PEACE MEETS WITH A TARTAR――THE CAPTURE, AND ITS RESULT.
Peace paid frequent visits to the post-office to inquire for letters;
none, however, arrived. He could not in any way account for Bessie
Dalton’s silence.
Had she turned against him?
Or had her picked-up friend persuaded her to leave Bradford?
These were questions he was unable to answer.
Something had occurred――of that he felt certain.
Perhaps Bristow had set the girl against him.
“But no,” he ejaculated. “She’s not such a fool as to listen to the
counsels of that drunken brute.”
He dispatched another epistle to her lodgings at Bradford.
In a day or two after this it was returned to the post-office at
Sheffield.
On the envelope was marked, “Gone away. Not known where.”
His worst fears were confirmed. He uttered anathemas loud and deep not
only against Bessie Dalton, but the whole sex generally. He was wild
with fury, and, like M. Mallet, tore up the letter in a thousand
pieces.
“The perfidious, worthless, little hussy,” he ejaculated. “The
ungrateful, deceitful minx to serve me like this. Gone away, and not
known where. Oh, she’s made a bolt of it, that’s quite certain.
There’s no dependence to be placed on women――they are all alike. Once
out of your sight you stand but a poor chance. Still, hang it all, I
never expected she would have served me like this.”
He had a burning desire to know the reason for her leaving Bradford,
and as the days passed over this feeling became intensified.
He could not rest without making an effort to clear up the “mystery,”
as he termed it.
He took the train to Bradford, and hastened at once to his old
quarters in that town.
Bristow was not at home. This he was glad of. He inquired for the
landlord, who at once made his appearance.
“So Bessie Dalton’s left, I hear?” said Peace, after the usual
civilities had been exchanged.
“Yes, Mr. Peace, she’s gone. So also has Mrs. Bristow, and I don’t
expect her husband will remain long. He’ll have to ‘bunk’ if he goes
on as he has been of late.”
“Mrs. Bristow left!” ejaculated our hero. “Did she go with Bessie,
then?”
“Yes, they were sworn friends, you know, and when one left, why I
suppose the other did not care to be left behind.”
“And pray can you tell me the reason of their leaving?”
The landlord entered into the particulars of the quarrel between
husband and wife and the desperate assault made on the latter, and
wound up by saying, “Everybody saw how it would end. She couldn’t
stand his cruelty any longer, and, therefore, left him. It’s the
wisest thing she ever did.”
“And Bessie?”
“Oh! she went with her.”
“Do you know where they’ve gone to?”
The man shook his head.
“Not I,” said he. “It is not likely they would let anybody know that;
but I’ve been told――――”
“What?”
“That they are both gone abroad――to America or Australia――so I’ve been
given to understand.”
Peace was perfectly astounded.
“Gone abroad?” he iterated.
“Well――yes; and the best thing they could do. They are both young and
good-looking, and will do a great deal better in either of those
places than they did in this over-taxed country. Working people have
not much of a chance here.”
The speaker was a Radical of the most pronounced type, and attributed
the greater part of the ills which afflict the working class to
over-taxation and an oppressive aristocracy.
Peace was in no mood to discuss the question――he was too much
overwhelmed by the account given by the landlord of the women’s sudden
flight.
“I shouldn’t bother myself much about them, if I were you, Peace,”
said the landlord. “It’s all for the best, depend upon that. They
behaved fair and square to me, and I wish them both well.”
“Yes――right you are――I won’t bother myself. They are gone, and joy go
with them. Thank you for the information.”
And wishing the man a hearty farewell, he took his departure.
He visited some of his old haunts in the town, and lodged for the
night at a coffee-house.
In the morning he returned to Sheffield.
He was ill at ease――restless and fidgetty――everything appeared to be
going wrong with him.
Though apparently pursuing at this time the vocation of a
picture-frame maker and picture-dealer, he had, as we have already
seen, made “overtime” at intervals with varying success. The
illustrations which have been given of his career have in many
instances shown that he obtained most valuable booty. But the number
of occasions on which he failed in his depredations are not so well
known; the reader, however, may rest assured that it was not all
smooth sailing with him. He had, as it will be our purpose to show, a
number of reverses and many narrow escapes.
The course which he generally pursued was to “prospect a district
well” and make himself thoroughly acquainted with the general
movements of the police in it.
Next to pick out the places which offered at once the chance of a good
haul, with the least possible risk, and having done this, gather in
the harvest with as little delay as possible and then disappear from
the district.
No wonder the police were baffled.
On the night prior to his leaving Sheffield, Peace had an adventure,
which at the time taxed his inventive genius.
He had obtained an entrance to the back premises of a fish shop which
was situated at the back of the Cemetery-road. This would be between
eleven and twelve o’clock at night.
He was “operating” upon the back window of the place, intending as
usual to “borrow” something, when very unexpectedly the proprietor of
the establishment returned from the theatre in a cab.
Peace heard the vehicle stop and before he had time to get out of the
yard the proprietor came into it.
Seeing Peace, he said――
“What do you want here?”
The visitor, after the manner of many other people, said “oh nothing!”
The fishmonger was far from satisfied, and made a demonstration as
though he was about to seize the little fellow.
But Peace had used every bit of the time available during the brief
conversation, for the consideration of the best means of escape, and
he had formed a loophole.
Jumping upon the boundary wall he dropped over, and fell a
considerable depth into the river Porter, which flows past there, but
is shallow at that point. In point of fact it is like a large weir. He
did not move in the darkness, but kept close to the wall, so that the
astonished fishmonger should not know whether he had gone down the
stream or up it.
Afterwards he quickly walked up it, past the back of Napier-street,
and came out above Andrew-lane, but not without a good soaking.
Had he succeeded in his attempt to break into the shop he would not
have got much, as the proprietor had placed his cash in a place of
safety.
This is one of the many faithful accounts of his various escapades;
but the reader must be apprised that it occurred subsequently to the
events we are now chronicling in this and the preceding chapters. It
is cited as an instance of our of his many failures. We have, however,
to record one which was more ignominious and disastrous.
Peace remained in Sheffield for some little time after his return from
Bradford. He paid several visits to localities which lay at more or
less distances from that town, and succeeded in possessing himself of
a number of valuables, but he felt unhinged and grew tired of his
native town.
Once more he paid a visit to Hull. The Oakfield House burglary,
described in the opening chapters of our work was no longer fresh in
the recollection of the inhabitants of that town, and Peace felt quite
sure that he would not be recognised by any of the constabulary.
The love of change and adventure had most likely prompted him to shift
his quarters for awhile, and transfer the scene of his operations to
another locality.
Soon after his arrival in Hull he began to look out for the places
most available for his purpose, and contrived to commit some daring
robberies without detection.
He had noticed a small villa which stood on the outskirts of a
village, a few miles from Hull. The house was far removed from other
habitations.
It was very tempting, not to say inviting, to the burglar.
Peace had played his violin at a beershop in the neighbourhood――that
is how he came to notice the Gothic cottage, as it was termed.
To obtain an entrance would be matter of no great difficulty. Most of
the inhabitants in the neighbourhood went to bed early, and rose with
the lark.
It was between ten and eleven o’clock at night when Peace arrived at
the villa in question.
A flight of steps led up to the front door. A bay window, with stone
balustrading in front and a portico above, jutted out from the first
storey of the habitation.
When Peace had reached the lawn in front of the house, he hesitated
for a short time, before he made up his mind as to which was the
easiest mode of access.
He came to the conclusion that it would be best to perform on the
door. He had but little difficulty in picking the look of this. The
door yielded to his pressure, but he found that it was fastened by an
inner chain, the end of which ran into a hollow tube.
It was impossible to effect an entrance without releasing the chain.
Peace drew from his pocket two pieces of wire, both of which were bent
at the ends.
With these he believed he could push back the chain, release it, and
enter.
While occupied with one arm through the aperture disclosed by the
partially open door, the two French windows above were thrown open,
and a woman’s head and shoulders were visible.
Peace, whose back was towards the window, was quite unaware of the
fact that his movements were watched.
Indeed, so intent was he on his work that he did not hear the noise
occasioned by the opening of the window.
He was not so successful as he had anticipated in pushing back the
chain; and while manipulating with his accustomed skill and
perseverance he was suddenly awakened to the position of affairs by
receiving a terrible blow between the shoulders, which seemed to take
his breath away.
He faced round suddenly, when much to his discomforture he received
another blow on the side of the head, which caused a thousand lights
to flash before his eyes.
“Oh, you nasty burglarious wretch,” exclaimed the old woman above, who
was his assailant. “You murderous villain!”
The speaker was flourishing a long house broom, with the thick end of
which she delivered another blow on the burglar’s head.
Peace was quite unprepared for this unlooked-for assault; he caught
hold of the broom and swore a terrible oath.
A struggle now ensued between the two, Peace held firmly on the end of
the broom, and the old woman above clung tenaciously to the handle.
“Murder! thieves! police! help!” screamed the woman, in a shrill
penetrating voice, which rang like a clarion note in the night air.
“You nasty, ugly, good-for-nothing, thieving scamp!” she continued.
“You hideous, murderous wretch!”
Peace was terribly bruised; a noise as of rushing waters was in his
ears, and his temples throbbed and ached most terribly.
By a violent effort he wrested the broom from the hands of his
assailant.
He was wound up to a state of fury, and lost his usual prudence.
To be so unmercifully beaten by a woman was positively intolerable.
In all his adventures he had never been so cruelly used.
But he would not be baffled――he would have reprisals.
He jumped on to the top of the stone facing of the balustrade which
ran in front of the house, and, broom in hand, struck a defiant
attitude.
“Don’t you think to master me, you vile, dirty slut,” he ejaculated;
and, with these words, he aimed a blow at his enemy, who very
prudently retired into the interior of the room.
The only effect the blow had was to smash one of the front windows.
“If I can only get in,” muttered Peace, “I shall be all right. I’ll
soon silence that old Jezebel. Without doubt she has been left in
charge of the house. I’ll give it her, worth her money, when I do get
in. Curse it, how my head aches!”
He balanced himself on the top of the stonework, as deftly as ah
acrobat; then he caught the edge of the balcony with the big end of
his broom, and was preparing himself for a final spring when another
actor came upon the scene.
A buxom servant girl appeared at the open window. She was armed with a
mop.
Seeing that Peace was about to scale the balcony, she threw out the
mop much the same as a Zulu does his spear, and delivered such a
terrific blow on Peace’s face that he was hurled back, and fell upon
the gravel path in front in a state of insensibility.
The old woman and her maid were masters of the field. Their foe
remained prostrate and helpless in front of the citadel.
Again the cries “Help! Police!” rose in the air. They resounded far
and near.
The servant girl now brought to the window a pail of dirty water,
which she threw over the vanquished burglar.
This bad the effect of restoring him to consciousness. He made an
effort to rise, but he was so dizzy, so utterly prostrated, that he
was almost helpless for a time.
The mistress and her maid had the prudence not to sally forth till
assistance had arrived, for they were by no means certain as to the
real state of the enemy. He might, after all, only be shamming, and it
would not be advisable to risk an engagement in the open field.
They had recourse, therefore, to “sound the alarm,” by repeated
screams and cries for assistance.
Much to their delight, a constable opened the garden gate, and flashed
his bull’s-eye in all directions.
By the light of his lantern he discovered Peace stretched on the
garden walk.
“Now, then, get up, man,” said the constable to Peace.
“I can’t,” exclaimed the burglar. “I’m all but killed by those she
dragons.”
“You can’t lie here all night. Get up, I say. What have you been
doing?”
“Oh, don’t ask me,” said Peace, in a whining hypocritical voice.
“Those infamous women!”
“Don’t listen to what he says, policeman,” interrupted the old lady.
“He was breaking into the house, but we caught him just in time――only
just in time.”
“Do you charge him?”
“Certainly. Take him in custody. Of course I charge him――the dirty
blackguard!”
Another constable now presented himself, and the two carried Peace
into the back parlour of the little cottage.
He presented a most pitiable appearance. Two great bumps as big as an
egg were visible on his head; in addition to this his nose was
bleeding, and a scar was observable on his face; this last being from
the effects of the mop which had been handled so dexterously by the
servant girl.
He was, moreover, wet to the skin, from the contents of the pail.
He had never been so cruelly dealt with before.
With his head between his hands, he groaned and moaned in a most
piteous and abject manner.
“You’ve got the worst of it this time, old man,” said one of the
policemen. “Are you sufficiently strong to walk to the station?”
“Me strong! I feel as if about to breathe my last,” cried Peace.
The two constables conversed apart for a little time――then one left
the house. He returned with a pony-cart.
“Now, then,” said the other, addressing himself to Peace, “as you are
not able to walk, my man, we’ve got a conveyance for you.”
“I’m very bad,” said our hero, with a groan.
“Can’t help that. Get up, man.”
The two policemen, without more ado, lifted up the wounded burglar,
and bore him _nolens volens_ towards the cart, which stood just
outside the garden gate.
Peace was lifted into this by his captors, and the vehicle was driven
towards the station. During the journey Peace whined and moaned in a
most piteous manner, declaring all the way that he was an ill-used
man.
After being examined and attended to by the divisional surgeon, he was
locked up for the remainder of the night.