CHAPTER IX
STEPHEN'S TALE
Somebody had gone for a doctor, it was said, but a doctor was not alwayseasy to find in Wapping. Mrs. Grimes, who was at some late workupstairs, was not disturbed at first by the noise, since excitement wasnot uncommon in the neighbourhood. But now she came to the stairfootdoor, and peeped and hurried back. For myself, I squeezed into a farcorner and stared, a little sick; for there was a deal of blood, and Joethe potman was all dabbled, like a slaughterman.
My grandfather returned almost on the doctor's heels, and with mygrandfather were some river police, in glazed hats and pilot coats. Thedoctor puffed and shook his head, called for cold water, and cloths, andturpentine, and milk. Cold water and cloths were ready enough, andturpentine was easy to get, but ere the milk came it was useless. Thedoctor shook his head and puffed more than ever, wiped his hands andpulled his cuffs down gingerly. I could not see the man on the floor,now, for the doctor was in the way; but I heard him, just before thedoctor stood up. The noise sent my neck cold at the back; though indeedit was scarce more than the noise made in emptying a large bottle byup-ending it.
The doctor stood up and shook his head. "Gone," he said. "And I couldn'thave done more than keep him alive a few minutes, at best. It was thelung, and bad--two places. Have they got the man?"
"No," said Grandfather Nat, "nor ain't very likely, I'd say. Never sawhim again, once he got behind a tier o' lighters. Waterside chap,certain; knows the river well enough, an' these stairs. I couldn't ha'got that boat o' mine off quicker, not myself."
"Ah," said one of the river policemen, "he's a waterside chap, that'splain enough. Any other 'ud a-bolted up the street. Never said nothing,did he--this one?" He was bending over the dead man; while the otherscleared the people back from the door, and squeezed Mr. Cripps out amongthem.
"No, not a word," answered Joe the potman. "Couldn't. Tried to nod oncewhen I spoke to 'im, but it seemed to make 'im bleed faster."
"Know him, Cap'en Nat?" asked the sergeant.
"No," answered my grandfather, "I don't know him. Might ha' seen himhanging about p'raps. But then I see a lot doin' that."
I wondered if Grandfather Nat had already forgotten about the silverwatch with the M on it, or if he had merely failed to recognise the man.But I remembered what he had said in the morning, after he had boughtthe spoons, and I reflected that I had best hold my tongue.
And now voices without made it known that the shore police were here,with a stretcher; and presently, with a crowding and squeezing in thelittle bar-parlour that drove me deeper into my corner and farther underthe shelf, the uncomely figure was got from the floor to the stretcher,and so out of the house.
It was plain that my grandfather was held in good regard by the police;and I think that his hint that a drop of brandy was at the service ofanybody who felt the job unpleasant might have been acted on, if therehad not been quite as many present at once. When at last they were gone,and the room clear, he kicked into a heap the strip of carpet that thedead man had lain on; and as he did it, he perceived me in my corner.
"What--you here all the time, Stevy?" he said. "I thought you'd goneupstairs. Here--it ain't right for boys in general, but you've got aturn; drink up this."
I believe I must have been pale, and indeed I felt a little sick nowthat the excitement was over. The thing had been very near, and theblood tainted the very air. So that I gulped the weak brandy and waterwithout much difficulty, and felt better. Out in the bar Mr. Cripps'sthin voice was raised in thrilling description.
Feeling better, as I have said, and no longer faced with the melancholyalternatives of crying or being ill, I bethought me of my grandfather'stobacco-pouch. "You dropped your pouch, Gran'father Nat," I said, "and Ipicked it up when I ran out."
And with that I pulled out of my jacket pocket--not the pouch at all;but a stout buckled pocket-book of about the same size.
"That ain't a pouch, Stevy," said Grandfather Nat; "an' mine's here inmy pocket. Show me."
He opened the flap, and stood for a moment staring. Then he looked uphastily, turned his back to the bar, and sat down. "Whew! Stevy!" hesaid, with amazement in his eyes and the pocket-book open in his hand;"you're in luck; luck, my boy. See!"
Once more he glanced quickly over his shoulder, toward the bar; and thentook in his fingers a folded bunch of paper, and opened it. "Notes!" hesaid, in a low voice, drawing me to his side. "Bank of England notes,every one of 'em! Fifties, an' twenties, an' tens, an' fives! Where wasit?"
I told him how I had run out at his heels, had trodden on the thing inthe dark, and had slipped it into my pocket, supposing it to be his oldleather tobacco-pouch, from which he had but just refilled his pipe; andhow I had forgotten about it, in my excitement, till the people weregone, and the brandy had quelled my faintness.
"Well, well," commented Grandfather Nat, "it's a wonderful bit o' luck,anyhow. This is what the chap was pulling away from him when I openedthe door, you can lay to that; an' he lost it when he hit the post, I'llwager; unless the other pitched it away. But that's neither here northere.... What's that?" He turned his head quickly. "That stairfoot doorain't latched again, Stevy. Made me jump: fancied it was the other."
There was nothing else in the pocket-book, it would seem, except an oldphotograph. It was a faded, yellowish thing, and it represented a ratherstout woman, seated, with a boy of about fourteen at her side; both veryrespectably dressed in the fashion of twenty years earlier. GrandfatherNat put it back, and slipped the pocket-book into the same cash-box thathad held the watch with the M engraved on its back.
The stairfoot door clicked again, and my grandfather sent me to shut it.As I did so I almost fancied I could hear soft footsteps ascending. Butthen I concluded I was mistaken; for in a few moments Mrs. Grimes wasplainly heard coming downstairs, with an uncommonly full tread; andpresently she presented herself.
"Good law, Cap'en Kemp," exclaimed Mrs. Grimes, with a hand clutching ather chest, and her breath a tumultuous sigh; "Good law! I am that bad!What with extry work, an' keepin' on late, an' murders under my verynose, I cannot a-bear it--no!" And she sank into a chair by thestairfoot door, letting go her brush and dustpan with a clatter.
Grandfather Nat turned to get the brandy-bottle again. Mrs. Grimes'shead drooped faintly, and her eyelids nearly closed. Nevertheless Iobserved that the eyes under the lids were very sharp indeed, followingmy grandfather's back, and traversing the shelf where he had left thephotograph; yet when he brought the brandy, he had to rouse her by ashake.
The Hole in the Wall Page 9