“She couldn’t be married again, to a richer man?” I suggestively
observed. “I understand she and Brettle were lawfully man and wife.”
Dick’s face was the picture of guilt and confusion. If the ground
could have swallowed him at that moment I imagine he would have been
thankful. I was reading all the answers to the questions which had
puzzled me for days in his tell-tale features.
“You have seen her lately, then?”
“No,” he faltered, while his face said “Yes,” and cursed me into the
bargain.
“And have you no idea where she could be found?”
“Not the least,” he said, with the lie almost choking him.
“Imphm! Well, that’s all I want with you just now,” I coldly
remarked, and with a dive he was gone.
I saw the whole plot now, and felt sure that that beautiful devil
of a woman was at the bottom of it all. But was I to allow that
miserable man—that well-meaning convict who had actually made an
effort towards a life of honesty—to walk into the shambles? No doubt
it would look like a feather in my cap to take him in the act and
walk him off for his certain ten years’ penal; every one would think
it neat and clever, and speak of the vigilance and sharpness of the
police, &c., but there would still be a voice within me crying out
against the whole as a crime—an offence against a law that never was
written. After giving the matter some thought, I went out to the
Grange to a gentleman with a big heart and unbounded faith in myself.
“I want you to give me some money,” I said, as his hand grasped my
own, “without asking any questions. It is to help a convict and
ticket-of-leave man till he shall be able to help himself.”
“All right, Mr M^cGovan; you shall have it,” was the frank response.
“Just say how much it is to be.”
I named the sum, and it was placed in my hands. Little more was said,
and I left that wide-souled and big-hearted man to have a hunt for
Bob Brettle. I expected to find him quite easily, but I did not; and
what gave me more concern was to learn in the course of my search
that Bob had broken out—that is, had been drinking hard, and was,
when last seen, in a state of savage ferocity and excitement, which,
I feared, would not help me greatly in my mission. Still it was no
time to delay. I must see him then, or be forced to take him as a
house-breaker a few hours later. I persevered till I found him in a
public-house—savage and fierce as could be. He would scarcely answer
me, and only consented to speak with me alone when I told him he
_must_.
“You’ve had a struggle lately, and I promised to prove that I had no
interest in you remaining in the old line,” I quietly began. “I’ve
brought you some money which a gentleman has given, on my assurance
that it would not be thrown away, to help you till you get work.”
“Take it back to him then—I don’t need it now,” he angrily returned.
“I’ve got work, or at least expect to get it.”
“Yes, I can guess what kind of work you mean,” I pointedly answered.
“Do you know what your next sentence will be, Bob, if you’re taken at
the old game?”
“I’m not taken yet,” he confidently answered, with an oath and a
thundering blow of his fist on the little table of the box in which
we were secluded. “He’ll be a clever man that will take me; ay, and
he’ll need to be a strong man too!”
“Bob Brettle!” I cried, starting up and leaning across the table
towards him, “you’re a fool!”
“What!” and his big fist was clenched as if to let drive at my face.
“A fool—a perfect baby—a blind idiot, who would walk into a trap
chuckling all the while over his own cleverness and daring. Man
alive! what is all your bravery or daring against the wiles of a
wicked woman?”
“A woman! what woman?” he faltered, apparently pulled up by my very
abuse.
“Why, the woman you call your wife—Pretty Polly—who is now in this
city with a wealthy man to whom she is married. Her name is Mrs
Harper now, and I suppose she feared that your claims on her might
be awkward, and so employed Dirty Dick to prepare a job for you—that
Leith Street affair which you mean to go to as soon as you leave this
place, and at which I am to take you in the act, so that you may be
booked for ten years at least. Now, smash out at me now, and say I’ve
an interest in keeping you on the cross!”
“My wife—Pretty Polly—living and married to another man!” he
breathed, with a look positively frightful settling on his heavy
features. “I—don’t—believe—a—word—of—it!”
I folded my arms and said nothing. The idea was a new one to him; I
would let it work. I had not long to wait. I could see the workings
of the demon Jealousy in his face, in his twitching lips and flushed
cheeks, in his clouded brow and clenched hands.
“You’ve got a name for telling the truth,” he at last hoarsely
observed, with a look of piteous agony on his haggard face, “but I
must see the woman before I believe it. Tell me where she lives, or
take me to her. The she-devil! Oh, if it’s only true!”
“Rest content with my word. I shall not give you her address—at least
not now. It wouldn’t be safe. When you are sober and calm you shall
have it.”
“I am sober,” he quickly returned; and he seemed to speak the truth,
for every trace of drink had vanished like a flash, “and I am calm—as
death. Give me her address!”
I refused most positively, and at length he rose, deliberately put on
his cap, and quietly walked out of the shop with the simple remark
that he would see me again. I knew enough of Brettle’s character to
warn me that the sooner Pretty Polly was got out of his reach the
better it would be for her.
I therefore hurried over to the hotel, and learned that she and
her husband had gone out about six o’clock, and not yet returned.
I sat down to wait for them, little guessing that I was to remain
there till nearly eleven o’clock, they being at the theatre, as
I afterwards learned. While I was thus waiting at the hotel, Bob
Brettle had taken action in a style characteristic of him and his
passionate nature. He hunted through all the dens till he came
upon Dirty Dick singing songs in a half-gleeful and half-fuddled
condition. Dick remained gleeful not one moment after he saw
Brettle’s face. The house-breaker invited him out to the darkness
of the stair-head, and there brought out a long-bladed clasp-knife,
at the same moment throttling Dick with his left hand, and forcing
him down on his knees. There, with the point of the knife at Dick’s
heart, he dragged out of the quaking wretch a full and abject
confession of the plot, and also of the name of the hotel at which
Pretty Polly and her wealthy husband had put up. When Dick had
finished, Bob simply swung round his powerful left hand, and in a
moment Dick lay groaning on the landing below with a broken leg
and fractured rib. Paying no attention to the injured wretch or his
cries, Brettle ran down the stair and made for the hotel.
A waiter at the portico told him that the Harpers were not in, but
were expected shortly. Brettle stood sentry there at the door or near
it for a full half hour, and at length was rewarded by seeing a cab
drive up, and a gentleman get out and hand forth a sweet-faced and
elegantly dressed lady—the veritable Pretty Polly.
With a bound like that of a tiger Brettle was upon her, and had
her taper wrist clenched in his hand, and her face swung round to
the light of the street lamps with a force that almost crushed the
delicate bones.
“You jewelled serpent!” he hissed, “you would sell me to the
shambles! Look at me, you beautiful devil, and say, if you can, that
it is not true!”
A shriek—appalling enough to reach my ears above, and bring me
rushing down—was Pretty Polly’s only answer.