"Sudden the worst turns the best to the brave."
And so it was with Reginald Cruden when finally the whole bitter truth
of his position broke in upon his mind. If the first sudden shock drove
him into the dungeon of Giant Despair, a night's quiet reflection, and
the consciousness of innocence within, helped him to shake off the
fetters, and emerge bravely and serenely from the crisis.
He knew he had nothing to be proud of--nothing to excuse his own folly
and shortsightedness--nothing to flatter his self-esteem; but no one
could accuse him of dishonour, or point the finger of shame in his way.
So he rose next morning armed for the worst.
What that would be he could not say, but whatever it was he would face
it, confident in his own integrity and the might of right to clear him.
He endeavoured, in a few words, to explain the position of affairs to
Love, who was characteristically quick at grasping it, and suggesting a
remedy.
"That there Medlock's got to be served, and no error!" he said. "I'll
murder 'im!"
"Nonsense!" said Reginald; "you can't make things right by doing wrong
yourself. And you know you wouldn't do such a thing."
"Do I know? Tell you I would, gov'nor! I'd serve him just like that
there 'Pollyon in the book. Or else I'd put rat p'ison in his beer,
and--my! wouldn't it be a game to see the tet'nus a-comin' on 'im,
and--"
"Be quiet," said Reginald; "I won't allow you to talk like that. It's
as bad as the _Tim Tigerskin_ days, Love, and we've both done with
them."
"You're right there!" said the boy, pulling his _Pilgrim's Progress_
from his pocket. "My! don't I wish I had the feller to myself in the
Slough o' Despond! Wouldn't I 'old 'is 'ead under! Oh no, not me!
None o' yer Mr 'Elpses to give 'im a leg out, if I knows it!"
"Perhaps he'll get punished enough without us," said Reginald. "It
wouldn't do us any good to see him suffering."
"Wouldn't it, though? Would me, I can tell yer!" said the
uncompromising Love.
It was evidently hopeless to attempt to divert his young champion's mind
into channels of mercy. Reginald therefore, for lack of anything else
to do, suggested to him to go on with the reading aloud, a command the
boy obeyed with alacrity, starting of his own accord at the beginning of
the book. So the two sat there, and followed their pilgrim through the
perils and triumphs of his way, each acknowledging in his heart the
spell of the wonderful story, and feeling himself a braver man for every
step he took along with the valiant Christian.
The morning went by and noon had come, and still the boy read on, until
heavy footsteps on the stairs below startled them both, and sent a quick
flush into Reginald's cheeks.
It needed no divination to guess what it meant, and it was almost with a
sigh of relief that he saw the door open and a policeman enter.
He rose to his feet and drew himself up as the man approached.
"Is your name Cruden Reginald?" said the officer.
"No; it's Reginald Cruden."
"You call yourself Cruden Reginald?"
"I have done so; yes."
"Then I must trouble you to come along with me, young gentleman."
"Very well," said Reginald, quietly. "What am I charged with?"
"Conspiracy to defraud, that's what's on the warrant. Are you ready
now?"
"Yes, quite ready. Where are you going to take me?"
"Well, we shall have to look in at the station on our way, and then go
on to the police-court. Won't take long. Bound to remand you, you
know, for a week or something like that, and then you'll get committed,
and the assizes are on directly after the new year, so three weeks from
now will see it all over."
The man talked in a pleasant, civil way, in a tone as if he quite
supposed Reginald might be pleased to hear the programme arranged on his
behalf.
"We'd better go," said Reginald, moving towards the door.
His face was very white and determined. But there was a tell-tale
quiver in his tightly-pressed lips which told that he needed all his
courage to help him through the ordeal before him. Till this moment the
thought of having to walk through Liverpool in custody had not entered
into his calculations, and he recoiled from it with a shiver.
"I needn't trouble you with these," said the policeman, taking a pair of
handcuffs from his pocket; "not yet, anyhow."
"Oh no. I'll come quite quietly."
"All right. I've my mate below. You can walk between. Hulloa!"
This last exclamation was addressed to Master Love, who, having
witnessed thus much of the interview in a state of stupefied
bewilderment, now recovered his presence of mind sufficiently to make a
furious dash at the burly policeman.
"Do you hear? Let him be; let my governor go. He ain't done nothink to
you or nobody. It's me, I tell yer. I've murdered dozens, do you 'ear?
and robbed the till, and set the Manshing 'Ouse o' fire, do you 'ear?
You let 'im go. It's me done it!"
And he accompanied the protest with such a furious kick at the
policeman's leg that that functionary grew very red in the face, and
making a grab at the offender, seized him by the collar.
"Don't hurt him, please," said Reginald. "He doesn't mean any harm."
"Tell you it's me," cried the boy, trembling in the grasp of the law,
"me and that there Medlock. My gov'nor ain't done it."
"Hush, be quiet, Love," said Reginald. "It'll do no good to make a
noise. It can't be helped. Good-bye."
The boy fairly broke down, and began to blubber piteously.
Reginald, unmanned enough as it was, had not the heart to wait longer,
and walked hurriedly to the door, followed by the policeman. This
movement once more raised the faithful Love to a final effort.
"Let 'im go, do you 'ear?" shouted he, rushing down the stairs after
them. "I'll do for yer if you don't. Oh, guv'nor, take me too, can't
yer?"
But Reginald could only steel his heart for once, and feign not to hear
the appeal.
The other policeman was waiting outside, and between his two custodians
he walked, sick at heart, and faltering in courage, longing only to get
out of the reach of the curious, critical eyes that turned on him from
every side, and beyond the sound of that pitiful whimper of the faithful
little friend as it followed him step by step to the very door of the
police-station.
At the station Mr Sniff awaited the party with a pleasant smile of
welcome.
"That's right," said he to Reginald, encouragingly; "much better to come
quietly, looks better. Look here, young fellow," he added, rather more
confidentially, "the first question you'll be asked is whether you're
guilty or not. Take my advice, and make a clean breast of it."
"I shall say not guilty, which will be the truth."
Mr Sniff, as the reader has been told, had already come to the same
conclusion. Still, it being the rule of his profession always to assume
a man to be guilty till he can prove himself innocent, he felt it was no
business of his to assist the magistrate in coming to the decision by
stating what he _thought_. All he had to do was to state what he
_knew_, and meanwhile, if the prisoner choose to simplify matters by
pleading guilty, well, why shouldn't he?
"Please yourself about that. Have you made your entries, Jones? The
van will be here directly. See you later on," added he, nodding to
Reginald.
Reginald waited there for the van like a man in a dream. People came in
and out, spoke, laughed, looked about them, even mentioned his name.
But they all seemed part of some curious pageant, of which he himself
formed not the least unreal portion. His mind wandered off on a hundred
little insignificant topics. Snatches of the _Pilgrim's Progress_ came
into his mind, half-forgotten airs of music crossed his memory, the
vision of young Gedge as he last saw him fleeted before his eyes. He
tried in vain to collect his thoughts, but they were hopelessly astray,
leaving him for the time barely conscious, and wholly uninterested in
what was taking place around him.
The van came at last, a vehicle he had often eyed curiously as it
rumbled past him in the streets. Little had he ever dreamed of riding
one day inside it.
The usual knot of loungers waited at the door of the police-court to see
the van disgorge its freight. Sometimes they had been rewarded for
their patience by the glimpse of a real murderer, or wife-kicker, or
burglar, and sometimes they had had their bit of fun over a "tough
customer," who, if he must travel at her Majesty's expense, was
determined to travel all the way, and insisted on being carried by the
arms and legs across the pavement into the tribunal of justice. There
was no such fun to be got out of Reginald as he stepped hurriedly from
the van, and with downcast eyes entered by the prisoners' door into the
court-house.
A case was already in progress, and he had to wait in a dimly-lit
underground lobby for his summons. The constable who had arrested him
was still beside him, and other groups, mostly of police, filled up the
place. But he heeded none, longing--oh! how intensely--to hear his name
called and to know the worst.
Presently there was a bustle near the door, and he knew the case
upstairs was at an end.
"Six months," some one said.
Some one else whistled softly.
"Whew--old Fogey's in one of his tantrums, then. He'd have only got
three at Dark Street."
Then some one called the name "Reginald," and the policeman near him
said "Coming." Then, turning to the prisoner, he said,--
"Fogey's on the bench to-day, and he's particular. Look alive."
Reginald found himself being hurried to the door through a lane of
officials and others towards the stairs.
"Your turn next, Grinder," he heard some one say as he passed. "Ten-
minutes will do this case."
To Reginald the stairs seemed interminable. There was a hum of voices
above, and a shuffling of feet as of people taking a momentary
relaxation in the interval of some performance. Then a loud voice
cried, "Silence--order in the court, sit down, gentlemen," and there
fell an unearthly stillness on the place.
"To the right," said the policeman, coming beside him, and taking his
arm as if to direct him.
He was conscious of a score of curious faces turned on him, of some one
on the bench folding up a newspaper and adjusting his glasses, of a man
at a table throwing aside a quill pen and taking another, of a click of
a latch closing behind him, of a row of spikes in front of him. Then he
found himself alone.
What followed he scarcely could tell. He was vaguely aware of some one
with Mr Sniff's voice making a statement in which his (Reginald's) own
name occurred, another voice from the bench breaking in every now and
then, and yet another voice from the table talking too, accompanied by
the squeaking of a pen across paper. Then the constable who had
arrested him said something, and after the constable some one else.
Then followed a dialogue in undertone between the bench and the table,
and once more Mr Sniff's voice, and at last the voice from the bench, a
gruff, unsympathetic voice, said,--
"Now, sir, what have you got to say for yourself?"
The question roused him. It was intended for him, and he awoke to the
consciousness that, after all, he had some interest in what was going
on.