Once Aboard the Lugger-- The History of George and his Mary

by W. W. Jacobs

If George had the _Daily_ to curse for the miserable life of secrecyand constant agony of discovery that he was compelled to lead, he hadit also to bless that his discovery by the red-headed Pinner boy hadnot long ago led to his being run to earth. In its anxiety to cap thesatisfactory splash it was making over this Country House Outrage,the _Daily_ had overstepped itself and militated against itself. Those"Catchy Clues" were responsible. So cunningly did they inspire the tastefor amateur detective work, so easy did they make such work appear, thatMr. Pinner, having thrashed silence into his red-headed son, kept thatson's discovery to himself. As he argued it--laboriously pencilling down"data" in accordance with the "Catchy Clue" directions,--as he arguedit--if he communicated his knowledge to the _Daily_ or to the localpolice, if he put them--(the word does not print nicely) on the scent,ten to one they would capture the thief and secure the reward. No, Mr.Pinner intended to have the reward himself. Therefore he hoarded hissecret; brooded upon it; dashed off hither and thither as the day's newsbrought him a Catchy Clue that seemed to fit his data.

  But of this George knew nothing. Steeped in crime this miserable youngman dragged out his awful life at Temple Colney: nightmares by night,horrors by day.

  Every morning with trembling fingers he opened his _Daily_; everymorning was shot dead by these lines or their equivalent:

  COUNTRY HOUSE OUTRAGE.

  FRESH CLUE.

  CAT SEEN.

  SENSATIONAL STORY.

  After much groaning and agony George would force himself to know theworst; after swearing furiously through the paragraphs of stuffing withwhich Mr. Bitt's cunning young man skilfully evaded the point, wouldcome at last upon the "fresh clue" and read with a groan of relief that,so far as the truth were concerned, it was no clue at all.

  But the strain was horrible. All Temple Colney read the _Daily_; eagerlydebated its "Catchy Clues."

  Yet George could not see, he told himself, that he would better hisplight by seeking fresh retreat. If the _Daily_ were to be believed, allthe United Kingdom read it and discussed its Catchy Clues. He decided itwere wiser to remain racked at Temple Colney rather than try his luck,and perhaps be torn to death, elsewhere.

  Twice he had been moved to abandon his awful enterprise--in the trainfleeing from the red-headed Pinner boy; pounding across country pursuedby curious inhabitants of Temple Colney. On these occasions thismiserable George had been minded to cry defeated to the circumstancesthat struck at him, to return to Herons' Holt with the cat whilst yet hemight do so without gyves on his wrists.

  But thought of his dear Mary hunted thought of this craven ending. "I'llhang on!" he had cried, thumping the carriage seat: "I'll hang on! I'llhang on! I'll hang on!" he had thumped into the table upon his wearyreturn to the inn on the day he had been followed.

  He had cause for hope. When, on his second morning at Temple Colney, the_Daily_ had struck him to white agony by its newest headlines; cooling,he was able to find comfort in the news it gave to the world. "On theadvice of the eminent detective, Mr. David Brunger, who has the case inhand, the reward has been raised to 125 pounds."

  "Whoop!" cried George, spirits returning.

  III.

  Three days had passed.

  Rain began to fall heavily on this afternoon. Usually--even had therebeen floods--George did not return to the inn until seven o'clock. Theless he was near the abode of man the safer was his vile secret. Butto-day, when the clouds told him a steady downpour had set in, he putout for his lodging before three. He was in high spirits. Success wasmaking him very bold. At Temple Colney, thus far, no breath of suspicionhad paled his cheek; at Herons' Holt events were galloping to the end hewould have them go. That morning the _Daily_ had announced the raisingof the reward to 150 pounds. True, the _Daily_ added that Mr. Marrapithad declared, absolutely and finally, that he would not go one pennybeyond this figure. George laughed as he read. In four days his unclehad raised the offer by fifty pounds; at this rate--and the rate wouldincrease as Mr. Marrapit's anguish augmented--the 500 pounds would soonbe reached. And then! And then!

  Through the pouring rain George whistled up the village street, whistledup the stairs, whistled into the sitting--room. Then stopped histune. The buoyant notes of triumph dwindled to a tuneless squeak, to anoiseless breathing--Bill Wyvern, seated at a table, sprung to meet him.

  "What ho!" cried Bill. "They told me you wouldn't be in before seven!What ho! Isn't this splendid?"

  George said in very hollow voice: "Splendid!" He put the basket on achair; sat on it; gave Bill an answering, "What ho!" that was cheerfulas rap upon a coffin lid.

  "Well, how goes it?" Bill asked eagerly.

  George put out a hand. "Don't come over here, dear old fellow. I'mstreaming wet. Sit down there. How goes what?"

  "Why, the clue--your clue to this cat?"

  "Oh, the clue--the clue. Yes, I'll tell you all about that. Just waithere a moment." He rose with the basket; moved to the door.

  "What on earth have you got in that basket?" Bill asked.

  "Eggs," George told him impressively. "Eggs for my uncle."

  "You must have a thundering lot in a basket that size."

  "Three or four hundred," George said. "Three or four hundred eggs."

  He spoke in the passionless voice of one in a dream. Indeed he was in adream. This horrible contingency had so set him whirling that of clearthought he was incapable. Moving to his bedroom he thrust the basketbeneath the bed; came out; locked the door; took the key; returned toBill.

  Bill came over and slapped him on the back. "Expect you're surprised tosee me?" he cried. "Isn't this ripping, old man?"

  "Stunning!" said George. "Absolutely stunning." He sank on a chair.

  Bill was perplexed. "You don't look best pleased, old man. What's up?"

  This was precisely what George wished to know. Terror of hearing somehideous calamity stayed him from putting the question. He gave a painedsmile. "Oh, I'm all right. I'm a bit fagged, that's all. The strain ofthis search, you know, the--"

  "I know!" cried Bill enthusiastically. "I _know_. You've been splendid,old man. Finding out a clue like this and pluckily carrying it throughall by yourself. By Jove, it's splendid of you!--especially when you'veno reason to do much for your uncle after the way in which he's treatedyou. I admire you, George. By Gad, I _do_ admire you!"

  "Not at all!" George advised him. "By no means, old fellow." He wipedhis brow; his mental suffering was considerable.

  "I say, I can see you're pretty bad, old man," Bill continued. "Nevermind, I'm here to help you now. That's what I've come for."

  George felt that something very dreadful indeed was at hand. "How didyou find out where I was?" he asked.

  "From old Marrapit."

  "Marrapit? Why, but my uncle won't let you come within a mile of him."

  "Ah! that's all over now." A very beautiful look came into Bill's eyes;tenderness shaded his voice: "George, old man, if I can track down thehound who has stolen this cat your uncle has practically said that hewill agree to my engagement with Margaret."

  George tottered across the room; pressed his head against the coldwindow-pane. Here was the calamity. He had thought of taking Bill intohis confidence--how do so now?

  "I say, you do look bad, old man," Bill told him.

  "I'm all right. Tell me all about it."

  "Well, it's too good--too wonderful to be true. Everything is goingsimply splendidly with me. I'm running this cat business for the_Daily_--my paper, you know. It's made a most frightful splash and theeditor is awfully bucked up with me. I'm on the permanent staff, sixquid a week--eight quid a week if I find this cat. I'm working it fromHerons' Holt, you know. I'm--"

  George turned upon him. "Are you 'Our Special Commissioner at PaltleyHill'?"

  "Rather! Have you been reading it? Pretty hot stuff, isn't it? I say,George, wasn't it lucky I chucked medicine! I told you I was cut outfor this kind of thing if only I could get my chance. Well, I've got mychance; and by Gad, old man, if I don't t
rack down this swine who's gotthe cat, or help to get him tracked down, I'll--I'll--" The enthusiasticyoung man broke off--"Isn't it great, George?"

  My miserable George paced the room. "Great!" he forced out. "Great!"This was the infernal Special Commissioner whom daily he had yearned tostrangle. "Great! By Gad, there are no words for it!"

  "I knew you'd be pleased. Thanks awfully--_awfully_. Well, I was tellingyou. Being down there for the paper I simply had to interview Marrapit.I plucked up courage and bearded him. He's half crazy about thiswretched cat. I found him as meek as a lamb. Bit snarly at first, butwhen he found how keen I was, quite affectingly pleasant. I've seenhim every day for the last four days, and yesterday he said what I toldyou--I came out with all about Margaret and about my splendid prospects,and, as I say, he practically said that if I could find the cat he'd bewilling to think of our engagement."

  "But about finding out where I was? How did you discover that?"

  "Well, he told me. Told me this morning." Bill shuffled his legsuncomfortably for a moment, then plunged ahead. "Fact is, old man,he's a bit sick with you. Said he'd only had one telegram from youfrom Dippleford Admiral and one letter from here. Said it wasunsatisfactory--that it was clear you were incapable of following upthis clue of yours by yourself. You don't mind my telling you this, doyou, old man? You know what he is."

  George gave the bitter laugh of one who is misunderstood, unappreciated."Go on," he said, "go on." He was trembling to see the precipice overwhich the end of Bill's story would hurl him.

  "Well, as I said--that it was clear you could not carry through yourclue by yourself. So I was to come down and help you. That was about teno'clock, and I caught the mid-day train--I've been here since two. Well,Brunger--the detective chap, you know--Marrapit was going to send him onhere at once--"

  This was the precipice. George went hurtling over the edge with whirlingbrain: "Brunger coming down here?" he cried.

  "Rather! Now, we three together, old man--"

  "When's he coming?" George asked. He could not hear his own voice--theold nightmares danced before his eyes, roared their horrors in his ears.

  Bill looked at the clock. "He ought to be here by now. He ought to havearrived--"

  The roaring confusion in George's brain went to a tingling silence;through it there came footsteps and a man's voice upon the stairs.

  As the tracked criminal who hears his pursuer upon the threshold, asthe fugitive from justice who feels upon his shoulder the sudden handof arrest, as the poor wretch in the condemned cell when the hangmanenters--as the feelings of these, so, at this sound, the emotions of mymiserable George.

  A dash must be made to flatten this hideous doom. Upon a sudden impulsehe started forward. "Bill! Bill, old man, I want to tell you something.You don't know what the finding of this cat means to me. It--"

  "I do know, old man," Bill earnestly assured him. "You're splendid, oldman, splendid. I never dreamt you were so fond of your uncle. Old man,it means even more to me--it means Margaret and success. Here's Brunger.We three together, George. Nothing shall stop us."

  IV.

  The sagacious detective entered. George gave him a limp, damp hand.

  "You don't look well," Mr. Brunger told him, after greetings.

  "Just what I was saying," Bill joined.

  Indeed, George looked far from well. Round-shouldered he sat upon thesofa, head in hands--a pallid face beneath a beaded brow staring outbetween them.

  "It's the strain of this clue, Mr. Brunger," Bill continued. "He's onthe track!"

  "You are?" cried the detective.

  "Right on," George said dully. "Right on the track."

  "Is it a gang?"

  "Two," George answered in the same voice. "Two gangs."

  The sagacious detective thumped the table. "I said so. I knew it. I toldyou so, Mr. Wyvern. But _two_, eh? _Two_ gangs. That's tough. One gotthe cat and the other after it, I presume?"

  "No," said George. He was wildly thinking; to the conversation paying noattention.

  "No? But, my dear sir, one of 'em _must_ have the cat?"

  George started to the necessities of the immediate situation; wonderedwhat he had said; caught at Mr. Brunger's last word. "The cat? Anothergang has got the cat."

  "What, three gangs!" the detective cried.

  "Three gangs," George affirmed.

  "Two gangs you said at first," Mr. Brunger sharply reminded him.

  My miserable George dug his fingers into his hair. "I meant three--I'dforgotten the other."

  "Don't see how a man can forget a whole _gang_," objected the detective.He stared at George; frowned; produced his note-book. "Let us have thefacts, sir."

  As if drawn by the glare fixed upon him, George moved from the sofa tothe table.

  "Now, the facts," Mr. Brunger repeated. "Let's get these gangs settledfirst."

  George took a chair. He had no plan. He plunged wildly. "Gang A, gang B,gang C, gang D--"

  Mr. Brunger stopped short in the midst of his note.

  "Why, that's _four_ gangs!"

  The twisting of George's legs beneath the table was sympathetic withthe struggles of his bewildered mind. He said desperately, "Well, there_are_ four gangs."

  The detective threw down his pencil. "You're making a fool of me!" hecried. "First you said two gangs, then three gangs--"

  "You're making a fool of yourself," George answered hotly. "If you knewanything about gangs you'd know they're always breaking up--quarrelling,and then rejoining, and then splitting again. If you can't follow, don'tfollow. Find the damned gangs yourself. You're a detective--I'm not. Atleast you say you are. You're a precious poor one, seems to me. You'venot done much."

  In his bewilderment and fear my unfortunate George had unwittinglyhit upon an admirable policy. Since first Mr. Marrapit had called Mr.Brunger it had sunk in upon the Confidential Inquiry Agent that indeedhe was a precious poor detective. In the five days that had passed hehad not struck upon the glimmer of a notion regarding the whereaboutsof the missing cat. This was no hiding in cupboard work, no marked coinwork, no following the skittish wife of a greengrocer work. It wasthe real thing--real detective work, and it had found Mr. Brungermost lamentably wanting. Till now, however, none had suspectedhis perplexity. He had impressed his client--had bounced,noted, cross-examined, measured; and during every bounce, note,cross-examination and measurement fervently had prayed that luck--or thereward--would help him stumble upon something he could claim as outcomeof his skill. George's violent attack alarmed him; he drew in his horns.

  "Ah! don't be 'ot," he protested. "Don't be 'ot. Littlemisunderstanding, that's all. I follow you completely. Four gangs--_I_see. _Four_ gangs. Now, sir."

  It was George's turn for fear. "Four gangs--quite so. Well, what do youwant me to tell you?"

  "Start from the beginning, sir."

  George started--plunged head-first. For five minutes he desperatelygabbled while Mr. Brunger's pencil bounded along behind his splashing;words. Every time the pencil seemed to slacken, away again George wouldfly and away in pursuit the pencil would laboriously toil.

  "Four gangs," George plunged along. "Gang A, gang B, gang C, gang D.Gang A breaks into the house and steals the cat. Gang B finds it goneand tracks down gang C."

  "Tracks gang A, surely," panted Mr. Brunger. "Gang A had the cat."

  "Gang B didn't know that. I tell you this is a devil of a complicatedaffair. Gang B tracks down gang C and finds gang D. They join. Call 'emgang B-D. Gang A loses the cat and gang C finds it. Gang C sells it togang B-D, which is run by an American, as I said."

  "Did you?" gasped Mr. Brunger without looking up.

  "Certainly. Gang B-D hands it over to gang A by mistake, and gang Amakes off with it. Gang C, very furious because it is gang A's greatrival, starts in pursuit and gets it back again. Then gang B-D demandsit, but gang A refuses to give it up."

  "Gang C!" Mr. Brunger panted. "Gang C had got it from gang A."

  "Yes, but gang A got it back again. Ga
ng B-D--Look here," George brokeoff, "that's perfectly clear about the gangs, isn't it?"

  "Perfectly," said Mr. Brunger, feeling that his reputation wasgone unless he said so. "Wants a little studying, that's all. Mostextraordinary story I ever heard of."

  "I'm dashed if I understand a word of it," Bill put in. "Who _are_ thesegangs?"

  George rose: "Bill, old man, I'll explain that another time. The factis, we're wasting time by sitting here. I was very near the end when youtwo arrived. The cat is here--quite near here."

  The detective and Bill sprang to their feet. George continued: "It'sgoing to change hands either tonight or to-morrow. If you two willdo just as I tell you and leave the rest to me, we shall bring off acapture. To-morrow evening I will explain everything."

  The detective asked eagerly; "Is it a certainty?"

  "Almost. It will be touch and go; but if we miss it this time it is acertainty for the immediate future. I swear this, that if you keepin touch with me you will be nearer the cat than you will ever get byyourselves."

  Sincerity shone in his eyes from these words. The detective and Billwere fired with zeal.

  "Take command, sir!" said Mr. Brunger.

  "All right. Come with me. I will post you for the night. We have somedistance to go. Don't question me. I must think."

  "Not a question," said the detective: he was, indeed, too utterlybewildered.

  George murmured "Thank heaven!"; took his hat; led the way into thestreet. In dogged silence the three tramped through the rain.