by Tom Gallon
CHAPTER VI
AT THE SIGN OF “THE THREE WATERMEN”
For a few moments Philip Chater sat gazing at Peter Quist, as though hehalf suspected that the man knew more than his guileless faceproclaimed, and that he was playing a joke upon him. Seeing, however,that his friend appeared to be completely in earnest, and that he hadsimply answered his question as straightforwardly as it had been put,he merely remarked, in a surprised tone—
“Why—what takes you to ‘The Three Watermen’?”
“I was a cruisin’ about in these parts—bein’ near the water, and socomin’ more nateral like—w’en I turned in there for a toothful, an’found they let beds. Wantin’ a bed—(for man were not made to sleep onthe ’ard ground)—I took it. It looks over the river, an’ ischeap—which is a consideration.”
It suddenly occurred to Philip that he might well make use of this man,to discover whether or not it would be safe to venture into the placethat night. If, as the Shady ’un had suggested, he was expected toarrive in company with the man known as the Count, and if, further,that man knew anything of the murder of the real Dandy Chater, Philip’sposition was precarious in the extreme; indeed, safety only lay in thecompany of those people who were ignorant of the death of his twinbrother.
“Look here, Quist,” he said, after a little hesitation—“I want you todo me a favour. At this same house where you have a lodging, a certainman is likely to be, in whom I have an interest. I can’t explain thefull circumstances; but I am playing a desperate game, for a largestake, and it is essential that I should know whether this man is thereor not; at the same time, I do not wish him to know—or, indeed, anyone else—that I am making enquiries. Will you—to oblige a friend,drop a casual enquiry as to whether the Count is there?”
Captain Quist stared at him, in open-mouthed astonishment. “’Ere-’old’ard, Phil, my boy; I’m afraid the beds at that ’ouse will be a bit tooexpensive for me. I thought it was a place w’ere a ordinary sailor-manmight get a cheap lodging; but w’en it comes to a matter of counts——”
“Oh—you needn’t be afraid,” replied Philip, laughing. “The man I wantis not, I suspect, a count at all—I think it’s merely a nickname.”
The Captain shook his head, and looked at his friend with a troubledcountenance. “Phil, my boy,” he said, “I’m very much afraid you’re agettin’ into bad company. In the ordinary course o’ nature, I don’tmind a little scrap in the street, or bein’ butted violent; but w’enyou knows the lubber I’d nabbed, an’ ’e knows you by another name—Idon’t like it. An’ now, ’ere’s another of ’em, also under a wrong flag.No, Phil”—the Captain was very emphatic about the matter—“I do notlike it!”
“Very well,” said Philip, somewhat testily, “I won’t trouble you. If Ihad not been acting quite innocently in the matter, I would not haveasked you to do this for me. I have no doubt——”
“Stop—stop!” broke in the Captain. “I never said I wouldn’t do it; Ionly expressed my opinion. Peter Quist ain’t the man to go back on amess-mate, as you’ve found afore to-day. Trust in the old firm, Phil,my boy, and if there’s a count anywheres about Woolwich, I’ll lay ’imby the ’eels, as soon as look.”
Philip Chater urged upon him, however, the necessity for proceedingwith caution; and, above all, making his enquiries in as casual afashion as possible. It being now very near the time for keeping theappointment, the Captain, accompanied by Philip, set off on his quest;they parted near to “The Three Watermen,” Philip remaining in theshadow of an archway, to await the Captain’s return.
In a very short space of time—although it seemed long to the waitingman—Peter Quist hove in sight; coming along in a very mysterious andcautious manner, and keeping well within the shadow of the houses. Hedived into the archway, dragging Philip with him; and there stood forsome moments, in the semi-darkness, breathing hard, and shaking hishead with much solemnity.
“Well,” asked Philip, impatiently—“what news?”
“I tell yer wot it is, young man,” replied the Captain, slowly—“you’llbe a gettin’ me into serious trouble, you will—alonger yer counts andthings. I stepped into the bar, an’ I orders a drop of rum—just toease conversation a bit; an’ I ses—off-hand like—‘’As the Count comein?’ The man was a drawin’ the rum, and ’e ses, without lookin’up—‘No—nobody ain’t seen the Count for some days.’ Then ’e looksup—seems surprised—an’ ses—‘Who wants to know?’ I tells ’im a pal o’mine was wishful to know about the Count. Well—Phil, my boy—the manlooks at me very ’ard; and presently I see ’im a w’isperin’ to someone, wot ’ad slipped in on the quiet—an’ a lookin’ at me. So I strollsout—careless like—an’ I ’adn’t gone far, w’en I found as I was bein’followed—and by the bloke as called you ‘Mr. Chater’ not an hour ago.”
“What—the Shady ’un?” exclaimed Philip.
“Shady or not, there ’e was; but I soon settled ’is business,” repliedthe Captain. “As ’e was a sneakin’ past a little shop, with steps aleadin’ down into it, I turns round on a sudden, an’ lands ’im one onwot I may call the fore-’atch—an’ down ’e tumbles into that shop. Infact,” added the Captain, with a fine air of carelessness—“the last Isee of ’im, ’e was on ’is back, an’ the female wot kep’ the shop was alayin’ into ’im proper with a broom, an’ yellin’ ‘Fire!’ Accordingly, Ileft ’im, an’ cut on ’ere, as ’ard as I could.”
“You’re a good fellow,” said Philip, gratefully. “I must go on to ‘TheThree Watermen’ at once, and trust to luck to bring me safely out of itagain. If you will come on later, and take your lodging there in theordinary course, I shall be glad; I might want to have such a friendnear me. But, should you see me there, don’t recognise me, or take thefaintest notice of me, unless I call upon you to do so. Will youundertake to carry out my wishes?”
Captain Peter Quist, though evidently much disturbed in mind, noddedslowly, in token that he would do as he was asked; and Philip Chaterset out alone for “The Three Watermen.”
Guessing that the late Dandy Chater was probably well acquainted withthe house and its inmates, Philip, for his own protection, determinedto put on a moody sullen demeanour, and to lounge at the bar of theplace until he was accosted by some one; he felt that he could take hiscue more readily, if he led those who imagined they knew him to speakfirst.
In pursuance of this plan, he roughly pushed open the door with hisshoulder, and lounged into the place—looking about him with an airthat was half insolent, half quarrelsome. Making his way to the bar, hegave a curt nod to the man behind it, and gruffly ordered some brandy.
The man who presided there regarded him with a sort of obsequious leer;and took the opportunity to lean across the bar, and whisperhuskily—“All gone upstairs, Mr. Dandy.”
“What the devil do I care where they’ve gone?” asked Philip, roughly.
“They’ll be expecting you, Mr. Dandy,” ventured the man, after a pause.
“Well—let them wait till I choose to go,” said Philip, in the samereckless manner. “I’ve been looking for the Count.”
“And he ain’t come,” replied the man. “They expected he’d come alongwith you. There’s something big afoot”—the man leaned over the bar towhisper this—“hadn’t you better go up and see them, Mr. Dandy?”
As a matter of fact, that was precisely what Philip Chater most desiredto do; but, in the first place, he did not know which way to turn, orwhere to go; and, in the second, he had no intention of presentinghimself before whatever company might be expecting Dandy Chater, insuch a place as that, unannounced and unprepared. Therefore, trustingto the good-fortune which had not yet deserted him, he waited to see ifsome event would not occur, to prepare the way for him.
“I don’t care what’s afoot,” he said; “I’ll finish my brandy, and gowhen I choose.”
The man—who appeared to be the landlord of the house—advanced hisface a little nearer, acros
s the bar, and spoke in a wheedling tone.“I’m going up myself, Mr. Dandy,” he said, in a whisper; “perhaps you’dlike to come up with me?”
“Oh—if you like,” replied Philip, carelessly; although this wasexactly what he wanted. He felt that, from the tone the man hadadopted, it was evident that the late Dandy Chater had been a difficultman to deal with. He determined to make what capital he could out ofthat.
The man—after calling gruffly to a draggled female in the inner roomto come and attend to the bar—dived under the wooden flap in thecounter, and stood beside Philip. The latter slowly and coolly drankhis brandy, and even stopped to bite the end from a cigar, and lightit—looking frowningly at the other, who stood waiting patiently at thefoot of some dark stairs for him; all this to give himself time, and tocarry out, as fully as possible, that idea, of which he had somehowpossessed himself, that the late Dandy Chater had been a remarkablydisagreeable fellow, and that it was necessary for his successor tokeep up the character.
At last, having spun out the time as much as possible, he lounged afterhis guide, up the stairs; and was ushered by him, through a lowdoorway, into a room which, from the appearance of the single longprojecting window, which took up nearly all one side, evidently gave onto the river. Round a table in this room, four men were seated, withtheir elbows upon it, and their heads very close together; the headswere turned, as the door opened, and a murmur—apparently of relief andrecognition—broke simultaneously from the four throats. Philip Chater,observing, in that momentary glance, that they were all men of aninferior type to himself, from the social standpoint, carried off hisentry with an air, and swaggered up to the table—still with that heavyinsolence of bearing, which had seemed to have so good an effect uponthe landlord below.
“Well,” he said, taking a seat at the table, and coolly blowing a cloudof smoke into the air—“what do you want with me?”
He noticed, as he spoke, that the man who had guided him to the roomappeared to have a direct interest in whatever proceedings were afoot;inasmuch as that he took a seat at the table, quite as a matter ofcourse.
“Where’s the Count?” abruptly asked one man—a tall, sandy-hairedfellow, with grey eyes far too close together to make his countenance apleasing one.
“The very question I was going to ask you,” replied Philip. “Do yousuppose I’m the Count’s keeper?”
“Well—he left here with you last week,” replied the same man, in aninjured tone. “We supposed he’d been staying with you as usual.”
“Then you supposed something that didn’t happen,” said Philip, in thesame surly tone as before. “I’ve seen nothing of him since—since thatnight.” Then, a sudden thought occurring to him, he added—“I lefthim—down by the river.”
A shrill voice—piping, and thin, and unsteady—broke in from the otherend of the table. Its owner was a little man, with a figure as thin andshrunken and unsteady as his voice—a man with no linen to speak of,who yet had whiskers, which had once been fashionable, on either sideof his grimy face, and whose shaking hand affectionately clasped aglass of spirits. “A split in the camp—eh?” he squeaked out. “Ogledonand his cousin had a row—eh?”
Philip Chater was learning many things and learning them quickly. IfOgledon—the man expected at Chater Hall by the housekeeper—and theman known as the Count were one and the same person, and that personDandy Chater’s—and his own—cousin, what had they both to do withthese men, and why had both disappeared—the one murdered, and theother missing?
“Hold your tongue, Cripps,” exclaimed the man who had spoken first.“The Count knows his own business—and ours; I expect he’ll be herepresently——”
(“I sincerely hope he won’t,” thought Philip.)
“In the meantime, if you’re sober enough, Doctor”—this to the man hehad addressed as Cripps—“we’ll get to business.”
Philip Chater pricked up his ears; he remembered, at that moment, thatBetty Siggs, in her disclosure to him of the story of his own life, hadmentioned a certain drunken little doctor, of the name of Cripps, whoknew the secret of his birth, and had been paid to keep it.
“You’ll be glad to know, Dandy,” went on the man, who appeared to actas a species of leader—“that the business at Sheffield has turned uptrumps. We don’t mention names, even amongst ourselves; but the haulwas bigger than we anticipated. The man behind the counter—you knowwho I mean—gets a thousand for handing over the flimsies; and gets itpretty easily, too, to my mind. The rest is divided out between us,except for your share and Ogledon’s. Here’s yours”—he handed a packetacross the table to Philip—“and perhaps, as the Count hasn’t turnedup, you’d better take his as well. Here it is.”
Philip took the two packets, inwardly wondering what they contained,and thrust them into his pocket, with a nod. As he did so he becameaware that three of the heads had drawn together, and that whisperswere passing amongst them, while three pairs of eyes were glancing inhis direction. Quick to fear that some suspicion of his identity mighthave come upon them, he watched them covertly; while such phrasesas—“The Count said nothing about him”—“I suppose we’d better tellhim”—“He’ll know the country, at any rate”—and the like, fell uponhis attentive ears.
“Now—what the devil are you plotting there?” he asked, angrily.
The sandy-haired man raised his head, and spoke hesitatingly. “Well,you see, Dandy, it’s a little matter the Count mentioned last week—buthe didn’t say anything about you. He’s told off the men for it—andit’s a matter of a few diamonds, and only women to deal with. But theCount’s particular about one of the women—a young one—coming by nohurt. After all, it’s down your way, and he must have meant you to knowwhat was going on. It’s for Friday, as soon after midnight as may be.There’s Briggs here, and myself, and Cripps, in case of accidents. Hewrote the address, and a rough plan, so that we might find it withoutmaking enquiries. Here you are.” He tossed across the table a foldedpiece of paper as he spoke.
Philip’s hand had closed on the paper, and he was in the very act ofopening it, when a confused sound of scuffling and angry voices camefrom outside the door. Looking round quickly, with the others, he sawthe Shady ’un dart in—breathless and panting—and make a hasty attemptto close it; indeed, he got his back planted against it, while some oneoutside was evidently striving hard to burst it open, and pointed witha shaking hand at Philip Chater.
“Treachery—by God!” he gasped. “He’s put the splits on us!”
The man’s appearance, no less than his voice, and the words he haduttered, were sufficient to cause alarm. He was battered and bruisedfrom his two encounters with the Captain, and with the woman into whoseshop he had been so unceremoniously thrust, while his clothing—such asit was—had been almost torn from him, by his struggle with the unknownperson against whom he still frantically held the door. At the verymoment he spoke, this unknown one, proving too much for him, burst intothe room, sweeping the Shady ’un aside, and revealed himself as CaptainPeter Quist, without a hat, and in a great state of perspiration,disorder, and excitement.
Finding himself unexpectedly in the presence of half-a-dozen men—oneof whom was Philip Chater—in addition to his late assailant, theCaptain stopped, and looked round in some astonishment. At the sametime, the Shady ’un, in an agony of spite and fear, backed away fromhim, and continued to gasp out his indictment.
“Seed ’em together all night, I ’ave. Dandy sent ’im ’ere, a spy in’out fer the Count—an’ I——”
Philip Chater did not care to risk waiting to give any explanation tothat company. In point of fact, he feared the honest Captain more thanany man there; for he dreaded lest he should blurt out his knowledge ofa certain Philip Crowdy, who was done with, and left behind in thepast. Therefore, edging quickly near to the Captain, while he stillkept his eyes on the other men, who had risen to their feet, hewhispered quickly—
“Make a bolt for it!”
There hung from the ceiling, over the table, a
single gas jet, with anaked light; Philip, with a quick movement, snatched the ragged hatfrom the head of the Shady ’un, who stood at his elbow, and dashed itstraight at the light; the room was in darkness in a moment. He heardthe men falling about, and stumbling over the chairs, as he dartedthrough the doorway, and plunged down the stairs, with the Captainalmost in his arms—for that gentleman had waited for him. The men wereactually on the stairs, when the two fugitives darted through the bar,and into the street.
Rightly guessing that no attempt would be made to pursue them in theopen street, Philip and his companion, after doubling round one or twocorners, came to a halt, and sat down on some steps outside a church,to review their position.
“This comes of gettin’ into bad company, Phil,” said the Captaindrearily, when he had recovered his breath. “A ’at—bought off a Jewgentleman, with nice manners, only last week; a brush and comb—thebrush a bit bald, and the comb wantin’ a noo set of teeth; to saynothink of a night garment, ’emmed by the Missis, and marked with aanchor on the boosum—all lost at ‘The Three Watermen.’”
“I’m very sorry,” replied Philip, “but I think we got off prettycheaply as it was. But I don’t think we had better be seen in company;those fellows only saw you for a moment, and will scarcely be likely torecognise you, should you meet them.”
“I don’t want to meet ’em,” said the Captain. “I saw that Shady chap inthe bar, and thought ’e was on the lookout for me again—so I chivviedof ’im upstairs.”
They parted for the time, after Philip Chater had impressed his addressupon the Captain’s mind, with many injunctions to talk about him aslittle as possible. Philip, after walking for nearly an hour, found aquiet hotel, and gladly got to bed. At the last moment, before his eyesclosed, he remembered the two packets which had been given him,together with the piece of paper the sandy-haired man had tossed tohim, and which latter he had thrust into his pocket. He jumped out ofbed, re-lit the gas, and took them from the pockets of his clothing.
The first packet, when he broke it, he found contained bank-notes—forsmall and large amounts—to the total of three thousand five hundredpounds; the second packet held the same amount. Dropping these hastily,he caught up the scrap of paper, and hurriedly unfolded it.
It was a roughly-drawn plan of certain roads and paths, together withtwo little squares—one at the top right-hand corner, and one at thetop left-hand corner. The square at the right was marked—“Dandy’shouse—easily seen from village street.” The other square wasmarked—“The Cottage.”
And the address pencilled upon it was—“The Cottage, Bamberton.”
