Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 28

It would not be edifying to the reader to chronicle all the marauding expeditions in which our hero was engaged at this period.

The money obtained by the exercise of his musical ability did not content him for long. He visited several houses after nightfall, and if the booty obtained was not large he escaped without detection.

He had “spotted,” to use his own phrase, a house standing in its own grounds at Wood-hill, within a few miles of Sheffield.

The place seemed so isolated and looked so tempting, it being in the occupation of some rich person, that Peace determined upon paying it an early visit.

At the back of the house was a conservatory. This could be reached from one of the back rooms. Indeed, it might be said to form part of the room itself.

Peace, who had noted all these things when passing the place in midday, had determined upon his plan of operations.

He scaled the iron railings which ran round the front garden, and made at once for the greenhouse. To obtain an entrance into this was a matter of no great difficulty.

The two folding doors of the parlour led into the conservatory. These were, as a matter of course, fastened, but not very securely.

The burglar, who, as we have already seen, was an expert in dealing with locks and bolts, began by ascertaining, as nearly as possible, the nature of the fastenings.

With a bit of bent wire he picked the lock, and one of the doors yielded to his pressure.

He found the top bolt had not been drawn home into its socket, and an aperture was disclosed sufficiently large for him to withdraw the bottom bolt with one of the instruments he had brought with him. The bolt was pulled back, and the door was flung wide open.

All this had been done in so quick a manner that none of the inmates were disturbed.

Peace entered the back parlour, and found therein a considerable amount of portable and valuable property. By the aid of one of his silent lucifers, he possessed himself of a number of articles, which he placed together on the table, with the intention of removing them upon his return from the other rooms, which it was his purpose to ransack in a similar manner.

He went into the front parlour, and took from it a still richer booty, which he placed by the side of the first heap.

This done, he crept cautiously upstairs, and entered the front drawing-room on the first floor.

This was furnished with most costly articles. The burglar was quite charmed with the appearance of the apartment, still more so with its contents.

He now for the first time made use of one of the long screws which he used so frequently in the after part of his lawless career.

Closing the door, he bored a small hole in it with a bradawl; into this he inserted a long, pointed screw, which he turned with a screw-driver, and by this means fastened himself securely in the room.

No one would be able to gain an entrance.

With one of his lucifers he lighted a small wax taper, which he placed on one of the hobs of the grate. Then he proceeded to open all the drawers and cupboards, from which he abstracted a number of valuables. These he placed in his bag.

He felicitated himself upon the successful nature of the expedition; the proceeds of his night’s work would undoubtedly realise a considerable sum of money, even at the Jew’s price.

As may be supposed, he did not leave much behind that there was any possibility of carrying away.

The examination of the room, the turning over the various articles, and abstraction of the same, took a longer time than he had expected; nevertheless, he deemed himself quite safe, as the door was securely fastened.

When he had selected all that he intended to take away with him, he blew out his taper, and began to withdraw his long, thin screw. This done, he cautiously opened the door, and peeped out.

No one was visible.

Turning round to reach his bag, his coat-tail caught the branch of a candelabrum, which fell to the floor with a loud crash.

In another moment he was alarmed by the barking of a dog, and in the next a fierce animal rushed into the room, and sprang at his throat.

Peace was greatly alarmed. The whole household would, in all probability, be aroused.

“Curse the hound!” he muttered; at the same time grasping the dog’s throat with both hands, so as to silence him, and at the same time, if possible, to throttle him.

A struggle ensued between the burglar and the dog, which, short and desperate as it was, seemed an age to Peace.

He flung his canine opponent with all his force to the other end of the room; but the dog was not easily cowed; he came on once more.

Peace had expected this. As the animal approached, he struck it a terrific blow on the head with his jemmy. For a moment the poor creature was stunned.

Peace shouldered his bag, and was about to make off, when he received a cut on the forehead from some weapon, which caused a thousand sparks to flicker before his eyes.

He struck out right and left with his jemmy at a dark figure in the doorway.

In another moment he was in the grasp of a powerful man, whose features were not distinguishable, the room being at this time in almost utter darkness.

“Scoundrel—​villain!” exclaimed his opponent; “you shall not escape me.”

Peace made no answer to these expletives.

He had but one thought—​this being to get away. He struggled desperately, and fought like a tiger.

The two combatants fell to the floor, rolling over together. Peace kicked and struck out with his fists, but for all he could do he could not shake off his resolute antagonist.

The dog, who had now in a measure recovered from the blow, set up a loud barking.

He, with a noble instinct, rushed to his master’s assistance and caught Peace by one of his legs, who kicked the animal savagely with the other.

“Down Bruno—​down, boy,” ejaculated Peace’s opponent.

At these words the dog ceased further hostilities. Peace by a supreme effort rose to his feet, but he was still in the grasp of his enemy, who also rose.

The noise and barking of the dog aroused another inmate of the house; this was the servant girl, who hurried on her things and hastened to the scene of action with a lighted candle in her hand.

“For mercy’s sake, Mr. Gatliffe, whatever is the matter?” she inquired.

Peace’s heart beat audibly. He was in the hands of Tom Gatliffe.

By the light of the candle which the girl carried he beheld the well-known features of his rival.

“Heaven be merciful!” exclaimed the latter, who despite his disguise at once recognised Peace. “Can it be possible?”

He regarded the burglar with a look of bewilderment. Peace was abashed; panting and puffing like a grampus, he drew back and supported himself against the edge of the cheffonier.

The two—​the honest man and the rogue—​regarded each other in silence for a brief space of time.

“I had never counted on this—​I am appalled,” exclaimed Gatliffe. “A robber, a thief, a burglar! It surpasses all belief!”

A stream of blood trickled down the face of our hero from the blow he had received at the commencement of the conflict, but he was heedless of this. The exposure, the terrible discovery made by young Gatliffe, afflicted him more than aught else.

“What have you to say for yourself—​can it be possible that you have sunk so low as this? I can hardly realise the fact, which, however, is but too evident. I would that some other person had made this discovery.”

“It’s no use making fine set speeches,” returned Peace; “here we both are. It is not a pleasant meeting for either of us, but we must make the best of it.”

“What has been the matter?” inquired the girl. “Shall I go for James, or a policeman, or what?”

“You had better go for a policeman; but stay, where is James?”

“In the room over the coach-house, I suppose.”

“Well, we don’t want his assistance—​go for a policeman. The station is not far hence—​go, there’s a good girl.”

The maid placed the candle on the table, put on her shawl, and sallied forth.

When she had gone Gatliffe closed the door, locked it, and put the key into his pocket.

“Now,” he said, turning to Peace, “you an my prisoner.”

“So it seems,” returned the latter, who had by that time recovered his assurance; “but may I inquire what you do here? You are not master of this house—​are you?”

“I am not, but one of my employers is. He’s away in the country, and during his absence I have taken charge of the premises. Insolence will avail you but little. You might have got me into trouble, imperilled my position—​nay, almost ruined me—​had you got clean away with the things you have purloined.”

“But I’ve not got away, and it’s no use supposing I have,” interrupted Peace. “It is a bad business, but can’t be helped. Do you mean to tell me that you are going to hand me over to the police?”

“It is my duty to do so.”

“Duty, be blowed! Look here, we’ve had a word or two. You’ve robbed me of the only woman I ever cared for. It’s driven me to distraction—​that’s what it’s done—​else I shouldn’t be here. It is all your fault—​but, there, I bear you no animosity. Let bygones be bygones. I tell you I’ve been driven to distraction. Do you hear?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, then, if you are the same generous Tom Gatliffe as I knew years ago, you wont be hard upon your old chum.”

“What would I give to be out of this difficulty?” exclaimed Gatliffe, in a tone of sadness. “Do, for mercy’s sake, mend your ways. Never make another attempt of this sort. It is, I hope, your first false step—​let it be your last.”

“It shall be—​I promise you that. It shall be the last,” he answered, with well-simulated hypocrisy.

“For the sake of those who are near and dear to you, do not, I charge you, stray from the path of honesty. A burglar—​a midnight robber! It appears almost too terrible to believe. What am I to say to my employer?”

“You need not say that we were in any way acquainted. The attempt was made, and you frustrated it. That is all. I’m in your power, and throw myself upon your mercy. Let me go.”

“If I do, justice will surely overtake you, sooner or later, unless you mend your ways.”

“I will,” cried Peace. “Be assured of that. Now, Tom, the minutes are flying rapidly. Even now the police may be on their way here. Let me get clear off while there’s yet time.”

“But how can I without compromising myself? It is most repugnant to my feelings, most painful for me to give you in charge. But what am I to do? How can I help it?”

Open the door, and say I slipped out of your grasp, and got away. Nothing is easier. Or open the window, I can drop on the grass plat. Whichever you please, only—​time—​time presses.”

Gatliffe hesitated for a moment, then he took the key out of his pocket, unlocked the door, flung it wide open, and said, in a hoarse whisper—

“Go. Get you gone! I imperil my own position, but we are known to each other from boyhood. Away at once!”

“You’re a good fellow, Tom; I always said so,” murmured Peace. “Now I am more than ever assured of it. I shall not forget your kindness. But a few days ago I hated you, and could have killed you. Now I esteem and love you.”

“Go to —— no more of this,” returned his companion. “All I ask of you is that you never again suffer yourself to forfeit my good opinion by any discreditable or dishonest act.”

“Trust me, Tom, I will not,” said Peace, as he flew with rapid steps down the stairs, and passed through the back parlour, and from thence into the conservatory.

In a few minutes after this he was clear away from the scene of his operations.

After his departure Tom Gatliffe remained in the front drawing-room a prey to a thousand conflicting thoughts.

The unexpected and singular encounter that had taken place was altogether of such an extraordinary nature that he seemed bewildered and perplexed.

He had never for a moment imagined that Peace had been pursuing a lawless career, and the sudden discovery he made that night fell like a thunderbolt upon him.

Gatliffe was a young man of the strictest integrity, of the highest moral rectitude, and he felt supremely miserable when he reflected upon the incriminating facts, which had been made but too painfully manifest, in connection with his schoolfellow Peace.

He would have given half he was possessed of not to have been in the house at the time of the burglary.

Generous, kind-hearted, and forgiving as he was by nature, he found it impossible to blast the prospects of one whom he had known, almost on what might be termed the threshold of existence.

He glanced at the burglar’s bag, which contained so many valuable articles, and, as he did so, a shudder passed through his frame.

“I fear this is not his first offence,” he murmured, shaking his head sadly. “Young as he is he may possibly be old in crime; but perhaps I do him wrong, yet he was certainly disguised in so cunning and complete a manner that few besides myself would have known him. Certainly his disguise was perhaps the most surprising part of the whole business. Oh! this is all very terrible. I feel wretchedly depressed.”

Footsteps were now heard ascending the stairs, and in another moment the servant girl entered the room. She was accompanied by an inspector of the police and a constable.

“Where is the prisoner?” said the inspector.

“He has escaped,” answered Gatliffe.

“Escaped!” iterated the inspector. “Surely you have not been foolish enough to let him get away. How did it happen?”

“You shall hear. I had him in this room and kept guard over the entrance. He pleaded for mercy, but I told him I had a duty to perform. All at once, after remaining quiet and submissive for some time, he sprang towards the door. I caught hold of him to arrest his passage; in doing so my foot slipped, and he lost no time in taking advantage of this accident, and succeeded in releasing himself from my grasp. It was all done in less time than it takes me to tell it. He flew downstairs.”

“Well, you followed, of course?”

“Yes.”

“And could not overtake him?”

“I had very nearly done so, when he rushed into the back parlour, closed the door, and locked it. I ran round the conservatory, searched everywhere I could think of, but was unable to find him. Oh! he has escaped, but it is no fault of mine.”

This, as the reader may guess, was not a truthful statement, but it was the only course Gatliffe had left to get himself out of the difficulty.

The inspector looked at the constable—​then they both gave a glance at Gatliffe, who, as a natural consequence, felt greatly disconcerted.

No. 7.

BESSIE DREW FORTH FROM THE PAPER A HUNDRED POUND NOTE.

“Well, it is very unfortunate—​exceedingly so,” observed the inspector. “Should you know the man again?”

“Oh, dear, yes; I’ve no doubt I should.”

“So should I,” exclaimed the girl. “I should know him out of a thousand. He had a dark skin, and appears to be a mulatto.”

“Is that so?”

This last query was addressed to Gatliffe.

“Yes, she’s quite right—​that was what he appeared to be—​a half caste, a creole, or mulatto.”

“Ah! several burglaries have been committed by a man of that description. I am much mortified at his having made his escape.”

“It is indeed very much to be regretted, but it is no fault of mine. I hope you don’t think it is,” said Gatliffe.

“I don’t say it is any fault of yours,” returned the inspector, testily. “I only say it’s unfortunate, that’s all—​confoundedly unfortunate, when you’ve bagged your bird, to let him fly away. I say again, it’s unfortunate; but talking wont mend the matter. Let’s search the house, Jawkins.”

This was addressed to the constable.

“You see this?” remarked Gatliffe, pointing significantly to the bag.

The constable opened it, and drew forth one article after the other in the usual systematic and professional manner invariably adopted by gentlemen of his profession.

“He meant walking away with a tolerably rich booty,” observed the inspector. “Ah! he knew his business—​not the least doubt of that.”

Gatliffe was ready to sink through the floor; he was so abashed and humiliated at the contemptible part he had been playing, which was, to say the truth, altogether foreign to his nature.

After the bag had been emptied of its contents the police-officers proceeded downstairs. They were followed by the young engineer and the servant girl.

The other pile of valuables was discovered on the table in the back parlour. These of course underwent inspection. During the examination of each separate article Gatliffe was perfectly appalled at the magnitude of the projected robbery; but he said nothing, being, in fact, too depressed to venture too many observations.

“Here is where the rascal gained an entrance into the premises,” pointing to the folding-doors which led into the conservatory, which gave unmistakeable indications of the marks made by the burglar’s instruments.

A rapid and rigid search was now made in the grounds, both in the rear and in the front of the house.

But no burglar was discovered.

The services of Bruno, the faithful dog, were enlisted in this search, which, however, turned out to be fruitless.

The constables returned to the house. They were evidently deeply mortified at the escape of the robber, and could but ill conceal their vexation.

“He’s given us the slip,” said the inspector. “Got far away by this time, I’ve no doubt. It’s very annoying, but it can’t be helped.”

“I’m sure I am very sorry to have given you so much unnecessary trouble,” murmured Gatliffe. “The more so since I found it impossible to detain him. I wish you had come a little earlier.”

“We did not lose a moment after the young woman informed us of the affair. You take my advice,” remarked the inspector, addressing himself to Gatliffe, “the next time you collar a ‘cracksman,’ stick to him. Don’t let him slip through your fingers.”

“Mr. Gatliffe held him fast enough,” said the servant, in a tone of indignation. “He’s not the man to give in easily. He had a most desperate struggle with the burglar before I left; and had it not been for him and Bruno the house would have been well-nigh stripped.”

The inspector nodded his head in acquiescence of this last proposition.

“We will take the bag with us,” he observed, as he made his way to the drawing-room. “It may afford some clue to the robber.”

Upon entering the upstairs room, he discovered on the floor the “jemmy” with which Peace struck the dog. It had fallen out of his hand during his struggle with Gatliffe.

This was also carried away by the police. Upon their return to the station orders were issued to the men on duty to keep on the look-out for the next few days for a man answering to the description of the burglar.

But the bird had flown—​he had also changed his plumage—​and he was, moreover, too cunning a bird to be seen in the neighbourhood for some time—​certainly not till the attempted burglary was a thing of the past.

Gatliffe was in a state of trepidation for some days. The false statement he had made to the police officers caused him the deepest anxiety.

It was altogether so repugnant to his feelings to deviate from the truth that he felt humiliated at having been compelled, by the force of circumstances, to trump up so specious a tale to cover the flight of Peace.

He accused himself of having aided and abetted a burglar in his lawless attempt at robbery.

This was, however, viewing the matter in its worst light. If Gatliffe had erred it was from the best motive; it was to save one whom he had known for many years. He had not the faintest notion, when he connived at his escape, that he was dealing thus mercifully with a callous and hardened criminal.

But Peace, it must be acknowledged, was a remarkable man in many ways, not the least of these being his wondrous power of imposing upon persons with whom he came in contact.

It is at all times difficult to gauge accurately the character of culprits of this class.

In a popular history of British criminals the biographer, introducing a certain infamous rascal, remarks very justly that as a rule the recorders of rogues and vagabonds endow them with qualities they did not possess, and credit them with exploits they never performed.

Hence follows, in the opinion of this judicious commentator, “the difficulty of finding out and appreciating, as they merit, genuine anecdotes of these heroes.” Burglars suffer, like bards, from theft of their reputation, and the notorious shoplifter is as liable as the eminent statesman to be saddled with misdeeds he never committed and defrauded of distinction actually earned.

The Newgate chronicle we have quoted tells us in a word how this comes to be.

If any man makes himself distinguished by crime a hundred stories are set in circulation, putting down things to him which he knew nothing about. Peace is no exception to this rule.

A leading London paper reported that he had paid a visit to Chislehurst as a private gentleman, who desired to build a habitation of a similar character—​the real object of his visit, however, being to gain a knowledge of its interior for the purpose of carrying out a burglary on a large scale.

There is not a shadow of truth in this report. Peace was never at Chislehurst; neither did he ever contemplate breaking into the place.

It is a long time happily since this sort of scandal engaged the tongues and thoughts of the British public.

The days are gone by for ever when each county in England had its outlaw, whose achievements filled the “lying trump of fame,” and agitated society with a pleasing fear unfelt among our modern sensations.

When, however, at rare intervals, some superior villain appears above the lawless crowd, we find the old tendency to make the most or worst of him lingers not dead but sleeping.

Our hero is an instance in point.

We doubt, indeed, if any individual named in the long black bead-roll of the criminal calendar has inspired more invention, or figured in so much fancy, as Charles Peace.

His midnight adventures have not that strong flavour of exciting romance we find in the histories of bygone marauders.

He was practical to austerity, and never made a move that was not calculated and carried out to answer a severe business purpose.

No doubt, as we have before observed, his artfulness, his daring, and other qualities made him a remarkable man.

Unhappily for himself and his endowments, which would have enabled him to win a respectable position in an honest career, appear to have been singularly fitted for the life he chose to follow.

Although he has been charged with many offences he never committed, it may be safely believed that during the thirty years or so he was preying upon the public he has done an enormous amount of mischief.

A poet is said to be one in ten thousand. A man of the special capacity of Peace is far more rare.

He seems like the conquerors, and produces on his fellow-men the same sort of hope that he may be the last of his class.

Probably there is not another man in England who could have run the race of this criminal—​by night a thief and a murderer; by day a citizen of credit, who went abroad without fear in the busy haunts of men.

The miserable failure he had made in attempting to rob the house of which Gatliffe was the custodian did not abash him.

He was to be seen in places of public resort at Sheffield on the following day.

Indeed, he mixed more freely with the townspeople than he had done heretofore.

It is our purpose in this work to throw a light on the actions and deeds of its lawless hero; not for the purpose of holding him up as an example, but rather as a warning.

His career furnishes us with a proof that a life of crime is always a life of care.

Disgrace, obloquy, and punishment are the sure attendants on the footsteps of a criminal.

Some few days after his last unsuccessful escapade, Peace was standing outside the principal post-office in Sheffield.

He had been to inquire if there were any letters for him.

He expected to receive one from Bessie Dalton, who, in accordance with his instructions, directed her epistles to the post-office to be kept till called for.

Peace had received several, but for some little time past none had arrived.

He was debating with himself as to the cause, when, much to his surprise, he descried Tom Gatliffe hastening on in the direction of the spot where he was stationed.

It was not possible for him to avoid being recognised, and, to say the truth, he had no desire to do so.

He waited till Gatliffe came up to him.

His countenance denoted that he was a little concerned at the rencontre.

Gatliffe posted some letters, and then turned towards Peace with a look of deep sorrow.

“You remember the promise given to me on that terrible night?” said Gatliffe, in a whisper.

Peace nodded.

“I do,” he returned; “shall always hear it in remembrance. Be in no way concerned about me. I’ve seen my error, and am now a different man.”

“I hope and trust you are. Now, Peace,” said the young engineer, in a more serious and persuasive tone, “let me conjure you, let me beg of you, never to fall into a similar error. It must have been the archfiend who tempted you to commit such a monstrous act.”

“Say no more about it. Let it be forgotten. You have been in no way compromised, I hope.”

“I must tell you frankly that I found myself in such a terrible scrape, when the police arrived, that I was constrained to do more for you than I have ever done for myself. I had to tell a most deliberate falsehood, but let that pass. You will, I am sure, be mindful of your promise. You are young, possess ability, and may yet win a good position in life. But do not be tempted. If you are in want of money at any time drop me a line, and what I can spare in the way of a loan for a short time you are welcome to. Only do not, I charge you, attempt to rob or plunder. I am sure I wish to be everything that’s kind to you; but lately I have heard things which seem to strike me with horror.”

“What have you heard?”

“I will not pain you by repeating.”

“Oh! don’t mind that. The plain truth is at all times the best. What have you heard?”

“Well, then, if you must know, the police informed me that there had been several burglaries committed by a person answering to your description.”

“And surely you are not fool enough to believe such a statement. They always say that. They think it so clever. My description, indeed! They wont tell me so.”

“I don’t mean a description as you now appear, but as you were on that dreadful night.”

Peace laughed.

“Ah, I see,” he muttered. “Why, I wonder even you knew me, disguised as I was.”

“I wonder myself.”

“Would they know me now, do you think?”

“Not at all likely, I should say.”

“And Aveline Maitland—​what of her?” inquired Peace, in an altered tone, for as he inquired a sudden pang seemed to shoot through his frame.

“What of her?” repeated Gatliffe; “why do you inquire?”

“Don’t be jealous—​she is nothing to me.”

“I’m not likely to be jealous.”

“You are engaged to her?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I thought so. Well, I wish you every happiness—​that’s all I have to say; but a short time since she drove me to desperation—​I did not much care whether I lived or died; now that is past—​I’m getting over it.”

Gatliffe looked surprised. There was an earnestness in his companion’s manner which went far towards giving assurance of the speaker’s sincerity.”

“You’ll not forget all I have said, neither will you forget your promise—​and so farewell,” said Gatliffe, with a nod, as he took a somewhat abrupt departure.

“Farewell,” repeated Peace. “My ways are not your ways,” he added, when the engineer was out of earshot.

“Hang it all! what can be the reason of Bessie’s silence? Two letters unanswered—​something must be up. Has she turned against me?”

This thought seemed to a little depress him; not that he had any right to expect anything else, seeing that he had neglected her in a most heartless manner. He reflected for some little time, and then said—

“I shall have to go over to Bradford, I expect—​that’s what I shall have to do. Bessie’s a sharp clever girl, and I mustn’t lose sight of her. A plague upon that drunken brute, Bristow! Had it not been for him I should not have had occasion to leave Bradford.”

His soliloquy was brought to a close by a female addressing him by his Christian name.

It was his mother, who, with all his faults, regarded him with a glance of fond affection.

“Well, Charlie, you rover, now I have found you I don’t intend to let you go,” said the old lady, playfully. “You must come along with me.”

“Where to?”

“Where do you suppose? You must come home. Surely you can spare your poor mother a little of your company?”

“All right, then; homewards we will go,” cried Peace, leading the way in the direction of his parent’s house.