Reprinted Pieces

by Dickens, Charles

  immediately. I looked at the gloves pretty narrowly, and it was my

  opinion that they had been cleaned. There was a smell of sulphur

  and rosin about 'em, you know, which cleaned gloves usually have,

  more or less. I took 'em over to a friend of mine at Kennington,

  who was in that line, and I put it to him. "What do you say now?

  Have these gloves been cleaned?" "These gloves have been cleaned,"

  says he. "Have you any idea who cleaned them?" says I. "Not at

  all," says he; "I've a very distinct idea who DIDN'T clean 'em, and

  that's myself. But I'll tell you what, Wield, there ain't above

  eight or nine reg'lar glove-cleaners in London," - there were not,

  at that time, it seems - "and I think I can give you their

  addresses, and you may find out, by that means, who did clean 'em."

  Accordingly, he gave me the directions, and I went here, and I went

  there, and I looked up this man, and I looked up that man; but,

  though they all agreed that the gloves had been cleaned, I couldn't

  find the man, woman, or child, that had cleaned that aforesaid pair

  of gloves.

  'What with this person not being at home, and that person being

  expected home in the afternoon, and so forth, the inquiry took me

  three days. On the evening of the third day, coming over Waterloo

  Bridge from the Surrey side of the river, quite beat, and very much

  vexed and disappointed, I thought I'd have a shilling's worth of

  entertainment at the Lyceum Theatre to freshen myself up. So I

  went into the Pit, at half-price, and I sat myself down next to a

  very quiet, modest sort of young man. Seeing I was a stranger

  (which I thought it just as well to appear to be) he told me the

  names of the actors on the stage, and we got into conversation.

  When the play was over, we came out together, and I said, "We've

  been very companionable and agreeable, and perhaps you wouldn't

  object to a drain?" "Well, you're very good," says he; "I

  SHOULDN'T object to a drain." Accordingly, we went to a publichouse,

  near the Theatre, sat ourselves down in a quiet room upstairs

  on the first floor, and called for a pint of half-and-half,

  apiece, and a pipe.

  'Well, sir, we put our pipes aboard, and we drank our half-andhalf,

  and sat a-talking, very sociably, when the young man says,

  "You must excuse me stopping very long," he says, "because I'm

  forced to go home in good time. I must be at work all night." "At

  work all night?" says I. "You ain't a baker?" "No," he says,

  laughing, "I ain't a baker." "I thought not," says I, "you haven't

  the looks of a baker." "No," says he, "I'm a glove-cleaner."

  'I never was more astonished in my life, than when I heard them

  words come out of his lips. "You're a glove-cleaner, are you?"

  says I. "Yes," he says, "I am." "Then, perhaps," says I, taking

  the gloves out of my pocket, "you can tell me who cleaned this pair

  of gloves? It's a rum story," I says. "I was dining over at

  Lambeth, the other day, at a free-and-easy - quite promiscuous -

  with a public company - when some gentleman, he left these gloves

  behind him! Another gentleman and me, you see, we laid a wager of

  a sovereign, that I wouldn't find out who they belonged to. I've

  spent as much as seven shillings already, in trying to discover;

  but, if you could help me, I'd stand another seven and welcome.

  You see there's TR and a cross, inside." "I see," he says. "Bless

  you, I know these gloves very well! I've seen dozens of pairs

  belonging to the same party." "No?" says I. "Yes," says he.

  "Then you know who cleaned 'em?" says I. "Rather so," says he.

  "My father cleaned 'em."

  '"Where does your father live?" says I. "Just round the corner,"

  says the young man, "near Exeter Street, here. He'll tell you who

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  they belong to, directly." "Would you come round with me now?"

  says I. "Certainly," says he, "but you needn't tell my father that

  you found me at the play, you know, because he mightn't like it."

  "All right!" We went round to the place, and there we found an old

  man in a white apron, with two or three daughters, all rubbing and

  cleaning away at lots of gloves, in a front parlour. "Oh, Father!"

  says the young man, "here's a person been and made a bet about the

  ownership of a pair of gloves, and I've told him you can settle

  it." "Good evening, sir," says I to the old gentleman. "Here's

  the gloves your son speaks of. Letters TR, you see, and a cross."

  "Oh yes," he says, "I know these gloves very well; I've cleaned

  dozens of pairs of 'em. They belong to Mr. Trinkle, the great

  upholsterer in Cheapside." "Did you get 'em from Mr. Trinkle,

  direct," says I, "if you'll excuse my asking the question?" "No,"

  says he; "Mr. Trinkle always sends 'em to Mr. Phibbs's, the

  haberdasher's, opposite his shop, and the haberdasher sends 'em to

  me." "Perhaps YOU wouldn't object to a drain?" says I. "Not in

  the least!" says he. So I took the old gentleman out, and had a

  little more talk with him and his son, over a glass, and we parted

  excellent friends.

  'This was late on a Saturday night. First thing on the Monday

  morning, I went to the haberdasher's shop, opposite Mr. Trinkle's,

  the great upholsterer's in Cheapside. "Mr. Phibbs in the way?"

  "My name is Phibbs." "Oh! I believe you sent this pair of gloves

  to be cleaned?" "Yes, I did, for young Mr. Trinkle over the way.

  There he is in the shop!" "Oh! that's him in the shop, is it? Him

  in the green coat?" "The same individual." "Well, Mr. Phibbs,

  this is an unpleasant affair; but the fact is, I am Inspector Wield

  of the Detective Police, and I found these gloves under the pillow

  of the young woman that was murdered the other day, over in the

  Waterloo Road!" "Good Heaven!" says he. "He's a most respectable

  young man, and if his father was to hear of it, it would be the

  ruin of him!" "I'm very sorry for it," says I, "but I must take

  him into custody." "Good Heaven!" says Mr. Phibbs, again; "can

  nothing be done?" "Nothing," says I. "Will you allow me to call

  him over here," says he, "that his father may not see it done?" "I

  don't object to that," says I; "but unfortunately, Mr. Phibbs, I

  can't allow of any communication between you. If any was

  attempted, I should have to interfere directly. Perhaps you'll

  beckon him over here?' Mr. Phibbs went to the door and beckoned,

  and the young fellow came across the street directly; a smart,

  brisk young fellow.

  '"Good morning, sir," says I. "Good morning, sir," says he.

  "Would you allow me to inquire, sir," says I, "if you ever had any

  acquaintance with a party of the name of Grimwood?" "Grimwood!

  Grimwood!" says he. "No!" "You know the Waterloo Road?" "Oh! of

  course I know the Waterloo Road!" "Happen to have heard of a young

  woman being murdered there?" "Yes, I read it in the paper, and

  very sorry I was to read it." "Here's a pair of gloves belonging

  to you, that I found under her pillow the morning afterwards!"

  'He was in a dreadful s
tate, sir; a dreadful state I "Mr. Wield,"

  he says, "upon my solemn oath I never was there. I never so much

  as saw her, to my knowledge, in my life!" "I am very sorry," says

  I. "To tell you the truth; I don't think you ARE the murderer, but

  I must take you to Union Hall in a cab. However, I think it's a

  case of that sort, that, at present, at all events, the magistrate

  will hear it in private."

  'A private examination took place, and then it came out that this

  young man was acquainted with a cousin of the unfortunate Eliza

  Grimwood, and that, calling to see this cousin a day or two before

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  the murder, he left these gloves upon the table. Who should come

  in, shortly afterwards, but Eliza Grimwood! "Whose gloves are

  these?" she says, taking 'em up. "Those are Mr. Trinkle's gloves,"

  says her cousin. "Oh!" says she, "they are very dirty, and of no

  use to him, I am sure. I shall take 'em away for my girl to clean

  the stoves with." And she put 'em in her pocket. The girl had

  used 'em to clean the stoves, and, I have no doubt, had left 'em

  lying on the bedroom mantelpiece, or on the drawers, or somewhere;

  and her mistress, looking round to see that the room was tidy, had

  caught 'em up and put 'em under the pillow where I found 'em.

  That's the story, sir.'

  II. - THE ARTFUL TOUCH

  'One of the most BEAUTIFUL things that ever was done, perhaps,'

  said Inspector Wield, emphasising the adjective, as preparing us to

  expect dexterity or ingenuity rather than strong interest, 'was a

  move of Sergeant Witchem's. It was a lovely idea!

  'Witchem and me were down at Epsom one Derby Day, waiting at the

  station for the Swell Mob. As I mentioned, when we were talking

  about these things before, we are ready at the station when there's

  races, or an Agricultural Show, or a Chancellor sworn in for an

  university, or Jenny Lind, or anything of that sort; and as the

  Swell Mob come down, we send 'em back again by the next train. But

  some of the Swell Mob, on the occasion of this Derby that I refer

  to, so far kidded us as to hire a horse and shay; start away from

  London by Whitechapel, and miles round; come into Epsom from the

  opposite direction; and go to work, right and left, on the course,

  while we were waiting for 'em at the Rail. That, however, ain't

  the point of what I'm going to tell you.

  'While Witchem and me were waiting at the station, there comes up

  one Mr. Tatt; a gentleman formerly in the public line, quite an

  amateur Detective in his way, and very much respected. "Halloa,

  Charley Wield," he says. "What are you doing here? On the look

  out for some of your old friends?" "Yes, the old move, Mr. Tatt."

  "Come along," he says, "you and Witchem, and have a glass of

  sherry." "We can't stir from the place," says I, "till the next

  train comes in; but after that, we will with pleasure." Mr. Tatt

  waits, and the train comes in, and then Witchem and me go off with

  him to the Hotel. Mr. Tatt he's got up quite regardless of

  expense, for the occasion; and in his shirt-front there's a

  beautiful diamond prop, cost him fifteen or twenty pound - a very

  handsome pin indeed. We drink our sherry at the bar, and have had

  our three or four glasses, when Witchem cries suddenly, "Look out,

  Mr. Wield! stand fast!" and a dash is made into the place by the

  Swell Mob - four of 'em - that have come down as I tell you, and in

  a moment Mr. Tatt's prop is gone! Witchem, he cuts 'em off at the

  door, I lay about me as hard as I can, Mr. Tatt shows fight like a

  good 'un, and there we are, all down together, heads and heels,

  knocking about on the floor of the bar - perhaps you never see such

  a scene of confusion! However, we stick to our men (Mr. Tatt being

  as good as any officer), and we take 'em all, and carry 'em off to

  the station.' The station's full of people, who have been took on

  the course; and it's a precious piece of work to get 'em secured.

  However, we do it at last, and we search 'em; but nothing's found

  upon 'em, and they're locked up; and a pretty state of heat we are

  in by that time, I assure you!

  'I was very blank over it, myself, to think that the prop had been

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  passed away; and I said to Witchem, when we had set 'em to rights,

  and were cooling ourselves along with Mr. Tatt, "we don't take much

  by THIS move, anyway, for nothing's found upon 'em, and it's only

  the braggadocia, (2) after all." "What do you mean, Mr. Wield?"

  says Witchem. "Here's the diamond pin!" and in the palm of his

  hand there it was, safe and sound! "Why, in the name of wonder,"

  says me and Mr. Tatt, in astonishment, "how did you come by that?"

  "I'll tell you how I come by it," says he. "I saw which of 'em

  took it; and when we were all down on the floor together, knocking

  about, I just gave him a little touch on the back of his hand, as I

  knew his pal would; and he thought it WAS his pal; and gave it me!"

  It was beautiful, beau-ti-ful!

  'Even that was hardly the best of the case, for that chap was tried

  at the Quarter Sessions at Guildford. You know what Quarter

  Sessions are, sir. Well, if you'll believe me, while them slow

  justices were looking over the Acts of Parliament, to see what they

  could do to him, I'm blowed if he didn't cut out of the dock before

  their faces! He cut out of the dock, sir, then and there; swam

  across a river; and got up into a tree to dry himself. In the tree

  he was took - an old woman having seen him climb up - and Witchem's

  artful touch transported him!'

  III. - THE SOFA

  "What young men will do, sometimes, to ruin themselves and break

  their friends' hearts,' said Sergeant Dornton, 'it's surprising! I

  had a case at Saint Blank's Hospital which was of this sort. A bad

  case, indeed, with a bad end!

  'The Secretary, and the House-Surgeon, and the Treasurer, of Saint

  Blank's Hospital, came to Scotland Yard to give information of

  numerous robberies having been committed on the students. The

  students could leave nothing in the pockets of their great-coats,

  while the great-coats were hanging at the hospital, but it was

  almost certain to be stolen. Property of various descriptions was

  constantly being lost; and the gentlemen were naturally uneasy

  about it, and anxious, for the credit of the institution, that the

  thief or thieves should be discovered. The case was entrusted to

  me, and I went to the hospital.

  '"Now, gentlemen," said I, after we had talked it over; "I

  understand this property is usually lost from one room."

  'Yes, they said. It was.

  '"I should wish, if you please," said I, "to see the room."

  'It was a good-sized bare room down-stairs, with a few tables and

  forms in it, and a row of pegs, all round, for hats and coats.

  '"Next, gentlemen," said I, "do you suspect anybody?"

  'Yes, they said. They did suspect somebody. They were sorry to

  say, they suspected one of the port
ers.

  '"I should like," said I, "to have that man pointed out to me, and

  to have a little time to look after him."

  'He was pointed out, and I looked after him, and then I went back

  to the hospital, and said, "Now, gentlemen, it's not the porter.

  He's, unfortunately for himself, a little too fond of drink, but

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  he's nothing worse. My suspicion is, that these robberies are

  committed by one of the students; and if you'll put me a sofa into

  that room where the pegs are - as there's no closet - I think I

  shall be able to detect the thief. I wish the sofa, if you please,

  to be covered with chintz, or something of that sort, so that I may

  lie on my chest, underneath it, without being seen."

  'The sofa was provided, and next day at eleven o'clock, before any

  of the students came, I went there, with those gentlemen, to get

  underneath it. It turned out to be one of those old-fashioned

  sofas with a great cross-beam at the bottom, that would have broken

  my back in no time if I could ever have got below it. We had quite

  a job to break all this away in the time; however, I fell to work,

  and they fell to work, and we broke it out, and made a clear place

  for me. I got under the sofa, lay down on my chest, took out my

  knife, and made a convenient hole in the chintz to look through.

  It was then settled between me and the gentlemen that when the

  students were all up in the wards, one of the gentlemen should come

  in, and hang up a great-coat on one of the pegs. And that that

  great-coat should have, in one of the pockets, a pocket-book

  containing marked money.

  'After I had been there some time, the students began to drop into

  the room, by ones, and twos, and threes, and to talk about all

  sorts of things, little thinking there was anybody under the sofa -

  and then to go up-stairs. At last there came in one who remained

  until he was alone in the room by himself. A tallish, good-looking

  young man of one or two and twenty, with a light whisker. He went

  to a particular hat-peg, took off a good hat that was hanging

  there, tried it on, hung his own hat in its place, and hung that

  hat on another peg, nearly opposite to me. I then felt quite

  certain that he was the thief, and would come back by-and-by.

  'When they were all up-stairs, the gentleman came in with the