and his hosts had something better
to think about than him.
He was hustled from his place to make room for the new guests, and
surlily retired to a neighbouring table, where, if he could not hear all
that was said, he could at least see all that went on.
"Hullo!" said Shanklin gaily, "here's a nice time to turn up, dear boys.
Medlock and I have nearly done supper."
"Couldn't help. We've been to the theatre, haven't we, Pillans?" said
Blandford, who appeared already to be rather the worse for drink.
"I have. _You've_ been in the bar most of the time," said Pillans.
"Ha! ha! I was told Bland was studying for the Bar. I do like
application," said Mr Medlock.
Blandford seemed to regard this as a compliment, and sitting down at the
table, told the waiter to bring a bottle of champagne and some more
glasses.
"Well," he said, with a simper, "what I say I'll do, I'll do. I said
I'd turn up here and pay you that bill, Shanklin, and I have turned up,
haven't I?"
"Upon my honour, I'd almost forgotten that bill," said Mr Shanklin, who
had thought of little else for the last week. "It's not inconvenient, I
hope?"
Blandford laughed stupidly.
"Sorry if a trifle like that was inconvenient," said he, with all the
languor of a millionaire. "Forget what it was about. Some take in,
I'll swear. Never mind, a debt's a debt, and here goes. How much is
it?"
"Fifty," said Mr Shanklin.
Blandford produced a pocket-book with a flourish, and took from it a
handful of notes that made Durfy's eyes, as he sat at the distant table,
gleam. The half-tipsy spendthrift was almost too muddled to count them
correctly, but finally he succeeded in extracting five ten-pound notes
from the bundle, which he tossed to Shanklin.
"Thanks, very much," said that gentleman, putting them in his pocket.
"I find I've left your bill at home, but I'll send it round to you in
the morning."
"Oh, all serene!" said Blandford, putting his pocketbook back into his
pocket. "Have another bottle of cham--do--just to celebrate--settling--
old scores. Hullo, where are you, Pillans?"
Pillans had gone off to play billiards with Mr Medlock, so Blandford
and Mr Shanklin attacked the bottle themselves. When it was done, the
former rose unsteadily, and, bidding his friend good-night, said he
would go home, as he'd got a headache. Which was about as true an
observation as man ever uttered.
"Good-night--old--feller," said he; "see you to-morrow."
And he staggered out of the place, assisted to the door by Mr Shanklin,
who, after an affectionate farewell, sauntered to the billiard-room,
where Mr Medlock had already won a five-pound note from the ingenuous
Mr Pillans.
"Your friend's in good spirits to-night," said Mr Shanklin. "Capital
fellow is Bland."
"So he is," said Pillans.
"Capital fellow, with plenty of capital, eh?" said Mr Medlock; "your
shoot, Pillans, and I don't mind going a sov. with you on the cannon."
Of course Pillans lost his sovereign, as he did several others before
the game was over. Then, feeling he had had enough enjoyment for one
evening, he said good-bye and followed his friend home.
But some one else had already followed his friend home.
Durfy, in whose bosom the glimpse of that well-lined pocket-book had
roused unusual interest, found himself ready to go home a very few
moments after Blandford had quitted the Shades. It may have been only
coincidence, or it may have been idle curiosity to see if the tipsy lad
could find his way home without an accident, or it may have been a
laudable determination that, no one should take advantage of his
helpless condition to deprive him of that comfortable pocket-book.
Whatever it was, Durfy followed the reeling figure along the pavement as
it threaded its way westward from the Shades.
Blandford may have had reason enough left to tell him that it would be
better for his headache to walk in the night air than to take a cab, and
Mr Durfy highly approved of the decision. He was able without
difficulty or obtrusiveness to follow his man at a few yards' distance,
and even give proof of his solicitude by an occasional steadying hand on
his arm.
Presently the wanderer turned out of the crowded thoroughfare up a by-
street, where he had the pavement more to himself. Indeed, except for a
few stragglers hurrying home from theatres or concerts, he encountered
no one; and as he penetrated farther beyond the region of public houses
and tobacco-shops into the serener realms of offices and chambers, and
beyond that into the solitude of a West-end square, not a footstep save
his own and that of his escort broke the midnight silence.
Durfy's heart beat fast, for he had a heart to beat on occasions like
this. A hundred chances on which he had never calculated suddenly
presented themselves. What if some one might be peering out into the
night from one of the black windows of those silent houses? Suppose
some motionless policeman under the shadow of a wall were near enough to
see and hear! Suppose the cool night air had already done its work and
sobered the wayfarer enough to render him obstinate or even dangerous!
He seemed to walk more steadily. If anything was to be done, every
moment was of consequence. And the risk?
The vision of that pocket-book and the crisp white notes flashed across
Durfy's memory by way of answer.
Yes, to Durfy, the outcast, the dupe, the baffled adventurer, the risk
was worth running.
He quickened his step and opened the blade of the penknife in his pocket
as he did so. Not that he meant to use it, but in case--
Faugh! the fellow was staggering as helplessly as ever! He never even
heeded the pursuing steps, but reeled on, muttering to himself, now
close to the palings, now on the kerb, his hat back on his head and the
cigar between his lips not even alight.
Durfy crept silently behind, and with a sudden dash locked one arm
tightly round his victim's neck, while with the other he made a swift
dive at the pocket where lay the coveted treasure.
It was all so quickly done that before Blandford could exclaim or even
gasp the pocket-book was in the thief's hands. Then as the arm round
his neck was relaxed, he faced round, terribly sobered, and made a wild
spring at his assailant.
"Thief!" he shouted, making the quiet square ring and ring again with
the echo of that word.
His hand was upon Durfy's collar, so fiercely that nothing but a hand-
to-hand struggle could release its grip; unless--
Durfy's hand dropped to his pocket. There was a flash and a scream, and
next moment Blandford was clinging, groaning, to the railings of the
square, while Durfy's footsteps died away in the gloomy mazes of a
network of back streets.
When Pillans got home to his lodgings that night he found his comrade in
bed with a severe wound in the shoulder, unable to give any account of
himself but that he had been first garotted, then robbed, and finally
stabbed, on his way home from the Shades.
Mr Durfy did not present himself at Mr Medlock's hotel at the
appointed hour next morning.
Nor, although it was a fine calm day, and their luggage was all packed
up and labelled, did Mr Medlock and his friend Mr Shanklin succeed in
making their promised trip across the Channel. A deputation of police
awaited them on the Victoria platform, and completely disconcerted their
arrangements by taking them in a cab to the nearest police-station on a
charge of fraud and conspiracy.