Booms was not exactly the sort of man to be elated by the mission which
Miss Shuckleford had thrust upon him. He passed a restless night in
turning the matter over in his mind and wondering how he could break the
news gently to his friend.
For he was fond of Horace, and in his saturnine way felt deeply for him
in his trouble. And on this account he wished Jemima had chosen any
other confidant to discharge the unpleasant task.
He hung about outside Mrs Cruden's house for an hour early that
morning, in the hope of being able to entrap Miss Crisp and get her to
take the duty off his hands. But Miss Crisp had been sitting up all
night with the patient and did not appear.
He knocked at the door and asked the servant-girl how Mrs Cruden was.
She was a little better, but very weak and not able to speak to anybody.
"Any news from Liverpool?" inquired Booms. This had become a daily
question among those who inquired at Number 6, Dull Street.
"No, no news," said the girl, with a guilty blush. She knew the reason
why. Reginald's last letter, written just before his arrest, was at
that moment in her pocket.
"Has Mr Horace started to the office?"
"No; he's a-going to wait and see the doctor, and he says I was to ask
you to tell the gentleman so."
"Can I see him?"
"No; he's asleep just now," said the girl.
So Booms had to go down alone to the _Rocket_, as far as ever from
getting the burden of Jemima's secret off his mind.
He had a good mind to pass it on to Waterford, and might have done so,
had not that young gentleman been engaged all the morning on special
duty, which kept him in Mr Granville's room.
Booms grew more and more dispirited and nervous. Every footstep that
came to the door made him tremble, for fear it should be the signal for
the unhappy disclosure. He tried hard to persuade himself it would be
kinder after all to say nothing about it. What good could it do now?
Booms, as the reader knows, had not a very large mind. But what there
was of it was honest, and it told him, try how he would, there was no
getting out of a promise. So he busied himself with concocting
imaginary phrases and letters, by way of experiment as to the neatest
way of breaking his bad news.
Still he dreaded his friend's arrival more and more; and when at last a
brisk footstep halted at the door, he started and turned pale like a
guilty thing, and wished Jemima at the bottom of the sea!
But the footstep was not Horace's. Whoever the arrival was, he tapped
at the door before entering, and then, without waiting for a reply,
walked in.
It was a youth of about seventeen or eighteen, with a bright honest face
and cheery smile.
"Is Horace Cruden here?" he inquired eagerly.
"Oh no," said Booms, in his most doleful accents.
"Isn't this where he works?"
"It is indeed."
"Well, then, is anything wrong? Is he ill?"
"No. _He_ is not ill," said Booms, emphasising the pronoun.
"Is Reginald ill, then, or their mother?"
A ray of hope crossed Booms's mind. This stranger was evidently a
friend of the family. He called the boys by their Christian names, and
knew their mother. Would he take charge of the dismal secret?
"His mother is ill," said he. "Do you know them?"
"Rather. I was Horace's chum at Wilderham, you know, and used to spend
my holidays regularly at Garden Vale. Is she very ill?"
"Very," said Booms; "and the worst of it is, Reginald is not at home."
"Where is he. Horrors told me he had gone to the country."
Booms _would_ tell him. For the visitor called his friend Horrors, a
pet name none but his own family were ever known to use.
"They don't know where he is. But I do," said Booms, with a tragic
gesture.
"Where? where? What's wrong, I say? Tell me, there's a good fellow."
"He's in prison," said Booms, throwing himself back in his chair, and
panting with the effort the disclosure had cost him.
"In prison! and Horace doesn't know it! What _do_ you mean? Tell me
all you know."
Booms did tell him, and very little it was. All he knew was from
Jemima's secondhand report, and the magnitude of the news had quite
prevented him from inquiring as to particulars.
"When did you hear this?" said Harker; for the reader will have guessed
by this time that the visitor was no other than Horace's old Wilderham
ally.
"Yesterday."
"And he doesn't know yet?"
"How could I tell him? Of course I'm to get all the blame. I expected
it."
"Who's blaming you?" said Harker, whom the news had suddenly brought on
terms of familiarity with his friend's friend. "When will he be here?"
"Very soon, I suppose."
"And then you'll tell him?"
"You will, please," said Booms, quite eagerly for him.
"Somebody must, poor fellow!" said Harker. "We don't know what we may
be losing by the delay."
"Of course it's my fault for not waking him up in the middle of the
night and telling him," said Booms dismally.
"Is there anything about it in the papers?" said Harker, taking up a
_Times_.
"I've seen nothing."
"You say it was a day or two ago. Have you got the _Times_ for the last
few days?"
"Yes; it's there."
Harker hastily turned over the file, and eagerly searched the police and
country intelligence. In a minute or two he looked up and said,--
"Had Cruden senior changed his name?"
"How _do_ I know?" said Booms, with a bewildered look.
"I mean, had he dropped his surname? Look here."
And he showed Booms the paragraph which appeared in the London papers
the morning after Reginald's arrest.
"That looks very much as if it was meant for Cruden," said Harker--"all
except the name. If it is, that was Tuesday he was remanded, and to-day
is the day he is to be brought up again. Oh, why didn't we know this
before?"
"Yes. I knew I was to blame. I knew it all along," said Booms, taking
every expression of regret as a personal castigation.
"It will be all over before any one can do a thing," said Harker,
getting up and pacing the room in his agitation. "Why _doesn't_ Horace
come?"
As if in answer to the appeal, Horace at that moment opened the door.
"Why, Harker, old man!" he exclaimed with delight in his face and voice
as he sprang towards his friend.
"Horrors, my poor dear boy," said Harker, "don't be glad to see me.
I've bad news, and there's no time to break it gently. It's about
Reginald. He's in trouble--in prison. I'll come with you to Liverpool
this morning; there is a train in twenty minutes."
Horace said nothing. He turned deadly pale and gazed for a moment half
scared, half appealing, at his friend. Booms remembered something he
had to do in another room, and went to the door.
"Do you mind getting a hansom?" said Harker.
The words roused Horace from his stupor.
"Mother," he gasped, "she's ill."
"We shall be home again to-night most likely," said Harker.
"I must tell Granville," said Horace.
"Your chief. Well, be quick, the cab will be here directly."
Horace went to the inner room and in a minute returned, his face still
white but with a burning spot on either cheek.
"All right?" inquired Harker.
Horace nodded, and followed him to the door.
In a quarter of an hour they were at Euston in the booking office.
"I have no money," said Horace.
"I have, plenty for us both. Go and get some papers, especially
Liverpool ones, at the book-stall while I get the tickets."
It was a long memorable journey. The papers were soon exhausted. They
contained little or no additional news respecting the obscure suspect in
Liverpool, and beyond that they had no interest for either traveller.
"We shall get down at three," said Harker; "there's a chance of being in
time."
"In time for what? what can we do?"
"Try and get another remand, if only for a couple of days. I can't
believe it of Reg. There must be some mistake."
"Of course there must," said Horace, with a touch of scorn in his voice,
"but how are we to prove it?"
"It's no use trying just now. All we can do is to get a remand."
The train seemed to drag forward with cruel slowness, and the precious
moments sped by with no less cruel haste. It was five minutes past
three when they found themselves on the platform of Liverpool station.
"It's touch and go if we're in time, old boy," said Harker, as they took
their seats in a hansom and ordered the man to drive hard for the
police-court; "but you mustn't give up hope even if we're late. We'll
pull poor old Reg through somehow."
His cheery words and the brotherly grip on his arm were like life and
hope to Horace.
"Oh, yes," he replied. "What would I have done if you hadn't turned up
like an angel of help, Harker, old man?"
As they neared the police-court the cabman pulled up to allow a police
van to turn in the road. The two friends shuddered. It was like an
evil omen to daunt them.
Was _he_ in that van--so near them, yet so hopelessly beyond their
reach?
"For goodness' sake drive on!" shouted Harker to the cabman.
It seemed ages before the lumbering obstruction had completed its
revolution and drawn to one side sufficiently to allow them to pass.
In another minute the cab dashed to the door of the court.
It was open, and the knot of idlers on the pavement showed them that
some case of interest was at that moment going on.
They made their way to the policeman who stood on duty.
"Court's full--stand back, please. Can't go in," said that official.
"What case is it?"
"Stand back, please--can't go in," repeated the stolid functionary.
"Please tell us--"
"Stand back there!" once more shouted the sentinel, growing rather more
peremptory.
It was clearly no use mincing matters. At this very moment Reginald
might be standing defenceless within, with his last chance of liberty
slipping from under his feet.
Harker drew a shilling from his pocket and slipped it into the hand of
the law.
"Tell us the name of the case, there's a good fellow," said he
coaxingly.
"Bilcher--wife murder. Stand back, please--court's full."
Bilcher! Wife murder! It was for this the crowd had gathered, it was
for the result of this that that knot of idlers were waiting so
patiently outside.
Bilcher was the hero of this day's gathering. Who was likely to care a
rush about such a lesser light as a secretary charged with a commonplace
fraud.
"Has the case of Cruden come on yet?" asked Horace anxiously.
The policeman answered him with a vacant stare.
"No," said Harker, "the name would be Reginald, you know. I say," added
he to the policeman, "when does Reginald's case come on?"
"Stand back there--Reginald--he was the last but one before this--don't
crowd, please."
"We're too late, then. What was--what did he get?"
Now the policeman considered he had answered quite enough for his
shilling. If he went on, people would think he was an easy fish to
catch. So he affected deafness, and looking straight past his eager
questioners again repeated his stentorian request to the public
generally.
"Oh, pray tell us what he got," said Harker, in tones of genuine
entreaty; "this is his brother, and we've only just heard of it."
The policeman for a moment turned a curious eye on Horace, as if to
convince himself of the truth of the story. Then, apparently satisfied,
and weary of the whole business, he said,--
"Let off. _Will you_ keep back, please? Stand back. Court's full."
Let off. Horace's heart gave a bound of triumph as he heard the words.
Of course he was! Who could even suspect him of such a thing as fraud?
Unjustly accused he might be, but Reg's character was proof against that
any day.
Harker shared his friend's feelings of relief and thankfulness at the
good news, but his face was still not without anxiety.
"We had better try to find him," said he.
"Oh, of course. He'll probably be back at Shy Street."
But no one was at Shy Street. The dingy office was deserted and locked,
and a little street urchin on the doorstep glowered at them as they
peered up the staircase and read the name on the plate.
"Had we better ask in the shop? they may know," said Horace.
But the chemist looked black when Reginald's name was mentioned, and
hoped he should never see him again. He'd got into trouble and loss
enough with him as it was--a hypocritical young--
"Look here," said Horace, "you're speaking of my brother, and you'd
better be careful. He's no more a hypocrite than you. He's an honest
man, and he's been acquitted of the charge brought against him."
"I didn't know you were his brother," said the chemist, rather
sheepishly, "but for all that I don't want to see him again, and I don't
expect I shall either. He won't come near here in a hurry, unless I'm
mistaken."
"The fellow's right, I'm afraid," said Harker, as they left the shop.
"He's had enough of this place, from what you tell me. It strikes me
the best thing is to go and inquire at the police-station. They may
know something there."
To the police-station accordingly they went, and chanced to light on one
no less important than Mr Sniff himself.
"We are interested in Reginald Cruden, who was before the magistrate to-
day," said Harker. "In fact, this is his brother, and I am an old
schoolfellow. We hear the charge against him was dismissed, and we
should be much obliged if you could tell us where to find him."
Mr Sniff regarded the two boys with interest, and not without a slight
trace of uneasiness. He had never really suspected Reginald, but it had
appeared necessary to arrest him on suspicion, not only to satisfy the
victims of the Corporation, but on the off chance of his knowing rather
more than he seemed to know about the doings of that virtuous
association. It had been a relief to Mr Sniff to find his first
impressions as to the lad's innocence confirmed, and to be able to
withdraw the charge against him. But the manner in which the magistrate
had dismissed the case had roused even his phlegmatic mind to
indignation, and had set his conscience troubling him a little as to his
own conduct of the affair. This was why he now felt and looked not
quite happy in the presence of Reginald's brother and friend.
"Afraid I can't tell you," said he. "He left the court as soon as the
case was over, and of course we've no more to do with him."
"He is not back at his old office," said Horace, "and I don't know of
any other place in Liverpool he would be likely to go to."
"It struck me, from the looks of him," said Mr Sniff, quite despising
himself for being so unprofessionally communicative--"it struck me he
didn't very much care where he went. Very down in the mouth he was."
"Why, but he was acquitted; his character was cleared. Whatever should
he be down in the mouth about?" said Horace.
Mr Sniff smiled pityingly.
"He was let off with a caution," he said; "that's rather a different
thing from having your character cleared, especially when our friend
Fogey's on the bench. I was sorry for the lad, so I was."
This was a great deal to come from the lips of a cast-iron individual
like Mr Sniff, and it explained the state of the case forcibly enough
to his two hearers. Horace knew his brother's nature well enough to
imagine the effect upon him of such a reprimand, and his spirits sank
within him.
"Who can tell us now where we are to look for him?" said he to Harker.
"Anything like injustice drives him desperate. He may have gone off, as
the detective says, not caring where. And then Liverpool is a fearfully
big place."
"We won't give it up till we have found him," said Harker; "and if you
can't stay, old man, I will."
"I can't go," said Horace, with a groan. "Poor Reg!"
"Well, let us call round at the post-office and see if Waterford has
remembered to telegraph about your mother."
They went to the post-office and found a telegram from Miss Crisp: "Good
day. Better, decidedly. Knows you are in Liverpool, but nothing more.
Any news? Do not telegraph unless all right."
"It's pretty evident," said Horace, handing the message to his friend,
"we can't telegraph to-day. I'll write to Waterford and get him to tell
the others. But what is the next thing to be done?"
"We can only be patient," said Harker. "We are bound to come across him
or hear of him in time."
"He's not likely to have gone home?" suggested Horace.
"How could he with no money?"
"Or to try to get on an American ship? We might try that."
"Oh yes, we shall have to try all that sort of thing."
"Well, let's begin at once," said Horace impatiently, "every minute may
be of consequence."
But for a week they sought in vain--among the busy streets by day and in
the empty courts by night, among the shipping, in the railway-stations,
in the workhouses, at the printing-offices.
Mr Sniff did them more than one friendly turn, and armed them with the
talisman of his name to get them admittance where no other key would
pass them. They inquired at public-houses, coffee-houses, lodging-
houses, but all in vain. No one had seen a youth answering their
description, or if they had it was only for a moment, and he had passed
from their sight and memory.
False scents there were in plenty--some which seemed to lead up
hopefully to the very last, and then end in nothing, others too vague
even to attempt to follow.
Once they heard that the body of a youth had been found floating in the
Mersey--and with terrible forebodings they rushed to the place and
demanded to see it. But he was not there. The dead upturned face they
looked on was not his, and they turned away, feeling more than ever
discouraged in their quest.
At length at the end of a week a man who kept an early coffee-stall in
one of the main streets told them that a week ago a ragged little urchin
had come to him with a pitiful tale about a gentleman who was starving,
and had begged for a can of coffee and a slice of bread to take to him,
offering in proof of his good faith his own coat as payment. It was a
bitterly cold morning, and the man trusted him. He had never seen the
gentleman, but the boy brought back the empty can in a few minutes. The
coffee man had kept the jacket, as it was about the size of a little
chap of his own. But he had noticed the boy before parting with it take
two ragged little books out of its pockets and transfer them to the
bosom of his shirt. That was all he remembered, and the gentleman might
take it for what it was worth.
It was worth something, for it pointed to the possibility of Reginald
not being alone in his wanderings. And putting one thing and another
together they somehow connected this little urchin with the boy they saw
crouching on the doorstep of Number 13, Shy Street the day of their
arrival, and with the office-boy whom Mr Sniff described as having been
Reginald's companion during his last days at the office.
They would neither of them believe Reginald was not still in Liverpool,
and cheered by the very feeble light of this discovery they resumed
their search with unabated vigour and even greater thoroughness.
Happily the news from home continued favourable, and, equally important,
the officials at the _Rocket_ made no demur to Horace's prolonged stay.
As for Harker, his hopefulness and pocket-money vied with one another in
sustaining the seekers and keeping alive within them the certainty of a
reward, sooner or later, for their patience.
Ten days had passed, and no fresh clue. Once or twice they had heard of
the pale young gentleman and the little boy, but always vaguely, as a
fleeting vision which had been seen about a fortnight ago.
On this day they called in while passing to see Mr Sniff, and were met
by that gentleman with a smile which told them he had some news of
consequence to impart.
"I heard to-day," said he, "that a patient--a young man--was removed
very ill from a low lodging-house near the river--to the smallpox
hospital yesterday. His name is supposed to be Cruden (a common name in
this country), but he was too ill to give any account of himself. It
may be worth your while following it up."
In less than half an hour they were at the hospital, and Horace was
kneeling at the bedside of his long-lost brother.