"That's done the trick! Now for the swag!"
As Mr. Bennett made this observation to himself he slipped the window
up and stepped into the room. He stood for a moment listening. Within,
all was still; without, not a sound disturbed the silence of the
night.
"I think it's all serene."
It is probable that Mr. Bennett smiled. He was engaged in the exercise
of his profession, and it consoled him to perceive that, on this
occasion, the stars seemed to be fighting on his side. He drew down
the window softly and replaced the blind. It was a principle of his
never to leave anything which might give a hint to the outside public
of what was going on within. The room, with the blind down, was
intensely dark. He put his hand into his pocket and drew out a little
shaded lantern. Cautiously removing the shutter about half an inch a
pencil of light gleamed across the room. He was apparently content
with this illumination. By its aid he carefully examined floor, walls,
and ceiling.
"Early English. I thought so."
This remark referred to the upholstering of the room, which was in the
Early English style. Stooping down he drew a pair of list slippers
over his indiarubber shoes. With swift, cat-like steps he strode
across the floor and left the room. He was evidently familiar with his
ground. The burglar's profession, to be profitably practised, entails
no inconsiderable labour. It is quite an error to suppose that the
burglar has only to stroll along the street and break into the first
house which catches his eye. Not at all. Such a course is altogether
unprofessional. Persons who do that kind of thing get what they
deserve--"stir," and plenty of it. A really professional man, an
artist--such, for example, as Mr. Bennett--works on entirely different
lines. He had had this little job in his mind's eye for the last three
months. Acacia Villa presented an almost ideal illustration of _the_
promising crib to crack. Did he rush at it on that account? Quite the
other way. He prepared his ground. He discovered, what all the
world--in that neighbourhood--knew already, that it was occupied by a
single lady and a solitary maid. That fact alone would have induced
some men to make a dash at it before unscrupulous competitors had had
an opportunity to take the bread out of their mouths. But Mr. Bennett
was made of other stuff.
It was situated in a lonely suburb, and in a lonely portion of the
lonely suburb. It stood in its own grounds. There was not a dog about
the place. There was not a shutter to a window. There was no basement
to the house--you had only to step from the ground to the window-sill,
and from the window-sill into the house. These facts would have been
so many extra inducements to the average burglar to "put up" the place
at once.
But Mr. Bennett looked at the matter from a different standpoint. He
did not ask if he could crack the crib--he had never yet encountered
one which had mastered him--but whether the crib was really worth the
cracking. The very defencelessness of the place was against it--in his
eyes, at any rate--at first. People who have anything very well worth
stealing do not, as a rule, leave it at the mercy of the first
individual who passes by--though there are exceptions to the rule. Mr.
Bennett discovered that there was one, and the discovery revealed the
_artist_ in the man.
The occupant of Acacia Villa was a Miss Cecilia Jones. Mr. Bennett had
never seen Miss Cecilia Jones. Nobody--or hardly anybody--ever had.
There appeared to be a mystery about Miss Cecilia Jones. But Mr.
Bennett had seen the maid, and not only seen her, but promised to
marry her as well. This was a promise which he never made to any woman
unless actually compelled: the present had been a case of actual
compulsion.
The maid's name was Hannah--Miss Hannah Welsh. She was not young, and
she was not good-looking. Mr. Bennett was partial to both youth and
beauty. It went against the grain to court Miss Welsh. But he found
that courtship was an absolutely indispensable preliminary. After he
had encircled her waist a few times with his arm, and tasted the
nectar of her lips--also a few times--Miss Welsh began gradually to
unbend. But the process was very gradual. She was the most reticent of
maids. He had not only to present her with several presents--the
proceeds of the exercise of his profession--he had not only to promise
to marry her, he had not only to name the day, but he had even to
buy--or steal: the words were synonymous with him--the wedding-ring,
before all the tale was told. When he had actually tried the ring on
Miss Welsh's finger--to see if it would fit--then, and only then, he
heard all there was to hear.
Miss Jones was queer--not mad exactly, but peculiar. She had
quarrelled with all her relatives. She was rich. She was full of
crotchets. She distrusted all the world, particularly bankers. To such
a length had she carried her want of confidence that she had realised
all her fortune, turned it into specie, and kept it in the house. It
was at this point that Miss Welsh's conversation became interesting to
Mr. Bennett.
"Keeps it in the house, does she? In notes, I suppose?"
"Then you suppose wrong. She won't have nothing to do with
notes--trust her. It's all in gold and diamonds."
"Diamonds! How do you know they're diamonds?"
Miss Welsh glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. The
conversation was carried on in the back garden at Acacia Villa, which
was extensive and secluded. The time was evening, that season which is
popularly supposed to be conducive to sentimental intercourse.
"Perhaps I know as much about diamonds as here and there a few."
Her tone was peculiar, almost suggestive. For an instant Mr. Bennett
meditated making a clean breast of it, and asking Miss Welsh to come
in on sharing terms. But he had an incurable objection to
collaboration. Besides, in this case sharing terms would probably mean
that he would have to go through the form, at any rate, of making her
his wife.
"Where does she keep them? In a safe, I hope."
He did not hope so, though he said he did. At the very best, a safe,
to a professional man, means the wasting of valuable time.
"She keeps them in her bedroom, in the chest of drawers, in a red
leather box, in the little top drawer on the left-hand side."
Mr. Bennett felt a glow steal all over him. He began to conceive quite
a respect for Miss Cecilia Jones.
"And the gold--where does she keep that?"
"In tin boxes. There are ten of them. There are a thousand sovereigns
in each. There are five boxes on each side of the chest of drawers."
Mr. Bennett possessed considerable presence of mind, but he almost
lost it then. Ten thousand pounds in sovereigns! He would never regret
the affection he had lavished on Miss Welsh--never, to his dying day.
_Would_ it be a bad speculation to marry her? But no; the thought was
rash. He would reward her, but in quite a different way. He made a
rapid calculation. Ten thousand sovereigns would weigh, roughly, about
130 pounds avoirdupois. He might turn them into a sack--fancy, a
sackful of money! But 130 pounds was no light weight to carry far. He
must have a vehicle at hand. What a convenience a "pal" would be! But
he had worked single-handed so far, and he would work single-handed to
the end.
When he had ascertained his facts he acted on them at once, thus
revealing the artist again. Spare no pains in making sure that the
crib is worth the cracking, _then_ crack it at once. On the night
following this conversation the crib was cracked: he had arranged for
the marriage to take place on the next day but one--or Miss Welsh
thought he had--so that if he wished to avoid a scandal he really had
no time to lose. We have seen him enter the house. Now we understand
how it was he knew his ground.
He paused for an instant outside the drawing-room door: it was through
the drawing-room window he had effected an entrance. All was still. He
moved up the staircase two steps at a time. There was not a stair that
creaked. At the top he paused again. From information received, to
adopt a phrase popular in an antagonistic profession, he was aware
that Miss Jones slept in the front bedroom.
"There's three bedrooms on the first floor. When you gets to the top
of the stairs you turns to the left, and if you goes straight on you
walks right into Miss Jones's room."
Mr. Bennett turned to the left. He went straight on. Outside Miss
Jones's door he paused again. The critical moment had arrived. He felt
that all his properties were in order--a bottle and a sponge in his
right-hand pocket, a revolver in his left, a stout canvas bag fastened
round his body beneath his coat. The lantern was shut. He opened it
sufficiently to enable him to see what sort of handle there was on the
door. Having satisfied himself on that point he closed it again.
Then he proceeded to effect an entrance into Miss Jones's bedroom.
He took the handle firmly in his hand. It turned without the slightest
sound. The door yielded at once.
"Not locked," said Mr. Bennett beneath his breath. "What a stroke of
luck!"
Noiselessly the door moved on its hinges. He opened it just wide
enough to enable him to slip inside. When he was in he released the
handle. Instantly the door moved back and closed itself without a
sound.
"Got a spring upon the door," Mr. Bennett told himself--always beneath
his breath. "Uncommonly well oiled they must keep it too."
The room was pitchy dark. He listened acutely. All was still as the
grave. He strained his ears to catch Miss Jones's breathing.
"A light sleeper!"
A very light sleeper. Strain his ears as he might he could not catch
the slightest sound. Mr. Bennett hesitated. As an artist he was averse
to violence. In cases of necessity he was quite equal to the occasion,
but in cases where it was not necessary he preferred the gentler way.
And where a woman was in question, under hardly any provocation would
he wish to cut her throat. He had chloroform in his pocket. If Miss
Jones was disagreeable he could make his peace with that. But if she
left him unmolested should he stupefy her still? He decided that while
she continued to sleep she should be allowed to sleep, only it would
be well for her not to wake up too soon.
He moved across the room. Instinctively, even in the thick darkness,
he knew the position of the chest of drawers. He reached it. He
quickly discovered the little top drawer on the left-hand side.
In a remarkably short space of time he had it open. Then he began to
search for the red leather box. He gleamed the lantern into the drawer
so that its light might assist his search.
While he was still engaged in the work of discovery, suddenly the room
was all ablaze with light.
"Thank you. I thought it was you."
A voice, quite a musical voice, spoke these words behind his back. Mr.
Bennett was, not unnaturally, amazed. The sudden blaze of light
dazzled his eyes. He turned to see who the speaker was.
"Don't move, or I fire. You will find I am a first-rate shot."
He stared. Indeed, he had cause to stare. A young lady--a distinctly
pretty young lady--was sitting up in bed holding a revolver in her
hand, which she was pointing straight at him.
"This room is lighted by electricity. I have only to press a button,
it all goes out." And, in fact, it all went out; again the room was
dark as pitch. "Another, it is alight again." As it was--and that with
the rapidity of a flash of lightning.
Mr. Bennett stood motionless. For the first time in his professional
career he was at a loss, not only as to what he ought to say, but as
to what he ought to do. The young lady was so pretty. She had long,
fair hair, which ranged loose upon her shoulders; a pair of great big
eyes, which had a very curious effect on Mr. Bennett as they looked at
him; a sweet mouth; through her rosy lips gleamed little pearl-like
teeth; and a very pretty--and equally determined--nose and chin. She
had on the orthodox nightdress, which, in her case, was a gorgeous
piece of feminine millinery, laced all down the front with the
daintiest pink bows. Mr. Bennett had never seen such a picture in his
life.
"I am Miss Cecilia Jones. You are Mr. Bennett, I presume--George
Bennett--'My George,' as Hannah says. Hannah is a hypnotic subject.
When I am experimenting on her the poor dear creature tells me
everything, you know. I wonder if I could hypnotise you."
Mr. Bennett did not know what she meant. He was only conscious of the
most singular sensation he had ever experienced. To assist his
understanding, possibly, Miss Jones gave a practical demonstration of
her meaning. With her disengaged hand she made some slight movements
in the air, keeping her eyes fixed on Mr. Bennett all the while. Mr.
Bennett in vain struggled to escape her gaze. Suddenly he was
conscious that, as it were, something had gone from him--his
resolution--his freedom of will--he knew not what.
Miss Jones put down her hand.
"I think that you will do. How do you feel?"
"Very queer."
Mr. Bennett's utterance was peculiar. He spoke as a man
might speak who is under the influence of a drug, or as one who
dreams--unconsciously, without intention, as it were.
"Oh, they always do feel like that at first. Are you considered a good
burglar as a rule?"
"As a rule."
Mr. Bennett hesitatingly put up his hand and drew it across his brow.
It was the hand which held the lantern. When the lantern touched his
skin he found that it was hot. He let it fall from his hand with a
clatter to the floor. Miss Jones eyed him keenly all the time.
"I see you are not quite subjective yet, but I think that you will do.
And of course I can always complete the influence if I will. It only
illustrates what I have continually said--that it is not necessarily
the lowest mental organisations that traffic in crime. I should say
that yours was above rather than below the average. Have you yourself
any ideas upon that point?"
As he answered Mr. Bennett faintly sighed.
"None!"
Miss Jones smiled, and as she smiled he smiled too, though there was
this feature about Mr. Bennett's smile--there was not in it any sense
of mirth. Miss Jones seemed to notice this, for she smiled still more.
Immediately Mr. Bennett's smile expanded into a hideous grin. Then she
burst into laughter. Mr. Bennett laughed out too.
"After all, you are more subjective than I thought you were. I don't
think I ever had a subject laugh quite so sympathetically before."
As Miss Jones said this--which she did when she had done laughing--she
turned and adjusted the pillows so as to form a support to her back.
Against this she reclined at ease. She placed the revolver on the
bolster at her side. From a receptacle in the nature of a tidy, which
was fastened to the wall above her head, she drew a small leather
case. From this she took a cigarette and a match. With the most
charming air imaginable she proceeded to light the cigarette and
smoke.
Mr. Bennett watched all her movements, feeling that he must be playing
a part in a dream. It was a perceptible relief when she removed her
eyes from his face, though they were such pretty eyes. Yet, although
she was not looking at him, he felt that she saw him all the time--he
had a hideous impression that she even saw what was passing in his
mind.
"I wouldn't think about my revolver. You won't be able to fire it, you
know."
He had been thinking about his revolver: a faint notion had been
growing up in his mind that he would like to have just one shot at
her. Miss Jones made this remark in the most tranquil tone of voice,
as she was engaged in extinguishing the match with which she had
lighted her cigarette.
"And I wouldn't worry about that chloroform--it is chloroform, isn't
it?--in the right-hand pocket of your coat."
As she said this Miss Jones threw the extinguished match from her
on to the bedroom floor. A great cloud of horror was settling down on
Mr. Bennett's brain. Was this fair creature a thing of earth at
all? Was she a witch or a fairy queen? Mr. Bennett was a tolerably
well-educated man, and he had read of fairy queens. He gave a sudden
start. Miss Jones had lighted the cigarette to her satisfaction, and
had fixed her eyes upon his face again.
"I suppose you were hardly prepared for this sort of thing?"
"Hardly."
The word came from Mr. Bennett's stammering lips.
"When you heard about the defencelessness of Acacia Villa, and about
Miss Jones--who was peculiar--and that sort of thing, you doubtless
took it for granted that it was to be all plain sailing?"
"Something of the kind."
Not the least odd part of the affair was that Mr. Bennett found
himself answering Miss Jones without the least intention of doing
anything of the sort.
"Those diamonds you were looking for are at the bottom of the
drawer--at the back. Just get them out and bring them here. In a red
leather case--you know."
Mechanically Mr. Bennett did as he was told. When his back was turned
to the lady, and he ceased to be compelled to meet her eyes, quite a
spasm of relief went over him. A faint desire was again born within
his breast to assert his manhood. The lady's quiet voice immediately
interposed.
"I wouldn't worry myself with such thoughts if I were you. You are
quite subjective."
He was subjective, though still Mr. Bennett had not the faintest
notion what she meant. He found the red leather box. He brought it to
her on the bed. He came so close to her that she puffed the smoke
between her rosy lips up into his face.
"It is not locked. It opens with a spring, like this."
She stretched out her hand. As she did so she grazed slightly one of
his. He trembled at her touch. She pressed some hidden spring in the
box and the lid flew open. It was full of diamonds, which gleamed and
sparkled like liquid light.
"Not bad stones, are they? There's a hundred thousand pounds' worth at
the least. There are the tin boxes, you see. Five on either side the
chest of drawers." Mr. Bennett followed the direction of Miss Jones's
hand--he saw them plainly enough. "A hundred thousand pounds' worth of
diamonds in your hand, ten thousand pounds in front of you--not bad
plunder for a single night's work. And only a young woman to reckon
with--it is not twelve months since I turned twenty-one. Yet I don't
think you will get much out of this little job--do you?"
The tears actually stood in Mr. Bennett's eyes.
"I don't think I shall," he moaned.
"And yet there is no magic about it--not the least. It is simply an
illustration of the latest phase in scientific development." Miss
Jones leaned back against the pillows, enjoying her cigarette with the
etherealised satisfaction of the true lover of the weed. With her left
hand--what a little white and dainty hand it was!--she toyed with her
long, fair hair. "At an extremely early age I discovered that I could
exercise at will remarkable powers over my fellow-creatures. I lost no
opportunity to develop those powers. At twenty-one I became my own
mistress. I realised my fortune--as Hannah told you--and retired to
Acacia Villa. You understand I had ideas of my own. I was peculiar, if
you choose to have it so. I continued to develop my powers. I
experimented upon Hannah. Now I am experimenting upon you. I am
enjoying this experiment very much indeed. I hope you are enjoying it
a quarter as much as I am--are you?" Some slightly inarticulate remark
dropped from Mr. Bennett, which was apparently to the effect that he
was not.
"I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps you will enjoy it more a little
later on. Now, what shall I do with you? I know."
Miss Jones pressed a little ivory button, which was one of a row set
in a frame of wood against the wall.
"That rings an electric bell in Hannah's room. I often ring her down
in the middle of the night to be experimented on. She comes directly.
Here she is, you see."
There was a slight tapping against the bedroom door.
"Come in!" exclaimed Miss Jones.
The door opened and Miss Welsh came in. She was not exactly in full
dress. Mr. Bennett, who through it all was conscious in a horrid,
nightmare sort of way, thought that he had never seen anyone look so
extremely unprepossessing as Miss Welsh looked in disarray. The
instant she was inside the room Miss Jones raised her hand. Miss Welsh
stood still. Miss Jones turned to Mr. Bennett.
"I have her entirely under control. Some of the results I have
obtained with her are really quite remarkable. But you shall see for
yourself and judge." The young lady addressed Miss Welsh.
"Well, Hannah, here is Mr. Bennett, you see."
It was evident that Miss Welsh did see. She seemed struggling to give
expression to her feelings in speech. Miss Jones went calmly on--
"He is here on business--he is committing burglary, in fact. You were
right in supposing that was his profession. The mistake you made was
in imagining that he would have shared the spoil with you. I think,
Mr. Bennett, I am right in saying that you would not have given Hannah
much?"
"Not a sou."
"Probably you did not even intend to marry her?"
"I would have seen her hung first."
Mr. Bennett made this plain statement with quite curious ferocity.
Miss Welsh rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of what we will suppose,
for courtesy's sake, was her nightdress.
"That makes nine of 'em," she said.
"That makes nine of them, as Hannah says. Hannah, Mr. Bennett, is a
woman of experience. She has had nine promises of marriage, but not
one of them came off. But I don't think, Hannah, that you ever had a
promise from a burglar before?"
"Never before."
"Then, at least, that is a new experience, and a new experience is so
precious. Is there any remark you would like to make, Hannah,
appropriate to the occasion?"
For a moment it did not appear as though there were. Then it seemed
that there at least was one.
"I should like to scratch his eyes out," observed the damsel--ætat
forty-five or so.
Miss Cecilia smiled. Mr. Bennett immediately smiled too. But there was
this difference--that while the lady's smile was a thing of beauty,
the gentleman's was a peculiar ghastly grin.
Miss Jones remarked Mr. Bennett's facial contortions with an
appearance of considerable interest.
"I never had them smile _quite_ so sympathetically before. In that
respect, Mr. Bennett, you are unique. Charmed to have met you, I am
sure." The young lady knocked the ash off her cigarette with her
dainty finger and turned her attention to Miss Welsh. "I don't think,
Hannah, that we will have any scratching out of eyes."
When she had thus delivered herself Miss Jones reclined in silence for
some moments on her pillows, discharging the smoke of her cigarette
through her delicate pink nostrils. When she spoke again it was to the
gentleman she addressed herself.
"Mr. Bennett, would you mind closing that box of diamonds and
replacing them in the drawer?"
Mr. Bennett shut the box with a little snap and carried it across the
room. There was something odd about his demeanour as he did this--an
appearance as though he were not engaged in the sort of labour which
physics pain. Miss Welsh, standing as though rooted to the ground,
followed him with her eyes. The expression of her countenance was one
of undisguised amazement. Her face was eloquent with a yearning to
relieve herself with words. When Mr. Bennett put the box back where he
had found it and shut the drawer she gave a kind of gasp. From Mr.
Bennett there came a distinctly audible groan. "Turn round, Mr.
Bennett, and look at me." Mr. Bennett did as he was bidden. He was not
altogether a bad-looking young man--his chief fault, from the
physiognomist's point of view, lay in the steely tint of his clear
blue eyes. Miss Jones's great big orbs seemed to rest upon him with a
certain degree of pleasure. "I need scarcely point out to you that the
burglary is a failure. The principal cause of failure is that you are
too subjective. You have quite one of the most subjective
organisations I have yet encountered. The ideal criminal must keep
himself abreast with the advance of science. In failing to do so, Mr.
Bennett, you have been guilty of a blunder which, in your case, is
certainly worse than crime. You are a dreadful example of the
burglar's blunder. I might label you, preserve you in your hypnotic
state, and use you as an illustration of a lecture I am now preparing.
But I have other views, and it is not impossible I may encounter you
again. Go to my writing-table. You will find a sheet of foolscap
paper. Write what I dictate."
Mr. Bennett went to the writing-table. He found the sheet of foolscap
paper. "Write, in good, bold characters:--
"_I am George Bennett_,
_The Burglar_.
_For further particulars apply at Acacia Villa_."
Mr. Bennett wrote as she dictated, displaying the above legend in a
striking round hand right across the sheet of paper. Miss Jones
addressed Miss Welsh:
"Hannah, in my workbasket you will find a needle and some good stout
thread. Get it out." Miss Welsh got it out. "Mr. Bennett, take off
that sack which you have wound round your body beneath your coat." Mr.
Bennett took it off. "Button up your coat again." Mr. Bennett buttoned
it up. "Hannah, take that sheet of foolscap paper, on which Mr.
Bennett has written at my dictation, and sew it firmly to the front of
his buttoned-up coat."
Miss Welsh took the sheet of foolscap paper. She approached Mr.
Bennett, holding it in her hand. Mr. Bennett's hands dropped to his
sides. He regarded her with a look which was the reverse of amiable.
She eyed him with what were doubtless intended to be soft, pleading
glances. When she reached him she placed her hand timidly against his
chest. Mr. Bennett looked particularly glum. She raised the other hand
which held the sheet of foolscap paper and spread it out upon his
breast. It was legible at quite a considerable distance:
"_I am George Bennett_,
_The Burglar_.
_For further particulars apply at Acacia Villa_."
It was hardly the sort of inscription a chivalrous spirit would wish
to have displayed upon his breast by the object of his heart's desire,
or even by the woman he had promised to marry in the course of the
following morning. Miss Welsh, who seemed to feel the truth of this,
looked at him with sad, beseeching eyes. But Mr. Bennett's glumness
perceptibly increased. Then Miss Welsh proceeded to sew the
inscription on. It must be owned that it was a conscientious piece of
sewing. She first tacked it round the edges, then she sewed it up and
down and across, from corner to corner, with a hundred careful
stitches, in such a way that he would have had to tear it to
fragments, piecemeal, in order to get it off. It would have been quite
impossible to unbutton his coat while he had that inscription on. The
process seemed to make Miss Welsh extremely sad. It made Mr. Bennett
sadder still. When she had finished her conscientious piece of work
she crossed her hands meekly in front of her and looked up at him with
a rapturous gaze. Mr. Bennett did not seem to feel rapturous at all.
"Now, Hannah, take the sack which Mr. Bennett wore beneath his coat
and hold it open for him, and enable him to step inside."
The sack was lying on the floor. Miss Welsh, with a half-uttered sigh,
picked it up, and held the mouth wide open. Mr. Bennett scowled first
at the lady, then at the bag. He raised his left foot gingerly, and
placed it in the opening. Miss Welsh assisted him in thrusting his leg
well home. Then there was a pause.
"Perhaps, Mr. Bennett, you had better put you arms round Hannah's
neck," observed Miss Jones.
She was engaged in lighting a second cigarette at the ashes of the
first.
Mr. Bennett put his arms about Miss Welsh's neck and thrust his other
leg into the sack.
"Draw it up about his waist," remarked Miss Jones. By now the second
cigarette was well alight.
Miss Welsh drew it up about his waist. It was a good-sized sack, so
that, although a man of at least the average height, being drawn up it
reached his loins.
"Mr. Bennett, hold the sack in that position with both your hands."
Mr. Bennett held the sack in that position with both his hands.
"Hannah, in the bottom of the hanging cupboard you will find some
cord. Get it out."
In a mechanically melancholy way Miss Welsh did as she was told. The
cord, being produced, took the shape of a coil of rope, about the
thickness of one's middle finger.
"Make two holes in the front of the sack and pass the cord through
them." With the same sad air Miss Welsh acted on Miss Jones's fresh
instructions. She made two holes in the front of the sack and passed
the two ends of the cord through them.
"Now pass the cord over his shoulders, make two holes in the back of
the sack, pass the cord through them, then draw it tight."
Again Miss Welsh obeyed, dolefully, yet conscientiously withal. The
result was that when the rope was tightened--and Miss Welsh, in the
most conscientious manner, drew it as tight as she possibly could--Mr.
Bennett's lower portions were imprisoned in the sack in a manner
which was hardly dignified. He might have been about to engage in a
sack-race, only he did not appear to be in a sack-racing frame of
mind. Miss Welsh seemed to feel that she was hardly treating him in
the way in which one would wish to treat one's best young man. It was
evident that Mr. Bennett had not the slightest doubt but that he was
being used very badly indeed.
"Take the bottle and sponge, which you will find in his right-hand
pocket, and the revolver, which you will find in his left, and place
them on the bed." Miss Welsh did as her mistress told her. "Now tie
him up with the cord so as to render him incapable of moving a limb.
There are thirty-two yards of it. With that quantity, and the exercise
of a little skill, you should be able to make him tolerably secure."
As Miss Jones said this it almost seemed that Miss Welsh started. Mr.
Bennett certainly did. Miss Welsh looked at him with such piteous
eyes; Mr. Bennett favoured her with an unmistakable scowl--a scowl,
indeed, of singular malignity. Then she proceeded to tie him up. In
doing so she showed considerable skill and conscientiousness to boot.
She first passed the rope two or three times right round him, so as to
pinion his arms to his sides. Then, putting her foot up against his
side, so as to enable her to use it as a lever, she hauled the rope as
tight as she could. She did not seem to enjoy the hauling part of
it--nor did Mr. Bennett, for the matter of that. She was a woman of
undeniable strength; it was a wonder that she did not cut in two the
man she had promised to marry. When the rope was at its utmost tension
she made a most dexterous knot. He would have been tolerably secure
had she done no more. But she did a great deal more; in that
conscientious way she had she ran the rope about his legs, hauling it
fast with the same ingenuity of method--with such energy, in fact,
that she hauled him off his legs, and both he and she fell flat upon
the floor.
"Pick yourself up, Hannah; and you had better continue to tie Mr.
Bennett where he lies--you will find it more convenient, perhaps."
Miss Welsh acted on Miss Jones's hint. But, however it may have added
to her convenience, so far as Mr. Bennett was concerned it made the
matter worse. She performed her task in such a very conscientious way;
she rolled him over and over, she knelt on him--to give her leverage
in hauling she even stood on him--she stood him on his feet and on his
head. It certainly was _not_ a favourable example of the way in which
a young woman should use her best young man.
"Now, Hannah, you can stand Mr. Bennett on his feet," remarked Miss
Jones, when she saw that Miss Welsh had completed her task. "If Mr.
Bennett is unable to stand you had better prop him up with his back
against the wall."
Miss Welsh propped Mr. Bennett up with his back against the wall: he
would have certainly been unable to stand alone. Miss Jones addressed
herself to him:
"You see, Mr. Bennett, how entirely I have Hannah under my control.
She is beautifully subjective. As I pointed out to you before, I
assure you I have obtained some really remarkable results with Hannah.
I hope that you have enjoyed all that you have seen--have you?"
Mr. Bennett feebly shook his head. He did not seem to have sufficient
energy left to enable him to say he hadn't. He was too much tied up.
Miss Jones went on--
"Before we part--and we are about to part, for the present, at
least--I should like to address to you a few appropriate remarks.
Burglary, I need not point out to you, Mr. Bennett, is criminal, and
not only criminal, but cowardly. You select, as a rule, the night. You
choose, preferentially, a house in which the inhabitants are helpless.
You steal upon them unawares, prepared, if necessary, to take their
lives at the moment when they are least able to defend them. You
yourself are a coward of the most despicable sort, or you would never
have come, in the dead of the night, certainly to rob, and perhaps to
kill, an unprotected woman. I cannot describe to you the satisfaction
which I feel when I consider that this is a case of the biter bit.
When I think how conscious you yourself must be of how completely the
tables have been turned, I assure you that I am ready to dance about
the room with joy. I trust, Mr. Bennett, that you will perceive and
allow that these few remarks point a moral and adorn a tale. What I am
now about to do with you is this. You brought that chloroform to
stupefy me. On the contrary, with it Hannah shall stupefy you. When
you are stupefied she will open the window, she will drag you to it,
and she will drop you out. There is only a drop of about twelve feet.
There is a flower-bed beneath. I hope you will not fall hard. You will
damage the flowers, I am afraid; but, under the circumstances, I will
excuse you that. You will lie there through the night. In the morning
I will take care that a policeman finds you there. He will see the
inscription written by yourself, and sewn on your breast by Hannah. He
will see that you are George Bennett, the burglar, and he will act on
the hint contained in the last line--he will make further inquiries at
Acacia Villa. I assure you I will answer them. I will prosecute you
with the utmost rigour of the law. You have doubtless, in the course
of your career, been guilty of multitudinous crimes. I think I know a
means of bringing every one of them home to you. You will be sentenced
to a long term of penal servitude. For a considerable time to come I
shall know where to find you should I desire to subject you to further
experiment."
As Miss Jones made these observations, which she did in the sweetest
and most musical of voices, she continued to enjoy her cigarette. A
fairer picture of feminine indulgence in the nicotian weed, it is not
improbable, was never seen. But neither Mr. Bennett nor Miss Welsh
seemed to appreciate the opportunity they had of observing the fair
picture under circumstances of such exceptional advantage--the
gentleman even less than the lady. After a short pause the beautiful
young smoker gave a few instructions to Miss Welsh:
"Hannah, take that bottle of chloroform and that sponge. Empty the
contents of the bottle on to the sponge; then press the sponge against
Mr. Bennett's mouth and nose, and hold it there."
As Miss Jones said this an expression of great agony struggled through
the stupor which was the prevailing characteristic of Mr. Bennett's
face. It seemed as though he struggled to speak. But his tongue was
mute. Miss Welsh, too, seemed unutterably sad. At the same time she
did as her mistress bade. She drew the cork out of the bottle and
emptied the contents on to the sponge. As she did so Mr. Bennett's
eyes passed from Miss Welsh to Miss Jones, and from Miss Jones to Miss
Welsh, with something of that look of dumb agony which it is so
painful to see at times upon the face of a dog. Miss Welsh emptied the
bottle to its latest drop. She advanced towards Mr. Bennett, labelled,
tied, and propped up against the wall. He made a perceptible effort to
give expression to his agony in speech. But Miss Welsh gave him no
time. She clapped the sponge upon his mouth and nose, pressing his
head with all her force against the wall. He shivered, gave a sort of
sigh, and fell, lying where he had fallen. Under Miss Welsh's forcible
manipulation the anæsthetic had quickly done its work.
"Open the window wide!" Miss Welsh opened the window wide. "Pick Mr.
Bennett up!" Miss Welsh picked him up. "Carry him to the window!" She
carried him to the window. It was a curious spectacle to see her
bearing all that was near and dear to her to his ignominious doom.
"Throw him out!" She threw him out. There was a momentary silence.
Then came the sound of a thud. Mr. Bennett had fallen on the
flower-bed beneath. "Shut the window down!" Miss Welsh shut the window
down. "Go to the door, turn round, and look at me!" Miss Welsh did as
she was bidden. She shuddered when her eyes encountered her mistress's
glorious orbs.
The young smoker, raising her exquisitely-shaped hand, made a slight
movement with it in the air.
"Leave the room and go to bed!" she said. Miss Welsh left the room and
disappeared.
When she was left alone Miss Cecilia Jones carefully extinguished her
cigarette, putting the unconsumed fragment in a little ash-tray which
was fastened to the wall above her head. She replaced the pillows in
their former position; under one of them she placed her revolver, on
it she placed her head. Touching one of the ivory buttons, which she
could easily do from where she lay, instantly the room was dark. In
the darkness, having made herself comfortable between the sheets, she
set herself to woo sweet sleep.
Ninepence!
I had gone in to get a glass of ale--into the four-ale bar. The place
was pretty full. Scarcely had I begun to absorb my liquid when a
gentleman of the nondescript sort, having a remnant of a red
handkerchief tied about his neck, favoured me with this inquiry:
"If a party what you knew nothink at all about, and never seed afore
in all your dyes, was to ask you to lend 'im ninepence, would you lend
it 'im?"
As I thought it possible that the party in question might be himself,
I lost no time whatever in replying, "Certainly not."
He turned to a friend with sandy hair and a suit of clothes which,
unless he had decreased to half his size since first he had them, must
originally have been somebody else's.
"That is what I says. Isn't that what I says? I says I wouldn't. No
more I wouldn't."
The friend tilted his cap over his eyes, and he dug the knuckles of
his right hand into the back of his head. I have not the faintest
notion why. And he held forth thus:
"It was like this here. I was in the bar, yer know, along with some
other parties, yer know, as it might be me and you in 'ere, when 'e
comes in."
"Who come in?"
"Why this 'ere bloke. He says to me, 'If this ain't a pretty start,
what is?' I says, 'What's up now?' He says, 'Just cast your eyes round
me.' And he lifts up the tails of 'is coat--'e 'ad a tail-coat on,
leastways it 'ad been a tail-coat once--and 'e says, 'Them's
trousers.' I says, 'They don't look it.' 'E says, 'They don't. And
that's 'ow I'll lose a fortune.' I says, ''Ow do you make that out?' 'E
says, 'I'll tell yer, seeing as 'ow you're a friend.'"
"Was 'e a friend of yourn? I thought yer said yer'd never seed 'im
afore?"
"More I 'adn't. 'E draws the back of 'is 'and acrost 'is mug, and 'e
says, 'I suppose you couldn't spare a sup?' Well, I let 'im 'ave a
drop, and 'e pretty nearly drained me. 'I'll tell you all about it,'
'e says. 'It's like this--like this 'ere. I'm a hartist, that's
what I am--a profeshunal--yes. And I've got a hingagement to-night
at one of the fust music-'alls in London--the very fust. I'm going
to do my hextra speshul turn. It'll be worth to me every farden of
'arf-a-quid--yes. And now it's orf.' I says, ''Ow do yer make that
out?' 'E pulls up the tails of 'is coat, ''Cause of them. Speaking, as
it might be, as one hartist to another hartist, as a hartist, 'ow
would you like to go on to do a hextra speshul turn in one of the fust
music-'alls in London in them for trousers? And, mind you, mine's a
drawin'-room entertainment, and no lies--that's what mine is. Yes,
straight.' 'Well,' I says, 'I shouldn't.' 'E says, 'Of course you
wouldn't; you couldn't. Why, they'd 'oot at yer. Yes. So I've got to
chuck it.' I says, 'That's 'ard.' 'E says,' It is 'ard; it's bitter
'ard--cruel 'ard.' 'E leans agin the counter, and he takes 'old,
casual like, of a pewter what belonged to a chap as was be'ind 'im,
and 'e lifts it to 'is lips, as if 'e didn't know what 'e was a-doing
of. But the chap as the pewter belonged to, 'e grabs 'old of it, and
'e says, 'Excuse me, who's a-payin'?' And this bloke says, seemin'
quite took aback-like, 'I beg your pardon, sir. It was a haccident.'
And the chap, 'e says, 'We'll call it a haccident,' and he drains the
pewter right off, so as to make sure. And this 'ere bloke what I'm
a-telling you of, he wipes his mouth agin, and he looks at me. But I
wasn't a-taking any. So 'e says, 'And what makes it all the 'arder is
what I'm going to tell yer--you bein' a friend o' mine.'"
"I thought you says 'e wasn't a friend o' yourn."
"More 'e wasn't. 'Ow could he be? Don't I tell yer I never saw 'im
afore?"
"Well, 'e 'ad got a nerve, 'e 'ad. Some of 'em does 'ave."
"It was only 'is kid, you know. 'E says, 'I've got one of the finest
pair of trousers there is in all England--straight, I have. 'Well,' I
says, 'if I was you I'd put 'em on.' 'E says, 'They're spouted. I was
just a-going to get 'em out when I come in 'ere.' 'Why don't you
'urry,' I says, 'and get 'em out?' 'I can't.' 'Why can't you?' 'Sold
the ticket.' 'What for?' 'Tuppence.' 'Can't yer buy it agin?' ''Aven't
got the tuppence.' 'I can't make you out,' I says. 'Fust yer say
you're going to get your trousers out o' pawn, then yer say you've
sold the ticket, then yer say you haven't got the tuppence to buy it
back agin. Where do you think you're going to get the tuppence from?'
'E says, 'That's what I want to know. Where am I?' I says, ''Ow much
is there on the trousers?' 'E says, 'Sevenpence.' 'What,' I says,
'sevenpence on the finest pair of trousers there is in all England!
They must be odd 'uns.' 'I might 'ave 'ad an 'eap o' money,' 'e says,
'an 'eap, but I didn't want it. That's where it was.' 'Was you in
funds when you pawned your trousers?' 'Of course I was.' I says, 'I
don't see no of course about it.' 'E says, 'Where else was I to put
'em?'
"I says,' Wasn't there your legs? Was yer legs in pawn?' 'E says,
'That's different. I wasn't speakin' about that.' I says,' Well, then,
I am.' 'E leans back agin the counter, and 'e looks up at the ceiling,
and 'e says, 'Ninepence between me and fortune. Every farden of
'arfa-quid. Perhaps several 'arf-a-quids. If any lady or
gentleman'--'e spoke like a reading book--'was to advance me the loan
of ninepence for to enable me to clothe my legs with a pair of
trousers as was suited to one of the fust music-'alls in London, and
as would do credit to any hartist on the boards, I shall not cease for
to remember the haction while the breath remains within my body. That
is hall I 'ave to say. I say no more.' But 'e'd said enough. You
should 'ave 'eard 'im--done yer good. Of course, that 'ushed the
patter. No one wasn't going to say nothing after that. Not 'ardly.
Presently one woman says, 'I'll give a penny if anyone else will.'
This 'ere bloke took off 'is 'at. 'Madam, I thank you; as a hartist I
thank you.' Then a lady what was with this other lady says, 'Susan, if
you'll give a penny, I'll give a penny too.' Then this 'ere bloke's
'at come off again. Then there was a whip round. But it hung fire a
bit. Nobody didn't quite ketch on. So this 'ere other lady, she says,
'It seems 'ard that a man can't earn 'is daily bread 'cause he ain't
got no trousers to earn it in, don't it, Susan?' And Susan says, 'It
do seem hard.' And this 'ere bloke, 'e says, 'It's cruel 'ard.' Then
one chap says, 'I'll give a pennyworth.' And another chap give a
pennyworth. And presently there was the ninepence."
"Did you give a pennyworth?"
"Not me."
"Why didn't yer?"
"'Cause I hadn't got it."
"Would yer if yer 'ad?"
"Not me."
"Why wouldn't yer?"
"'Cause 'e was only a kiddin'."
"'Ow d'ye know 'e was only a kiddin'?"
"Anyone could tell 'e was."
"Them other parties couldn't tell 'e was."
"That's their look out."
"'Ere's a bloke what's going to earn 'arfa-quid----"
"'E warn't going to earn no 'arf-a-quid no more than you are."
"If I wanted yer to lend me ninepence, would yer lend it me?"
"No."
"Why wouldn't yer?"
"'Cause I 'aven't got it."
"You never don't seem to 'ave nothink."
"I 'ave as much as you, perhaps, once in a while."
"I've just stood yer 'arf a pint."
"And I've stood you 'arf a pint more than once, and more than twice."
"I don't say you 'aven't." The original speaker turned to me. "If a
friend was to ask you to lend 'im ninepence, wouldn't you lend it 'im?
"That would depend on whether I had it."
"You, being a gentleman, of course you would have it."