by James Payn
CHAPTER XIII.
BETTER THAN A BLUNDERBUSS.
It was the Runner's custom to call at Mr. Gerard's every evening, nomatter how often he might have been there during the day, in order toreport progress, or that there was none; and when his knock at thefront-door was heard, I perceived the rector wince upon his chair, likeone who has been roasted a little already, and expects to be before thefire again immediately. Mr. Townshend, however, did not even so much asallude to our Will-o'-the-Wisp pursuit, cautioned, perhaps, not to do soby our host, or besought by his daughter, as I fancy. I do not thinkthat the gravity of the intelligence he brought with him would, ofitself, have blunted Mr. Townshend's appetite for acrimonious jesting,which was insatiable; and, indeed, the issues of Death or Life, and ofLost or Found, formed so much the ordinary business of his life, thatany discovery, no matter of what nature, disturbed him as little asfinding a gentleman with his head off disturbs the King of Dahomey.
"Well, Mr. Long, I am glad to see you back again," said he; "you are thevery man I want. Does a farmer of the name of Arabel happen to reside inor near your parish?"
"He lives at Fairburn, within a stone's throw----"
"You will never make a Bow Street runner," interrupted Mr. Townshend,shaking his head.
"Well, then," continued my tutor good-humouredly, "if accuracy is soessential, I will say within half a mile and a few yards of my ownRectory."
"That is better, sir," returned the detective gravely. "And what sort ofa character do you consider this man to bear?"
"Mr. Arabel is an honest man and a good churchman," replied the rectorpositively; "and but for a little occasional excess----"
"A drunkard, eh?" observed the Bow Street officer, briskly.
"No, certainly not, Mr. Townshend. He takes too much liquor now andthen, I believe; but, I regret to say it, there are few more soberpersons in my parish than Richard Arabel."
"Indeed," observed the other reflectively; "and yet he was the man whopaid No. 82979 to Mr. Vanderseld, who trades in grain. I have heardfrom Hamburg, and have traced the note back again to Fairburn. I startfor that place this evening by post-chaise; and if you or Mr. Meredithwant a lift, I shall be happy to take one or both of you along with me."
This intelligence astonished us all immensely, and my tutor and myself,who knew the farmer, more than the rest. Such news would have beenitself sufficient to have taken the rector home at once; besides, he wasnot only anxious, as usual, to get back to his own parish, but somewhatgrudged our long-continued absence and intellectual holiday. There didnot seem, too, to be any sort of necessity for my remaining longer withMarmaduke, who had found, it was impossible to doubt, a companion farmore capable of upholding and encouraging him than I. The Bow Streetrunner's offer was therefore accepted by both of us; and in a few hourswe took our seats in the same vehicle for Midshire. The chaise was asroomy a one as could be procured, but still, as there was but one seat,I had to assume the position of "bodkin" between my two companions.Their conversation was at first entirely confined to the subject of ourexpedition, namely, Farmer Arabel, concerning whom the detectiveexpressed his suspicions the more darkly, the more extravagantly he waseulogized by Mr. Long. So vehement was their dispute, that I did notlike to interrupt it for a considerable period, during which I enduredgreat inconvenience from sitting upon a substance at once both sharp andhard, contained in one of Mr. Townshend's pockets. If he had been a ladyof the present day, I should have known what it was, and perhaps havemodestly suffered on without remonstrance; but since he was not of thesofter sex, and certainly did not wear crinoline, I ventured to ask whatit was which inflicted such torture.
"I beg your pardon, young gentleman," observed the Bow Street runner,removing the article objected to; "you was only sitting upon a pair ofbracelets with which I may have perhaps to present Mr. Richard Arabel."
"You don't mean to say that you carry handcuffs in your pocket!"observed my tutor, with a shudder of disgust.
"I mean to say I do, and should as soon think of moving about without'em, as without my hat and breeches," returned the runner, with acoolness that froze us both into a protracted silence.
The rain fell heavily, as the night drew on, and dashed against thestreaming panes with fitful violence. The wind and wet poured intogether whenever the window was put down to pay the postboys. I pitiedthe poor fellows, exposed to such weather, and was glad to see that Mr.Townshend paid them liberally. "There are no persons who are moreopen-handed travellers than your Bow Street runners," observed Mr. Long,when I remarked to him upon this circumstance in the absence of ourfriend, who had stepped out while we were changing horses somewhere, forbrandy and water; "and the reason of their generosity is this, thatother people have to pay for it." I had never heard my tutor utter sosevere a speech, and I gathered from it that his indignation against ourfellow-wayfarer was as poignant as ever; and yet within half an hour itwas fated that all his resentment should be neutralized by gratitude,leaving a large margin of the latter sentiment over and above.
The next stage was over a desolate, treeless heath, where the elementshad their own way against us more than ever, and our vehicle seemedactually to shrink and shudder from the force of their onslaught. All ofa sudden, I was thrown forward against the opposite window by thestoppage of the postchaise. At first I thought a horse had fallen; butimmediately afterwards the window next to Mr. Long was violently pusheddown from without, and a something black and small, which was a pistol,was protruded into the carriage.
"Your money or your life! Come, be quick, curse you, and don't keepgentlemen waiting in the wet," said a rough voice. "Be quick, I say." Avolley of oaths accompanied this unpleasant request.
"I have only a couple of guineas with me," cried Mr. Long, quietly,"and you will not make it more by swearing."
"That's a lie!" remarked the voice very uncivilly, "for you're a parson,you are, and they've always money enough. Ain't he a parson, postboy?Didn't you say so, when. I asked you who you'd got inside there? Comehere, won't yer?"
At these words, one of the wretched postboys, shivering and dripping,came forward to the window, and stammered out, "Really, gentlemen, Icouldn't help it; he swore as he'd blow out my brains, if I didn't tell;so I told him as one was a clergyman, I believed, but the other two----"
"My name is Townshend," interrupted the Bow Street runner, with greatdistinctness. "If you had happened to know that, boy, and had informedthese gentlemen of the circumstance, I am sure they would never havestopped us, unless, indeed, it was to inquire after my health." At thesame time he thrust his broad face out of the window into the lightthrown by a lantern carried by one of the robbers; for there wereseveral dim forms on horseback, as I could now perceive. If ablunderbuss had been exhibited instead, it could not have causedone-half of the panic which the sight of his features occasioned; eachrobber turned his back at once, as though to prevent the recognitionbeing mutual, and spurred away into the darkness, leaving nothing butthe dismounted postboy to evidence that they were not mere phantoms ofthe night.
"Get to your saddle, and make you up for lost time," said the Runnersternly; and when this mandate had been obeyed, and we were once more onour way, he added, "That postboy sold us; I saw him whispering to a manon horseback in the inn-yard while I was taking some drink in theback-parlour; he was never asked any question when the chaise wasstopped. That was Jerry Atherton, too, who put his shooting-iron in atthat window; I should know his voice though a mob were shouting withhim. A man who wishes to do something of which the consequences are sovery serious, should not only wear crape, but keep his mouth shut."
"We have to thank you very much, I am sure," said Mr. Long. "It was agreat providence for us that you were with us."
"Very likely, sir," returned Mr. Townshend, grimly; "but not for Jerry,nor yet for the postboy."