by Tom Gallon
CHAPTER XXIV
A RACE FOR A LIFE
The Shady ’un, in the vindictiveness of his temper, had a word or twoto say to the stricken man, before he was marched off.
“You’re the bloke wot took ’old of me by the windpipe—ain’t yer?” hesaid, going close up to Philip, and thrusting his face forward at him.“Let this ’ere be a warnin’ to yer not ter tike ’old of other chap’swindpipes in futur’. You’ve done me rather a good turn—you ’ave,Mister Dandy Chater; there was a ’underd pound a ’angin’ to you—forsich infermation as would lead to you bein’ nabbed—an’ that ’underdpound is mine. I calls all these ’ere gents to witness,” he cried,raising his voice, and looking round about him—“as I brought yer allto this place, an’ nabbed ’im meself. An’ I’m a goin’ ter stick tothese ’ere noble coppers, till I gits my ’underd pound!”
Before Philip was marched away, he turned towards Madge—who stood withher face buried in her hands—and made one last appeal to her.
“Dear girl,” he said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper—“there isbut one way to save me now—but one hope left for me. Before God I aminnocent. Find Dr. Cripps!”
There was no time to say more; they took him off at once—meeting, atthe very door of the place, the doctor who had been sent for to examinethe dead man. Madge followed the little party out, and saw Philipplaced in a cab, with three constables inside and another on thebox—and driven off; the Shady ’un—still in pursuit of his “’underdpound”—running after the cab, as if his very life depended on keepingit in sight.
In the stress of the moment Madge Barnshaw had lost all idea of time orplace—indeed of everything. She quite forgot in what neighbourhood shestood or at what hour; and was only roused by hearing a voice addressher.
“I asks yer pardon, young lady—for a speakin’ of sich a trim builtcraft, without leave—but this ain’t no place for you to be a standin’about alone in. If so be as you’ve lost yer way, put yer faith in a oldmariner as knows the points of Life’s compass a bit, an’ let ’im towyer into wotever ’arbour you may be bound for.”
This extraordinary speech was delivered at such a rapid rate, and in sohoarse a whisper that Madge had no time to interpose a word, or tocheck the flow of words. Moreover, on looking at the face of thespeaker, whatever indignation she might have been disposed to feelmelted away; for it was a good kind honest face—ruddy with muchexposure to wind and weather, and fringed with a luxuriant growth oftangled hair.
“My lass—I’m a married man—(an’ well I knows it, w’en Mrs. Quistain’t got ’er temper ironed out straight!)—and there ain’t no ’arm inme. But there’s a few craft of a queer rig in these waters—and you’lldo well not to stay in ’em.”
Madge made up her mind at once to trust him; explained briefly that sheknew nothing of the neighbourhood, and had merely come there to keep anappointment. And then, without more ado, she suddenly turnedround—made a frantic effort to stand upright—and dropped into theman’s arms. The scenes through which she had passed so recently hadutterly unnerved her, and Miss Madge Barnshaw was lying in a dead faintin the arms of Captain Peter Quist.
The Captain’s first thought was to shout for help; his next, to carrythe girl to some place where he could procure something which wouldrevive her. Glancing about him eagerly, he caught sight of the lightedwindows of The Three Watermen; and, without a moment’s delay, halfcarried and half supported her through the door, and into the littleprivate bar.
Only one person happened to be in that bar at the time—a little man,seated in a corner, half asleep, with a glass of spirits beside him.The Captain, entering hurriedly with his burden, looked round, andcried out—“Give me some brandy—quick! an’ tell me w’ere I can find adoctor.”
At the mention of that last word, the little man in the cornerstaggered to his feet; swayed uneasily for a moment; and then cametowards the Captain, with what dignity he could muster on such shortnotice. But his eyes no sooner fell upon the Captain, and then upon thegirl, than he uttered a sort of cry—spun completely round like anunsteady top—and made for the door. But the Captain had recognisedhim, too; and caught him just as he was slipping out.
“’Ere ’old ’ard, mess-mate—’old ’ard,” exclaimed the Captain, who haddeposited his burden on a bench and was able to give, for the moment,his undivided attention to his captive. “You’re a man as I wants tosee, in ’arf a shake, so soon as I’ve attended to this ’ere young lady.An’ per’aps, as there don’t seem to be nobody else ’andy—p’raps youcan tell me w’ere I’ll find a doctor?”
The little man—no other than Dr. Cripps—was cowed by the superiorsize and strength of the Captain and capitulated. “I—I am a doctor,”he said, giving himself a sort of shake, probably with the object ofpulling himself together—and bending over Madge, who had begun to openher eyes, and to look about her. “Ah—nothing more than a temporaryfaintness, as I imagined.”
He turned round suddenly, and went to the bar, and hammered on it withhis fists, and shouted out in a voice sufficient to be heard at theother end of the house. “Hi—hi—why the devil don’t you look afterbusiness, all of you! Here’s brandy wanted—and all sorts ofthings—and yet any one might die, and be buried forty times over,before you’d turn a hair. Hi—hi—where are you all?”
A surly-looking man came slowly out of an inner room, and advanced tothe bar. “All right—all right—you needn’t shout the ’ouse down, Dr.Cripps,” he said, stooping to get what was wanted, and glancingcarelessly at the girl as he did so.
But it happened that the brandy was not required; for the mere mentionof the name of Cripps was sufficient to rouse Madge, as nothing elsecould have done. She sprang up at once, and caught the little man bythe shoulders, and looked into his eyes. Cripps, for his part, began toshake and to tremble very much; for he remembered the fifty pounds shehad paid him, and wondered whether or not she wanted it back.
“Are you Dr. Cripps?” she asked, staring at him intently. “Yes—I seeyou are. What Providence has sent you to me at this time!”
“Madam,” said the Doctor, feebly, “if it would be any use for me todeny my own identity I would most willingly do so. I have been huntedand badgered to an extent beyond all belief; I have been dragged aboutin the dead of night—sworn at—carried miles on hay waggons, without achance of obtaining natural and necessary refreshments; and all becausemy name happens to be Cripps. But I give in, Madam; I am vanquished; dowhat you will with me—but let me finish my liquor.” He walked acrossto where his glass stood, and drained it, and then looked expressivelyat the Captain. But nothing came of that; and at last beginning dimlyto see, in the coming of these two people—each connected, in such adifferent fashion, with his recollections of Dandy Chater—somethingwhich he had to face, whispered the landlord over the bar for a moment,and then turned again to them.
“If you want me—if you have anything private to say,” he said—“youhad better come upstairs; there is a room there, of which I can claimthe use.”
“And in which you an’ me met some little time back,” said the Captain,nudging him.
Cripps led the way upstairs, and ushered them into the same room inwhich the meeting had been held not so long before. Carefully shuttingthe door, he motioned to them to be seated, and stood looking at themcuriously, and waiting for them to speak.
“A day or two since,” began Madge, speaking with much eagerness, andlooking straight at the Doctor, “I paid you a large sum for certaininformation concerning Mr. Dandy Chater——”
“’Ullo!” broke in the Captain, staring from one to the other. “I asksyer pardon, Miss—but I ’adn’t no idea, w’en I took yer in tow, as youwas acquainted with my ole friend Phil.”
She looked at him in perplexity. “Nor am I,” she said slowly. “I spokeof Mr. Dandy Chater, who has been recaptured, and is to stand his trialto-morrow for murder.”
“Dandy Chater is the false flag
as ’e’s bin a sailin’ under,” repliedthe Captain. “But, anyways—call ’im Dandy Chater, or Phil Crowdy—orPhil Chater—’e’s my pal, and I’m beatin’ up these ’ere quarters for tofind ’im.”
Again there flashed through Madge’s mind the words the Doctor hadspoken, about the one man living, and the other dead; again thereseemed to ring in her ears the words of Ogledon, when he had confessedto her that he had killed Dandy Chater. Yet that same Dandy Chater hadstood—alive and well—in the hut by the river; that same Dandy Chaterwas now on his way to Chelmsford Jail!
“He said to-night,” she said, turning to Cripps—“that I must findyou—that you could save him. I have heard that the trial will be heldto-morrow. Won’t you help me; won’t you tell me something more than youtold the other day? Think in what a state of mind I am now left! Theone man has been murdered; the other, of whom you spoke, is eitherDandy Chater, or a total stranger to me. How am I to find out?”
The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but the Captain suddenly raisedhis hand, and checked him. “Avast!” he said hoarsely—“I’ve got thebearings of this ’ere business—an’ I’ve got it from Phil ’isself. An’if so be as this ’ere young lady ’ll bear with me, she shall ’ave thestraight of it. Dandy Chater—own twin brother to my pal Philip Crowdy,or Philip Chater—was took out of the river by this ’ere gent an’myself a while back. I ’ad my reasons fer sayin’ nothink, an’ I cut an’run.”
“I, too, had my reasons,” said Cripps, in a low voice—“for I fearedOgledon, and my own connection with him, and I suspected that Ogledonhad killed him.”
Madge had laid her head down on the grimy table, and was weepingbitterly. “Then it is true,” she said, in a whisper—“Dandy Chater isdead!”
“Steady, my lass!” said the Captain, laying his rough hand lightly onher shoulder—“Don’t give way; for there’s summink I’ve got to tellyou.”
She raised her head, and looked full into his eyes. Kindly eyes theywere, and they smiled at her sympathetically.
“A long while ago, my lass, there was a cruel wrong done—a bright ladcut out of ’is ’ome, an’ all that should ’ave bin ’is, an’ cast adrift,many miles across the sea, without a name—an’ with the brand of’Bastard’ upon ’im. That lad was my pal Phil Chater; an’ ’e was thetwin brother of Dandy Chater.”
Again the words singing in her ears—“The one living—the other dead!”
“Think on it, my lass,” went on the Captain gently. “The one boy—an’’im the youngest—brought up in luxury, an’ with powdered lacqueys forto wait on ’im at every turn; the other—an’ ’im the eldest—sent milesacross the sea, an’ roughin’ it like any common child. Lost in thebush, ’e was—pitched about from one place to another—’omeless,friendless, without a compass. But—an’ mark you this, my lass—if evera boy steered ’isself straight by the stars o’ God, that boy Phil did.An’ when at last ’e comes ’ome, with no thought in ’is ’eart ofanythink but a ’earty greetin’ for ’is brother, an’ a share-and-sharealike business with that brother—an’ finds ’im dead—wot do ’e do? Iput it to you, Miss—wot do my pal Phil do?”
She looked at him, with a brighter face, and slowly shook her head.
“My pal Phil finds as that brother of ’is loved a young gel—(an’ Idon’t need look far, for to find that young gel to-night!)—an’ wasloved by ’er. Phil is took for the real Dandy by that young gel—an’ ’eloves ’er! Bein’ afeard that, if she knowed the truth, she would cast’im off, ’e takes ’is brother’s place—’is brother’s sins—dips ’isclean ’ands, so to speak, in the blood that guilty brother shed—an’all—mark you this, my lass—all for love of that young gel. An’, forlove of ’er—the Judge will cry ‘Death!’ on Phil Chater to-morrer!”
The Captain, in his honest excitement and admiration, had risen to hisfeet, and waved one arm above his head. Madge had risen, too, withalmost equal excitement.
“There was one man as could ’ave saved ’im—a man of the name ofOgledon——”
“Ogledon is dead,” said Madge. “He died to-night, and can do neithergood nor harm any more. But we”—she looked round quickly at bothmen—“we can save him; we can prove to all the world that this man isinnocent, and is suffering for another. The trial is to-morrow—thefirst on the day’s list. We must reach Chelmsford to-morrow morning; wemust save this man!”
The Captain looked at her, in an excess of admiration. “My lass,” hesaid slowly—“I ain’t surprised that my pal Phil should ’ave gornthrough wot ’e ’as, for sich a gel! I’d ’ave disowned ’im, if ’e’d doneless!”
* * * * *
The sun is shining brightly outside the crowded court-house; and menand women, densely packed within the walls, glance up at the grimywindows, and from them to the prisoner, and wonder, perhaps, what he isthinking about. The prisoner, for his part, scarcely makes amovement—scarcely turns his weary eyes round when any one speaks. Forhope has gone out of him; the battle has been fought and lost; themurderer of the real Dandy Chater is dead and has carried his secretinto another Place where all secrets are known. The crowd of facesabout him bears but one stamp upon it all—hard, unrelenting, vengeful,every face there looks upon him with certainty as a dead man and isglad to think that he gets what he deserves.
There has been—as there always is in such cases—much eloquence onboth sides—and some dramatic moments. At the present the jury are alittle tired of it, and the Judge palpably nods; for the whole thing issuch a foregone conclusion. The great man who has come down speciallyinstructed by the Treasury, has pointed out that this, gentlemen, is acase in which no considerations of social standing, birth or positionmust be allowed to weigh. Indeed, gentlemen of the most intelligentjury, in the most intelligent country of the world, if it be possibleto make it a little hotter for the prisoner than is made already, then,gentlemen, clearly it is your duty to make it hotter. For this man—(amost desperate character you must understand, gentlemen—as witness thecloud of police about the dock and even in the dock with him)—this manhad the advantages of a great name—a fine position—much property.Yet, gentlemen, what have you heard of him? He stands before you aconvicted forger, bank robber—burglar—and as you will have thrustdown your throats a little more, gentlemen, a murderer! You have had amost honest gentleman here to-day on whom stolen notes were passed tocover the amount of a forgery committed by the prisoner on his greatestfriend. You have heard of transactions whereby the estate handed downto the prisoner has been gradually sapped away by riotous living untilnot one stick of it remains that is not encumbered or bartered away.And to-day, gentlemen, in effect, behold the prisoner brought beforeyou to receive his just doom!
All this and much more from the learned gentleman instructed by theTreasury. A movement in Court as the learned gentleman sits down andthe prisoner turns his eyes in the direction of a new voice.
The new voice belongs to Mr. Andrew Banks, rising young barrister; andMr. Andrew Banks is disposed to be flippant. For it must not beunderstood, gentlemen of the jury, that because a man of the station oflife of the prisoner has run through a fortune—or half-a-dozenfortunes for the matter of that—and has made a mistake in theexuberance of his heart in signing some one else’s name instead of hisown—it must really not be imagined, gentlemen, that that man for thatreason is capable of the atrocious crime with which he stands charged.In fact, this rising young barrister would have the gentlemen of thejury believe that the fact of his having done these things and donethem in an open-handed devil-may-care gentlemanly fashion, ratherredounds to his credit than otherwise—and goes indeed far to prove himincapable of such a crime as this. The rising young barrister would begto call the attention of this most intelligent jury to the witnessesrelied upon for the prosecution. One—the witness in regard to theforgery and the stolen notes—is a sixty per-cent. money-lender who hasdoubtless bled the prisoner pretty freely for years; the other—and amost unwilling witness it must be rem
embered, gentlemen—is a formerservant of the prisoner and now on his own confession out of asituation. In a word, gentlemen of the jury, this rising youngbarrister absolutely flouts the testimony of the witnesses for theprosecution; has a little to say about hearths and homes and Britishliberties; and sits down amid a little murmur of applause.
But the rising young barrister is not so sanguine as he appears, for heleans across towards his learned brother from the Treasury and whispersbefore that gentleman rises again—“Devilish uphill work! Can’t get aword out of him—won’t suggest any course of defence at all.”
A few more words from the prosecution—wholly unnecessary words, forthe jury are whispering and have obviously made up their minds. Thenamid a silence the Judge sums up; would evidently be merciful if hecould; but is compelled to point out all the most damning facts againstthe prisoner—his desperate attempts to regain his liberty—the absenceof any evidence to rebut the weight of testimony brought forward by theprosecution. In a word, gentlemen of the jury, your course is clearbefore you, and you are called upon to do your duty.
A whispering—a rustling—and a nodding of heads among the jurymen; forit is not even necessary for them to retire. Then amid a silencegreater even than before the usual questions are put and theverdict—known long ago to every man and every woman in the Court—isspoken in one word. Guilty!
As though that word loosed the pent-up emotions and passions of thecrowded place, and as though the grim satisfaction at the supposedjustice of the thing can no longer be suppressed, a great cheer breaksout and rolls through the Court and out through echoing corridors intothe street itself; where it is taken up by hundreds of throats and senton and on to fill the town. Then following immediately on it and assuddenly as though no sound had been raised, fell a death-like silence;for Judge and prisoner are face to face—eye to eye. But though he wereasked a thousand times, the prisoner has nothing to offer—except thesimple words—“I am innocent.” Men whisper each other that he seemsstunned.
Some one glides behind the Judge and fits a square of black on his wig.The Judge has actually opened his mouth to speak, when there comes asudden commotion at the doors; cries of remonstrance; people thrustingthis way and that; and foremost of a little knot of people who seem tobe fighting their way in—a woman.
She stops for nothing—will be stopped by nothing. Men fall back frombefore her as though she had some power above mere humanity. PhilipChater turning towards where she comes, has a dim idea thatCripps—staggering and waving his arms; Betty Siggs, with her armsstretched out towards him; Captain Quist struggling fiercely with agigantic constable—are all about that central figure. Then theimperious voice of the woman rings out above all the tumult.
“Stop—in God’s name! That man is not Dandy Chater!”