The Second Dandy Chater

by Tom Gallon

  CHAPTER XV

  THE SHADY ’UN AS A MORAL CHARACTER

  It must be confessed that Mr. Ogledon—better known, in some shadycircles, as “The Count”—was in an awkward situation. For a wholeweek, he had secretly congratulated himself on the fact that hisunfortunate cousin Dandy Chater was safely out of the way; moreover,he had carefully rehearsed the part he was to play, when first toldof Dandy’s disappearance; had decided how best to show his pain andindignation, and his determination to hunt down the mystery, and findthe murderer. In a word, he had carefully arranged so that nopossible suspicion should fall upon himself; and now hediscovered—to his consternation—that all these precautions wereunnecessary, and that some ghastly replica of the murdered man hadtaken his place, and was accepted, by all and sundry as the genuineman. It must be said at once, that Ogledon, having no knowledge ofthe real story, and goaded by his own guilty conscience, found nosolution in his mind of the mystery in any practical form. He saw, inthis creature who had sprung up in the likeness of the man whose lifehad been brutally beaten out of him, only something horrible andintangible, come straight from the Land of Shadows, to mock at him,and drive him to distraction. If, on that lonely river bank, at thedead of night, the victim he had struck down lifeless had suddenlyrisen up in full vigour, unharmed and smiling, the murderer could nothave been more appalled than he was by this quiet acceptance, byevery one, of the figure which had stared through the window at himfrom the terrace of Chater Hall. Never for an instant suspecting thepresence of the second man, that solution of the mystery did notoccur to him; he saw in this Dandy Chater, risen from the grave, onlyhis own embodied conscience, come to haunt and terrify him.

  He remained that night in the dining-room with the Doctor; fearing togo to bed, or to be left alone for a moment. And, as the Doctor,whenever he got the opportunity, applied himself assiduously to theconsumption of neat brandy, Mr. Ogledon as the time drew on towardsmorning, found himself pretty fully occupied in shaking his companion,and keeping him awake.

  But day had its terrors, too; for the first person who entered the roommade a casual and innocent enquiry concerning “Master Dandy,” and whenhe might be expected. Ogledon, dismissing this man with an oath, turnedto the Doctor.

  “Cripps,”—he shook the little man, for perhaps the hundredth time, thebetter to impress his meaning upon him—“Cripps—I’m going to make abolt for it. I must get away, for a time, until this thing has blownover, and been forgotten. I shall go mad, if I stay here——Well—whatdo _you_ want?”

  This last was addressed to a servant, who had entered the room. The maninformed him that a Mr. Tokely—connected, he believed, with thepolice—wished to see him.

  Ogledon grasped the back of a chair, and turned a ghastly face towardsCripps. Telling the man to show the visitor in, he turned to Cripps,when they were alone together again, and spoke in a frightened hurriedwhisper.

  “Stand by me, Cripps—stand by me, and back me up,” he said. “Ask whatyou will of me afterwards—only stand by me now.”

  Dr. Cripps had the greatest possible difficulty, in his then condition,to stand by himself; but he feebly murmured his intention to shed hisblood for his friend. And at that moment Tokely came in.

  Now, in the stress of more personal matters, Ogledon had paid butlittle attention to the disjointed remarks of Mrs. Dolman, concerningthe murder in the wood; and the subject had, by this time, gone cleanout of his mind. Indeed, but one subject—a deadly fear for his ownsafety—occupied his mind at this time; so that it will readily beunderstood that the first words uttered by the Inspector were startlingin the extreme.

  The Inspector was not in the best of tempers, and was in no mood to betrifled with. He came in rapidly, closed the door and advanced towardsOgledon.

  “Now, sir,” he began, “I don’t want you to compromise yourself aboutthis matter; but business is business, and the Law is the Law. Touchingthis matter of Mr. Dandy Chater—this matter of murder——”

  He got no further; as Ogledon, with a cry, turned swiftly, and madetowards the door—Tokely turning, too, in his astonishment—Dr. Cripps,dimly and drunkenly realising that his patron was in danger, caught upthe nearest weapon, which happened to be a heavy decanter, and, with ashrill scream, hurled himself upon the Inspector, and brought thedecanter down with all his force upon that gentleman’s head. Theunfortunate officer, with a groan, dropped flat, and lay motionless.

  For a moment or two, Ogledon stood staring down at him, scarcelyknowing what to do—while Cripps, mightily pleased with hisperformance, danced all round Tokely’s prostrate form, waving thedecanter, and chanting a species of dirge. But, the seriousness of theposition dawning rapidly upon Ogledon, he seized Cripps by the arm,wrenched the decanter from his grasp, and buffetted him into a sense ofthe enormity of his offence.

  “You idiot!” he whispered, hoarsely—“a pretty thing you’ve done now. Imight have stood and braved the thing out; there’s no proof againstme—and suspicions are useless. But now, after this, there’s nothingfor it but to make a bolt of it!—I suppose it’s my own fault, forhaving anything to do with a drunken little worm like yourself.Quick!—there’s no time to be lost; we must clear out of this. Come!”

  Going to the door, he listened cautiously for a few moments, and thenswiftly opened it. There was no one in sight, and he darted across thehall, and caught up his own and the Doctor’s hats and coats, and wentback noiselessly. Tokely still lay without movement; and Ogledondragged Cripps into his coat, and crammed his shabby hat on his head;put on his own outdoor things, and prepared to leave the place.

  “Now, attend to me,” he said to Cripps. “I shall lock this door on theinside, and take the key with me; we’ll go through this window on tothe terrace. If this fellow ever wakes again—of which I am extremelydoubtful—it won’t be for an hour or so; and that will give us a fairstart. Now—come quietly. This has been a devilish unlucky night, andit promises to be an unlucky day. I thought myself so safe; I don’tlike the turn things have taken at all.”

  Strolling quietly, until they were out of sight of the windows of thehouse, the two got clear away—Ogledon keeping a tight grip of the armof his swaying companion. Indeed, it is possible that, before manyhours had elapsed, the little man deeply regretted the part he hadplayed in the recent adventure; for Ogledon walked him on, withoutmercy, mile after mile, and without paying the slightest attention tohis many piteous entreaties to be allowed to pause at seductive-lookingpublic-houses, for rest and refreshment. Later in the day, they came toa small station, within easy distance of London; and—dusty, weary,foot-sore, and ill-tempered, Cripps was glad to get into the corner ofa third-class railway-carriage, and fall asleep.

  Arrived at the terminus, Ogledon coolly announced to his companion thatthey must part. “I shall drive across London—get some dinner—andcatch the night express for the Continent. You will not, in allprobability, hear from me for some time. Good-bye!”

  “But what—what is to become of me?” asked the little man, in dismay.

  “I’m sure I don’t know—and I’m equally sure I don’t care,” respondedOgledon. “You’ve got yourself and me into this trouble; I’m going toget out of it—you had better do the same.”

  “But I’ve no money,” said Cripps, appealingly.

  “Ah—you should have thought of that before knocking policemen on thehead with decanters. If you will be so giddy and youthful andfrolicsome, you must take the consequences. Good-bye again; I hope theywon’t catch you!” He turned and made his way out of the station; Crippssaw him jump into a cab, and disappear in the press of traffic in thestreets.

  Meantime, another traveller—a fugitive like himself—had set his facein the same direction; with no settled purpose in his mind, save tohide, until such time as he could formulate a plan of action. Notdaring to trust to the railway, lest his description should have beentelegraphed, and men should be on the lookout for him, Philip Chaterhad started o
ff to walk to London. Coming, long after the sun was up,into a straggling suburb, which yet had some faint touches of thecountry left upon it, he sat down, outside a small public-house, on abench—ordered some bread and cheese and ale—and ate and drankravenously.

  “Well,” he muttered to himself, with a little laugh—“yesterday was abusy day. We start with a burglary, and with the fact that ArthurBarnshaw has discovered me in a forgery, and—so he believes—in anattempt to steal his sister’s diamond necklace. Compared with what hasgone before, these things are mere trifles.”

  He laughed again, took a pull at his beer, and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Let me see—what happened after that? Oh, to be sure; I went round, totry and have a word with old Betty; I hated the thought that she—dearlittle mother of the old days—should think so badly of me. I felt thatI could trust her to keep my secret, if necessary. Then, after waitingabout for a long time, that girl—(Clara—Harry called her)—came out,to tell me that the strange man I had seen through the window was fromLondon, and probably held a warrant for my arrest. And then thatjealous idiot Harry, must jump in, and come scouring over the countryafter me with the policeman in tow. Well, I got away that time at allevents.”

  He sat for some time, with a musing smile upon his face, stirring thedust at his feet with the toe of his boot. At the moment, he had cleanforgotten the danger which threatened him, or the necessity for furtherflight.

  “Dear little mother!” he whispered—“how glad she was to see me; howglad to know that her boy had come back again. I’m glad I went back tothe place, after the policeman gave up the chase as hopeless. Heigho—Isuppose I must be moving——Hullo—what the devil do you want?”

  Some one had stopped before him—some one with remarkably old andbroken boots. Raising his eyes rapidly upwards to the face of the ownerof the boots, Philip Chater gave a start of surprise and dismay. TheShady ’un—looking a little more disreputable than usual—stood beforehim.

  Going rapidly over in his mind the events of the past few days, PhilipChater tried to discover, in the few moments the Shady ’un stoodsilently regarding him, whether or not he was to look upon thatinteresting gentleman as a friend, or as a foe. Remembering the twoencounters with Captain Peter Quist—the scene in the upper room at“The Three Watermen”—and the unwarrantable liberty taken with theShady ’un’s headgear on that occasion, for the extinguishing of thelight—Philip decided that the man had reason to be resentful.Accordingly, he waited for an attack—verbal or otherwise.

  But the Shady ’un—for some reason of his own—was disposed to befriendly; feeling, perhaps, a certain warming of his heart towards onein misfortune—a brother in criminality, as it were—he turned asmiling face towards Philip Chater, and held out his hand.

  “This ’ere is the ’and of a pal—an ’umble pal, if yer like—but stilla pal. Strike me pink!” exclaimed the Shady ’un, in a sort of hoarsewhisper—“but w’en it comes ter bread and cheese fer swells likeDandy—wot are we a comin’ to; I would arks”—he flung out one grimyhand, in an appeal to the Universe—“I would arks—wot are we bloomin’well comin’ to?”

  “Yes—it looks bad—doesn’t it?” replied Philip, still with a wary eyeupon the other. “But one must take what the gods send—eh?”

  “Well—they sends me a dry throat, an’ nuffink to wet it with,” saidthe Shady ’un, dismally eyeing the beer which stood on the bench besidePhilip, with a thirsty tongue rolling round his lips.

  “Well—I dare say we can remedy that,” responded Philip. “Go inside,and get what you want, and bring it out here; I should like to talk toyou.”

  The Shady ’un immediately vanished through the doorway, and was heardinside, explaining that his “guv’nor” would pay “the damage.” In a fewmoments, he emerged, bearing a tankard, and some bread and cheese;seated himself on the bench, and fell to with an appetite.

  He disposed of his breakfast—if one may so describe it—at anastonishing rate; wiped his pocket-knife on his leg; and looked round,with a smirk which was probably intended as an expression of gratitude,at Philip.

  “Tork away, guv’nor,” he said, with a glance towards the open door ofthe house.

  “First,” said Philip—“tell me how you come to be here.”

  “They took me, at the last moment, for that ’ere little job atBamberton—the job of the di’monds. You was in that, Dandy—wasn’t yer?”

  “Oh yes—I was in it,” replied Philip. “So I suppose that you—likemyself—are making your way towards London?”

  The other nodded. “The word was passed for us to scatter; an’ I’ve bina scatterin’ all the bloomin’ night—I ’ave. I must ’ave bin close onyer ’eels most of the time, Dandy.”

  There was a long and somewhat awkward silence between the two. Philipwas debating in his mind as to how much to tell the Shady ’un, and howmuch to leave unsaid. The Shady ’un, for his part, having heardgathering rumours of that business in the wood, eyed his companionsomewhat stealthily, and worked out a plan of action in his own fertilebrain. He broke silence at last, by coming at the matter in what hethought a highly diplomatic manner.

  “Beastly noosance—gels,” he said—staring hard before him.

  “What do you mean?” asked Philip, glancing at him in some perplexity.

  The Shady ’un drew a deep breath, and shook his head. “There you go!”he exclaimed, with considerable disgust. “No confidence—no trust—noconfidin’ spirit about yer! Didn’t I say, a week ago, as you might cometer the Shady ’un, wiv a open ’eart an’ ’and; that ’e was the friend,if ever the Count should fail yer! Strike me pink!” cried the Shady’un, with much earnestness—“did I say them words—or did I not?”

  “I believe you said something of the kind,” replied Philip, after amoment’s pause.

  “’Course I did,” said the Shady ’un, energetically. “An’ wot I said Isticks to. They calls me the Shady ’un; but I was c’ristened‘Shadrach’—an’ ’ad a faver of the name of Nottidge. The Shady ’un maynot be all as ’e should be; but Shadrach Nottidge is a pal, an’ afriend. Dandy, my boy—there’s ’emp-seed sowed for you—an’ well youknows it.”

  Philip glanced round at him quickly, but said nothing. The Shady ’undrank some beer slowly, looking over the top of the tankard, and winkedone eye with much solemnity. Setting down the beer, he ventured to layone hand on Philip’s arm. “Yer ain’t treated me quite fair, Dandy—butI bears no malice,” he said, in the same hoarse whisper as before. “I’ave bin chivvied by a pal o’ yourn—I ’ave bin knocked into a shop bythat same pal—I ’ave ’ad a many things done wot ain’t strictly on thesquare. But I bears no malice, an’ I’m ready to ’elp yer.”

  There seemed so much sincerity about the man, and Philip was sodesperately in need of assistance at that time, that he resolved toconfide in him. After all, he thought, the man knew the worst, and knewin how many other shady transactions Dandy Chater had been mixed up; toconfirm his friendship would perhaps, after all, be a matter of policy.

  “Well, then—understand this,” he said abruptly—“I’m flying for mylife. There’s a warrant out against me for murder——”

  The Shady ’un nodded comfortably. “I know—I know,” he said; “younggel—very much in the way—you ’its ’er a clump—say by axerdent. Shedon’t like it—an’ just to spite yer—goes dead. Lor’—that ain’tnuffink; might ’appen to a man any day. But I suppose the splits isout—an’ Dandy must make ’isself scarce?”

  “Yes—that’s about it,” replied Philip.

  The Shady ’un got up, and shook himself, with an air of resolution.“It’s a lucky fing I came acrost yer so ’andy,” he said. “You’d ’avegot nabbed in no time. The Shady ’un’s yer pal; stick to ’im—an’ allwill be well.”

  In his desperate extremity, Philip made up his mind to trust the man.By strange courts and alleys, and by unfrequented thoroughfares, theycame at last to a wretched lodging, in the neighbourhood of theBorough—a lodging whi
ch appeared to be the private retreat of theShady ’un in his hours of leisure. There, Philip Chater, utterly wornout, was glad to fling himself on a wretched bed, and fall asleepinstantly.

  For some minutes after he had begun to slumber, the other man stoodlooking down upon him, with an evil smile crossing his face; he evenshook his fist at him once—bringing it so near to the sleeper’s head,that it was a matter for wonder that he did not actually hit him.

  “This is a good chance fer me—this ’ere,” whispered the Shady ’un tohimself. “Nice chap you are—to give yerself airs, an’ git yer pals tobang me about—ain’t yer? This little bit of business may stand me inall right, if I gets into trouble on me own. Yes—Dandy—I’ll make sureof you, right away!”

  The Shady ’un—after assuring himself that Philip was sleepingheavily—left the place, and bent his steps in a direction they wouldnot willingly have taken on any other occasion—to a police-station.Within a very little time, messages had flashed to and fro upon thewires; questions had been asked and answered; and a silent and taciturnsergeant, accompanied by a couple of constables, went back with theShady ’un to his lodging.

  Philip, waking from an uneasy sleep, saw the grim faces—the bluecoats—the helmets of the Law; and knew that the game was up. The Shady’un—after being quite sure that he was secured—drew near.

  “These gents know me—an’ they knows as ’ow I’ve ’ad my little bit oftrouble afore to-day. But my ’ands—look at ’em, gents, I beg ofyer—my ’ands is free from blood—an’ sich-like wickedness. Gents—ifever the time should come w’en, for dooty’s sake, you should ’ave to be’ard on me—you’ll remember this in my favour—won’t yer?”

  “Oh yes—we’ll remember it,” responded the taciturn sergeant. “Come,Mr. Dandy Chater—we are quite ready.”

  Late that night, Bamberton was stirred to its depths again, by the newsthat Mr. Dandy Chater was in close custody in the lock-up, with aspecial draft of constables to keep watch over him.