"He might have told me," Jerry said to himself. "I've done all I could
for him, and kep' his secret when I've felt at times as if I must shout
out `Sir Richard' all over the barracks. I call it mean: that's what I
call it--mean! It ain't as if I hadn't shown him as he might trust me.
I should have said a deal to him in a fatherly sort o' way to show him
that it wasn't the kind o' thing for a gen'leman to do. I should have
pointed out to him as he did wrong last time in going off, and what a
lot of injury it did him; and he knew it, or else he wouldn't have kep'
it so close, and gone without letting me know. But once bit twice shy,
and I'm not going to be bit again. I'm not going to break my heart
fancying he's made a hole in the water. That's what set me thinking
about the lieutenant as I did. If he wasn't one of the easiest-going
bits o' human machinery as ever lived, he'd have been awfully nasty with
me for serving him as I did. No, I'm not going to humbug after
S'Richard; and I'm not going to worry. I was ready to be friends if he
liked to trust me; but he didn't, and there it ends."
Jerry sat sunning himself outside the officers' quarters as he mused in
this way, and felt a bit resentful against Dick as he went on.
"I know where he's off to. He's gone to see some lawyer fellow up in
town to get advice, and he'll have to pay for it. I could have given
him just as good, and he could have had it free, gratus, for nothing;
but stuff as people don't have to pay for they think ain't worth having.
Hullo! here comes Dan'l Lambert. Mornin'!"
"Morning," said Brumpton, rather gruffly, as he halted in front of
Jerry, with his battered bombardon in his hand, evidently on his way
from the band-room to the sergeants' quarters.
"Any news? Ain't come back, I s'pose?" said Jerry.
"No; he won't come back till he's brought," said Brumpton rather
sternly. Then, suddenly, "I told you about my bit of a row with
Wilkins?"
Jerry nodded.
"There's a fine upset about that. Can't tell yet what's to be the end
of it. I don't want to lose my stripes."
"Oh, they ought to let you off," said Jerry.
Sergeant Brumpton shook his head.
"Discipline," he said, "discipline. I oughtn't to have let my temper
get the better of me."
"But the officers won't be able to help laughing. He must have looked
like a periwinkle stuck in his shell. Go and tell him you're very
sorry, and shake hands."
"Ah! you don't understand our ways here, Brigley. He wouldn't take the
apology. He don't like me going there to practice, because it was all
through young Smithson, for he hates him like poison."
"Yes, or he wouldn't have said what he did," cried Jerry. "It was too
bad."
"Yes, too bad," said the sergeant, "when the poor lad didn't even take
his own instruments away with him."
"Didn't he?" cried Jerry, rather excitedly. "What, not them big and
little silver-keyed flutes?"
"No; they've got them up in his quarters, keeping them for him. Some of
the men are precious wild about what Wilkins said."
Jerry made no reply, but stood rubbing one side of his nose with his
finger.
"Well, why don't you speak?" said the sergeant.
"Because I was thinking," said Jerry; "and a man can't think of one
thing and talk of another at the same time."
"What were you thinking, then?"
"I was thinking it seemed strange for him to leave those flutes behind.
They was his own, and he set a deal of store by them."
"Well, what do you make of it, now you have thought it?"
"What do you?" replied Jerry.
"That it looks as if he meant to come back."
"Yes," said Jerry, mysteriously; "it do look like that. Are they trying
to find him?"
"Of course, they are trying their best. They won't stop till they
have."
"But ain't it making a deal o' fuss about one chap, and him not a
reg'lar fighting man?"
"'Tisn't that," said the sergeant; "it's the principle of the thing.
They wouldn't care about losing one man or a dozen; it's keeping up the
discipline. Young Smithson 'll be caught, and he'll be pretty severely
punished, poor lad. I rather liked Smithson."
"Liked him!" said Jerry, acidly; "why, of course, you did. Why, I like
him--even me, who don't make many friends--I can tell you. You think,
then, they might ketch him?"
"I do," said the sergeant, "sooner or later. They're sure to. Well, I
must be off. I've got my own troubles to think about without his."
"Good-bye, sergeant," said Jerry, with a friendly nod, and Brumpton went
on, while Jerry's whole expression changed. His eyes glittered, the
colour came in his face, and he thrust his hands in his pockets as far
down as he could get them.
"He wouldn't have gone off without telling me, pore chap! I'm sure of
it. It was master and man between us, and full confidence, as you may
say. He wouldn't desert--he's too much the gentleman--and he wouldn't
go to see lawyers without speaking first. As to his going away, that
settles it. He wouldn't leave them flutes if he were making a bolt.
Why, he didn't when he ran away before. That settles it, and no
mistake. Jerry Brigley, my lad, there's something wrong."
What was to be done?
That was a question Jerry could not answer, and he went about the
barracks talking with the men, asking who had seen Dick last, and
gleaning all about his leave, and that one of the band had seen him
going down the High Street that same afternoon.
Waiting till Wilkins was away, Jerry made his way to the band-room,
where he obtained confirmation of the sergeant's remarks about the
flute-case, and here he began to drop dark hints of the vaguest nature.
These, however, fell upon fertile soil, and struck root, and shot up
into plants at a very rapid rate. In other words, Jerry's hints became
solid, and from the band-room went forth the rumour that Dick Smithson
had gone down the town, been persuaded to enter one of the low-class
public-houses, and had there been robbed and ill-used.
Then a private in Lacey's company announced that he had had a similar
experience down by the docks, and said that if he had not fought like a
savage he would have lost his life.
News flies fast in a regiment where the men have so little out of the
routine to attract their attention, and, consequently, it was soon the
common talk of the barracks that Dick Smithson, of the band, had been
"done to death" somewhere in the lower part of the city.
That night the rumour reached the mess-room. One of the officers had
heard it, and in a few minutes it was the sole topic of conversation.
Men talked of the first time they had seen Dick Smithson, and reminded
one another of his playing and the strange way in which he had joined
the regiment.
At last, as the band finished one of the pieces in the evening's
programme, the colonel, after a few words with the doctor, sent his
servant to tell Wilkins to come to the table; and, upon the bandmaster
appearing, the doctor addressed him in a serious tone, but with a
humorous twinkle of the eye.
"Is this true, Wilkins?" he said.
"I beg pardon, sir, is what true?"
"That in a fit of jealousy you have tried to pitch young Smithson into
the river, to be carried out to sea or to one of Her Majesty's ships, to
form the nucleus of a new band?"
"Not a word of truth in it, sir, I assure you. Really I--"
"Stop a moment, man! You were exceedingly jealous of him."
"Really no, sir. I only did what I thought was right to keep the boy
from growing too conceited."
"Well, of course, pitching him into the river would have that effect;
but it strikes me that it will get you into difficulties."
"Really, sir--I assure you, sir, if it was the last word I had to utter,
sir--I didn't do anything of the kind."
"Of course not, Wilkins," said the colonel, quietly; "the doctor is only
quizzing you. I cannot believe that you would be guilty of such a
dastardly act. But do you think anything of the kind has happened?"
"No, sir; I don't think such a thing could have taken place."
"I hope not; but you have heard the rumour?"
"Yes, sir; the men are talking about nothing else."
"One moment," cried the colonel; "you have seen a great deal of the
young man. Do you think he was likely to get into bad company?"
"That he wasn't, sir!" cried someone excitedly; and Jerry advanced from
where he had been waiting upon his master, and now stood close to the
colonel, gesticulating with an empty claret bottle in his hand.
"Silence, sir!" cried the colonel; "how dare you speak!"
"Beg pardon, sir; I felt abound to speak because I know Dick Smithson
isn't at all likely to go to any low places."
The colonel frowned; but he said no more, and Jerry was allowed to go
back to his place.
That night the superintendent of police was summoned to the barracks,
and had a long talk with the colonel and major.
"No, gentlemen, I don't think it is at all likely. They get down to the
rougher houses, and drink and stay a day or two; but the landlords get
rid of them as soon as they have spent all their money. But, as you've
sent for me, I'll set a couple of our sharpest men to go from house to
house, and then report to you."
The superintendent left to perform his mission, and orders were given to
the military provosts; but another day passed away, and neither civil
nor military police had anything to report. No one had seen the young
bandsman on his way to some distant railway station, and men began to
shake their heads, while Jerry's face looked hollow from anxiety. At
the same time, though, he felt a kind of pride in the fact that he was
constantly being questioned by those who knew that he and Dick had been
on friendly terms, this culminating in his being stopped one day in the
street by a couple of ladies.
"You are Mr Lacey's servant, are you not?" said the younger.
"Yes, ma'am--oh, I beg your pardon, miss. I didn't know you behind your
veil."
"Has anything been heard of Smithson?"
"No, ma'am. I'm sorry to say that--"
There was a sigh, and the lady turned away, followed by her companion.
"Well," said Jerry, "she might have stopped to hear all I had to say.
My word, now people have got to like him! Even her. Well, he saved her
life. What can have come to him? I daren't go and say all I think,
for, after all, it mayn't be true. I know: I'll wait a week, and then,
right or wrong, I'll speak; for I can't keep his secret longer than
that."