Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 94

Charles Peace appeared to be like the tiger, who, after tasting human flesh, had an insatiable appetite for fresh victims.

He had contemplated the burglary he was about to put into practice for some weeks, and had well considered the matter before his interview with Laura Stanbridge.

Within a few doors of her residence was a jeweller’s shop.

Peace’s object was to obtain an easy access to this.

He had ascertained that the owner of the establishment in question did not reside on the premises—​he had a house at Fulham for himself and his family.

After the day’s business was over he repaired thither, leaving his housekeeper, a maid servant, and one of his assistants in charge of his town residence.

The maid servant was constrained to sleep out of the house, having to attend upon her mother, who was dangerously ill; consequently the only occupants of the establishment after closing hours were a young man, who was the jeweller’s assistant, and an old woman, who acted in the capacity of housekeeper.

Peace, therefore, came to the conclusion that if he gained an entrance into the house there would not be much difficulty in obtaining possession of a large amount of property.

Between the hours of one and two o’clock in the morning he let himself into Laura Stanbridge’s house, and closing the street door noiselessly he proceeded upstairs, and reached the attic without disturbing any of the inmates.

Here he remained for some little time before carrying out his plan of operation.

He then ruminated for a brief period, and quietly opened the lattice window.

He peered forth—​the noise of distant wheels of some passing vehicle was the only sound which broke the stillness of the night.

He crept through the open casement, and gained the gutter, then he closed the window and passed along till he reached the roof of the adjoining house.

He cast a hasty glance around, and came to the conclusion that his movements were unobserved by any prying or inquisitive eye.

He felicitated himself upon his success thus far, and so silently and stealthily passed on to the roof of the next house, and so on till he had reached the one upon which he had to perform.

His purpose was to effect an entrance by removing the trap-door in the roof; having reached this he at once set to work, but some little time elapsed before he succeeded in sliding back the bolts.

But he was, as we have already seen, an adept at this sort of business, and eventually the trap was removed, and he passed through the opening.

The rest was, of course, an easy matter. He placed the trap in its original position, and dropped into the loft.

He now felt assured that he was about to meet with triumphant success.

In this, however, he was greatly mistaken.

A gentleman in one of the adjoining houses, who had been working till a late hour in writing for the Press, had observed his movements from the top window of one of the houses which commanded a view of the jeweller’s.

His attention had been attracted to the figure of a man passing over the roof.

He rose from his seat, drew back the curtain of his window, and watched Peace’s proceedings.

When he saw him remove the trap-door and creep through the opening he naturally enough suspected that something was amiss.

He was well acquainted with the jeweller, and knew perfectly well that he was at Fulham; he knew, moreover, that there were but two persons sleeping in the establishment.

He at once put on his coat and hat and sallied forth, and bent his steps in the direction of the nearest police-station.

Peace in the meanwhile was busily engaged in collecting together all the valuables he could lay his hands upon. These he placed in a heap on the counter of the shop.

The housekeeper and the shopman were all this time sleeping soundly.

While engaged in his depredations he heard the sounds of voices outside and saw the fitful flashing of lights against the windows of the residence.

He closed the door of the shop, locked it, and put the key into his pocket, then he proceeded upstairs into the front room, first floor, and listened.

People were astir in the street.

He peeped through the window blind and saw three or four policemen in front of the house.

“The devil!” he ejaculated, perfectly astounded at the discovery. “Bobbies! Here’s a pretty go; I’m done as brown as a berry.”

He drew back from the window blind, and began to seriously consider what was to be done.

It was too plainly evident that the police, from some cause or other, were on the alert.

To return by means of the roof was now an impossibility, as his movements would be seen and capture certain. What was he to do?

It required all his fortitude to meet the urgency of the case.

Escape appeared impossible. Doubtless the back premises were being watched as carefully as the front of the house.

But Peace was equal to the occasion, and hoped to be master of the situation.

Any way he resolved upon a bold stroke of policy.

Several loud raps were given at the front door.

Peace took off his coat, and, opening the window of the front drawing-room, rubbed his eyes as if just aroused from slumber, and, peering forth, said, in a drawling tone—

“What is the matter, policeman? Is the house on fire?”

“No, sir,” answered one of the constables. “No; but you’ve got a burglar inside your premises.”

“Goodness me!” exclaimed our hero. “I’ll come down and let you in. A burglar, eh.”

He went to the front door, which he unfastened, and said, in a tone of well-simulated alarm—

“Don’t let him escape. Search the house, and—​and place a guard at the door.”

Two policemen at once proceeded upstairs, another kept guard over the entrance, while a fourth was on the opposite side of the way, flashing his bull’s-eye on the screened windows of the establishment.

“There is a fire somewhere,” said Peace, in a confidential tone, to the nearest policeman. “Of that I am quite certain. Don’t you smell something burning?”

The man sniffed, and said he could not smell anything.

“It’s at the back—​that’s where it is,” cried our hero. “Come this way, policeman.”

As he said this, he walked leisurely along the front of the house, which was a corner one, and led the way to the street by its side. The policeman followed.

At the back of the jeweller’s was a mews.

“There!” exclaimed Peace. “It’s there!”

The policeman, thrown completely off his guard—​he was quite a green hand—​walked a few steps down the mews, and looked about in the vain effort to discover the fire.

This was Peace’s opportunity—​it was one he did not fail to avail himself of.

With the speed of an antelope he ran down the side street, turned the corner and was lost to sight before the policeman had retraced his steps and gained the corner of the mews.

He looked round for Peace, but even at that moment he did not suspect anything was amiss, concluding that he had returned to what he deemed was his own house.

The housekeeper and shopman were aroused from their slumbers by the constables who had been searching the premises.

No burglar was to be found, but a coat and hat were discovered on the sofa in the drawing-room; these belonged to Peace, who was by this time far away.

“Where is the governor?” inquired one of the policemen.

“Governor!” exclaimed the jeweller’s assistant. “He’s at Fulham.”

“It’s taken him a short time to get there,” cried the man at the door, “seeing that he was here not five minutes ago.”

“Here!” ejaculated the housekeeper. “Oh, it’s impossible—​he left hours ago.”

The policeman exchanged blank looks—​the truth for the first time dawned upon them.

“What sort of a man is the governor?” inquired one, quickly.

“A tall, stout gentleman, with big bushy whiskers,” answered the shopman.

“Well, this is a sell,” murmured another constable. “Why I’m blessed if that fellow wasn’t the burglar.” Then, turning to the man who had kept guard at the door, “You had no right to let him go, Jenkins. It was your duty to detain him.”

“Don’t blame me—​it’s no fault of mine. Why I could have sworn he was the master; so would anybody.”

“You had no right to let him go.”

“But I don’t know that he has gone.”

There was a loud peal of laughter at this declaration. Everybody is so clever after a mistake has been made and discovered.

And this was clearly a very great mistake.

A search was at once made in every direction for the missing robber; bull’s eyes were flashed in all directions, the adjacent streets underwent inspection, as did also several houses which were known to be the resort of thieves, but Peace was by far too artful a rascal to seek refuge in any of these; it was not his practice to do so at any period of his life.

The police were at fault. There was, however, one consolation. Nothing had been stolen. Not an article of any description had been removed from the premises.

On the contrary, something had been left behind—​this being our hero’s coat and hat, which the police took possession of as trophies.

They, however, could not conceal from themselves that they were greatly in fault. They had no right to allow anybody to leave the house without ascertaining whether he was connected with the establishment; but our hero, who was far more quick-witted and prompt in action than the constables, had thrown them off their guard.

His manner was so ingenuous and inspired such confidence that the police took it for granted that he was either the master of the house or else his confidential man.

Never surely did men make such a palpable blunder.

Peace having got once clear off, ran his hardest until he had reached Seven Dials.

Then he observed, at some little distance off, a policeman taking his lonely round.

As he was without his hat and coat, he deemed it expedient to seek concealment.

He went up a narrow passage and hid himself in a dark gateway till the patrol of the night had passed.

He watched him from his hiding place and saw him walk with measured steps on his beat.

Luckily for him, the policeman walked on without suspecting for a moment that anything was wrong, and Peace did not emerge from his safe retreat till he felt assured that the watchful guardian of the night was far removed from the spot.

He then sallied forth, and crept cautiously along a narrow dark street which led into Long-acre.

A four-wheeled cab, driven by a sleepy driver, drove into sight.

Peace at once hailed it. The cabdriver looked surprised, as well he might be, at seeing a man in such a strange costume.

“What’s up?” he cried, looking down at our hero.

“Why, I’m in a devil of a pickle; that’s what’s up,” returned Peace.

“I’ve been to a masquerade, and some vagabond has stolen my hat and coat. I haven’t very far to go, but don’t like to walk home in this plight. Drive me to the corner of Fetter-lane.”

“I’m taking the horse and cab to the stables, and don’t want another fare,” said the driver, who was evidently like the animal he drove—​fairly done over.

“It isn’t far,” said our hero, “I’ll pay you well. Drop me at the corner of Fetter-lane.”

“You’re a rum un,” answered the man. “Jump in.”

Peace did not desire any further altercation—​he opened the door of the cab and jumped in.

The vehicle rumbled over the stones, passed through Great Queen-street, then Little Queen-street, and proceeded along Holborn till the corner of Fetter-lane was reached; then it was brought to a halt.

“There you are,” cried Peace, handing the driver half-a-crown. “Now I am within a dozen doors of my own home.”

The cabman took the proffered coin and drove off.

Peace went up Fetter-lane, and looked to the right and left, but no one was visible.

He waited till the noise of wheels had passed away, and then he went back to the corner of the lane.

If he could reach his lodgings in Leather-lane without attracting attention all would be well. How to complete this he had not at that moment determined.

Should a chance policeman be in Holborn, or in any of the adjacent streets, a man without a coat and at that hour in the morning would be sure to attract his attention and excite suspicion.

Peace had been wonderfully successful thus far, but there was no telling what might follow; whether he had better walk leisurely along or make a bolt of it, he could not for the moment determine.

At length, after a little reflection, he thought it would be best to adopt the former alternative; he therefore crossed Holborn in a quiet, easy, self-confident manner.

A half inebriated pedestrian, who was reeling homewards, called out——

“Halloa, governor, taking a moonlight airing?”

Peace made no reply, but passed on till he had reached the corner of Leather-lane, without attracting the notice of any one else. In a few seconds after this he gained the side door of his own residence.

But he would not enter without first of all ascertaining that no one was watching his movements.

He peered cautiously around. All was silent, not a solitary individual was visible.

He slid the key into the lock, opened the door, and entered. Then he closed it as noiselessly as possible.

He felt that he had escaped by almost a miracle, but did not at the same time feel assured that all danger was over.

He ignited a small hand lamp, which he placed in the grate, so that its rays should not be visible at the window of his room.

He began to reflect on the events of the past hour or two, and had some misgivings when he remembered that his coat and hat had been left behind in the house he had entered.

He was well assured that the former did not contain any papers or other articles which would lead to his identity.

No. 22.

PEACE ENTERS THE JEWELLER’S HOUSE.

The coat itself he had bought ready-made at a shop in Bradford, so that there was no fear of his being recognised by means of that garment, since he was not known to the shopman who served him.

The hat bore no maker’s name on the inside.

He was, therefore, well satisfied that he could not be traced by that means.

But there was no telling.

Clues to thieves were sometimes obtained in an extraordinary manner, and he did not feel altogether assured of his safety.

However, he had no alternative but to quietly await the issue.

If Laura Stanbridge rounded on him he was lost; but he did not for a moment imagine she would do so—​certainly not unless she was hardly pressed.

He thought all these matters over before he turned in for the night, and bitterly regretted having attempted to rob the jeweller’s shop, since it had been attended with such disastrous consequences. The more he thought of the matter the more puzzled he was. He could not understand the reason for the sudden appearance of the policemen in front of the house.

Some one must have given an alarm.

Who could it be?

Not Laura Stanbridge. That was not probable, as she would thereby incriminate herself.

He was not aware that his actions had been closely watched from the top window of one of the opposite houses.

“Somebody’s pulled the string,” he murmured; “that’s quite certain. Who can it be? Ah, it never does for a man to trust to any one; and this is a lesson to me—​a lesson I shall rarely fail to profit by.”

He was by no means comfortable when he retired to bed. He was troubled in his mind, and had in consequence but a restless night.

On the following morning, upon reviewing the events of the preceding night, he was forcibly impressed with the egregious blunder he had made, and his own want of foresight.

It is true he had successfully eluded justice up to the present time, but he did not feel in any way assured that the police would not yet find a clue to his whereabouts. He had a considerable amount of stolen property concealed in the premises he occupied. To dispose of this was his first consideration.

After he had partaken of a hearty breakfast, he packed up his spoils in as small compass as possible, and at once set out with the same to the Jew fence in Whitechapel.

Old Isaac was at his post, and upon the goods being handed over to him for inspection, he began as usual to deprecate their value.

This Peace was well used to; it was a way the Jew had. He had many pleasant little ways, which were at once tantalising and irritating. But it was now imperative for our hero to get rid of the articles, even if he had to make a greater sacrifice than usual.

Isaac was never at a loss to reckon up his customers; he saw that Peace for some reason or another was constrained to part with the goods.

The Jew offered about one-third their value.

This was indignantly refused, and their owner was about to replace them in his bag, when the Jew, after many shrugs and wry faces, made an advance in the price.

“I won’t take it; I’ll smash them all up first, you rapacious old sinner!” cried Peace.

“Vell, vell, smash ’em up; much good that’ll be. I thought you’d more sense than to talk in that way. S’help me goodness, I do my best for all of you. I always dosh my besht. You know that, Peace. You never find me anything but honest and straightforward in my dealings with you.”

“Leave honesty out of the question. It don’t sound well from your lips. Some of the watches are good enough, but the others—​well, they’re such duffers upon my shoul they are—​I wouldn’t tell an untruth, not for anything.”

“Get out,” exclaimed Peace, in an angry tone. “You not tell an untruth! Bah! You get worse and worse, and I shan’t come again unless you mend your ways. I know where to dispose of them, man. Don’t you think you’re the only bloke who does things on the cross.”

“Well, then, there—​I don’t like to turn away a customer, particularly an old friend like yourself. I’ll give you thirty pounds for the lot.”

“What! for the clock and plate included? Vell, yes, of course I mean that. Be reasonable, don’t be too extortionate. Ve must all live.”

“Honestly if we can,” said Peace, with a smile.

“Yes, honestly, my son. As honest as the world will let us be. Lord, how people do try to best one another in this world! There, I’ll give you thirty quid. Vat say you?”

“I say I want more, and I won’t take thirty quid.”

“How much more? Tell me, how much more? Now don’t take them avay, I vant to do bishness if I can, even if it is but at a small profit. Ve must live.”

“I’ll take forty. I ought to have fifty at the very least, but I can’t do with less than forty, for I am just now very hard up.”

The Jew shook his head, and said he couldn’t give forty.

After a deal of haggling, a bargain was struck, Peace took four and thirty pounds for goods which were worth considerably more than double that sum in the very lowest market, but he had no alternative, and the rapacious Jew suspected this.

As a rule Peace generally managed to get more from the Israelite than any of his compeers.

In many cases old Isaac obtained articles purloined by professional thieves for a third or even a quarter of their value.

Peace pocketed the money and returned to his rooms in Leather-lane.

He, however, deemed it advisable to leave his lodgings for a few days, till the attempted burglary at the jeweller’s was not quite so fresh in the recollection of the police authorities.

He wrote a letter to Laura Stanbridge, requesting her to call and see him.

This he sent by a boy.

In less than an hour after its delivery, his old Sheffield companion presented herself.

“Well, Charlie! What’s up now that you have sent for me?” said Miss Stanbridge. “Anything amiss? Have they found your crib?”

“No, not at present,” returned our hero. “But you see, old girl, this little affair has been a great mistake. I managed to dodge them, but my coat and hat have been left behind; and, therefore, I think it as well to bunk—​to leave this place for a few days.”

“Certainly; the best thing you can possibly do. Well!”

“And I was thinking, if you could spare that lad, just to take charge of it in the daytime, he could answer all questions, and say that I had gone into the country with some frames that had been executed for a customer. Do you see?”

“I see plainly enough. But, my dear Charlie, that would never do. The boy is known in my neighbourhood; and, if he were to be seen here by—​by the police, they would suspect that I had something to do with the affair, and it would be my ruin if inquiries were set on foot. No, I don’t think we can risk that.”

“Oh!” murmured Peace, glumpily. “You won’t oblige me, then; that’s what you mean?”

“I don’t mean anything of the sort; but, for both our sakes, it is well not to put trust in the boy.”

“Has he peached?” inquired our hero, sharply. “If he has, I’ll ring his young neck.”

“Peached! No, certainly not. What on earth could have put such a thought in your head? Peached! No, of course not!”

“Who gave notice to the bobbies, then?”

“Who? Why, a gentleman who saw you climbing ever the roofs, from one of the top windows of a house opposite.”

“Hang it all, I have been a fool! Never thought of that.”

“That’s how it was. Everybody knows that in the neighbourhood.”

“Ah, then, it won’t do to leave this place in charge of the boy, I must get some one else.”

“You have had a narrow escape, and so have I,” said his companion.

“Do they suspect that I reached the roof from your house?”

“No, I am glad to say they do not; if they had I should have been sure to have heard of it. No one, I believe, suspects you were concealed in my house—​nevertheless we’ve had a narrow squeak for it.”

“Keep dark—​say nothing about the subject to anyone. Hear, but say nothing.”

“Trust me for that. You must manage your matters better next time; this has been a most unfortunate business; but never mind, you are out of the fire. I would offer to take charge of your place myself, but have other matters to attend to, and even if this were not the case it would not be prudent for me to risk being seen here.”

“Certainly not—​I do not desire you to do so. You’ve said enough, Laura. I’m sorry any act of mine should have placed you in jeopardy, but there is now no reason for your being alarmed. You had better not remain any longer. Should I want to see you I will send a letter, and make an appointment for a meeting at some other place.”

“Don’t you think I am complaining, Charlie, or am likely to desert you. All that I can do to serve you at any time you may count on. Even now I don’t like to leave you to shift for yourself, but I don’t think they’ve got the faintest clue. The coat and hat are at the station, so I’ve heard, but they’ve not been able to trace their owner. So be of good cheer, old man, and better luck next time,” said Laura Stanbridge, as she took her leave.

In less than two hours after her departure Bandy-legged Bill, the gipsy, dropped in.

Peace was very glad to see him, and recounted all the incidents of the attempted burglary at the jeweller’s, which the gipsy listened to with evident interest.

“We’ll dodge them even if they do find their way here,” exclaimed the gipsy. “Let us consider what is to be done in this matter. Two heads are better than one.”