CHAPTER FIVE.
CONSPIRACY AND VILLAINY, INNOCENCE AND TRAGEDY.
In one of the dirtiest of the dirty and disreputable dens of London, aman and a boy sat on that same dark December night engaged in earnestconversation.
Their seats were stools, their table was an empty flour-barrel, theirapartment a cellar. A farthing candle stood awry in the neck of a pintbottle. A broken-lipped jug of gin-and-water hot, and two crackedtea-cups stood between them. The damp of the place was drawn out,rather than abated, by a small fire, which burned in a rusty grate, overwhich they sought to warm their hands as they conversed. The man waspalpably a scoundrel. Not less so was the boy.
"Slogger," said the man, in a growling voice, "we must do it this werynight."
"Vell, Brassey, I'm game," replied the Slogger, draining his cup with adefiant air.
"If it hadn't bin for that old 'ooman as was care-taker all lastsummer," continued the man, as he pricked a refractory tobacco-pipe,"we'd 'ave found the job more difficult; but, you see, she went and lostthe key o' the back door, and the doctor he 'ad to get another. So Igoes an' gets round the old 'ooman, an' pumps her about the lost key,an' at last I finds it--d'ye see?"
"But," returned the Slogger, with a knowing frown, "seems to me as howyou'd never get two keys into one lock--eh? The noo 'un wouldn't letthe old 'un in, would it?"
"Ah, that's where it is," replied Mr Brassey, with a leer, as he raisedhis cup to his large ugly mouth and chuckled. "You see, the doctor'swife she's summat timmersome, an' looks arter the lockin' up every nightherself--wery partikler. Then she 'as all the keys up into her ownbedroom o' nights--so, you see, in consikence of her uncommon care, shekeeps all the locks clear for you and me to work upon!"
The Slogger was so overcome by this instance of the result of excessivecaution, that he laughed heartily for some minutes, and had to apply forrelief to the hot gin-and-water.
"'Ow ever did you come for to find that hout?" asked the boy.
"Servants," replied the man.
"Ha!" exclaimed the boy, with a wink, which would have been knowing ifthe spirits had not by that time rendered it ridiculous.
"Yes, you see," continued the elder ruffian, blowing a heavy cloud ofsmoke like a cannon shot from his lips, "servants is wariable incharacter. Some is good, an' some is bad. I mostly take up wi' the bad'uns. There's one in the doctor's 'ouse as is a prime favourite withme, an' knows all about the locks, she does. But there's a noo an'unexpected difficulty sprung up in the way this wery mornin'."
"Wot's that?" demanded the Slogger, with the air of a man prepared todefy all difficulties.
"They've bin an' got a dog--a little dog, too; the very wust kind forkickin' up a row. 'Owever, it ain't the fust time you an' I 'ave met anconkered such a difficulty. You'll take a bit of cat's meat in yourpocket, you know."
"Hall right!" exclaimed the young housebreaker, with a reckless toss ofhis shaggy head, as he laid his hand on the jug: but the elder scoundrellaid his stronger hand upon it.
"Come, Slogger; no more o' that. You've 'ad too much already. Youwon't be fit for dooty if you take more."
"It's wery 'ard on a cove," growled the lad, sulkily.
Brassey looked narrowly into his face, then took up the forbidden jug,and himself drained it, after which he rose, grasped the boy by hiscollar, and forced him, struggling, towards a sink full of dirty water,into which he thrust his head, and shook it about roughly for a secondor two.
"There, that'll sober you," said the man, releasing the boy, and sendinghim into the middle of the room with a kick. "Now, don't let yourmonkey rise, Slogger. It's all for your good. I'll be back in 'alf anhour. See that you have the tools ready."
So saying the man left the cellar, and the boy, who was muchexasperated, though decidedly sobered, by his treatment, proceeded todry himself with a jack-towel, and make preparations for the intendedburglary.
The house in regard to which such interesting preparations were beingmade was buried, at the hour I write of, in profound repose. As itsfate and its family have something to do with my tale, I shall describeit somewhat particularly. In the basement there was an offshoot, orscullery, which communicated with the kitchen. This scullery had beenset apart that day as the bedroom of my little dog. (Of course I knewnothing of this, and what I am about to relate, at that time. I learnedit all afterwards.) Dumps lay sound asleep on a flannel bed, made byloving hands, in the bottom of a soap-box. It lay under the shadow of abeer-cask--the servants' beer--a fresh cask--which, having arrived latethat evening, had not been relegated to the cellar. The only otherindividual who slept on the basement was the footman.
That worthy, being elderly and feeble, though bold as a lion, had beendoomed to the lower regions by his mistress, as a sure protectionagainst burglars. He went to bed nightly with a poker and a pistol sodisposed that he could clutch them both while in the act of springingfrom bed. This arrangement was made not to relieve his own fears, butby order of his mistress, with whom he could hold communication at nightwithout rising, by means of a speaking-tube.
John--he chanced to bear my own name--had been so long subject to nightalarms, partly from cats careering in the back yard, and his mistressdemanding to know, through the tube, if he heard them; partly, also,from frequent ringing of the night-bell, by persons who urgently wanted"Dr McTougall," that he had become callous in his nervous system, anddid much of his night-work as a semi-somnambulist.
The rooms on the first floor above, consisting of the dining-room,library, and consulting-room, etcetera, were left, as usual, tenantlessand dark at night. On the drawing-room floor Mrs McTougall lay in hercomfortable bed, sound asleep and dreamless. The poor lady had spentthe first part of that night in considerable fear because of therestlessness of Dumps in his new and strange bedroom--her husband beingabsent because of a sudden call to a country patient. The speaking-tubehad been pretty well worked, and John had been lively in consequence--though patient--but at last the drowsy god had calmed the good lady intoa state of oblivion.
On the floor above, besides various bedrooms, there were the nightnursery and the schoolroom. In one of the bedrooms slumbered the younglady who had robbed me of my doggie!
In the nursery were four cribs and a cradle. Dr McTougall's family hadcome in what I may style annual progression. Six years had he beenmarried, and each year had contributed another annual to the army.
The children were now ranged round the walls with mathematicalprecision--one, two, three, four, and five. The doctor liked them allto be together, and the nursery, being unusually large, permitted ofthis arrangement. A tall, powerful, sunny-tempered woman of uncertainage officered the army by day and guarded it by night. Jack and Harryand Job and Jenny occupied the cribs, Dolly the cradle. Each of thesecreatures had been transfixed by sleep in the very midst of somedesperate enterprise during the earlier watches of that night, and allhad fallen down in more or less _degage_ and reckless attitudes. Here afat fist, doubled; there a fatter leg, protruded; elsewhere a spreadeagle was represented, with the bedclothes in a heap on its stomach; ora complex knot was displayed, made up of legs, sheets, blankets, andarms. Subsequently the tall but faithful guardian had gone round,disentangled the knot, reduced the spread eagle, and straightened themall out. They now lay, stiff and motionless as mummies, roseate as themorn, deceptively innocent, with eyes tight shut and mouths wide open--save in the case of Dolly, whose natural appetite could only be appeasedby the nightly sucking of two of her own fingers.
In the attics three domestics slumbered in peace. Still higher, abelated cat reposed in the lee of a chimney-stack.
It was a restful scene, which none but a heartless monster could haveventured to disturb. Even Brassey and the Slogger had no intention ofdisturbing it--on the contrary, it was their earnest hope that theymight accomplish their designs on the doctor's plate with as littledisturbance as possible. Their motto was a paraphrase, "Get the plate--quietly, if you can, but get t
he plate!"
In the midst of the universal stillness, when no sound was heard savethe sighing of the night-wind or the solemn creaking of an unsuccessfulsmoke-curer, there came a voice of alarm down the tube--
"John, do you hear burglars?"
"Oh, dear! no, mum, I don't."
"I'm convinced I hear them at the back of the house!" tubed MrsMcTougall.
"Indeed it ain't, mum," tubed John in reply. "It's on'y that little dogas comed this morning and ain't got used to its noo 'ome yet. It'sa-whinin', mum; that's wot it is."
"Oh! do get up, John, and put a light beside him; perhaps he's afraid ofthe dark."
"Very well, mum," said John, obedient but savage.
He arose, upset the poker and pistol with a hideous clatter, which wasluckily too remote to smite horror into the heart of Mrs McTougall, andgroped his way into the servants' hall. Lighting a paraffin lamp, hewent to the scullery, using very unfair and harsh language towards myinnocent dog.
"Pompey, you brute!"--the footman had already learned his name--"holdyour noise. There!"
He set the lamp on the head of the beer cask and returned to bed.
It is believed that poor perplexed Dumps viewed the midnight apparitionwith silent surprise, and wagged his tail, being friendly; then gazed atthe lamp after the apparition had retired, until obliged to give thesubject up, like a difficult conundrum, and finally went to sleep--perchance to dream--of dogs, or me!
It was while Dumps was thus engaged that Brassey and the Slogger walkedup to the front of the house and surveyed it in silence for a fewminutes. They also took particular observations of both ends of thestreet.
"All serene," said Brassey; "now, you go round to the back and use yourkey quietly. Give 'im the bit o' meat quick. He won't give tonguearter 'e smells it, and one or two barks won't alarm the 'ouse. So, getalong, Slogger. W'en you've got him snug, with a rope round 'is neckan' 'is head in the flannel bag, just caterwaul an' I'll come round.Bless the cats! they're a great help to gentlemen in our procession."
Thus admonished, the Slogger chuckled and melted into the darkness,while Brassey mingled himself with the shadow of a pillar.
The key--lost by the care-taker and found by the burglar--fitted intothe empty lock even more perfectly than that which Mrs McTougall hadconveyed to her mantelpiece some hours before. It was well oiled too,and went round in the wards of the lock without giving a chirp, so thatthe bolt flew back with one solitary shot. The report, however, wasloud. It caused Dumps to return from Dogland and raise his head with adecided growl.
Nobody heard the growl except the Slogger, who stood perfectly still fornearly a minute, with his hand on the door-handle. Then he opened thedoor slowly and softly--so slowly and softly that an alarm-bell attachedto it did not ring.
A sharp bow! wow! wow! however, greeted him as he entered, but he wasprompt. A small piece of meat fell directly under the nose of Dumps, ashe stood bristling in front of his box; and, let me add, when Dumpsbristled it was a sight to behold!
"Good dog--good do-o-og," said the Slogger, in his softest and mostinsinuating tone.
Dumps reduced his bark to a growl.
The footman heard both bark and growl, but, attributing them to theinfluence of cats, turned on his other side and listened--not forburglars, innocent man, but for the tube.
It was silent! Evidently "tired nature" was, in Mrs McTougall's case,lulled by the "sweet restorer." Forthwith John betook himself again tothe land of Nod.
"Have another bit?" said the Slogger in quite a friendly way, after thefirst bit had been devoured.
My too trusting favourite wagged his tail and innocently accepted thebribe.
It was good cat's meat. Dumps liked it. The enormous supper with whichhe had lain down was by that time nearly assimilated, and appetite hadbegun to revive. Going down on his knee the young burglar held out athird morsel of temptation in his hand. Dumps meekly advanced and tookthe meat. It was a sad illustration of the ease with which even a dogdescends from bad to worse.
While he was engaged with it the Slogger gently patted his head.
Suddenly Dumps found his muzzle grasped and held tight in a powerfulhand. He tried to bark and yell, but could produce nothing better thana scarcely audible whine. His sides were at the same instant grasped bya pair of powerful knees, while a rope was twisted round his neck, andthe process of strangulation began.
But strangulation was not the Slogger's intention. He had beencarefully warned not to kill.
"Mind, now, you don't screw 'im up too tight," Brassey had said, whengiving the boy his instructions before starting. "Dogs is vurth munny.Just 'old 'im tight and quiet till you get the flannel bag on 'is head,and then stand by till I've sacked the swag."
Accordingly, having effected the bagging of the dog's head, the youngburglar went to the door, holding Dumps tight in his arms, and uttered apretty loud and life-like caterwaul. Brassey heard it, emerged from theshade of his pillar, and was soon beside his comrade.
When Dumps smelt and heard the new-comer, he redoubled his efforts tofree his head and yell, but the Slogger was too much for him.
Few words were wasted on this occasion. The couple understood theirwork. Brassey took up the lamp.
"Wery considerate of 'em to 'ave a light all ready for us," he muttered,as he lowered the flame a little, and glided into the kitchen, leavingthe Slogger on guard in the scullery. Here he found a variety of ginsand snares carefully placed for him--and such as he--by strict orders ofMrs McTougall. Besides a swing-bell on the window shutter--similar tothat which had done so little service on the scullery door--there was acoal-scuttle with the kitchen tongs balanced against it and a tinslop-pail in company with the kitchen shovel, and a watering-pan,which--the poker being already engaged to John--was balanced on its ownrose and handle, all ready to fail with a touch. These outworks beingechelloned along the floor rendered it impossible for an intruder tocross the kitchen in the dark without overturning one or more of them.Thanks to the lamp, Brassey steered his way carefully and with a grimsmile.
At John Waters's door he paused and listened. John's nose revealed hiscondition.
Gliding up the stairs on shoeless feet the burglar entered thedining-room, picked the locks of the sideboard with marvellous celerity,unfolded a canvas bag, and placed therein whatever valuables he couldlay hands on. Proceeding next to the drawing-room floor, he began toexamine and appropriate the articles of _vertu_ that appeared to himmost valuable.
Not being a perfect judge of such matters, Mr Brassey was naturallypuzzled with some of them. One in particular caused him to regard itwith frowning attention for nearly a minute before he came to theconclusion that it was "vurth munny." He placed the lamp on the smalltable near the window, from which he had lifted the ornament inquestion, and sat down on a crimson chair with gilded legs to examine itmore critically.
Meanwhile the Slogger, left in the dark with the still fitfullystruggling Dumps, employed his leisure in running over some of thesalient events of his past career, and in trying to ascertain, by thevery faint light that came from a distant street-lamp, what was thenature of his immediate surroundings. His nose told him that the caskat his elbow was beer. His exploring right hand told him that the tapwas in it. His native intelligence suggested a tumbler on the head ofthe cask, and the exploring hand proved the idea to be correct.
"Brassey was wery 'ard on me to-night," he thought. "I'd like to have aswig."
But Dumps was sadly in the way. To remove his left hand even for aninstant from the dog's muzzle was not to be thought of. In this dilemmahe resolved to tie up the said muzzle, and the legs also, even at therisk of causing death. It would not take more than a minute to draw atumblerful, and any dog worth a straw could hold his wind for a minute.He would try. He did try, and was yet in the act of drawing the beerwhen my doggie burst his bonds by a frantic effort to be free. Probablythe hairy nature of his little body had rendered a firm bond impossible.At all event
s, he suddenly found his legs loose. Another effort, morefrantic than before, set free the muzzle, and then there arose on thestill night air a yell so shrill, so loud, so indescribably horrible,that its conception must be left entirely to the reader's imagination.
At the same instant Dumps scurried into the kitchen. The scuttle andtongs went down, the slop-pail and shovel followed suit, also thewatering-pan, into which latter Dumps went head foremost as it fell, andfrom its interior another yell issued with such resonant power that thefirst yell was a mere chirp by contrast. The Slogger fled from thescene like an evil spirit, while John Waters sprang up and grasped thepistol and poker.
The effect on Brassey in the drawing-room cannot be conceived, much lessdescribed. He shot, as it were, out of the crimson-gilded chair andoverturned the lamp, which burst on the floor. Being half full ofparaffin oil it instantly set fire to the gauze window-curtains. Theburglar made straight for the stairs. John Waters, observing the light,dashed up the same, and the two met face to face on the landing,breathing hate and glaring defiance!
My Doggie and I Page 5
