at this time my only regular daily work was on an evening paper, so that i left home at a quarter to eight on the morning following the adventure of my broken window, in order, as usual, to be at the office at eight; consequently it was not until lunchtime, when my work was over, that i had an opportunity of seeing hewitt. i went to my own rooms first, however, and on the landing by my door i found the housekeeper in conversation with a shortish, sun-browned man with a goatee beard, whose accent at once convinced me that he hailed from across the atlantic. he had called, it appeared, three or four times during the morning to see me, getting more impatient each time. as he did not seem even to know my name, the housekeeper had not considered it expedient to say when i was expected, nor indeed to give him any information about me, and he was growing irascible under the treatment. when i at last appeared, however, he left her and approached me eagerly.
“see here, sir,” he said, “i’ve been stumpin’ these here durn stairs o’ yours half through the mornin’. i’m anxious to apologise, i reckon, and fix up some damage.”
he had followed me into my sitting-room, and was now standing with his back to the fireplace, a dripping umbrella in one hand, and the forefinger of the other held up shoulder-high and pointing, in the manner of a pistol, to my window, which, by the way, had been mended during the morning, in accordance with my instructions to the housekeeper.
“sir,” he continued, “last night i took the extreme liberty of smashin’ your winder.”
“oh,” i said, “that was you, was it?”
“it was, sir—me. for that i hev come humbly to apologise. i trust the draft has not discommoded you, sir. i regret the accident, and i wish to pay for the fixin’ up and the general inconvenience.” he placed a sovereign on the table. “i ’low you’ll call that square now, sir, and fix things friendly and comfortable as between gentlemen, an’ no ill will. shake.”
and he formally extended his hand.
i took it at once. “certainly,” i said, “certainly. as a matter of fact, you haven’t inconvenienced me at all; indeed, there were some circumstances about the affair that rather interested me. but as to the damage,” i continued, “if you’re really anxious to pay for it, do you mind my sending the glazier to you to settle? you see, it’s only a matter of half a crown or so at most.” and i pushed the sovereign toward him.
“but then,” he said, looking a trifle disappointed, “there’s general discommodedness, you know, to pay for, and the general sass of the liberty to a stranger’s winder. i ain’t no down-easter—not a boston dude—but i reckon i know the gentlemanly thing, and i can afford to do it. yes. say now, didn’t i startle your nerves?”
“not a bit,” i answered, laughing. “in fact, you did me a service by preventing me going to sleep just when i shouldn’t; so we’ll say no more of that.”
“well—there was one other little thing,” he pursued, looking at me rather sharply as he slowly pocketed the sovereign. “there was a bit o’ paper round that pebble that came in here. didn’t happen to notice that, did you?”
“yes, i did. it was an old piece of manuscript music.”
“that was it—just. might you happen to have it handy now?”
“well,” i said, “as a matter of fact a friend of mine has it now. i tried playing it over once or twice, as a matter of curiosity, but i couldn’t make anything of it, and so i handed it to him.”
“ah!” said my visitor, watching me narrowly, “that’s a nailer, is that ‘flitterbat lancers’—a real nailer. it whips ’em all. nobody can’t get ahead of that. ha, ha!” he laughed suddenly—a laugh that seemed a little artificial. “there’s music fellers as ’lows to set right down and play off anything right away that can’t make anything of the ‘flitterbat lancers.’ that was two of ’em that was monkeyin’ with me last night. they never could make anythin’ of it at all, and i was tantalizing them with it all along till they got real mad, and reckoned to get it out o’ my pocket and learn it off quiet at home, and stop all my chaff. ha, ha! so i got away for a bit, and bein’ a bit lively after a number of tooth-lotions (all three was much that way), just rolled it round a stone and heaved it through your winder before they could come up, your winder bein’ the nearest one with a light in it. ha, ha! i’ll be considerable obliged if you’ll get it from your friend right now. is he stayin’ hereabout?”
the story was so ridiculously lame that i determined to confront my visitor with hewitt, and observe the result. if he had succeeded in making any sense of the “flitterbat lancers,” the scene might be amusing. so i answered at once, “yes; his office is only on the floor below; he will probably be in at about this time. come down with me.”
we went down, and found hewitt in his outer office. “this gentleman,” i told him with a solemn intonation, “has come to ask for his piece of manuscript music, the ‘flitterbat lancers.’ he is particularly proud of it, because nobody who tries to play it can make any sort of tune out of it, and it was entirely because two dear friends of his were anxious to drag it out of his pocket and practice it over on the quiet that he flung it through my window-pane last night, wrapped round a piece of concrete.”
the stranger glanced sharply at me, and i could see that my manner and tone rather disconcerted him. but hewitt came forward at once. “oh, yes,” he said. “just so—quite a natural sort of thing. as a matter of fact, i quite expected you. your umbrella’s wet—do you mind putting it in the stand? thank you. come into my private office.”
we entered the inner room, and hewitt, turning to the stranger, went on: “yes, that is a very extraordinary piece of music, that ‘flitterbat lancers.’ i have been having a little practice with it myself, though i’m really nothing of a musician. i don’t wonder you are anxious to keep it to yourself. sit down.”
the stranger, with a distrustful look at hewitt, complied. at this moment, hewitt’s clerk, kerrett, entered from the outer office with a slip of paper. hewitt glanced at it, and crumpled it in his hand. “i am engaged just now,” was his remark, and kerrett vanished.
“and now,” hewitt said, as he sat down and suddenly turned to the stranger with an intent gaze, “and now, mr hoker, we’ll talk of this music.”
the stranger started and frowned. “you’ve the advantage of me, sir,” he said; “you seem to know my name, but i don’t know yours.”
hewitt smiled pleasantly. “my name,” he said, “is hewitt—martin hewitt, and it is my business to know a great many things. for instance, i know that you are mr reuben b. hoker, of robertsville, ohio.”
1-04
“mr. hoker.”
the visitor pushed his chair back, and stared. “well—that gits me,” he said. “you’re a pretty smart chap, anyway. i’ve heard your name before, of course. and—and so you’ve been a-studyin’ of the flitterbat lancers, have you?” this with a keen glance in hewitt’s face. “well, well, s’pose you have. what’s your opinion?”
“why,” answered hewitt, still keeping his steadfast gaze on hoker’s eyes, “i think it’s pretty late in the century to be fishing about for the wedlake jewels, that’s all.”
these words astonished me almost as much as they did mr hoker. the great wedlake jewel robbery is, as many will remember, a traditional story of the sixties. i remembered no more of it at the time than probably most men do who have at some time or another read up the causes célèbres of the century. sir francis wedlake’s country house had been robbed, and the whole of lady wedlake’s magnificent collection of jewels stolen. a man named shiels, a strolling musician, had been arrested and had been sentenced to a long term of penal servitude. another man named legg—one of the comparatively wealthy scoundrels who finance promising thefts or swindles and pocket the greater part of the proceeds—had also been punished, but only a very few of the trinkets, and those quite unimportant items, had been recovered. the great bulk of the booty was never brought to light. so much i remembered, and hewitt’s sudden mention of the wedlake jewels in connection with my broken window, mr reuben b. hoker, and the “flitterbat lancers,” astonished me not a little.
as for hoker, he did his best to hide his perturbation, but with little success. “wedlake jewels, eh?” he said; “and—and what’s that to do with it, anyway?”
“to do with it?” responded hewitt, with an air of carelessness. “well, well, i had my idea, nothing more. if the wedlake jewels have nothing to do with it, we’ll say no more about it, that’s all. here’s your paper, mr hoker—only a little crumpled. here also is the piece of cement. if the wedlake jewels have nothing to do with the affair you may possibly want that too—i can’t tell.” he rose and placed the articles in mr hoker’s hand, with the manner of terminating the interview.
hoker rose, with a bewildered look on his face, and turned toward the door. then he stopped, looked at the floor, scratched his cheek, and finally, after a thoughtful look, first at me and then at hewitt, sat down again emphatically in the chair he had just quitted, and put his hat on the ground. “come,” he said, “we’ll play a square game. that paper has something to do with the wedlake jewels, and, win or lose, i’ll tell you all i know about it. you’re a smart man—you’ve found out more than i know already—and whatever i tell you, i guess it won’t do me no harm; it ain’t done me no good yet, anyway.”
“say what you please, of course,” hewitt answered, “but think first. you might tell me something you’d be sorry for afterward. mind, i don’t invite your confidence.”
“confidence be durned! say, will you listen to what i say, and tell me if you think i’ve been swindled or not? there ain’t a creature in this country whose advice i can ask. my 250 dollars is gone now, and i guess i won’t go skirmishing after it any more if you think it’s no good. will you do so much?”
“as i said before,” hewitt replied, “tell me what you please, and if i can help you i will. but remember, i don’t ask for your secrets.”
“that’s all right, i guess, mr hewitt. well, now, it was all like this.” and mr reuben b. hoker plunged into a detailed account of his adventures since his arrival in london.
relieved of repetitions, and put as directly as possible, it was as follows: mr hoker was a wagon-builder, had made a good business from very humble beginnings, and intended to go on and make it still a better. meantime, he had come over to europe for a short holiday—a thing he had promised himself for years. he was wandering about the london streets on the second night after his arrival in the city, when he managed to get into conversation with two men at a bar. they were not very prepossessing men altogether, though flashily dressed. very soon they suggested a game of cards. but reuben b. hoker was not to be had in that way, and after a while they parted. the two were amusing fellows enough in their way, and when hoker saw them again the next night in the same bar, he made no difficulty in talking with them freely. after a time, and after a succession of drinks, they told him that they had a speculation on hand—a speculation that meant thousands if it succeeded—and to carry out which they were only waiting for a paltry sum of ￡50. there was a house, they said, in which they were certain was hidden a great number of jewels of immense value, which had been deposited there by a man who was now dead. exactly in what part of the house the jewels were to be found they did not know. there was a paper, they said, which was supposed to contain some information, but as yet they hadn’t quite been able to make it out. but that would really matter very little if once they could get possession of the house. then they would simply set to work and search from the topmost chimney to the lowermost brick if necessary. anyhow, the jewels must be found sooner or later. the only present difficulty was that the house was occupied, and that the landlord wanted a large deposit of rent down before he would consent to turn out his present tenants and give them possession at a higher rental. this deposit and other expenses, would come to at least ￡50, and they hadn’t the money. however, if any friend of theirs who meant business would put the necessary sum at their disposal, and keep his mouth shut, they would make him an equal partner in the proceeds with themselves; and as the value of the whole haul would probably be something not very far off ￡20,000, the speculation would bring a tremendous return to the man who was smart enough to see the advantage of putting down his ￡50.
hoker, very distrustful, skeptically demanded more detailed particulars of the scheme. but these the two men (luker and birks were their names, he found, in course of talking) inflexibly refused to communicate.
“is it likely,” said luker, “that we should give the ’ole thing away to anybody who might easily go with his ￡50 and clear out the bloomin’ show? not much. we’ve told you what the game is, and if you’d like to take a flutter with your ￡50, all right; you’ll do as well as anybody, and we’ll treat you square. if you don’t—well, don’t, that’s all. we’ll get the oof from somewhere—there’s blokes as ’ud jump at the chance, i can tell you—only they’re inconvenient blokes to deal with, as i’ll explain if you come in with us. anyway, we ain’t going to give the show away before you’ve done somethin’ to prove you’re on the job, straight. put your money in, and you shall know as much as we do.”
then there were more drinks, and more discussion. hoker was still reluctant, though tempted by the prospect, and growing more venturesome with each drink.
“don’t you see,” said birks, “that if we was a-tryin’ to ’ave you we should out with a tale as long as yer arm, all complete, with the address of the ’ouse and all. then i s’pose you’d lug out the pieces on the nail, without askin’ a bloomin’ question. more fool you, that’s all. as it is, the thing’s so perfectly genuine that we’d rather lose the chance and wait for some other bloke to find the money than run a chance of givin’ the thing away. it ain’t you wot’ll be doin’ a favour, mind. if it’s anybody, it’s us. not that we want to talk of favours at all, if you come to that. it’s a matter o’ business, simple and plain, that’s all it is. if you’re willin’ to come in with the money that we can’t do without—very well. if you ain’t, very well too, only we ain’t goin’ to give the thing away to an outsider. it’s a question of either us trustin’ you with a chance of collarin’ ￡20,000, or you trustin’ us with a paltry ￡50. we don’t lay out no ’igh moral sentiments, we only say the weight o’ money is all on one side. take it or leave it, that’s all. ’ave another scotch?”
the talk went on and the drinks went on, and it all ended, at “chucking-out time,” in reuben b. hoker handing over five ten-pound notes, with smiling, though slightly incoherent, assurances of his eternal friendship for luker and birks.
in the morning he awoke to the realization of a bad head, a bad tongue, and a bad opinion of his proceedings of the previous night. in his sober senses it seemed plain that he had been swindled. he had heard of the confidence trick, to which many americans had unaccountably fallen victims (for to him the trick had always seemed very thin), and he had sworn that something better than the confidence trick would be required to get over him. but now there seemed no doubt that this was no more than the confidence trick over again, in a new and more impudent form. all day he cursed his fuddled foolishness, and at night he made for the bar that had been the scene if the transaction, with little hope of seeing either luker or birks, who had agreed to be there to meet him. there they were, however, and, rather to his surprise, they made no demand for more money. they asked him if he understood music, and showed him the worn old piece of paper containing the manuscript “flitterbat lancers.” the exact spot, they said, where the jewels were hidden was supposed to be indicated somehow and somewhere on that piece of paper. hoker did not understand music, and could find nothing on the paper that looked in the least like a direction to a hiding-place for jewels or anything else.
luker and birks then went into full particulars of their project. first, as to its history. first, as to its history. the jewels were the famous wedlake jewels, which had been taken from sir francis wedlake’s house in 1866 and never heard of again. a certain jerry shiels had been arrested in connection with the robbery, had been given a long sentence of penal servitude, and had died in gaol. this jerry shiels was an extraordinarily clever criminal, and travelled about the country as a street musician. although an expert burglar, he very rarely perpetrated robberies himself, but acted as a sort of travelling fence, receiving stolen property and transmitting it to london or out of the country. he also acted as the agent of a man named legg, who had money, and who financed any likely-looking project of a criminal nature that shiels might arrange or recommend. luker and birks explained that there were many men of this class, and that it was to them that they had referred on the previous evening, when they said that there were “blokes that would jump at the chance” of financing the present venture.
jerry shiels traveled with a “pardner”—a man who played the harp and acted as his assistant and messenger in affairs wherein jerry was reluctant to appear personally. when shiels was arrested, he had in his possession a quantity of printed and manuscript music, and after his first remand his “pardner,” jimmy snape, applied for the music to be given up to him, in order, as he explained, that he might earn his living. no objection was raised to this, and shiels was quite willing that snape should have it, and so it was handed over. now among the music was a small slip, headed “flitterbat lancers,” which shiels had shown to snape before the arrest. in case of shiels being taken, snape was to take this particular slip to legg as fast as he could. the slip indeed carried about it, in some unexplained way, which legg understood, an indication of the place in which shiels had concealed the bulk of the wedlake jewels, and the whole proceeding was an ingenious trick invented by shiels (and used before, it was supposed) to communicate with legg while under arrest.
snape got the music, but, as chance would have it, on that very day legg himself was arrested, and soon after was sentenced also to a term of years. snape hung about in london for a little while, and then emigrated. before leaving, however, he gave the slip of music to luker’s father, a rag-shop keeper, who was a friend of his, and to whom he owed money. he explained its history, and hoped that luker senior would be able to recoup himself for the debt, and a good deal over. then he went. luker senior had made all sorts of fruitless efforts to get at the information concealed in the paper. he had held it to the fire to bring up concealed writing, had washed it, had held it to the light till his eyes ached, had gone over it with a magnifying glass—all in vain. he had got musicians to strum out the notes on all sorts of instruments—backwards, forwards, alternately, and in every other way he could think of. if at any time he fancied a resemblance in the resulting sound to some familiar song-tune, he got that song and studied all its words with loving care, upside-down, right-side up—every way. he took the words “flitterbat lancers” and transposed the letters in all directions, and did everything else he could think of. in the end he gave it up, and died. now lately, luker junior had been impelled with a desire to see into the matter. he had repeated all the parental experiments, and more, with chemicals, and with the same lack of success. he had taken his “pal” birks into his confidence, and together they had tried other experiments still—usually very clumsy ones indeed—till at last they began to believe that the message had probably been written in some sort of invisible ink which the subsequent washings and experiments had erased altogether. but he had done one other thing: he had found the house which shiels rented at the time of his arrest, and in which a good quantity of stolen property—not connected with the wedlake case—was discovered. here, he argued, if anywhere, jerry shiels had hidden the jewels. there was no other place where he could be found to have lived, or over which he had sufficient control to warrant his hiding valuables therein. perhaps, once the house could be properly examined, something about it might give a clue as to what the message of the “flitterbat lancers” meant. at any rate, message or none, anybody in possession of the house, with a certain amount of patience, secrecy, and thoroughness, could in time make himself master of every possible hiding-place, and could completely excavate the back yard. the trouble was that the house was occupied, and that money was wanted to get possession. it was with the view of providing this that they had decided to broach the subject to hoker.
hoker, of course, was anxious to know where the house in question stood, but this luker and birks would on no account inform him. “you’ve done your part,” they said, “and now you leave us to do ours. there’s a bit of a job about gettin’ the tenants out. they won’t go, and it’ll take a bit of time before the landlord can make them. so you just hold your jaw and wait. when we’re safe in the ’ouse, and there’s no chance of anybody else pokin’ into the business, then you can come and help find the stuff if you like. but you ain’t goin’ to ’ave a chance of puttin’ in first for yourself this journey, you bet.”
hoker went home that night sober, but in much perplexity. the thing might be genuine, after all; indeed, there were many little things that made him think it was. but then, if it were, what guarantee had he that he would get his share, supposing the search turned out successful? none at all. but then it struck him for the first time that these jewels, though they may have lain untouched so long, were stolen property after all. the moral aspect of the affair began to trouble him a little, but the legal aspect troubled him more. that consideration, however, he decided to leave over, for the present at any rate. he had no more than the word of luker and birks that the jewels (if they existed) were those of lady wedlake, and luker and birks themselves only professed to know from hearsay. at any rate, his ￡50 was gone where he felt pretty sure he would have a difficulty in getting it back from, and he determined to wait events. but at least he made up his mind to have some little guarantee for his money. in accordance with this resolve, he suggested, when he met the two men the next day, that he should take charge of the slip of music and make an independent study of it. this proposal, however, met with an instant veto. the whole thing was now in their hands, luker and birks laid it down, and they didn’t intend letting any of it out. if hoker wanted to study the “flitterbat lancers,” he could do it in their presence, and if he were dissatisfied he could go to the next shop. altogether it became clear to the unhappy hoker that now he had parted with his money he was altogether at the mercy of these fellows, if he wished to get any share of the plunder, or even to see his money back again. and if he made any complaint, or if the matter became at all known, the affair would be “blown upon,” as they expressed it, and his money would be gone. mostly, though, he resented their bullying talk, and he determined to get even in the matter of the music. he resolved to make up a piece of paper, folded as like the slip as possible, and substitute one for the other at their next meeting. then he would put the “flitterbat lancers” in some safe place, and face his fellow-conspirators with a hand of cards equal to their own. he carried out his plan the next evening with perfect success, thanks to a trick of “passing” cards which he had learned in his youth, and thanks also to the contemptuous indifference with which luker and birks had begun to regard him. he got the slip in his pocket, and left the bar. he had not gone far, however, before luker discovered the trick, and soon he became conscious of being followed. he looked for a cab, but he was in a dark street, and no cab was near. luker and birks turned the corner and began to run. he saw they must catch him, and felt no doubt that it they did he would lose the slip of paper, the ￡50, and everything. they were big, active fellows, and could probably do as they liked with him—especially since he could not call for help without risking an exposure of their joint enterprise. everything depended now on his putting the “flitterbat lancers” out of their reach, but where he could himself recover it. then it would form a sort of security for his share of the venture. he ran till he saw a narrow passage-way on his right, and into this he darted. it led into a yard where stones were lying about, and in a large building before him he saw the window of a lighted room a couple of floors up. it was a desperate expedient, but there was no time for consideration. he wrapped a stone in the paper and flung it with all his force through the lighted window. even as he did it he heard the feet of luker and birks as they hurried down the street. the rest of the adventure in the court i myself saw.
luker and birks kept hoker in their lodgings all that night. they searched him unsuccessfully for the paper; they bullied, they swore, they cajoled, they entreated, they begged him to play the game square with his pals. hoker merely replied that he had put the “flitterbat lancers” where they couldn’t easily find it, and that he intended playing the game square so long as they did the same. in the end they released him, apparently with more respect for his cuteness than they had before entertained, advising him, at any rate, to get the paper into his possession as soon as he could. with this view he repaired again to the scene of his window-smashing exploit, and having ascertained the exact position of the window in the building, began his morning’s attack on my outer door.
“and now,” said mr. hoker, in conclusion of his narrative, “perhaps you’ll give me a bit of christian advice. you’re up to as many moves as most people over here. am i playin’ a fool-game running after these toughs, or ain’t i? i wouldn’t have told you what i have, of course, if it wasn’t clear that you’d got hold of the hang of the scheme somehow. say, now, is it all a swindle?”
hewitt shrugged his shoulders. “it all depends,” he said, “on your friends luker and birks, as you may easily see for yourself. they may want to swindle you of your money and of the proceeds of the speculation, as you call it, or they may not. i’m afraid they’d like to, at any rate. but perhaps you’ve got some little security in this piece of paper. one thing is plain: they certainly believe in the deposit of jewels themselves, else they wouldn’t have taken so much trouble to get the paper back, on the chance of seeing some way of using it after they had got into the house they speak of.”
“then i guess i’ll go on with the thing, if that’s it.”
“that depends, of course, on whether you care to take trouble to get possession of what, after all, is somebody else’s lawful property.”
hoker looked a little uneasy. “well,” he said, “there’s that, of course. i didn’t know nothin’ about that at first, and when i did i’d parted with my money and felt entitled to get something back for it. anyway, the stuff ain’t found yet. when it is, why then, you know, i might make a deal with the owner. but, say, how did you find out my name, and about this here affair being jined up with the wedlake jewels?”
hewitt smiled. “as to the name and address, you just think it over a little when you’ve gone away, and if you don’t see how i did it, you’re not so cute as i think you are. in regard to the jewels—well, i just read the message of the ‘flitterbat lancers,’ that’s all.”
“you read it? whew! that beats! and what does it say, and where? how did you fix it?” hoker turned the paper over eagerly in his hands as he spoke.
“see, now,” said hewitt, “i won’t tell you all that, but i’ll tell you something, and it may help you to test the real knowledge of luker and birks. part of the message is in these words, which you had better write down: ‘over the coals the fifth dancer slides, says jerry shiels the horney.’”
“what?” hoker exclaimed, “fifth dancer slides over the coals? that’s a mighty odd dance-figure, anyway, lancers or not. what’s it all about?”
“about the wedlake jewels, as i said. now you can go and make a bargain with luker and birks. the only other part of the message is an address, and that they already know, if they have been telling the truth about the house they intend taking. you can offer to tell them what i have told you of the message, after they have told you where the house is, and proved to you that they are taking the steps they talk of. if they won’t agree to that, i think you had best treat them as common rogues (which they are), and charge them with obtaining your money under false pretences. but in any case don’t be disappointed if you see very little of the wedlake jewels.”
nothing more would hewitt say than that, despite hoker’s many questions; and when at last hoker had gone, almost as troubled and perplexed as ever, my friend turned to me and said, “now, brett, if you haven’t lunched, and would like to see the end of this business, hurry up!”
“the end of it?” i said. “is it to end so soon? how?”
“simply by a police raid on jerry shiels’s old house with a search warrant. i communicated with the police this morning before i came here.”
“poor hoker!” i said.
“oh, i had told the police before i saw hoker, or heard of him, of course. i just conveyed the message on the music slip—that was enough. but i’ll tell you all about it when there’s more time; i must be off now. with the information i have given him, hoker and his friends may make an extra push and get into the house soon, but i couldn’t resist the temptation to give the unfortunate hoker some sort of a sporting chance—though it’s a poor one, i fear. get your lunch as quickly as you can, and go at once to colt row, bankside—southwark way, you know. probably we shall be there before you. if not, wait.”
hewitt had assumed his hat and gloves as he spoke, and now hurried away. i took such lunch as i could in twenty minutes, and hurried in a cab towards blackfriars bridge. the cabman knew nothing of colt row, but had a notion of where to find bankside. once in the region i left him, and then colt row was not difficult to find. it was one of those places that decay with an access of respectability, like drury lane and clare market. once, when jacob’s island was still an island, a little farther down the river, colt row had evidently been an unsafe place for a person with valuables about him, and then it probably prospered, in its own way. now it was quite respectable, but very dilapidated and dirty, and looked as unprosperous as a street well can. it was too near the river to be a frequented thoroughfare, and too far from it to be valuable for wharfage purposes. it was a stagnant backwater in the london tide, close though it stood to the full rush of the stream. perhaps it was sixty yards long—perhaps a little more. it was certainly very few yards wide, and the houses at each side had a patient and forlorn look of waiting for a metropolitan improvement to come along and carry them away to their rest. many seemed untenanted, and most threatened soon to be untenable. i could see no signs as yet of hewitt, nor of the police, so i walked up and down the narrow pavement for a little while. as i did so, i became conscious of a face at a window of the least ruinous house in the row, a face that i fancied expressed particular interest in my movements. the house was an old gabled structure, faced with plaster. what had apparently once been a shop-window, or at any rate a wide one, on the ground floor, was now shuttered up, and the face that watched me—an old woman’s—looked from a window next above. i had noted these particulars with some curiosity, when, arriving again at the street corner, i observed hewitt approaching, in company with a police inspector, and followed by two unmistakable “plain-clothes” men.
“well,” hewitt said, “you’re first here after all. have you seen any more of our friend hoker?”
“no, nothing.”
“very well—probably he’ll be here before long, though.”
the party turned into colt row, and the inspector, walking up to the door of the house with the shuttered bottom window, knocked sharply. there was no response, so he knocked again; but equally in vain.
“all out,” said the inspector.
“no,” i said; “i saw a woman watching me from the window above not three minutes ago.”
“ho, ho!” the inspector replied. “that’s so, eh? one of you—you, johnson—step round to the back, will you? you know the courts behind.”
one of the plain-clothes men started off, and after waiting another minute or two the inspector began a thundering cannonade of knocks that brought every available head out of the window of every inhabited room in the row.
the woman’s face appeared stealthily at the upper window again, but the inspector saw, and he shouted to her to open the door and save him the necessity of damaging it. at this the woman opened the window, and began abusing the inspector with a shrillness and fluency that added a street-corner audience to that already congregated at the windows.
“go away, you blaggards!” the lady said, among other things; “you ought to be ’orse-w’ipped, every one of ye! a-comin’ ’ere a-tryin’ to turn decent people out o’ ’ouse and ’ome! wait till my ’usband comes ’ome—’e’ll show yer, ye mutton-cadgin’ scoundrels! payin’ our rent reg’lar, and good tenants as is always been—as you may ask mrs. green next door this blessed minute—and i’m a respectable married woman, that’s what i am, ye dirty great cow-ards!”—this last word with a low, tragic emphasis.
hewitt remembered what hoker had said about the present tenants refusing to quit the house on the landlord’s notice. “she thinks we’ve come from the landlord to turn her out,” he said to the inspector.
“we’re not here from the landlord, you old fool!” the inspector said, in as low a voice as could be trusted to reach the woman’s ears. “we don’t want to turn you out. we’re the police, with a search-warrant to look for something left here before you came; and you’d better let us in, i can tell you, or you’ll get into trouble.”
“’ark at ’im!” the woman screamed, pointing at the inspector. “’ark at ’im! thinks i was born yesterday, that feller! go ’ome, ye dirty pie-stealer, go ’ome! ’oo sneaked the cook’s watch, eh? go ’ome!”
the audience showed signs of becoming a small crowd, and the inspector’s patience gave out. “here, bradley,” he said, addressing the remaining plain-clothes man, “give a hand with these shutters,” and the two—both powerful men—seized the iron bar which held the shutters, and began to pull. but the garrison was undaunted, and, seizing a broom, the woman began to belabour the invaders about the shoulders and head from above. but just at this moment the woman, emitting a terrific shriek, was suddenly lifted from behind and vanished. then the head of the plain-clothes man who had gone round the houses appeared, with the calm announcement, “there’s a winder open behind, sir. but i’ll open the front door if you like.”
1-05
“the woman began to belabour the invaders about the shoulders
and head from above.”
then there was a heavy thump, and his head was withdrawn; the broom was probably responsible. the inspector shouted impatiently for the front door to be opened, and in a minute or two the bolts were shot, and it swung back. the placid johnson stood in the passage, and as we passed in he said, “i’ve locked ’er in the back room upstairs.” as a matter of fact we might have guessed it. volleys of screeches, punctuated by bangs from contact of broom and door, left no doubt.
“it’s the bottom staircase, of course,” the inspector said; and we tramped down into the basement. a little way from the stairfoot hewitt opened a cupboard door, which enclosed a receptacle for coals. “they still keep the coals here, you see,” he said, striking a match and passing it to and fro near the sloping roof of the cupboard. it was of plaster, and covered the under-side of the stairs.
“and now for the fifth dancer,” he said, throwing the match away and making for the staircase again. “one, two, three, four, five,” and he tapped the fifth stair from the bottom. “here it is.”
the stairs were uncarpeted, and hewitt and the inspector began a careful examination of the one he had indicated. they tapped it in different places, and hewitt passed his hand over the surfaces of both tread and riser. presently, with his hand at the outer edge of the riser, hewitt spoke. “here it is, i think,” he said; “it is the riser that slides.”
he took out his pocket-knife and scraped away the grease and paint from the edge of the old stair. then a joint was plainly visible. for a long time the plank, grimed and set with age, refused to shift; but at last, by dint of patience and firm fingers, it moved, and in a few seconds was drawn clean out from the end, like the lid of a domino-box lying on its side.
within, nothing was visible but grime, fluff, and small rubbish. the inspector passed his hand along the bottom angle. “here’s a hook or something, at any rate,” he said. it was the gold hook of an old-fashioned earring, broken off short.
hewitt slapped his thigh. “somebody’s been here before us,” he said “and a good time back too, judging from the dust. that hook’s a plain indication that jewellery was here once, and probably broken up for convenience of carriage and stowage. there’s plainly nothing more, except—except this piece of paper.” hewitt’s eyes had detected—black with loose grime as it was—a small piece of paper lying at the bottom of the recess. he drew it out and shook off the dust. “why, what’s this?” he exclaimed. “more music! why, look here!”
we went to the window, and there saw in hewitt’s hand a piece of written musical notation, thus:—
1-6
hewitt pulled out from his pocket a few pieces of paper. “here is a copy i made this morning of the ‘flitterbat lancers,’ and a note or two of my own as well,” he said. he took a pencil, and, constantly referring to his own papers, marked a letter under each note on the last-found slip of music. when he had done this, the letters read:—
“you are a clever cove whoever you are but there was a cleverer says jim snape the horney’s mate.”
“you see?” hewitt said handing the inspector the paper. “snape, the unconsidered messenger, finding legg in prison, set to work and got the jewels for himself. he either had more gumption than the other people through whose hands the ‘flitterbat lancers’ has passed, or else he had got some clue to the cipher during his association with shiels. the thing was a cryptogram, of course, of a very simple sort, though uncommon in design. snape was a humorous soul, too, to leave this message here in the same cipher, on the chance of somebody else reading the ‘flitterbat lancers.’”
“but,” i asked, “why did he give that slip of music to luker’s father?”
“well, he owed him money, and got out of it that way. also he avoided the appearance of ‘flushness’ that paying the debt might have given him, and got quietly out of the country with his spoils. also he may have paid off a grudge on old luker—anyhow, the thing plagued him enough.”
the shrieks upstairs had grown hoarser, but the broom continued vigorously. “let that woman out,” said the inspector, “and we’ll go and report. not much good looking for snape now, i fancy. but there’s some satisfaction in clearing up that old quarter-century mystery.”
we left the place pursued by the execrations of the broom wielder, who bolted the door behind us, and from the window defied us to come back, and vowed she would have us all searched before a magistrate for what we had probably stolen. in the very next street we hove in sight of reuben b. hoker in the company of two swell-mob-looking fellows, who sheered off down a side turning at sight of our group. hoker, too, looked rather shy at sight of the inspector. as we passed, hewitt stopped for a moment and said, “i’m afraid you’ve lost those jewels, mr. hoker; come to my office to-morrow, and i’ll tell you all about it.”
