by G. A. Henty
“Has he got pistols, Knapp?” the Squire asked.
“Yes, sir, a brace of them; I have got them both safely in my pocket. There,” he went on, as a sharp click was heard, “I have got the darbys on him. Now shall I help you, sir?”
“You had better run downstairs first and light a couple of candles at the kitchen fire: you will find a pair standing on the parlor table. Don’t be long about it; the first fellow I hit was stunned, and he may come round any moment.”
“I will make sure of him before I go, Squire. I have got another pair of darbys in my pocket.”
As soon as he had fastened these upon the wrists of the insensible man he ran downstairs, and in a minute returned with the candles.
“I am glad that you are back,” the Squire said. “I was afraid that young rascal would try to escape.”
“I took good care of that, Squire; you see I put one of his arms round the bedpost before I slipped the darbys on, and he cannot get away unless he takes the whole bed with him; and as I don’t think he would get it out either by the window or the door, he is as safe here as he would be in Newgate. What is the next thing to do, Squire?”
“You had better tie this fellow’s legs. I will leave you a candle here, and you can keep guard over them while I go and wake Mr. Bastow.”
The Rector needed no waking; he was walking up and down his room in great distress. He had not undressed, but had thrown himself upon his bed.
“What has happened, Thorndyke?” he asked as the Squire entered. “I heard two heavy falls, and I felt that something terrible had taken place.”
“Well, it has been a serious matter—very serious. That unfortunate son of yours is not hurt, but I don’t know but that the best thing that could have happened would have been for him to have got a bullet through his head. He brought home with him two men who are, I have little doubt, highwaymen; anyhow, they each had a brace of pistols in their belt, and from what he said I think they have been stopping a coach. At any rate, they have something with them that they were going to hide here, and I fancy it is not the first time that it has been done. I don’t expect your son had anything to do with the robbery, though he was carrying a brace of pistols, too; however, we have got them all three.
“Now, you see, Bastow, this takes the affair altogether out of our hands. I had hoped that when we caught your son in the act of breaking into your house after you had ordered him from it, we should be able to frighten him into enlisting, or, at any rate, into promising to disturb you no more, for even if we had taken him before the bench, nothing could have been done to him, for under such circumstances his re-entering the house could not be looked upon as an act of burglary. As it is, the affair is altogether changed. Even if I wished to do so, as a magistrate I could not release those two highwaymen; they must appear as prisoners in court. I shall hear down in the town tomorrow morning what coach has been stopped, and I have no doubt that they have on them the proceeds of the robbery. Your son was consorting with and aiding them, and acting as a receiver of stolen goods, and as you have heard horses here before it is probable that when his room is thoroughly searched we shall come upon a number of articles of the same sort. I am sorry that I ever meddled in the matter; but it is too late for that now. You had better come downstairs with me, and we will take a turn in the garden, and try to see what had best be done.”
CHAPTER III
John Thorndyke opened the shutters of the parlor window, and stepped out into the garden alone, for the Rector was too unnerved and shattered to go out with him, but threw himself on the sofa, completely prostrated. Half an hour later the Squire re-entered the room. The morning was just beginning to break. Mr. Bastow raised his head and looked sadly at him.
“I can see no way out of it, old friend. Were it not that he is in charge of the constable, I should have said that your only course was to aid your son to escape; but Knapp is a shrewd fellow as well as an honest one. You cannot possibly get your son away without his assistance, for he is handcuffed to the bed, and Knapp, in so serious a matter as this, would not, I am sure, lend himself to an escape. I have no doubt that with my influence with the other magistrates, and, indeed, on the circumstances of the case, they will commit him on a minor charge only, as the passengers of the coach will, I hope, give evidence that it was stopped by mounted men alone. I think, therefore, that he would only be charged with consorting with and aiding the highwaymen after the event, and of aiding them to conceal stolen goods—that is, if any are found in his room.
“That much stolen property has been hidden there, there is little reason to doubt, but it may have been removed shortly afterwards. It was, of course, very convenient for them to have some place where they could take things at once, and then ride on quietly to London the next day, for, if arrested; nothing would be found upon them, and it would be impossible to connect them with the robbery. Later on they might come back again and get them from him. Of course, if nothing is found in his room, we get rid of the charge of receiving altogether, and there would be nothing but harboring, aiding, and abetting—a much less serious business. Look here, old friend, I will strain a point. I will go out into the garden again and walk about for an hour, and while I am out, if you should take advantage of my absence to creep up to your son’s room and to search it thoroughly, examining every board of the floor to see if it is loose, and should you find anything concealed, to take it and hide it, of course I cannot help it. The things, if there are any, might secretly be packed up by you in a box and sent up to Bow Street, with a line inside, saying that they are proceeds of robbery, and that you hope the owners will be traced and their property restored to them. Not, of course, in your own hand, and without a signature. There might be some little trouble in managing it, but it could, no doubt, be done.”
John Thorndyke went out into the garden without another word. The hour was nearly up when Mr. Bastow came out; he looked ten years older than he had done on the previous day. He wrung his friend’s hand.
“Thank God I have been up there,” he said. “I do not think they will find anything.”
“Say nothing about it, Bastow; I don’t want to know whether you found anything. Now I am going to fetch two or three of the men from the village, to get them to aid the constable in keeping guard, and another to go up to the house at once and order a groom to saddle one of my horses and bring it here.”
As it was now past five o’clock, and the Squire found most of the men getting up, he sent one off to the house with the message, and returned with two others to the Rectory. He told them briefly that two highwaymen had been arrested during the night, and that as young Mr. Bastow was in their company at the time, it had been necessary as a matter of form to arrest him also. He went upstairs with them.
“I have brought up two men to sit with you, Knapp, until the Reigate constables come up. You can take those handcuffs off Mr. Bastow, but see that he does not leave the room, and do you yourself sit in a chair against the door, and place one of these men at the window. How about others?”
“The man you hit first, Squire, did not move until a quarter of an hour ago; he has been muttering to himself since, but I don’t think he is sensible. The other one has been quiet enough, but there is no doubt that his arm is broken.”
“I am going to ride down to Reigate at once, and will bring back a surgeon with me.”
“You will repent this night’s business, Thorndyke!” Arthur Bastow said threateningly.
“I fancy that you will repent it more than I shall, Bastow; it is likely that you will have plenty of time to do so.”
It was not long before the groom with the horse arrived. John Thorndyke rode at a gallop down to Reigate, and first called on the head constable.
“Dawney,” he said, as the man came down, partially dressed, at his summons, “has anything taken place during the night?”
“Yes, Squire, the up coach was stopped a mile before it got here, and the passengers robbed. It was due here at one, and did not
come in till half an hour later. Of course I was sent for. The guard was shot. There were two of the fellows. He let fly with his blunderbuss, but he does not seem to have hit either of them, and one rode up and shot him dead; then they robbed all the passengers. They got six gold watches, some rings, and, adding up the amounts taken from all the passengers, about a hundred and fifty pounds in money.”
“Well, I fancy I have got your two highwaymen safe, Dawney.”
“You have, sir?” the constable said in astonishment.
“Yes. I happened to be at the Rectory. Mr. Bastow had had a quarrel with his son, and had forbidden him the house.”
The constable shook his head. “I am afraid he is a very bad one, that young chap.”
“I am afraid he is, Dawney. However, his father was afraid that he might come in during the night and make a scene, so I said I would stop with him, and I took our village constable with me. At two o’clock this morning the young fellow came with two mounted men, who, I have no doubt, were highwaymen. We had locked up down below. Bastow took a ladder, and the three got in at a bedroom window on the first floor. Knapp and I were waiting for them there, and, taking them by surprise, succeeded in capturing them before the highwaymen could use their pistols. The constable and two men are looking after them, but as one has not got over a knock I gave him on the head, and the other has a broken arm, there is little fear of their making their escape. You had better go up with two of your men, and take a light cart with you with some straw in the bottom, and bring them all down here. I will ride round myself to Mr. Chetwynde, Sir Charles Harris, and Mr. Merchison, and we will sit at twelve o’clock. You can send round a constable with the usual letters to the others, but those three will be quite enough for the preliminary examination.”
“Well, Squire, that is good news indeed. We have had the coach held up so often within five miles of this place during the past three months, that we have been getting quite a bad name. And to think that young Bastow was in it! I have heard some queer stories about him, and fancied before long I should have to put my hand upon his shoulder; but I didn’t expect this.”
“There is not a shadow of proof that he had anything to do with the robbery, Dawney, but he will have difficulty in proving that he did not afterwards abet them. It is serious enough as it is, and I am terribly grieved for his father’s sake.”
“Yes, sir; I have always heard him spoken of as a kind gentleman, and one who took a lot of trouble whenever anyone was sick. Well, sir, I will be off in twenty minutes. I will run round at once and send Dr. Hewett up to the Rectory, and a man shall start on horseback at seven o’clock with the summons to the other magistrates.”
John Thorndyke rode round to his three fellow magistrates, who, living nearest to the town, were most regular in their attendance at the meetings. They all listened in surprise to his narrative, and expressed great pleasure at hearing that the men who had been such a pest to the neighborhood, and had caused them all personally a great deal of trouble, had been captured. All had heard tales, too, to Arthur Bastow’s disadvantage, and expressed great commiseration for his father. They agreed to meet at the court half an hour before business began, to talk the matter over together.
“It is out of the question that we can release him on bail,” the gentleman who was chairman of the bench said. “Quite so,” John Thorndyke agreed. “In the first place, the matter is too serious; and in the next, he certainly would not be able to find bail; and lastly, for his father’s sake, it is unadvisable that he should be let out. At the same time, it appears to me that there is a broad distinction between his case and the others. I fear that there can be no question that he had prior acquaintance with these men, and that he was cognizant of the whole business; something I heard him say, and which, to my regret, I shall have to repeat in court, almost proves that he was so. Still, let us hope none of the stolen property will be found upon him; whether they had intended to pass it over to his care or not is immaterial. If they had not done so, I doubt whether he could be charged with receiving stolen goods, and we might make the charge simply one of aiding these two criminals, and of being so far an accessory after the crime.
“If we could soften it down still further I should, for his father’s sake, be glad; but as far as he himself is concerned, I would do nothing to lighten his punishment. He is about as bad a specimen of human nature as I ever came across. His father is in bodily fear of him. I saw the young fellow yesterday, and urged him to enlist, in order to break himself loose from the bad companionship he had fallen into. His reply was insolent and defiant in the highest degree, and it was then that in his father’s name I forbade him the house, and as his father was present he confirmed what I said, and told him that he would not have anything more to do with him. This affair may do him good, and save his neck from a noose. A few years at the hulks or a passage to Botany Bay will do him no harm; and, at any rate, his father will have rest and peace, which he never would have if he remained here.”
A somewhat similar conversation took place at each house. John Thorndyke breakfasted at Sir Charles Harris’, the last of the three upon whom he called, and then mounting rode back to Reigate.
“We have found the plunder on them,” the head constable said, coming out of the lockup as he drew rein before it, “and, fortunately for young Bastow, nothing was found upon him.”
“How are the two men?”
“The fellow you hit first is conscious now, sir, but very weak. The doctor says that if he hadn’t had a thick hat on, your blow would have killed him to a certainty. The other man’s arm is set and bandaged, and he is all right otherwise. We shall be able to have them both in court at twelve o’clock.”
The Squire rode up to his house. He was met at the door by his son, in a state of great excitement.
“Is it all true, father? The news has come from the village that you have killed two men, and that they and Arthur Bastow have all been taken away in a cart, guarded by constables.”
“As usual, Mark, rumor has exaggerated matters. There are no dead men; one certainly got a crack on the head that rendered him insensible for some time, and another’s arm is broken.”
“And are they highwaymen, father? They say that two horses were fastened behind the cart.”
“That is what we are going to try, Mark. Until their guilt is proved, no one knows whether they are highwaymen or not.”
“And why is Arthur Bastow taken, father?”
“Simply because he was in company with the others. Now, you need not ask any more questions, but if you like to get your pony saddled and ride down with me to Reigate at eleven o’clock, I will get you into the courthouse, and then you will hear all about it.”
At greater length the Squire went into the matter with Mrs. Cunningham, his lady housekeeper, and his ward’s governess.
“It is a bad business, Mr. Thorndyke,” she said, “and must be terrible for poor Mr. Bastow.”
“Yes, it is a bad business altogether, except that it will rid him of this young rascal. If I were in his place I should be ready to suffer a good deal to obtain such a riddance.”
“I suppose that you won’t sit upon the bench today?”
“No; at least I shall take no part in the deliberations. I shall, of course, give evidence. The affair is not likely to last very long; my story will take the longest to tell. Knapp’s will be confirmatory of mine, and the Reigate constable will depose to finding the watches, rings, and money upon them; then, of course, the case will be adjourned for the attendance of the coachman and some of the passengers. I don’t suppose they will be able to swear to their identity, for no doubt they were masked. But that is immaterial; the discovery of the stolen property upon them will be sufficient to hang them. No doubt we shall have some Bow Streets runners down from town tomorrow or next day, and they will most likely be able to say who the fellows are.”
“Will Mr. Bastow have to give evidence against his son?”
“Not before us, I think; but I i
magine he will have to appear at the trial.”
“It will be terrible for him.”
“Yes, terrible. I sincerely hope that they will not summon him, but I am afraid that there is very little doubt about it; they are sure to want to know about his son’s general conduct, though possibly the testimony on that point of the constable at Reigate will be sufficient. My own hope is that he will get a long sentence; at any rate, one long enough to insure his not coming back during his father’s lifetime. If you had seen his manner when we were talking to him yesterday, you would believe that he is capable of anything. I have had a good many bad characters before me during the year and a half that I have sat upon the bench, but I am bound to say that I never saw one who was to my eyes so thoroughly evil as this young fellow. I don’t think,” he added with a smile, “that I should feel quite comfortable myself if he were acquitted; it will be a long time before I shall forget the expression of his face when he said to me this morning, ‘You will repent this night’s work, Thorndyke.’”
“You don’t mean that you think he would do you any harm, Mr. Thorndyke?”
“Well, I should not care to meet him in a lonely place if he was armed and I was not. But you need not be nervous, Mrs. Cunningham, there is not the smallest chance of his being out for years; and by that time his blood will have had time to cool down, and he will have learnt, at any rate, that crimes cannot be committed in this country with impunity.”
“It is all very shocking,” the lady said. “What will poor Mr. Bastow do? I should think that he would not like to remain as clergyman here, where everyone knows about it.”
“That must be for him to decide,” the Squire said; “but if he wishes to resign I certainly shall not press him to continue to hold the living. He is a very old friend of mine. My father presented the living to him when I was nine or ten years old, and I may say I saw him daily up to the time when I went down into Sussex. If he resigns I should urge him to take up his residence here and to act as Mark’s tutor; and he might also relieve you of some of Millicent’s lessons. You have plenty to do in looking after the management of things in general. However, that is for the future.”
