Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 88

Our hero, as we have already seen, had been leading for a long time past a reputable sort of life—​indeed, the company into which he had fallen at Broxbridge had caused him to turn his thoughts in another direction. Had he remained there it is just possible that he might have abstained from the pursuit of dishonest courses.

But now the spell was broken.

His funds were at a low ebb, and he did not feel disposed to leave London empty handed. He must levy black mail on the inhabitants of so wealthy a city.

He reasoned with himself in a self-satisfactory way, never for a moment acknowledging that he was in any way a wrong-doer.

Indeed, the sophistry and hypocrisy of Peace was one of his most marked characteristics, and the examination of the character of such a man is a curious study.

It is not only the tissue of audacious crimes of which he is known or suspected to have been guilty, which provoked the eager interest of the community. There is some curiosity to know the mental and moral whereabouts of a man who stands all by himself.

There have been men who have gradually grown up to be practical and dexterous criminals.

Natural qualifications and acquired capabilities have conspired to make them hardened and practical offenders.

Others have leapt up at one bound into daring and accomplished law breakers.

Under the stress of some urgent necessity, or powerful temptation, they have done a deed fit to make men’s blood curdle in their veins.

Peace does not, however, come into either of these two classes.

Practical he was to a certain extent, but his habituation to crime was voluntary and wilful.

He chose his walk in life, and determined not to stop short of the most distinguished excellence.

His daring dexterity and self-possession would have made for him a splendid career in any walk of life where his “imperial” customs could have been legitimated by authority.

Then, after robbing and murdering half the world, he might have grasped the highest honours of a peerage, and died in the perfect odour of sanctity.

Peace had just that laxity of moral nature which would have made him a thoroughly unscrupulous instrument in the hands of a lawless power.

But he lacked the golden opportunity, and became instead a desperate criminal.

The arrest, trial, and conviction of Cooney and his confederate had no other effect upon Peace than causing him to give up all idea of remaining longer in “Sanderson’s Hotel.”

He had narrowly escaped recognition. At present he stood well with Mr. Wrench, and naturally enough he had no desire for the astute detective to be enlightened as to his antecedents or real character.

It was therefore necessary for him to be cautious.

He had a large amount of material connected with his business, consisting chiefly of frames, prints and tools, which had been packed up, and were still at the goods department at the London station, and he had still many commissions to execute.

He took two unfurnished rooms in the neighbourhood of Leather-lane, Holborn, and had his stock-in-trade removed to his new lodgings.

One room he proposed using as a workshop, the other he could make occasional rise of as a dormitory.

His newly found friend, Kempshead, had left London upon a tour to some of the leading towns in the capacity of a commercial traveller; he had, therefore nothing to regret in leaving Sanderson’s, so he paid his bill, and moved to his new quarters.

He had thoughts of returning to his native town, Sheffield, but as yet London had many allurements for him, and he was loth to leave it.

He set to work in his new quarters, and sent some frames and prints to some of his customers at Broxbridge, but the spirit of adventure which had lain so long dormant now asserted its sway, and he began to make nocturnal excursions, and returned with the booty to his bare and gaunt-looking apartments, which were, however, in a short space of time pretty well stocked with the proceeds of his various robberies.

Having recommenced this dishonest career of life, he carried on his depredations with the greatest assiduity.

The burglaries he had carried out so successfully were chiefly confined to the north side of London.

He had noticed during his excursions a large red brick mansion at Highgate, standing back from the road with an avenue of gigantic trees in its front.

It was a fine specimen of an old manorial edifice, and had in all probability been originally built by some nobleman or rich commoner.

It was too large and not sufficiently modern to suit the taste of a citizen of the period, but from its commodiousness and the healthiness of its situation it was eminently qualified for a school.

It had been repaired and beautified, and was now known by circulars and advertisements as “Miss Chickleberry’s Finishing Academy for Young Ladies.”

Peace thought it worthy of a visit—​so one moonlight night he bent his steps in the direction of Highgate.

At this time there were not many pedestrians or equestrians passing along the road even in broad daylight. At night there were none, and the burglar therefore felt assured that he should have it pretty well his own way.

Two large wrought-iron gates guarded the entrance to the broad gravel walk which led to the vestibule of the house.

Not a light of any description was discernible at the windows of the habitation.

Peace scaled the wall, and then found himself in the front garden or shrubbery.

He crept silently along until he reached the side of the mansion; passing along this he arrived at the garden in its rear.

It was at the back of Miss Chickleberry’s residence that he proposed effecting an entrance, for beyond the garden itself were a number of fields used for grazing purposes.

A death-like silence reigned around, which was only broken occasionally by the mournful sighing of the branches of the trees as they were agitated by a passing breeze.

He concluded that all the inmates were fast asleep—​at any rate he hoped they were.

He had provided himself with a capacious bag, as he had been given to understand that there was a considerable amount of silver plate, which he concluded it would be his pleasing duty to remove.

Two men-servants slept in the rooms over some stables which were about a hundred and fifty yards from the house, which, with the exception of a boy who acted as page, was occupied by females only.

But, Peace being a ladies’ man, this did not much matter.

The most serious matter for consideration was how to effect an entrance without disturbing the sleeping garrison.

Our hero had turned his attention to this long before the night of the proposed burglary.

The schoolroom appeared to be the weakest point of attack.

It jutted out from the house itself, and was fastened most insecurely—​doubtless it had been originally a ball-room in the days when the habitation boasted of liberal occupants. Anyhow it was most alluring to the eyes of our burglar.

At its end was a bay window with lozenge-shaped panes set in lead.

Peace found but little difficulty in removing one of these; but the room was secured by shutters, which were, however, old and rickety; but, nevertheless, they were not so easily opened as he had at first supposed. They resisted all his efforts.

There was no other way left but to bore some holes with his centre-bit, and then to remove a portion of the panel.

This he proceeded to do without further delay, of course performing the operation as noiselessly as possible.

In a short time a portion of the panel was removed. He then put his hand through the aperture and lifted up the bar of the shutter.

He then unfastened the window and gained an entrance into the schoolroom.

All this had been done without anyone being aroused.

The burglar then paused for a brief space of time, and bethought him of his next proceedings.

He had coloured his face, and otherwise disfigured himself, in accordance with his custom when engaged in marauding expeditions of this nature.

He slid over his boots a pair of list slippers, and crept noiselessly into the passage. At the end of this was the reception-room, where the parents of the young ladies were shown into the presence of the mistress of the establishment.

On the table of the reception-room several pieces of plate were ostentatiously displayed, which had been from time to time presented to Miss Chickleberry, either by the parents of her scholars or by the pupils themselves.

They of course had a most imposing appearance, and did not escape the eye of the burglar, who at once transferred them to his bag.

In addition to these he possessed himself of an ormolu clock and several other articles of value.

He could have now returned from the scene of his depredations with a large booty, without running any further risk, but he was not a man so easily satisfied.

He was bent upon going into the other rooms of the house, and it would appear the greater the risk the greater was the charm to him.

Placing his half-filled bag on one of the desks in the schoolroom, he crept softly upstairs.

Not a sound, save from his own movements, broke the stillness of the night.

He entered one of the upstair rooms. This was a prodigiously large apartment. In it were a number of beds, which were occupied by Miss Chickleberry’s scholars.

Peace was quite enraptured with the galaxy of sleeping beauties which suddenly met his view.

Young ladies, ranging from the ages of twelve to sixteen, were peacefully slumbering in the grand old bedchamber. Some of them were of a rare order of beauty, but all looked so calm, so gentle, and so innocent, that even the callous heart of the burglar was touched.

Here lay a girl whose glossy, raven tresses fell over a polished shoulder as if in sport—​the sleeper was a brunette; in the next bed to her was a blonde, with light brown hair and an alabaster skin; beyond these were fair young creatures of different types, some with thin regular features, which were almost statuesque in their outline, others with full, round faces, in which sat the rosy hue of health.

Our hero was an admirer of beauty, especially when it referred to the opposite sex to his own; but it would not do to fall into a reverie over the display of fascinating creatures before him.

He observed several gold watches on the little tables beside the beds, and to gather these up was the first consideration.

He went to the first table, took the watch from its stand, and slid it into his pocket.

Then he crept on to the next and possessed himself of that, and so on till he had ten or a dozen watches in his pocket.

Having effected this he turned round and made for the door. Just as he was about reaching this he was astounded at beholding the large round eyes of a young girl, of about eleven or twelve, gazing full into his own.

She did not utter a word or even attempt to move. As he passed her bed she murmured “oh,” in almost a whisper.

Peace concluded, naturally enough, that she was paralysed by fear.

That she was awake be knew perfectly well, for her eyes were fixed intently on him.

He went to the side of her bed, and said, in a whisper—

“My girl, if you stir or move, or endeavour to give the slightest alarm, your life will be forfeited. Do you understand?”

He drew forth his revolver, and pointed significantly to the barrel.

“Say nothing, keep quiet, and you are safe.”

The girl nodded, but made no other answer.

“Remember!” whispered Peace, as he passed through the door, “as you value your life, keep silent.”

He passed into the passage, closing the door of the young ladies’ dormitory gently as he did so.

At the further end of the passage or landing was a door. This was suddenly opened, and a tall, angular, severe-looking lady presented herself.

This was Miss Chickleberry herself.

The moment she caught sight of the burglar she gave utterance to a piercing scream. She flew back into her bedroom, still screaming and calling loudly for assistance.

“Silence, woman!” exclaimed our hero, entering her bedchamber without ceremony. “Are you mad, to make all this row and clatter for nothing?”

“For nothing!” cried Miss Chickleberry. “Oh! you monster! Help! Murder! Robbers!”

“Will you hold your cursed tongue?” exclaimed Peace, now seriously alarmed. “If you don’t——”

He produced his revolver.

At this the schoolmistress became perfectly frantic, It was in vain that he pointed the muzzle of the pistol to her temple, and threatened to take her life.

She would not be pacified.

He had no desire to shoot her, but she must be silenced. He placed his hand over her mouth to stifle her cries.

She struggled desperately, and was very nearly releasing herself from his grasp.

He lost his temper, and struck her on the head with his clenched fist.

“She’ll arouse the whole neighbourhood,” he murmured. “There never was such a dragon.”

He caught sight of a cake of glycerine soap on the washstand.

He thrust this into her mouth, then tied her hands behind her with a handkerchief.

His impression was that after this she fainted, but he did not stop to ascertain. Taking the key out of the lock of her door, he locked her in from the outside.

A chorus of screams now proceeded from the young ladies’ dormitory.

Several by this time had rushed out into the passage in their nightdresses, with naked feet, on the cold floor of the landing.

“Back—​back into your rooms, girls!” cried Peace, in an authoritative tone. “You’ve no occasion to be alarmed. No harm is intended.”

“But Miss Chickleberry. What of her?” cried one of the pupils.

“She’s all right, quite right,” answered Peace, flying down the stairs with headlong speed.

Upon reaching the schoolroom he snatched up his bag and fled from the house.

He jumped over the back garden wall, gained the meadow beyond, and made for a wood which was at no very great distance.

In endeavouring to reach this he ran into the arms of a policeman.

“Unhand me, fellow,” he ejaculated. “If you don’t it will be the worse for you. Leave go, I say.”

“You are my prisoner,” said the constable.

“Prisoner be hanged! What for? I haven’t done anything. Nobody has charged me. You are exceeding your duty.”

“And I will, I’ll take my chance of that.”

Peace made a desperate effort to slip from the constable’s grasp, and a struggle ensued, in which both fell.

But the officer, who was bent upon doing his duty, still retained hold of the robber, who kicked and fought like a madman.

He was unable to draw out his revolver; had he been able to do so the chances were that he would have shot the policeman without pity or remorse. He managed to regain his feet to be again thrown down by the constable, who placed his knee on his chest and endeavoured to slip on the handcuffs.

Peace, however, managed to frustrate this attempt, whereupon his antagonist drew his staff, and said he would make use of it if he offered further opposition.

Our hero now felt that he was at the mercy of his captor, and ground his teeth in rage and despair.

“Take your knee from off me, and I will do as you wish, and go with you quietly,” cried Peace, who though it best to temporise, and see if any other chance of escape presented itself.

He was perfectly astounded in another moment at hearing a voice exclaim—

“Let the man alone, you brute!”

A terrible blow was delivered from behind, with some weapon, on the head of the policeman, who was laid prostrate.

His helmet had fallen off in the struggle with Peace, and the blow, therefore, was more effective.

The policeman was evidently partially, if not wholly, stunned.

“Fly—​fly! This way!” exclaimed the same voice as he had heard before. “The bobby is knocked out of time—​follow me.”

The speaker led the way into the wood, and Peace followed, bag in hand.

“Now old man, sharp’s the word,” cried the same voice. “There’ll be a rare hue and cry presently. Keep along this beaten pathway; that’s it.”

They passed through the wood, and arrived at a narrow lane full of ruts.

In this was a horse and cart.

“Jump in, old man,” cried the stranger.

Peace jumped into the cart—​his companion did the same and drove off at a sharp trot.

“Well, hang me if I’m not knocked silly,” cried our hero, “why if it aint Bandy-legged Bill.”

“Right you are, my child,” returned the gipsy, “one good turn deserves another. You let me off the ‘Carved Lion’ business; I’ve just come up in time to return the compliment.”

“How came you on the spot?”

“How came I? Why I heard the scream, and thought murder was being committed, so I dropped out of the trap and made for the old red house. Then I seed you and the bobby a strugglin’; so I ups and gives him one for himself, and the best thing for both on us to do now is to take a circumbendibus route to London—​not but what I think we shall be able to dodge ’em. I’ve got as pretty a little tit in this ere cart as any man need wish to drive.”

“Hang it, but you are a jovial fellow, Bill, after all,” said Peace, “and I shall never forget this kindness.”

“Well, ye see it’s a poor tale if we can’t help one another on a pinch like that. But where do you hang out? You seem to me to be like a will o’ the wisp—​here, there, and every where.”

“I’ve been stopping in London for a little time, but shall soon return to Sheffield or some other place. Gad, it is fortunate that you came up as you did.”

They had by this time emerged from the narrow lane and were proceeding along one of the high roads.

A mounted patrol who was coming in the opposite direction regarded them with an inquiring and suspicious look.

The gipsy, who was driving, slackened his speed and wished the officer “good night.”

The greeting was returned, not in a very cordial manner, however.

“I thought he meant mischief,” said the gipsy. “It was quite a toss up whether he overhauled us or not.”

“What have you got in that bag?”

“Something I shall be very glad to get rid of. Silver plate, with names and dates engraved on it.”

“Oh, scissors, that’s awkward! We should be done brown if any of the bobbies did overhaul us.”

“If you have any fears don’t hesitate for a moment. Drop me, and I’ll take my chance.”

The gipsy laughed.

“No, no, old man!” he cried. “In for a penny in for a pound, is an old saying. We’ll take our chance. I aint a going to desert a pal, or turn tail like a cur.”

He drove on at a sharp trot, and reached London in safety; dropping Peace at the corner of Leather-lane, he promised to give him a call in a day or two, then wishing him good night he drove off.

Our hero let himself in with his latch key, and after washing the colour off his face, and attending to other business matters, he turned in for the night, and slept soundly till the morning.