A BOTTLE OF BURGUNDY
“There goes ten of ’em. Old Hoskyns can never want me at this time of
night. At all events, if he don’t come soon he won’t find me here. If a
man can’t call the time his own after ten o’clock at night, he’s no
better than a slave.”
The speaker was Jabez Creede, and he was sitting, with a short black
pipe in his mouth, over a handful of fire—although the evening was a
summer one—in the meanly furnished room which he called his home. In
one hand he held a crumpled scrap of paper, the writing on which he now
proceeded to read over again for the twentieth time.
“Please not to be out of the way this evening, as I may possibly want
you on important business.—T. Hoskyns.”
“Ugh!” growled Creede in disgust, as he flung the paper into the fire.
“One might work one’s heartstrings out for old Hoskyns, and there would
never be an extra half quid for a poor devil on pay-day. I wish Mr.
Bristow would take to the business. He’s one of the right sort, he is.
I wish——”
Here he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Presently his landlady
entered. “Mr. Hoskyns is waiting below,” said the woman. “He wants you
to put on your hat and coat, and go with him.”
Creede growled, put down his pipe, rose, yawned, stretched himself,
inducted himself into a shabby grease-stained brown overcoat, pulled
his battered hat over his gloomy brows, and stumbled downstairs. He had
been drinking heavily during the day—indeed, the days when he did not
drink heavily were few and far between—and both his gait and his tongue
were in some measure affected by his potations.
Mr. Hoskyns was standing at the door, carrying in one hand the old blue
bag with which Creede had been familiar for years.
“Make haste, man alive,” said the lawyer, impatiently. “I want you to
go with me to the prison. Some most important evidence in our favour
has just turned up, and I must see Mr. Dering at once. Here, catch hold
of this.”
“It’s precious heavy,” grumbled Creede, as he took the bag.
“I dare say it is,” answered Hoskyns, dryly.
“A good many clever brains have been at work on the contents of that
bag. It’s weighty with wisdom and common sense—two commodities, Jabez
Creede, with which you have never been overburdened.”
Not a word more passed between them till they reached the prison. The
distance they had to walk was not great, and Mr. Hoskyns seemed anxious
to get over the ground as quickly as possible, turning his face neither
to right hand nor left, but going straight on till they halted at the
gates. The great prison looked as black, silent, and deserted as some
City of the Dead. Hoskyns gave a tug at the bell-pull, and was just
refreshing himself with a pinch of his favourite mixture, when a little
wicket in the door was opened, and through the bars two keen eyes
peered out into the semi-darkness.
“Ha, Warde, is that you?” he said, nodding cheerfully to the pair of
eyes. “Rather late to look in upon you, eh? But it’s a matter of life
and death—nothing less—that has brought us. Some most important
evidence in our favour has turned up at the last moment, and it is
imperative that I should see my client without a moment’s delay.”
“It’s long past the hour for visitors, Mr. Hoskyns, as you know; and it
would be as much as my place is worth to——”
“Where’s the governor? where’s my friend, Mr. Dux?” interrupted
Hoskyns, impatiently. “Fetch him. He’ll put the matter right in a
moment.”
“Mr. Dux, sir, is somewhere in the town, and has not yet got home. But
I’ll fetch Mr. Jackson, sir; perhaps he may be able to do something for
you.”
Jackson, the chief night-warder, was quickly on the spot, and the case
explained to him in a few words.
“It’s against the regulations, of course, Mr. Hoskyns,” said Jackson;
“but considering the emergency of the case, and in the absence of Mr.
Dux, I will take upon myself the responsibility of allowing you to see
Mr. Dering.”
“Thank you very much, Jackson—very much indeed,” said the lawyer, with
a flourish of his huge yellow silk pocket-handkerchief. “I give you my
word of honour that it’s nothing less than a case of life and death.”
The little low-browed side-door had been opened by this time, and Mr.
Hoskyns went in, followed by Jabez Creede carrying the bag of papers.
Creede had accompanied his employer to the gaol several times before,
and his face was well known to the warders.
“I can only ask that, under the circumstances, you will make your visit
as short a one as possible; and I hope, with all my heart, that you
will be able to extricate Mr. Dering from his difficulty.”
“Jackson, you may take my word for it,” said Hoskyns, seriously, “that,
before to-morrow night at this time, Mr. Dering will be a free man.”
“I am heartily glad to hear it, sir, and I wish you a very good-night.”
“Great heaven! Hoskyns, what has brought you here at this uncanny
hour?” exclaimed Lionel, starting up from his pallet, on which he had
thrown himself without undressing, as the lawyer and Creede were
ushered into his cell and the door locked behind them.
“I have got great tidings for you, Mr. Dering. Splendid tidings!” said
Hoskyns, as he took the bag from Creede. “But sit down, sir, and don’t
excite yourself, because I shall require your very best care and
attention during the next few minutes.” Speaking thus, he took off his
broad-brimmed hat and deposited it tenderly on Lionel’s bed; then he
drew a chair up to the little deal table, motioned Lionel to take the
opposite chair, and Creede to take the third and only remaining one.
The latter gentleman, either from innate modesty, or because he was
afraid that his breath might smell too strongly of rum, took care to
plant himself a yard or two away from the table.
“Yes, sir, some splendid news—something that will astonish the world
to-morrow,” continued the lawyer, as he dived into his bag, and fished
therefrom a carefully folded sheet of foolscap. “Read that, Mr.
Dering—read that carefully through,” he said, as he handed the paper in
question to Lionel. “But, above all things, control your feelings.”
Lionel took the paper, opened it, and read. Mr. Hoskyns, leaning
forward with his elbows on the table, took a pinch of snuff slowly and
artistically, staring across, meanwhile, very hard at Lionel.
The paper ran as under:—
“Be careful not to betray me by word or look. I am here to effect your
escape. Follow my lead in everything, and show no surprise at anything
that I may say or do.
“T. B.”
Despite all his efforts to the contrary, Lionel could not keep his face
from changing colour during the reading of these words.
“Very extraordinary, is it not,” said the lawyer, as he took back the
paper, “that this evidence should not have been forthcoming till the
very last moment?”
“Very extraordinary, indeed,” said Lionel, gravely.
He could hardly believe the evidence of his senses. The voice, the
features, the hair, the whiskers, the dress, the snuff-box, and the
pocket-handkerchief, were all part and parcel of the genuine Hoskyns;
but when he looked intently through the gold-rimmed spectacles, he saw
there the eyes—not to be mistaken for the eyes of any other man—of his
faithful friend, Tom Bristow.
“I have shown the paper to Tressil,” said Tom, still keeping up his
assumed character, for it is hardly necessary to observe that Creede
was not in the secret, “and he is quite agreed with me as to its vital
importance. In fact it is at his request that I have come here
to-night. There will be two or three telegrams to send off, and at
least a couple of witnesses to hunt up, and all before the court opens
in the morning. But before going into these details, I mean to drink
your health—yes, sir, to drink your very good health, and to the happy
acquittal which is sure to be yours in a few hours from the present
time.”
“I am much obliged to you, my dear Hoskyns,” said Lionel, “but I’m
afraid that my means of hospitality at present are limited to a copious
supply of cold water.”
“I’ve provided for that contingency, my dear sir, by bringing with me a
bottle of prime old Burgundy from my own cellar,” and he produced from
his bag a tempting-looking black bottle with the cork already
half-drawn. “And now for a wineglass.”
“I’ve nothing better to offer you than a tea-cup.”
“Under the circumstances we will make shift with the tea-cup.”
It was handed to him by Lionel. “The tea-cup turns out to be a
coffee-cup,” said Tom. With that, he went down on one knee, drew the
cork, half filled the cup with wine, and then offered it to Lionel.
“Not till you and Creede have both drunk to my health and acquittal,”
said the latter.
Tom took back the cup, gave utterance to an appropriate sentence or
two, and tossed off the wine. Then going down again on one knee, he
proceeded to refill the cup. The table was between him and Creede, and
the latter, who had not failed to prick up his ears at the mention of
something to drink, could not see clearly how Tom was engaged. He could
hear the wine gurgle from the bottle into the cup, and that as enough
for him. He did not see Tom’s nimble fingers extract a tiny phial from
his waistcoat pocket, and pour the contents into the wine.
“Creede grumbled because my bag was so heavy,” said Tom, with a
chuckle. “He wouldn’t have said a word had he known what was inside it.
Here, man, drink this off to Mr. Dering’s very good health, and tell me
whether you ever tasted anything better in your life.”
He handed the cup to Creede, who rose somewhat unsteadily from his
chair to take it. “I drink to your very good health, Mr. Dering,” he
said, in a loutish sort of way, “and may you have a good deliverance.”
And carrying the cup to his mouth with a shaking hand, he drank off the
contents at a draught.
Both Tom and Lionel were watching him keenly. He crossed the cell and
put the cup down on the window-ledge, making a wry face as he did so.
Then he sat down again on his chair.
“I am afraid, Creede, that you have vitiated your palate by accustoming
it to inferior drinks,” said Tom, “and that you don’t know a good wine
when you taste it.”
“I’d sooner have one quartern of real old Jamaica than a gallon of that
rubbish,” growled Creede, with ill-disguised contempt.
“Now for business,” said Tom. “There’s not a minute to lose.” And with
that he fished a formidable-looking heap of documents from the depths
of his bag. “Of course, the first thing to do,” he went on, “is to get
hold of our two new witnesses, Robinson and Davis. I think I can lay
hands on them without much difficulty.” And with that he went off into
a long rigmarole respecting the supposed steps which it would be
needful to take in the new state of affairs, but keeping a careful
watch on Creede, meanwhile, out of the corners of his eyes.
Presently Creede’s eyes began to glaze a little. Then they closed. Then
they opened and closed again. Then his head sank forward on his breast,
and his arms fell limply by his sides. Both the men were watching him
intently. Suddenly Tom sprang from his seat and was just in time to
catch the inanimate body in his arms, as it was sliding from the chair
to the floor.
Tom held up a warning finger to Lionel, who had also started from his
chair. For full two minutes he rested on one knee without moving,
supporting Creede in his arms. “He is fast now, I think,” he said at
last. “Help me to lift him on to the bed.”
When the unconscious law-clerk had been laid on Lionel’s bed, said Tom:
“Now help me off with his coat, waistcoat, necktie, collar, and boots.”
It was a work of some little difficulty to accomplish all this, but it
was done at last. Then, by Tom’s instructions, Creede was stretched on
the bed with his face to the wall, in the natural position of a
sleeping man, and the bedclothes pulled over him.
Up to the present time Lionel had not asked a single question, but he
could contain himself no longer. “In heaven’s name, Bristow, what do
all these strange proceedings mean?”
“They mean, Lionel Dering,” said Tom, turning on him gravely, almost
sternly, “that I am here to-night for the purpose of effecting your
escape.”
“Of effecting my escape!”
“What other purpose do you think would have brought me here in this
disguise?”
“But—but——” stammered Lionel, and then he broke down utterly.
“Every minute is precious,” said Tom. “There is no time to argue the
case. Put yourself into my hands, and it will go hard but you will be a
free man in an hour’s time. Refuse my aid, and in less than three weeks
from now you will be lying, a strangled corpse, in a murderer’s grave.”
Lionel shuddered and stared at Tom, but spoke not a single word.
“The trial is going against you, and to-morrow morning will see you
condemned to death. Are you prepared to die by the hangman’s hand for a
crime of which you know nothing? Are you prepared to leave your young
wife to the tender mercies of a world which will not fail to remember
that her husband was a murderer? Live, man, live, if it be only for
vengeance—if it be only to track out and hunt down the real murderer—if
it be only to wipe the foul stain of blood from the name you bear—from
the name which was borne by your father before you!”
“But why to-night?—why try to escape to-night?” pleaded Lionel. “The
verdict has not yet been given. Who says that there is no chance of my
acquittal?”
“I say it. Hoskyns says it. Tressil thinks it. You will be condemned to
death to-morrow morning. After that, all chance of escape will be gone
for ever. From that moment you will never be left alone till that most
awful moment of all when you stand on the drop, pinioned, sightless,
waiting for the bolt to fall. Dering, it must be to-night or never!”
“Bristow, I am in your hands—do with me as you will!” cried Lionel with
emotion; and suiting the action to the word, he rose from the edge of
the bed, and placed both his hands in those of his friend.
“That’s all I ask, old boy,” said Tom warmly. “Now sit down here, and
obey my instructions, and don’t bother me with any questions.”
Lionel did as he was told, and sat down close under the gas light.
“There’s no help for it,” said Tom. “Both beard and moustache must be
sacrificed.”
“So be it,” said Lionel philosophically. “They will grow again if need
be.”
Next moment a pair of glittering scissors were playing round Lionel’s
mouth and chin, and in two minutes the entire mass of yellow beard and
moustache was swept clean away. This, of itself, was almost enough to
disguise Lionel beyond ordinary recognition. The chin and upper lip
were left stubbly on purpose. Creede’s face was nearly always
stubbly—he rarely shaved more than once a week—and Lionel was now going
to personate Creede. But Creede was very dark complexioned, while
Lionel was just the opposite; so Tom’s next operation was to produce
from his wonderful bag a small bottle of some kind of liquid, with
which he proceeded to stain the hands, face, and neck of his friend.
Next came a wig, which he had had specially made in London, and which
was a very clever copy of the head of hair it was intended to simulate.
It proved to be an excellent fit. With the fixing, by means of gum, of
a scrap of ragged black hair under Lionel’s chin—which was Creede’s
notion of a beard—the first part of Lionel’s disguise was completed.
“Take off your coat, waistcoat, and cravat, and induct yourself into
Mr. Creede’s duplicates of those articles. You shudder at the thought.
I do not wonder at it; but, for the time being, you must put all your
finer feelings into your pocket. But first,” added Tom, diving again
into his bag, “pull on this pair of old black trousers over your own,
after which you can go on with the remainder of your dressing while I
finish with Silenus here.”
Once more the bag came into requisition, and from it Tom brought forth
a light-coloured wig, with which was combined a beard and moustache
precisely the same in colour and appearance as those of which Lionel
had been so recently despoiled. With these he proceeded to decorate the
head and face of the unconscious Creede. It was necessary to do this,
because the bed was exactly opposite the cell door, and once or twice
in the course of the night the warder on duty was instructed to open
the little wicket, and see that everything was right with his prisoner.
As Lionel lay in bed he was in full view of the warder, and it thus
became requisite to “make up” Creede into some semblance of the real
prisoner, it not being at all unlikely that the warder might come round
and take his usual look within a few minutes of the departure of Tom
and Lionel.
When the wig, beard, and moustache had been duly arranged, and the
bedclothes pulled close up round Creede’s neck, Tom stepped back as far
as the door in order to study the general effect. It was highly
satisfactory. When the gas was turned down to the minimum point at
which it was allowed to burn during the night, no one, without close
examination, could have told that the man lying on the bed was other
than Lionel Dering.
Satisfied so far, Tom next turned to Lionel, who by this time had duly
inducted himself into Creede’s garments. Here, also, the general effect
was satisfactory. One reason why Tom’s choice had fallen on Creede was
because he and Lionel were both about the same height and build.
Tom gave a few final artistic touches to the tout ensemble—arranging
the frayed old black necktie, and the limp, dirty collar, after
Creede’s own slovenly fashion—and finishing by putting into Lionel’s
reluctant hands the law-clerk’s greasy and much-worn hat.
“Years ago,” said Tom, “when I amused myself with private theatricals,
I little thought that my talent for ‘making up’ would ever be brought
into such valuable requisition. You would almost deceive Hoskyns
himself if you were to walk into his office, especially by gaslight.”
“And you would quite deceive him,” said Lionel. “He would take you for
his ‘double,’ and think his time was nearly come.”
“There is one thing still to do,” said Tom. “Creede’s walk is rather a
peculiar one. Now watch me, and try whether you can imitate it.”
In about three minutes Lionel was tolerably perfect. “You know what
kind of a voice Creede has,” said Tom. “Should you be accosted by any
of the warders as we go out, you must do your best to imitate it. And
now I think we are ready for a start.”
He crossed over to the bed, to take another look at the unconscious
Creede. He felt his pulse carefully, and then lifted up one of his
eyelids and examined the pupil underneath.
“Let us hope that you have not given him an overdose of the narcotic,”
said Lionel.
“No fear of that,” answered Tom. “Remember that my father was a doctor,
and that I have some knowledge of drugs. I have made this man my study
for weeks. If my calculations are correct, he will sleep for about
three hours, not longer—and won’t there be a hullabaloo when he
awakes!”
“But assuming that we get safely out of the prison—what then? Where am
I to go? How am I to get rid of this cursed disguise?” said Lionel.
“You are to go home to the wife of your bosom. Everything has been
thought of—everything provided for your safety. And now for the
attempt. Don’t forget that you are Jabez Creede. Take the bag and
follow me at a respectful distance. Pull your hat over your brows and
turn up the collar of your overcoat, and, above all things, don’t seem
to be in a hurry.”
Tom gave a final glance round the cell to see that everything was in
order, turned the gas partially down, and then tapped at the door. A
warder came in answer to the summons, and unlocked the door. Tom and
Lionel stepped out into the corridor. The warder gave a glance into the
cell, and saw, as he thought, his prisoner lying on his pallet with his
face turned to the wall, as he had seen him lying many a time before.
“Tired out, poor fellow,” whispered Tom in the warder’s ear as the
latter proceeded to relock the door. “But I’ve brought him good news,
and I warrant he’ll sleep as sound as a top to-night.’
“Anyhow he’ll know his fate by this time to-morrow,” said the warder.
They followed the man along the corridor and through two or three
passages, till they reached the outer courtyard. Here they were joined
by two other warders. Tom, all this time, had been talking volubly, and
making ample use of his big pocket-handkerchief—doing his best, in
fact, to keep his companion from being overmuch noticed. But now had
come the most dangerous moment of all. They were all crowded together
close to the outer gate, waiting for it to be unfastened—the three
warders, Tom, and Lionel—under the light of a flaring gas-lamp. The
slightest hesitation—the least want of presence of mind—might have been
fatal to everything.
Happily, Tom was equal to the occasion. While waiting for the bolts to
be withdrawn, his thumb and finger slid into his waistcoat pocket, and
the quick ears of the warders caught the pleasant chink of gold.
“Mr. Dering,” said Tom, “would insist on my presenting you gentlemen
with ten sovereigns to divide amongst you, as a slight token of his
appreciation of your unvarying kindness. Here’s the money; and I hope
you won’t forget to drink Mr. Dering’s health before you are many hours
older.”
He pressed the gold into the hands of the nearest warder. The men’s
thoughts at once became occupied with the consideration of a fair and
equal division of the gift. A moment later the door stood wide open.
Tom, followed by Lionel, passed slowly out.
“We hope you will convey our thanks to Mr. Dering,” said the head
warder, “and we are greatly obliged to you, sir. We are not allowed to
receive presents of any kind, but in this case——”
“Which is an exceptional one,” said Tom, “you won’t refuse.”
“If we were sure,” said the warder in a low voice, “that it would never
come to the governor’s ears——”
“You may take my word that it never will. You can trust me, of course;
and, in business matters, Creede here is as silent as the grave.”
“In that case——”
“You will act like men of sense and keep the money. Good-night.”
“Good-night, sir, and many thanks to you. Good-night both.”
Thank Heaven! at last the terrible door was shut behind them.
Ten minutes later a black shadow crept silently up to the door of Alder
Cottage.
Front and back the little house was all in darkness; but the door was
ajar, and close behind it knelt—she had stood there till she could
stand no longer—Edith, listening—listening with beating heart and
straining nerves—with every sense on the alert. The black shadow
touched the door. The door yielded to the touch. Another black shadow
started up from the ground. Husband and wife met heart to heart. Lionel
Dering was saved.