might be time for the thieves getting here and disposing of their prey.
Watches are "casting-up" things. They are seldom melted, for their value
is so much more than that of the materials, and then they are always in
request, so I had some chance of meeting them somewhere--at least one or
more out of such a stunning number as fifty. Accordingly, I did my best
in the dead-object way, but without any success, and I could trust only
to time and continual dodging to arrive at any discovery.
Some time passed, I don't remember how long. As for trying _faces_, it
was out of the question, when I had neither image in my mind, or
description to go by; and I need not say that I did not continue that,
because I really never began it. But, as it will appear, my lucky genius
had not flown away up above the stars to report how she had favoured me
and had got enamoured of some other winged creatures, so as to delay her
return. I was one night on my rounds in the Grassmarket, attended as
usual by my companion. The night was not so dark as that one could not
see a considerable way before. I was rather complaining that there was
nothing to see. We were approaching Smith's Close, when my ear was
startled, and my eye directed towards a man who had instantaneously left
a companion, and rushed with clattering steps up the close.
"Seize that one," said I.
And after the other up the close I sprang at the top of my speed. I saw
his dark figure before me, which, as the moon, getting from behind a
cloud, threw a reflection, (made angular by the sky-line of the high
houses,) came out in an instant, firm, clear, and distinct. There was no
chance for him, and he knew it. She was not so kind to one of her
"minions" on this occasion as she used to be in the old border times.
Just as I was coming upon him, he whirled a guard from his neck and
threw away a watch.
"What's the matter with the timepiece, man?" said I, as I laid hold of
him, and dragging him to the article, picked it up. "Isn't it a good 'un
that you threw it away?"
The fellow was sulky, and would not answer me; but a watch was so
pleasant an object to me at that particular time that I overlooked the
affront. Dragging him to the foot of the close, where his companion was
in the custody of my assistant, we took our men to the Office, where I
very soon discovered that the watch was one of Mr C----'s fifty. My
anticipations, in which I had been so wise, were thus strangely enough
reversed. In place of getting the men through the _watch_, I had got the
watch through the _men_. And my next object was to improve upon the good
fortune that had been so kind to me, in spite of my want of confidence
in my benefactress. But here commenced a new difficulty. The men
foolishly enough gave each the other's name, Alexander Clark and James
Mitchell--quite different from those they carried for the nonce; but as
for aught else, they were what we call lockmouths. No skeleton-key would
reach their works. I was thus driven aback, nor did I make much progress
for some time, except in hearing that one Hart had got another of the
watches from another man, who had got it from Mitchell. This I, of
course, treasured up in the meantime; but I was so anxious to worm out
of my men where they resided--the true clue to all other
discoveries--that I postponed all other inquiries, and besides, from
what I knew of Hart, a lockmouth too, I had no hopes of him. All my
efforts with my men were, however, vain. They would admit nothing as to
their place of putting up; sullen, if not enraged, at the trick
practised on them in getting each to give the other's real name. Why
such men could have been so completely off their guard is not easy to be
accounted for, except on the supposition that they were trying to fight
shy of one another, or upon the principle I have often acted on, that
even a cautious thief will sometimes allow the admission of a fact not
directly implicating himself to be jerked out of him by a sudden
question. After the men had been sent in custody to Dundee, I sought out
Hart, and was just as unsuccessful with him. He would not admit to the
watch, neither would he confess that he knew the residence of either the
one or the other.
And here this strange case--destined to have so many crooks in its
lot--took another turn, which, involving a little disregard of courtesy
towards me, roused my independence to a rather grand vindication. The
authorities in Dundee sent over an officer, who informed us that
eighteen of the watches had been recovered there, and that they had
ascertained, by the confession of Mitchell, that the thieves had been
residing in Edinburgh, in a certain tavern kept by a Mrs Walker. Mr
Moxey got the intelligence, and whether or not it was that he had been
suddenly seized with the ambition of becoming a practical detective I
cannot say; but true it is that, without any communication to me, he set
out with the Dundee officer to find out Mrs Walker, and, no doubt,
recover the remainder of the watches. Well, I allowed them full rope,
and they wandered about for a whole day, without being able to find this
same tavern. I knew very well what they were after, and could have led
them to the house as direct as to the jail, but I abstained from all
interference, where my services were, as I thought, superseded. Perhaps
there was a little cunning--what could we do without it?--at the bottom
of my very virtuous indignation.
At length, and when utterly exhausted, my superior called me in the
evening.
"James," said he, "I can make nothing of this inquiry; there is no Mrs
Walker's tavern in Edinburgh."
"Why, sir, hadn't you better continue the search all night?" said I;
"you may get the house before the morning."
He looked at me to see the state of my face, and smiled, for he was a
very good-natured man.
"Do you mean what you recommend?" said he.
"To be sure I do," said I. "It was no wish of mine that you should begin
the search, but seeing you have begun it, and every moment is precious,
I think you should end it before you sleep."
"But I _have_ ended it."
"Yes, in your way, but not exactly in mine. However, I am wearied, and,
if you please, while you are _beginning_ where you _ended_, I shall go
to bed."
"I have done enough to-day," was the reply; "I shall see what more can
be done to-morrow. I have some letters to write."
Leaving him, I went out, but in place of going down the High Street
home, I proceeded to Smith's Close, where I knew Mrs Walker had her
tavern, and had had it for years.
"Mrs Walker," said I, as the good woman opened the door, "did two young
men lodge with you for a few days lately?"
"Ay," replied she.
"Will you shew me where they slept?"
"Surely."
And leading the way, she shewed me into a bedroom with one bed in it.
I then began to look about in my ordinary way, first very cursorily, and
finding nothing, where I expected nothing, I got upon my knees, and
sprawled in under the bed, so low being the bottom that it was with
great difficulty I could get a part of my body in. I then came out
again, as most people do when they get into any kind of holes, except
one, pulling out after me a pillow-case, apparently, that is, to the
touch, filled with hay, and so, to be sure, in undoing the mouth, I
found it was. On pulling out the hay, however, I brought along with it a
towel containing something hard.
"There will be eggs among the hay," said the landlady.
"Laid by _cocks_, perhaps," said I, as I undid the towel.
And there I laid open as pretty a sight as one could wish to see--thirty
watches, white and yellow, just lovely to behold.
"Are you a wizard, Mr M'Levy?" said the woman, as she held out her
hands; "all that in my house, and me as ignorant of it as a sucking
child!"
"I don't doubt you, Mrs Walker," said I; "but confess that you think I
should be content."
"Content!" replied she; "I know not what would content you if these
didn't. Just offer them to me, and see whether or not I would be
content."
"But I am not content," said I; "I want one more."
"Well, I aye thought you were a reasonable man, Mr M'Levy."
"'A WANT SPOILS PERFECTION,' Mrs Walker," said I; "and I will not be
satisfied till I get this want supplied."
Rolling up my watches I left the house, and went direct to the Office.
Mr Moxey was busy with his letters.
"What?" said he, "here again, James! I thought you had gone to bed."
"I have just something to do first," said I, as I laid down the parcel,
(retaining the bundle of hay.) "Mrs Walker, tavern-keeper, Smith's
Close, Grassmarket, presents her compliments to Mr Moxey, and begs to
send him two dozen and a half of fresh eggs from Arbroath."
"Eggs to me! are you mad?" But beginning to smell, as he suspected, a
trick, he opened the towel, and saw before him Mr C----'s thirty
watches.
"Where got?" he asked.
"Where, but in Mrs Walker's tavern, where they naturally fell to be."
"And unknown to her?"
"Close up to the wall beneath the bed, and all, like eggs, enclosed in
this hay."
"I'll never interfere with your searches again," he added, laughing.
"I'll write this moment, and make C---- a happy man."
"Yes," said I; "and tell him, that, though I'm a _safe_ enough _man_,
I'm not 'a patent safe.'"
"We've got all."
"No, 'A WANT SPOILS PERFECTION,'" said I. "There's one awanting, and
without that the rest are nothing."
"Mr C---- will scarcely think that," said he. "You have done enough
to-day, and I think you had better go to bed."
"No, I must have _that_ watch, otherwise I could sleep none."
I then went to the desk, and taking a printed form of one of our
complaints, not filled up, and not signed of course, I put it quietly in
my pocket, departed, and took my way to the man Hart's once more. I
found him in, just preparing to go to bed.
"My last visit, Hart," said I; "I am come once more for the watch you
got from the friend of Mitchell."
"I told you before," said he, "that I have no such watch, and never
had."
"And I tell you that I have the very best authority for knowing that you
have. Now, Hart, I have known you for some time, and would rather save
you than banish you, but," pulling out the useless bit of printed paper,
"I have no discretion. There are certain people called authorities, you
know, and they have long arms. Do you see that paper? Did you ever hear
of such a thing as a complaint?"
"Do you mean a warrant of apprehension?" said he.
"Just as you choose to call it," replied I, taking out my handcuffs. "I
am sorry for this duty imposed upon me, but either you or I must suffer.
You must walk up to the Office, or I must bid farewell to it."
My man got into a pensive mood, and looked on the floor.
The conjurors on the stage do their work with little things, and they
deceive the senses; but they don't often touch the heart. I have done
some things in my conjuring way with very puny instruments. Yes, the
heart is a conjurable commodity, very simple and helpless when operated
upon successfully, and I was here trying to vanquish a stronger one than
Mrs Donald M'Leod's, by the means of a bit of paper, with a few words of
print on it, and a loop of leather. I have sometimes suspected that the
world is juggled in a similar way, only the juggle is not very often
known. If so, I may be allowed my small devices, especially when used in
the cause of what is good and lawful. I wanted only to save another
man's watch. A bit of paper not much larger, once saved the lives of
more Roman senators than my watches amounted to altogether.
The first sight of my talisman was not enough. Mr Hart was wary. He
hesitated, and struggled with himself for a considerable time--not so
much, I thought, for the sake of the watch, as from fear that, after
all, I would apprehend him.
"You will do _me_," said he, "as you did the Highlander's wife."
"No," replied I, "I will be on honour with you. Look,--you may make sure
work,--I'll not take the watch out of your hands till I have burned the
warrant."
The promise caught him. He drew on his stockings again,--for he had been
preparing for bed,--put on his shoes and hat, and getting a candle,
lighted it.
"Wait here," said he, and went out.
I don't like these _leavings_, I have sometimes found no _returns_; so I
followed him to the door, and dogged him to the foot of a close not far
from his house. He went up till he came to an old thatched byre, to the
top of which he got by means of a heap of rubbish. When I saw the candle
glimmering on the top of the house, a solitary light amidst the
darkness, and all around as still as death, I could not help thinking of
the romance that hangs round the secret ways of vice. The cowkeeper, as
he fed his charge, never suspected that there was a treasure over
crummie's head; no more did the urchins, who rode on the rigging, dream
of the presence of so wonderful a thing to them as a gold watch.
All safe, said I to myself, as I saw the light changing its place, and
descending. Then it came down the close, and we stood face to face.
"Here it is," said he; "but I tell you once for all, that I am as
powerful a man as you, and that"----
"Stop," said I, "no need, my good fellow; give me your candle. There,"
continued I, as I applied the blank complaint to the flame, and saw it
flare up and die away into a black film, "there's your bargain,--now
mine."
And I got the watch, and supplied the _want_.
"Good night, my man; you will sleep sounder without the care and fear of
this stolen watch than with it."
This bit of sentiment struck him.
"Well, I believe I will," he said, with a little thickening of the
windpipe; "I'll have nothing more to do with stolen property. I have
never been happy since I got possession of it."
In a short time, I was before Mr Moxey again, whose letters threatened
to terminate in night-work.
"Put that to the rest," said I; "_the want is supplied_,--thirty-two and
eighteen make up the fifty, I believe."
"You are refined, James," said he; and perhaps he would not have said it
if he had known the story of the old complaint, which for the time I
kept to myself. Self-love has its weaknesses. If I had told my device, I
might have gratified my vanity; but my trick would have become common
property, and thereby lost its charm.
After my day's work, I went home, and was soon asleep.
I acquired a little honour in this matter, although I considered it was
not much more than apprentice-work. I had no objection, however, that
my brother bluecoats of the bonny toun should see that M'Levy had not
lost the keenness of his scent for such secreted articles as those
stolen watches; and this shews that we have our little drops of
enjoyment amidst our cares and anxieties, ay, and dangers, and, thank
God, happiness is a comparative affair. The word "danger" suggests a few
words. I have often been asked, "M'Levy, were you never hurt?" My answer
being no,--"M'Levy, was you ever afraid?" My answer the same, though I
have been amidst glittering knives before now, ay, and fiery eyes,
brighter than the knives; but I early saw that a bold front is the best
baton. A detective is done the moment his eye quivers or his arm
falters. If firm, there is no risk, or if any, it is from the cowards. A
brave thief has something like an understanding of the relation he bears
to the laws and its officers. He has a part to play, and he plays it
with something so much like the honour of the Honeycombs at cards or
dice, that it would surprise you. These latter, to be sure, are only
sliders too, and the end of their descent is often deeper than that of
their humble brethren of the pea and thimble.
I have only to add, that my men were forthwith brought to trial. The
real pith of my histories is to me the _end_; yes, all their _charm_ to
me lies in the tail, although others, and you may readily guess who they
are, may think that the _sting_ lies there. I would not, however, give
the fact that Clerk got his seven years, and Mitchell his eighteen
months as a resetter, for all the _eclat_ accorded to any ingenuity I
had displayed in bringing about these happy consummations.
The Coal-Bunker.
A certain small critic once took it into his head to laugh at another
critic for commencing a learned essay with the words, "We are all born
idiots," and the reason of the chuckle, though on the wrong side, was
evident enough; and yet, methinks, the wise saying might have had a
tail, to the effect, "and many of us live and die idiots." At least I
know that I have met many imbeciles,--ay, even of that absolute kind who
will not be taught that pain is pain, so that I am obliged to differ
with Solomon when he says that "experience teacheth fools." How many
beacon flashes, with red streaks in them, have I not thrown out, amidst
the darkness of crime, to keep my children off the quicksands and the
shelving rocks, and the shipwrecks have been as numerous as ever! Have I
not proved the Happy Land to be a hell, resounding with oaths, screams,
and hysterical ravings, not the songs of angels, and yet case after case
proved the truth of the wise saying?
Another flash of the beacon--with perhaps redder streaks--something of
the old story, yet with a difference. On the second flat of the Happy
Land there lived for some considerable time, in 1848, two young women,
Isabella Marshall and Margaret Tait. Their den was of the common
order,--the room and the hiding-hole, the bed, the fir-table, and two
chairs, the teapot and cups, two or three broken plates, the bottle and
glass, and so forth,--squalor everywhere, like the green mould which
springs up the more when the sun of domestic comfort flies away at the
sight of crime. Yes, the green mould on the once fair living temples;
for let them wash, and scrub, and "scent up" as they pleased, and deck
out in the stolen or thrice-redeemed finery, the snare of uncircumcised
eyes and sensual hearts was only the covering of impurity. Yet how all
this goes on and thrives. One might be tempted to say, that the lovers
of "the beautiful" (?) are something like the gobemouches, who admire a
little tang or _hautgout_. Look you, I use the _adjective_ here, just
with the proper amount of derision; for although the fairer of the two
conjunct tenants of the den, Bella, was admired, no one could miss the
Cain mark of the class. Don't you know it? Coarse snobs, with cassowary
gizzards, might think they saw delicacy of skin and colour; while
others, with a modicum of true refinement, would try to find another
name--not easy, I confess--perhaps livid sickliness, reminding one of a
decayed peony of the pale variety. Don't let us mention the faded lily.
But what matters it, when the thing is patent to all but those who will
not be taught by experience, just because there is nothing inside to
respond to the touch of common sense. Yet withal there is something
curious about Nature's manoeuvres, in fencing as she does to conceal
the cancer-spots on her favourites, just as if she were so fond of her
few beauties that she will cling to them to the last, supporting their
charms even amidst the blight of vice. Of Margaret I must speak
otherwise,--a strong, burly wench, with little to attract, but capital
hands at a grip, or what is not exactly the same, a gripe, and a tilt
where ferocity stands against self-preservation. The two were very well
mated; for while the one could allure, the other could secure.
But as the den was incomplete without the hiding-hole, so neither was
this copartnership of Marshall & Co. perfect without the indispensable
"bully;" for though Margaret could do wonders in her way, she could
derive little aid from the delicate Isabella. So James Kidd, a stout
young fellow, the Fancy of both, who apportioned his protection and
favour between them according as they supplied him with money, was the
chosen partner,--a fellow who, in such a connexion and conspiracy, had
found an attraction which tore him from his home and his mother, whose
heart he had broken. Nor is it easy otherwise to form a proper estimate
of this species of ruffian, pouncing from a hole on a man whose powers
of resistance he does not know. He must close in a struggle, which,
though never intended to be deadly on his part, may become so, by a
resistance or counter attack more powerful than his own. All this he
must do in the very heart of a populous city, and in a large house of
many flats, where he can count upon no more than the hush of other
fiends, who may screen, though they will take no hand in another's
business. It is in such a scene, enacted in a close room, sometimes with
the light extinguished, and the actors doing their work in the dark,
that we can form an adequate idea of the true _furor_ of robbery. Even a
listener at the door would hear only the bodily contortions--the deep
breathing--the muttered vengeance--all a deep bass to the stifled treble
of a woman's passion grasping at gold. I have known of two such
conflicts going on in this "Happy Land" at the same moment,--the great
scenes being illustrated the while by orgies in the other dens, the
laughter from which drowned the dull sounds of the conflicts.
In the particular conspiracy I am now to relate, the scheme of attack
was different from what was usually followed, as you will understand
when I introduce Mr ---- of ----; and you have only at present to keep in
mind the general way of "doing" the victims:--the spring-out of the
concealed bully--the seizure of his object--the assistant women rifling
and robbing in the still flickering light--the sudden disappearance of
the principal actor, which aids the blasphemous oaths of the
subordinates that they know nothing of him, while it leaves the
conversational winding-up to those whose conversational powers are so
seldom at fault.
On a certain night of the cold month of December, the delicate Isabella,
dressed in the usual mackerel-bait, only a little subdued by the soft
muff and boa, so suggestive of softness and delicacy in the wearer, went
out on her mission of love, leaving Kidd and Margaret to await the
bringing in of the prey. Nor was it long before she encountered the
sympathetic Mr ---- from Cumberland, who could make pleasure wait on
business--just as a pretty handmaiden who comes and goes, and goes and
comes. Oh yes, seldom coy, that faithful helpmate of anxious
hearts--always everywhere and yet nowhere, turning her face and
disappearing to return again. Then why shouldn't sympathy for a tender
creature, exposed to a December chill, help the sympathy due to himself?
He would not prey on that tenderness--only purchase a little pleasure
with money that would nurse the seller in that land of bliss, where
Justice would see to a fair bargain, Love filling the scales with
hearts. So Mr ---- would go with Isabella; all in the old
way--respectable house--matronly mistress. Why, it would even be a duty
to warm with a glass of generous spirits so gentle a creature. Up the
North Bridge, and down the High Street--a sudden stand at the foot of
the stair of the Happy Land. Mr ---- did not think there was much
promise of pleasure in that dark old region of sin, and he would be off
and leave her who required so much sympathy from hard-hearted man. But
Mr ---- was a man of feeling notwithstanding, and how could he resist an
appeal to his heart by one who asked no more than his arm up the stair?
Nor did he. With Isabella receiving the proffered support, he mounted
the stair. They entered the dingy lobby, and came to a door. The gentle
knock, not to disturb the decent woman, and Margaret
----, "who knew the meaning of the same,"
opened, but not until Kidd had got into the closet.
Whether it was that our gentleman had heard some noise of a retreat, or
that he had had his prior doubts confirmed by the smoky appearance of
the den, I cannot tell, but certain it is that the startled lover
stopped again.
"No, I have seen enough," he cried, and was retreating, when Margaret,
laying hold of him, pulled him in by main force.
"Away so soon," she cried, laughing, while yet retaining her masculine
grasp, "and not even bid us good night?"
"Or offer us a glass," added the gentle Bella. "Surely two women can't
harm a man!"