A Hero of Romance

by Richard Marsh

  Chapter XVI

  THE CAPTAIN'S ROOM

  Trusting himself to his companion's guidance, Bertie went where theother chose to take him. Under ordinary circumstances he would havethought a good many times before he would have allowed himself to beled blindfold he knew not where; but tired, wet, cold, and so hungry,he resigned himself to circumstances. He could not possibly findhimself in a worse position than his present one; at least, so itseemed to him. Certainly it had not been part of his plans to be acompanion of thieves; but then nothing which had befallen him had beenpart of his plans.

  His companion led him to a court within a stone's throw of Drury Lane,and was just about to turn the corner when something caught his eyes.He walked straight on, taking Bertie with him.

  "There's a peeler. I don't want him to see me go down there; it isn'tquite what I care for to let them gentry have their eyes upon myfamily mansion."

  What he meant Bertie failed to understand. He saw no one in sight tocause alarm, and indeed it almost seemed that his companion had eyesbehind his head, for, as quickly appeared, the policeman was at theirback some considerable distance off. They reached the entry to anothercourt, and down this his companion strutted, as though he was anxiousall the world should have their eyes upon him. But no sooner was he inthan he slunk into a doorway.

  "Come in here, my bonny boy, and let the gentleman go past. He'staking a little walk for the benefit of his health, poor chap. They'realways taking walks, them peelers are. I wish they'd stop at home; Ireally do."

  A measured tramp, tramp, tramp approached. The thief put his hand overBertie's mouth as though he were fearful he would make a sound. Thepoliceman reached the entry, paused a moment as if to peer into itsdepths, and then passed on. When he had gone the thief spoke again.

  "Good-bye, dear boy; sorry to lose you, but the best of friends mustpart. Come along, my rib-stone pippin; you and me'll go home to tea."

  Satisfied that the coast was clear, the two ventured out of thedoorway, reached the open street again, and this time turned withouthesitation into the court which they had passed before. It was unlitby any lamp, and was so narrow that it was not difficult to believethat a man standing on a roof on one side of the way might, if he werean active fellow, spring with a single bound on to the roof on theopposite side. Fortunately it was not long, the whole consisting ofapparently not more than twelve or fifteen houses. At the extreme endBertie's companion stopped.

  The place was a _cul-de-sac_. It ended in a dead wall. But on theother side of the wall towered a house of what, in such aneighbourhood, seemed unusual dimensions. The entrance proper was inanother street, and the original architect had probably had nointention that an entry should be effected from where they were. In arecess in the wall, so hidden as to be invisible to Bertie in thatlight, and so placed as to appear to be a door opening into the lasthouse in the court in which they actually stood, was an ancient woodendoor, from which the paint had all disappeared owing to the action oftime and weather. The two boys stood still for a moment, Bertie dimlywondering what was going to happen next. It seemed to him that hereally was an actor in a dream at last--the strangest dream he hadever dreamed. Then the thief whistled a few lines of some uncouthmelody in a low but singularly piercing tone. A pause again; then hegave four taps against the ancient wooden door, with a momentary pausebetween each one. Bertie had heard of mysterious methods of effectingentrances into mysterious houses, and had been charmed with them; buthe concluded that they were perhaps better in theory than practice. Hewould not have liked to have been kept hanging about in the wet suchan unconscionable length of time every time he wanted to go home.

  At last the door was opened--just as Bertie was beginning to thinkthat the mysterious proceedings would have to be all gone throughagain.

  "Who's there?" inquired a husky voice.

  It seemed that after all the whistling and the tapping caution wererequired.

  "All right, mother; it's only me and a friend. Come on, Ikey; cutalong inside."

  Bertie, thus addressed as "Ikey," was about to "cut along inside,"when he found the way barred by the old woman who acted as janitrix.She was a very unpleasant-looking old woman, old and grisly, and verymuch in want of soap and water: quite unpleasant-looking enough to becalled a "hag"--and she smelt of gin. In her hand she carried aguttering tallow candle in a battered old tin candlestick. Hithertoshe had held it behind her back, as if to conceal the presence of alight from passers-by. Now she raised it above her head so that itslight might fall on Bertie's face. He thought he had never seen a moredisagreeable-looking lady.

  "Who's the friend?"

  "What's that to you? He's a friend of mine, and square; that's quiteenough for you. Come along, my pippin."

  The answer reminded Bertie of Sam Slater. Even then he wondered if hehad not better, after all, trust himself to the tender mercies of thestreets; but the other did not allow much time for hesitation. Hecaught Bailey by the arm, and half led, half dragged him up a flightof steep stone steps. The old woman with the candlestick sent afterthem what sounded very like a volley of imprecations, while she closedand locked and barred the door.

  The thief led the way into a fairly sized room, which was lighted byanother tallow candle. The one which the old woman brought with herwhen she entered made the pair. There was no carpet on the floor,which was extremely dirty; a rickety deal table and four or fiverickety chairs formed all the furniture. There was a bright fireburning in an antiquated fireplace, from which the ashes hadapparently never been removed for months, and the atmosphere of theroom was distinctly close.

  "What have you got to eat?" asked the thief, when the old womanreappeared.

  "You're always ready enough to eat, but you re not so ready to pay forwhat you've eaten. You boys is all the same; you'd rob an old woman ofher teeth."

  The crone tottered to a cupboard in a corner of the room. The allusionto her teeth was not a happy one, for a solitary fang which protrudedfrom her hideous jaws seemed to be all the teeth she still possessed.From the cupboard she produced a couple of chipped plates, a loaf ofbread, and a piece of uncooked steak, which probably weighed severalpounds. The thief's eyes glistened at sight of it.

  "That's the tuck! Cut me off a chunk, and I'll frizzle it in twothrees."

  The old woman cut off a piece which weighed at least a pound and ahalf. A frying-pan was produced from some unexpected corner. The youngrogue, disencumbering himself of his coat and waistcoat, immediatelyelected himself to the office of cook. A short dialogue took placebetween the old woman and himself while the cooking was going on.

  "What luck have you had?"

  "What's that to you?"

  "That means you ain't had none. Ah, Freddy, you ain't what you was.I've known you when you allays came home with your pockets full ofpretty things."

  "You ain't what you was, neither."

  A pause. A savoury smell began to come from the frying-pan. The oldwoman turned her watery, bloodshot eyes to Bertie.

  "Who's your friend?"

  "Them who don't ask no questions don't get told no lies."

  "What's his lay?"

  "His lay's hitting old women in the eye; so now you know."

  The old woman shook her head, and mourned the decadence of the times.

  "Oh, them boys! them boys! When I was a young gal there weren't noneof them boys in them there days! Times is changed."

  "And this steak's done! Now then, Ikey, make yourself alive and handthe plates."

  Without the interposition of a dish the steak was divided in thefrying-pan, placed in two equal portions on the plates, and Bertie andthe cook fell to.

  Epicures have it that a steak fried is a steak spoiled. Neither ofthose who ate that one would have agreed to the truth of the statementthen. From the way in which they disposed of it, a finer, juicier, ormore tender steak was never known. The old woman produced a jug ofporter to wash it down. Freddy, as the old woman called the
thief,did far more justice to this than Bertie did. With the aid of thedark-coloured liquid the whole pound and a half of meat rapidlydisappeared, and with it the better part of a loaf as well.

  The old woman sat spectator of the feast.

  "There was a time when I could eat like that. It's over now a hundredyears ago, but I mind it as though it were yesterday."

  "Go on! you're not a hundred years old!"

  "I'm a hundred and twenty-two next Tuesday week."

  Bertie stared, holding a mouthful of steak suspended on his fork inthe air. A hundred and twenty-two! What was his tale of years comparedto that? Freddy winked at him.

  "Yes, I daresay. You were a hundred and ninety-five yesterday, andsixty-two this morning. It's my belief you're about five and twenty."

  "Five and twenty! I daresay I look it, but I ain't. I'm more thanthat. I always did look a wild young thing."

  Freddy roared; anything looking less like five and twenty, or a "wildyoung thing," could scarcely be conceived. The old woman went placidlyon.

  "I remember Jacky Sheppard, and Dicky Turpin, and Tommy King; theywere all highwaymen in my young days."

  "I suppose you were a highwayman's wife?"

  "So I was; and they hung him the week after we were married. I wentand saw him hung, and I've never seen a better hanging since. No, thatI haven't. Times is changed since then."

  "But you ain't changed. I wonder you don't marry again, a wild youngthing like you."

  "I ain't a marrying sort--not now I ain't. I've had ten of them, andthat's quite enough for me."

  "Lor', no! What is ten?"

  "Ten's quite enough for one young woman, and when you've been twohundred and ninety times in prison a woman don't feel much likemarrying again. It takes it out of her, it do."

  Bertie had ended his meal. The warmth and the food had given thefinishing touch to his previous fatigue; his head was already noddingon his breast. He heard the old woman talking as in a dream. Tenhusbands! two hundred and ninety times in jail! Were they part of hisnightmare, the things which he heard her say?

  "Hollo, Ikey, you're blinking! Now then, mother, where are you goingto put my pal? Can't you find a place where he can be alone?"

  Had Bertie been sufficiently wide awake he would have seen the speakerwink at the old woman.

  "There's only the captain's room."

  The woman's suggestion seemed to startle Freddy, and to set himthinking.

  "The captain's room? Where is the captain?"

  "How am I to know where he is or where he ain't? He don't tell me noneof his goings on, none of you don't. He says to me he'd be four orfive days away. That's all I know about it. Times is changed!"

  "Got the key?"

  "Of course I've got the key."

  "Then hand it over."

  The old woman produced a key from a voluminous pocket in her dress.

  "Now, Freddy, none of your tricks? He's on the square?"

  She pointed the key at Bertie, to show the allusion was to him. Theyoung thief took the key away from her.

  "He's as square as you! Come along, Ikey! Mother, you stop there tillI come back. I want to have a little talk to you."

  Taking up one of the candlesticks, the lad led the way out of theroom. Bertie staggered, rather than walked, after him.

  The house seemed to be very old-fashioned and very large. There were acurious number of staircases, and passages, and turns and twists, andins and outs, and ups and downs. As Bertie followed his companion'slead it all seemed to him as though it were part of his dream; asthough the house was built in the fashion of a maze, and he werebidden to find his way about it blindfold.

  At last he found himself in a room, the door of which he was vaguelyconscious his companion had unlocked. Although very far from beingluxurious, it was better furnished than the one they had left. Therewas a piece of carpet on the floor; there were two or threesubstantial-looking chairs, a horsehair couch, an arm-chair, a table,a chest of drawers with a looking-glass on top, and in the corner anold-fashioned four-poster bed with the curtains drawn all round. Theclosely-drawn dirty dimity curtains made one wonder if it was occupiedalready, but Freddy showed that it was not by going to it and drawingthe curtains aside.

  "There's a bed for you, my bonny boy! The Queen ain't got a better bedthan that in Buckingham Palace; and if you have got a marquis for apa, you ain't seen a better one, I know you ain't. That's thecaptain's bed, that is, and if he was to know I'd made you free of ithe'd have a word to say. But as he's gone to see his grandma, andperhaps won't be back for ever so long, we needn't take no count ofwhat he says."

  Tired as he was, Bertie was not by any means so prepossessed by theappearance of the bed as his companion seemed to be. It seemed to himjust a trifle dirty, and more than a trifle the worse for wear. Thebeds at Mecklemburg House were even better, while the beds at homewere things of beauty and joys for ever compared to this. But still itwas a bed, and a bed is a bed; and especially was a bed a bed to himjust then.

  Freddy waited while he undressed. He even watched him get between thesheets, and drew the curtains when he was there. Then he went and leftBertie to sleep in peace in the captain's room.

  And he slept in peace. Just such a dreamless slumber as he had enjoyedin the Kingston "doss-house," and it lasted at least as long. Thisyoung gentleman had over-calculated his strength, and had not supposedhe would have been so quickly wearied on his journey to the Land ofGolden Dreams.

  When he awoke it was some minutes before he collected his thoughtssufficiently to understand his whereabouts. The rapidly-occurringincidents of the last day or two had bewildered a brain which wasnever very bright at best. Putting out his hand, he parted thecurtains which hung about him like so many shrouds, and looked out.

  The room was filled with daylight; that is to say, as much filled asit probably ever was. The only window was a small one, and at such aheight from the ground that Bertie would have needed to stand upon achair to reach it even.

  Had he desired to imitate his escape from his Kingston hosts he wouldhave found very much more difficulty in climbing from the window ofthe captain's room. But what interested him more than the peculiarposition of the window was something which he saw on the chair besidehis bed.

  This something was some bread and cheese, a couple of saveloys, andsome stout in a jug. On the bread was a little scrap of paper. He tookit up, and found that on it was written,--

  "Sleep it out, old pal!"

  This was short, and to the point. It was written on bad paper in worsewriting; but what it meant was, probably, that Freddy, entering withrefreshments, had found Bertie wrapt in slumber, and being unwillingto disturb him had left him there to sleep it out. Bertie ate anddrank, and lying back again upon the captain's bed prepared to actupon the hint. And he did. He woke once or twice in the course of theday, but each time it was only for a minute or two, and each time heturned round and went to sleep again.

  But at last he woke for good--or ill, as it turned out, for he woke tobe the victim of a series of adventures which were to nearly cost himhis life, and which were to show him, better than anything elsepossibly could have done, that he had been like the silly little childwho plays with fire and burns itself with the element it does notunderstand. He was a young gentleman who required a considerableamount of teaching before he would consent to write himself down anass; but he was to get much more than the requisite amount of teachingnow.

  Exactly the same thing happened as at Kingston. He awoke to hear thesound of voices in the room; and now, as then, the speakers werecarrying on a conversation without having the slightest idea that theywere being overheard.

  At first he could not distinguish the words which were being spoken.He only knew that there was some one speaking. At first he took it forgranted that the speakers were the lad who had brought him to thehouse and the old woman he had nicknamed "Mother." But the delusiononly lasted for a moment; he quickly perceived that the voices werevoices he had never heard before, and tha
t the speakers were two men.He perceived, too, that the day had apparently gone--he had slept itall away--and that the room was lighted by a lamp.

  So unconscious were the speakers of there being a listener that theymade no attempt to lower their voices; and one in particular spokewith a strain of intense passion in his tones. His were the wordswhich were the first which Bertie heard.

  "Fifty thousand pounds! Fifty thousand pounds! Ha, ha, ha!"

  The speaker repeated the words over and over again, bursting into apeal of laughter at the end. Another voice replied--a colder and moremeasured one. The new speaker spoke with a strong nasal accent. Bertiewas not wise enough to know that by his speech he betrayed himself tobe that new thing in nationalities, a German American.

  "Steady, my friend; fifty thousand pounds in jewels are not fiftythousand pounds in cash, especially when the jewels are such asthese."

  The other went on unheeding.

  "Talk about punting on the Stock Exchange! There are precious fewpunters on the Stock Exchange who pick up fifty thousand pounds andwalk off with it at a single coup."

  "And, also, there are very few punters on the Stock Exchange who wouldrun the risk of getting penal servitude for life for doing it."

  "Yes, there's that to be considered."

  "As you say, there's that to be considered."

  "Do you think they'd make it penal servitude for life?"

  "I think it extremely probable, with your past history and mine."

  "Suppose it came to penal servitude for life, what then?"

  "Exactly! That is the question to be asked--'What then?'"

  "The Countess of Ferndale's jewels! lying on the table in front of me!and in my time I've run the risk of being sent to prison for apocket-handkerchief."

  "But in that case you did not run the risk, my friend, of penalservitude for life, eh?'

  "Rosenheim, what are you driving at? Why do you keep harping upon thatstring? Do you think they'll nab us?"

  "They will have a very good try."

  "They have tried before and failed."

  "They have also tried before and--not failed."

  "Fifty thousand pounds! The finest set of jewels in England! insuredfor fifty thousand pounds--and that's a lot less than they cost--andwe've got the insurance policy and the jewels too! Ha! ha! ha! Shouldwe present the policy?"

  "We will be generous and return them that. Or, better still, we willkeep the policy in case that anything should happen. Holding it, wemight make terms with some one. There have such things been done, eh?"

  "Fifty thousand pounds! and they cost perhaps a hundred thousand intheir time! Did you ever see such a necklace? Those diamonds remind meof fairy tales which I have read--if I were to put the lamp out they'dlight the room."

  "Yes; but we will not put the lamp out, for fear some of the jewelsshould be lost--which would be a pity, eh?"

  "Did you ever see anything like those diamonds? See how they areflashing in the lamp-light--now look at them!"

  Bertie thought that he might as well look too. He peeped through thecurtains of the bed to see what was going on. He felt a not unnaturalcuriosity, for what he had heard had made him open both his eyes andears. Fifty thousand pounds! The repetition of this sum had astartling effect.