McLevy (19 page)

“Away so soon,” she cried, laughing, while yet retaining her masculine grasp, “and not even bid us good night?”

“Or offer us a glass,” added the gentle Bella. “Surely two women can’t harm a man!”

But Mr ——, who had felt, and was feeling, the tenderness of Margaret’s love embrace, was perhaps more dissatisfied than ever, and hearing the click of the bolt under
Isabella’s stealthy hand got more resolute. Out goes the light, and now commenced one of those struggles for which the Happy Land was so famous. Another man, on thus finding himself encaged,
and so suddenly deprived of light, might have succumbed to fear; but our hero was not of the timid order, who can enjoy love and be dead to the trump of war. Not even when he heard the spring of
Kidd, as he bounced from his cell, did he think of yielding, but, by a strong effort throwing off the women, he made towards the door. He had even succeeded so far as to search for the lock, but
found, to his dismay, that the key had been taken out. On turning round he was immediately in the grasp of Kidd, with the women hanging upon him. And now was the real conflict; all the
contortions—the deep breathings from the oppressed lungs—the thumps on the sides of the room—but not a word of speech, only smothered mutterings and oaths ground between the
teeth.

The effort on the part of the assailants was to get the gentleman on his back on the floor; nor could this issue be prolonged for many minutes, with a force of three arrayed against one. Yet the
attempt failed more than once, an interval being occupied by a cry for help, shouted at the top of his voice, and responded to by an orgie-laugh from the further end of the lobby, and some
suppressed mirth at the back of the door, as if some creatures of human shape were there, in the full enjoyment of what was likely to be their own game at another time. As confessed by Mr
—— afterwards, this evidence of how completely he was, as it were, doubly or trebly caged, struck him with more dismay than even the extinguishing of the light or the bound of Kidd from
his recess. The idea took hold of him that he was to be murdered, and though under this energy, inspired by the love of life, the increased strain brought up in his enemies by his now desperate
resistance laid him flat on his back, with such force that his head dirled to the brain.

The remaining part of the process was easy—the gold watch pulled out of his pocket, the click of the bolt, and Kidd was gone.

“Catch the thief!” cried Margaret, with just enough of force as to reach the ears of the poor victim, as he lay stunned with the knock on the head, and almost exhausted by the
struggle.

“He’s gone,” added the gentle Isabella.

“Who is gone?” said Mr ——, as he looked up in the now lighted room.

“Why, the d—d villain who has taken your watch,” replied Margaret.

“An accomplice,” groaned the victim, as he attempted to rise.

“It’s a lie, sir,” replied Margaret again, with increased fury, as she breathed fast from her exertions. “The fellow lives ben in the other room, and this is not the
first time he has played us a trick of the same kind; but he’ll be hanged same day.”

“Yes, and the sooner the better,” joined Isabella.

“Come, we cannot help it. There’s no use following him.

Give us a dram for defending you.”

“Ay, for saving your life,” added her neighbour; “for we know he would have murdered you.”

“I felt
your
hand on my throat,” cried Mr ——.

“Bob’s, you mean,” was the answer. “He has a hand like a woman, and yet it would choke a tiger.”

“I felt all your
six
hands on me,” roared he, unable to stand even this transparent dodge.

“How could we know you from him in the dark?” cried Margaret. “We intended to pull him off; and that’s our thanks, and you’ll not even give us a
‘budge,’ but accuse two innocent girls for being robbers.”

“Oh, it’s the way with them all,” added Isabella. “They first ruin us, and then charge us with theft; but we deserve it, don’t we, for trusting their lying
words.”

“Liars and thieves, one and all of you,” replied the gentleman. “You know you inveigled me here to be robbed by your bully. That watch cost me £20.”

“Well, then,” said Margaret, “give us £5—you have money about you somewhere—and we’ll tell you where you will catch him.”

“Worse and worse,” ejaculated Mr ——; “but what am I doing here?” he added, as he for the first time, after recovering from his stupor, bethought himself of
following the thief; and gathering up his hat, and arranging his torn garments, he made for the door.

“Not till you pay us for saving your life,” said Margaret, as she stood between him and the door, with the intention, no doubt, merely of gaining time for Kidd.

And so, to be sure, she made only a faint effort to hold him back, and he, pulling open the door, rushed out into the dark passage, saluted as he disappeared by the hoarse laugh of the women,
and, as he thought, some other indications of the same kind from the sympathisers further ben. Glad to get off a living man, but yet not inclined to give up as lost his valuable property, he half
walked and half tumbled down the stair of this, to him, most
unhappy
land; nor did he stop till he was in my presence in the Office. A few words, uttered with much difficulty, very soon
satisfied me that he was one of a host who had been turned away from the Happy Land with less ceremony than “Frau Schnipps,” on an occasion not altogether similar.

“Wait there,” said I,” I will bring up the women in the first place.”

“Oh, you know them?” said he.

“Yes, about as well as you, sir.”

“And that’s too well,” said he, with something like a heave of the chest.

“Bell Marshall and Margaret Tait,” said I; “but they haven’t the watch, and I know they will say they were helping you. The man is my object.”

So leaving him, and taking with me two constables, I went to the scene. As I expected, I found the girls. Two or three of the children of the Happy Land were with them, all engaged in drinking
and laughing, no doubt at the excellent drama that had just ended, and upon which they thought that the green curtain had been drawn for ever, for it is not very often that the slain hero makes his
appearance again at our Office; and there can be no question that sometimes it is as prudent to pocket shame as it is to put a gold sovereign into your purse, with the difference, that while the
one ought to remain, the other should come out for the benefit of society. I was not expected, and was accordingly greeted with the honour of perfect silence.

“The old game, my lasses,” said I, as I beckoned to the others to get off, which they very soon did, growling as they went along the passage; “where is the gentleman’s
watch?”

“Search, and answer for yourself,” replied Margaret.

“The man has it.”

“What man?”

“How should we know? He came
in
upon us; we did our best to save the gentleman, and the scurvy dog wouldn’t give us a penny to buy pins.”

“Came
out
, you mean,” said I; “the old story, ‘the great unknown.’ Yet I think I know him.”

Just as I was speaking, I felt some small object under my foot, and stooping down found a small gold watch-key. The women looked sharp to try and find out what I had picked up and put into my
pocket, but they said nothing, neither did I.

“Come,” said I. “The gentleman is in the Office, and wishes to thank you for trying to save his life.”

“Umph, and true, by ——,” said the reprobate.

“A terrible fellow this ‘unknown,’” said I, rather by way of amusing myself as they were getting equipped. “Don’t pare your nails, for I intend to introduce
him to you.”

And proceeding to make a search, which I knew would be attended by no greater result than a mocking laugh from my lasses, I was forced to be content with my small recovery of the gold key.

I marched them up to quarters where they had been before. It was too late that night to go after Kidd. I was sure enough of him, and an early catch was of no use as regards the recovery of the
watch, which I knew he would not carry with him a moment longer than he could find a hiding-place for it, and that he would find far more readily than one for himself.

Next morning some of the constables, who knew where Kidd’s mother lived in the Pleasance, thought very wisely they might help me in their way by searching the house. This they accordingly
did before I was well out of bed; but their report was unfavourable. He was not in the house, and the mother denied all knowledge of her worthless son. I have often had reports of this kind made to
me before, but I have been always fond of making my own searches. So away I went to do the work over again; but, to say the truth, I had little hope. It was as early as nine.

“I want to know where James is,” said I, as I entered the little shop.

“God bless me,” said she, with wondering eyes, “more policemen! why the men are scarcely awa’. They searched the hail house, and found naebody. Am I no enough tormented
and heartbroken wi’ a neer-do-weel son, but I maun be treated as his keeper, whether I hae him or no, and my house searched by man after man, as if I mysel’ were a breaker of the
laws.”

“I know you are not a breaker of the laws, Mrs Kidd,” replied I, calmly, “and that’s the very reason why you should even cheerfully allow an officer to go through your
house. I am not in the habit of stealing, and, besides, I wish you to go along with me.”

“But there’s nae occasion,” was the reply. “Have I no tauld ye your men are scarcely out o’ the house, and lang and sair they searched. It’s no that I fear
aught, nor the trouble either, but it’s the nonsense.”

“I will put up with the nonsense,” said I.

“Maun I tell you a third time,” said she, with increased firmness, “that my house has been searched by twa men, wi’ twa een each, this morning already?”

“Then two eyes more can do the less harm?” replied I, with a quiet pertinacity at least equal to her own, especially, and no doubt a consequence of, the said pertinacity on her part,
which appeared to me somewhat more than was required, according to her own theory.

“Weel, een here or een there, there’s naebody in my house, and what’s the use of our paying for your men, when you have nae faith in them ony mair than in me?”

An adroit reply, but somehow the more she said the more I thought, only in a different direction. I had dallied myself into suspicion, and had little time to spare.

“Come,” said I, “let us end this; but I have consideration. I don’t want to trouble you to go up stairs with me.”

“I’ve been up already with the men,” she persisted, “and really I’m no just pleased to hae my word doubted. I’m no a policeman, and I’ve aye thought
that when a man doesna believe me, he thinks me a leer. Just gae your wa’s, and be sure there’s nae James Kidd in my house.”

“Well,” replied I, getting impatient, “I must just step up myself.”

“Weel,” was the tardy reply, “a wilfu’ man maun hae his ain way. Come awa’, and ye’ll see what you’ll mak o’t.”

And leading the way very reluctantly, she preceded me up to the little flat. I entered the kitchen, and began to peer about as carelessly to appearance as usual; but I confess I saw nothing
which could lead me to suspect that there was any human being there except Mrs Kidd and myself; and she did not seem inclined to condole with me in my disappointment, though I could see, too, that
she abstained from showing any triumph in my discomfiture.

“You see how little harm my survey is doing you,” said I. “It is even pleasant work.”

“It’s no to me, whatever it may be to you,” said she. “You are searching for my son, and isn’t that enough for the heart of a mother? You’re maybe no a
father, and canna ken thae things. Ay, it’s sair to hae the heart broken by the hands that should hae comforted it and bound it up. It’s the turning back o’ the yearning that
braks it; but now I fancy ye’re satisfied James is no here.”

And I felt for the poor woman. I had the parlour to look through; but as the sounds of her grief fell on my ear, I stood musing a little, and when the mind is occupied, the eye trifles, and mine
trifled, as well as did my foot, as I used it in kicking away a bit of coal, a “churl” as we call it, that lay before me. At the same instant my eye caught the heap of coals in the
corner, and two thoughts came into my head—first, why the coals should be in
that
place; and secondly, why the “churl” should be in this place. It had not come there
where it lay by having been dropped, because it was not in the line to the fire, and then it was at the edge of a little door which had escaped my notice; or rather, I should say, it was so small
an affair, without sneck or lock-handle, that I thought it a mere cupboard. Again, why was the “churl” so situated as if it had come out of the small recess? And once more, why was the
cupboard without a projection whereby it could be opened? Ah, well, how the mind will work even when it is playing.

“What place is this?” said I.

“Oh, a little cupboard,” said Mrs Kidd; “just a place for cups and saucers.”

“Which you use every day?”

“Every day.”

“And yet there is no sneck-handle, whereby you can get in when you are maybe in a hurry for a cup of tea?”

No answer from poor Mrs Kidd, and the thought came that the coals in the corner were surely out of place, in a little tidy house; and just mark how that kind of natural logic works.

“I should just like to look in.”

“And what would be the use? Hae ye never seen a number o’ marrowless cups and saucers?”

And maybe something even more marrowless, thought I, as, taking out a penknife and inserting it in a small slit, something like that of a check lock, I opened the door, and there, lying in a
hole—the veritable bunker—was my friend of the Happy Land, extended on a small mattress. On this exposure, the poor mother covered her face with her hands and sobbed hysterically.

“The last o’t,” she said, in a voice broken by sobs. “The lang train o’ griefs a’ frae whaur there should hae come comfort and help is wound up. I hide and
conceal nae mair, and what signified my hiding when God saw through a’. Tak him, sir; and may ye mak o’ him a better man to his brither-man, than he has been a son to me.”