The Second Dandy Chater

by Tom Gallon

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A CHASE IN THE DARK

  Not daring to say a word in explanation to the Captain or Mrs. Quist,Clara went out that night, when darkness had fallen, and waited nearthe prison. Fortunately, it stood in a quiet spot—not much frequentedafter nightfall; she found a convenient arched doorway, from which shecould watch the building unseen.

  On the first night, nothing happened; the moon was set high in flyingclouds, and the night was very still; now and then, she heard thepassing feet of a pedestrian, crossing the end of the street in whichshe stood; once, a man went along on the opposite side, under the highwalls, whistling—but did not see her. Mrs. Quist, having provided herwith a key, in her trustfulness of heart, the girl lingered until avery late hour, and until the last footstep had died away. But stillthere was nothing.

  On the second night, with a growing hope, she waited again—wishing,with all the strength of her love, that her eyes might pierce the heavywalls, and discover what the prisoner was doing. She had almost givenup hoping for anything, and was preparing to return home to herlodging, when a curious sound broke upon her ear, and she startedforward out of the gateway, keenly watchful.

  She had heard a quick light thud upon the pavement, and then the rapidfeet of some one running. Almost before she had had time to collect herthoughts, or to decide whether to hide again, or show herself, a figuredashed straight towards her, down the street, in the shadow of thewall. Some instinct causing her to spring out, the figure stopped,drawn straight up against the wall, and then slowly crossed towardsher. The next moment her hands were in those of Philip Chater.

  She had time, before he spoke, to notice that the hands which held herswere cut and bleeding; that he panted heavily, as though after someterrible exertion; and that he was covered with dust and lime-wash, andwas hatless.

  “Show me the way,” he panted. “Hide me somewhere—quick!”

  She hurried on with him, while he crouched in the shadow of the houses,so that her figure might cover him as much as possible. They hadscarcely more than a hundred yards to go, before she put her keyswiftly in the lock of a door—drew him through, and shut it behindher. Bidding him, in a whisper, wait where he was, in the darkness ofthe passage, she softly opened the door of a lighted room, and went in.

  Now it happened that evening, that Captain Peter Quist was in a greatstate of excitement. He had completed, that very day, the purchase ofan absolutely ideal circus; a circus in full working order, theproprietor of which was only anxious to pass it into the hands of itsnew owner, and retire into private life. The delighted Captain haddiscovered that his new property consisted of three or four well-fittedcaravans—a few small tents, together with one huge one for theaccommodation of his audiences—and some waggons, with the necessaryfittings for the concern. Horses—performing and otherwise—there werein abundance; and the Captain had already been assured that the maleand female staff was only too ready to accept service under him. Andthe proprietor, having expressed a desire that Quist should see theshow in working order, and be initiated into its mysteries gradually,the Captain, at the very moment of Clara’s entrance into the room, wasbusily engaged in packing a few articles which he considered proper andappropriate to his new standing in life.

  The chief of these articles consisted of a high and very glossy silkhat, which was at that moment perched upon the Captain’s head; and apair of Wellington boots, as glossy in appearance as the hat, and intowhich the Captain was struggling. Indeed, he had just got them on, andwas very red in the face from his exertions, when Clara darted in.Before she had had time to utter a word, Mrs. Quist—who had beenregarding her lord and master with an expression half of admiration,half of contempt—turned towards Clara, with a view to relieving herfeelings.

  “Look at ’im, Miss,” she exclaimed, extending a hand towards theCaptain, who had got on to his legs, and was swaggering about thelittle parlour—“did you ever see sich a figger in all yer born days?Do yer think I’d ever ’ave led _that_ to the altar—if I’d knowed wot’e was a comin’ to in ’is old days? Begin at the top”—she indicatedthe Captain’s hat—“an’ ’e’s fit fer ’Igh Park, or a drorin’-room; cometo ’is middle”—the indignant woman indicated the Captain’s seafaringblue coat—“an’ ’e’s a decent man an’ a sailor; look at ’is legs (if sobe as you’ll excuse sich a remark, Miss)—an’ ’e might be a coachmanout o’ work, or the bottom ’arf of a French Markiss. ’Im in a circus;w’y ’e don’t know no more about ’osses than a bluebottle!”

  “’Old ’ard, my dear—’old ’ard,” remonstrated the Captain, surveyinghis boots with a very proper pride—“I’m merely a livin’ up to mecharacter; w’y, a get-up like this ’ere ’ll even make the ’osses ’ave aproper respect for me.” Then, observing suddenly that Clara stood, withclasped hands, looking from him to his wife appealingly, and with tearsin her eyes, he checked himself, and came slowly towards her.

  “Why, my lass,” he said, in a tone of sympathy—“wot’s wrong with yer?You look as if you’d ’ad a fright of some kind—don’t she, Missis?”

  “I want your help,” said Clara, glancing behind her towards the door.“My friend—the unfortunate man of whom I spoke—Mr. Chater——”

  The Captain immediately began to back away, in some perturbation. Mrs.Quist, on the other hand, readily divining that something was wrong,nodded to Clara quickly to continue what she had to say.

  “Mr. Chater has—has escaped—and is here at this moment.”

  Mrs. Quist darted after Clara into the little passage; the Captain,scarcely knowing what he did, took off his hat, and held it pointedtowards the door, as though it were a weapon, and he might defendhimself with it. When, a moment later, Mrs. Quist and the girl came in,and the Captain, looking past them, saw Philip Chater enter the room,he immediately dived down behind the table on his knees, keeping onlyhis eyes above the level of it.

  “Take ’im away! Don’t let ’im come near me,” he begged, in a hoarse andtrembling whisper. Then, addressing Philip in a conciliatory tone, headded—“I never done nothink to you, ole pal, w’en you was in theflesh—an’ all I asks is that you’ll go back w’ere you comefrom—w’erever it is—an’ sleep sound. I ain’t done nothink to deservespooks. Go back, my lad—go back!”

  Philip, despite his own danger, burst into a roar of laughter. “There’snothing of the ghost about me, Quist,” he said. “I think I canunderstand what you mean—and presently I’ll explain everything. But,for the moment, I am in desperate peril; I’ve broken out of the jailhere, and may be searched for at any moment. I want you to hide me.”

  The Captain rose from his knees, still somewhat doubtfully, and cameslowly round the table; approached Philip in gingerly fashion; andfinally ventured to take one of his hands; squeezed it—squeezed it alittle more. Then his face broke up into smiles, and he clapped Philipjovially on the shoulder. Remembering, however, the more serious partof the business, he darted to the window, and drew the curtain acrossit; then sat down, breathing hard, and staring at Philip with all hismight. Finally, he got up, and came to Philip again, and shook handswith him, as though to assure himself that he was solid flesh and blood.

  “This comes of keepin’ bad company,” ejaculated the Captain at last.“You gits yerself in the river—an’ very bloated you looks, I do assureyou—you gits into jail—an’ you likewise gits out of it; an’ youfrightens a honest sailor-man (leastways—sailor-man retired;circus-man now)—you frightens him nearly out of ’is wits. Butstill—it’s good to see you again; an’, if the Missis can find us adrain o’ something’—jist a toothful apiece—we can talk over thingscomfortable-like.”

  It was just at this moment, as Mrs. Quist turned smilingly to get outbottles and glasses, that Philip discovered, to his consternation thatlittle Clara Siggs, who had sat down on a sofa near him, was swaying toand fro, with a very white face, although she bravely tried to smile.He had just time to step forward, and catch her
in his arms, when shegave a sort of gasp, and fainted dead away. Overwrought for so long,she had given way, now that the danger seemed over, and the tensionrelaxed.

  Bitterly blaming himself for having exposed her to such trials, hepicked her up tenderly in his arms, and, guided by Mrs. Quist, carriedher upstairs to her room. There, being assured by that good woman thatit was nothing more serious than a sudden attack of faintness, Philipleft her in charge of the girl, and rejoined the Captain in the roombelow.

  “One thing I must ask you, Captain,” he said when he was seated withthat gentleman at the table—“and that is, in regard to your taking mefor a ghost. What induced you to imagine I was anything but the PhilipCrowdy whom you knew on the voyage from Australia?”

  On this, the Captain, with much detail, entered into a full account ofthe finding of the body of the unfortunate Dandy Chater by himself andCripps; and, although he did not know, of course, the name of thelatter, the description he gave, and his statement that he had seen thelittle man on the night of his invasion of the upper room at “The ThreeWatermen,” enabled Philip to identify the man who had been with himwhen the body was found. For the first time, too, he understood thereason for the Doctor’s consternation on meeting him in the garden ofthe Cottage.

  “I’m not surprised,” said Philip, “that you should have been upset atseeing me. The body you took from the river was that of mybrother—whom I never knew in life. He was, I have every reason tobelieve, murdered; at all events, I found him lying dead on the riverbank. I took his belongings; I took his place—and, by Heaven,Captain—I’ve taken his sins too. I’ve been chased and hunted like adog for his sins; I’ve had the best woman in the world turn from me, asfrom a leper, for his sins; and I’ve been in jail for his sins. I puton this hideous disguise, at the whim of a moment; and now I cannotshake it off.”

  “But there’s them as would swear to you, if need be,” urged the Captain.

  “Not yet,” replied Philip, hurriedly. “The time may come when I shallbe glad to declare who I really am; for the present it is impossible.Meanwhile—what of the body you found in the river?”

  “Well—I’ve kep’a eye on the papers,” replied the Captain—“an’ I’veread accounts of the inquest. They set it forth, clear and reg’lar, as’ow the body ’ad bin left on the river-bank, by two parties wot wasevidently afraid of ’avin’ their names mixed up in the business; of ’owthere was nothink on the body to show who it was—an’ the injury to the’ead might have bin caused by barges, or anythink of that kind. Verdictin consequence—unknown man—found drowned. And, I suppose, buriedaccordin’.”

  “Yes—it merely leaves me in a worse position than before. So far asall the world knows—as all the world believes—Dandy Chater isalive—and must stand his trial for the sins he has committed. I havetaken his place—his papers—his keys; I should be bound to confessthat I saw his body on the shore. If they did not swear that I murderedhim, they might laugh at the story, and refuse to recognise any mass ofcorruption dug up out of the grave as the real Dandy Chater.”

  “Then wot are you a goin’ to do?” asked the Captain, in perplexity.

  “There is but one chance for me,” said Philip, thoughtfully. “I have asuspicion that I know who the real murderer of Dandy Chater was; if Ican once see him, and force from him any confession, my way is clear.For that purpose I escaped to-night—that purpose and another. And inthat I want you to help me.”

  “There’s my ’and on it,” said the Captain, quickly. “But I don’t thinkyou’ll want much ’elp, Phil,” he added, with a laugh. “Any man as cango a breakin’ jail like you, ought to be a match for most people. ’Ow_did_ yer manage it, Phil?”

  Philip laughed softly to himself. “It was rather a tough business,” hesaid. “It all had to be done in a few minutes. I was left alone in awaiting-room for a moment, in going from one part of the prison toanother. There was a sort of skylight high up—with hardly too muchroom for a cat to wriggle through. But there were ropes to it, to openand shut it—and you know what I can do when there’s a rope handy,Quist.”

  The Captain nodded darkly and rubbed his hands; contemplated his friendwith admiration and begged him to proceed.

  “I nearly tore my clothes off my back, in getting through; but, oncethrough, there was only a roof to slide down—a yard to cross—and awall. Luckily I found a builder’s pole lying against it and scrambledup that; dropped over, and found that dear girl in the street. Shebrought me here.”

  The more they discussed the matter, the more evident it became thatPhilip must be got away before daylight. For a long time, the Captainruminated over the matter, wondering what to do. He suggested, fromtime to time, the most absurd and impracticable disguises—evenoffering to lend his precious top-boots for the occasion. But at last areally brilliant idea suggested itself to him.

  “The circus!” he exclaimed, slapping his leg with much vehemence.“That’s the very thing! I’m a goin’ out to see them move the show,quite early to-morrow morning’—just to see ’ow it’s done. They’ve gotto start precious early, so as to reach the town they’re a goin’ to intime for the performance at night. Now—wishin’ to identify myself withthe business as early as possible—I’ve asked ’em to send in one of thecaravans to fetch me—so as to make a sort of percession of it. As theshow’s mine, of course they don’t mind a gratifyin’ a little weaknesslike that. Now—if you can’t ’ide in a caravan—w’ere can you ’ide,Phil?”

  “It sounds like the very thing,” replied Philip. “You can drop mequietly on the road, when we are clear of the town, and nothing need beknown of me. But what of this girl, who has been so brave and loyal tome? I can’t leave her behind.”

  “That’s easy arranged,” responded the Captain. “Let ’er stop ’ere; theMissis ’ll be glad to give ’er shelter as long as you like; an’ you maybe sure she’s in good ’ands.”

  Philip gratefully accepted the offer; and, neither of them beingdisposed for sleep, they sat and talked the night away, or such part ofit as remained. Philip duly impressed upon the Captain the necessityfor preserving silence concerning the real story of DandyChater—making his plea more forcible by telling the worthy man of thedifficulties he might find himself in, should it become known that hehad harboured a fugitive, or assisted him to escape.

  Soon after four o’clock in the morning, wheels were heard outside, inthe quiet street, and a knock sounded at the door. The Captain—spyingout the land from the window—signalled to Philip that all was right,and they prepared to set out. Mrs. Quist had come downstairs, and hadannounced that the girl was sleeping soundly.

  “Then I won’t disturb her,” said Philip. “I know that she will be wellcared for, and I am more grateful than I can express. Will you tellher, when she wakes, that I am safe, and have gone with the Captain;that I will find an opportunity of seeing her mother, and assuring herthat her child is safe? And now, if the Captain can lend me a cap ofsome sort, I am ready.”

  The Captain would have pressed his own gorgeous silk hat upon hisfriend, but being dissuaded from this with some difficulty, providedhim with a cloth cap, which would be less likely to attract attention.

  Then the Captain sallied out, to be sure that the coast was clear; and,there being no one in sight, Philip took leave of Mrs. Quist, anddarted into the caravan, which moved off at once.

  It was still quite dark when they got clear at last of the streets ofChelmsford; and Philip Chater was beginning to congratulate himselfupon the fact of having got out of his difficulties so neatly, when theman who acted as driver, and to whom the Captain must have given someword of warning, rapped smartly on the side of the vehicle.

  The Captain, who had begun to fill his pipe, and had quite settled downto the enjoyment of his ride, popped open the little window in the sideof the caravan, and put out his head. “What’s wrong, mess-mate?” heasked.

  The man informed him rapidly that there was a gig—so far as he couldmake out, judging by the twin lights—coming over th
e hill behind themfrom the town—and evidently coming at a great rate. Indeed, in thesilence—the caravan having stopped—they could hear the swift beat ofa horse’s hoofs.

  “Ask him what road we are on,” said Philip.

  The Captain did so, and the man replied promptly that they were headingtowards Bamberton.

  “Just where I want to go,” whispered Philip to the Captain. “Now—Idon’t want to get you into trouble, old friend—as you would mostassuredly, if I were found in your company. Therefore, you can drop mehere by the roadside, and go on without me.”

  “I’m damned if I do!” said the Captain, sturdily.

  “But you must,” replied Philip. “If I remain here, I shall certainly betaken, quite apart from getting you into difficulties. On the otherhand, if I drop out in the darkness, I can lie close under a hedgeuntil they’ve gone by. And you, for your own satisfaction, can givethem a false direction.”

  This last point appeared to settle the matter with the Captain; Philipleft him chuckling hugely to himself. Just as the caravan was beginningto move on again and while Philip lay crouched behind a hedge, the gigdashed up, and drew rein within hearing of him.

  “Wot!” exclaimed the Captain, in a voice of apparent indignation, themoment he heard that a prisoner was missing, and was believed to havetaken the road to Bamberton—“You don’t mean a tall clean-shaven darkchap, without a ’at?” On being assured that that was a correctdescription of the fugitive, the Captain became more indignant thanever.

  “If you goes along that ’ere road to the left, about a ’underd yardsfurther back—you’ll nab ’im—sure as eggs,” he exclaimed. “’E wasrunnin’ like a good ’un—tol’ me ’e was a doin’ it for a wager. W’enyou ketches ’im, guv’nor—’it ’im one fer me—will yer—for a tryin’ter deceive.”

  “I should like to have a look inside your caravan,” said the man,quietly, jumping down from the gig.

  “W’y—certainly,” responded the Captain. “It’s a nice roomy place,pervided yer don’t git yer feet in the fireplace. I’d ’ave ’ad itpainted special, if I’d knowed you was comin’.”

  The man looked in at the open door of the vehicle; looked sharply atthe Captain, and at the driver; and climbed into the gig again.

  “Drive on,” he said; and the gig turned back on the road it had come.

  “Drive on, mess-mate,” said the Captain, climbing into the caravan.

  Philip Chater, lying behind the hedge, watched the two vehicles untilthey were out of sight in the darkness; then, when there seemed nothingmore to be feared, he crept out, and struck off towards Bamberton.

  “What was the message?” he muttered to himself. “‘I love him—andbelieve in his innocence.’ Dear girl! I’ll see you to-night—if I diefor it!”