Читать книгу The Ends Of Justice - Fred M. White - Страница 5

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Chief Warder Samuel Gem was relaxing his official duties after the toils of the day. The great man was full of pleased importance. For something like eleven months in the year he was little more than a sergeant of police with the smaller criminal fry to deal with, for Lewton was not a modern gaol, and such prisoners as were tried there at the Assizes were brought from afar.

There were only a few cells there, and a determined criminal would have made light of his prison. Also Gem had but one subordinate, and he had gone home for the night, leaving Gem to look after George Cathcart and two other prisoners.

It was nearly ten, and Samuel Gem stood under the heavy stone gateway leading to his house and the prison beyond smoking a choice cigar, a present from an amiable member of the junior bar. Gem was on exceedingly good terms with himself to-night. He was thinking of his prospects and his conquests. Really, it was quite time that he got married, if only in fairness to others and less favored men. He was a little tired, too, of the old woman who cooked his food and kept his house clean, and then left him like an official Robinson Crusoe till morning.

By the time that Gem had finished his cigar he had practically made up his mind. On the whole, it should be Lottie Fair. There was a time when Gem was almost forced to believe that Lottie was laughing at him. But the last week or two she had been so different. Gem sighed gently as he thought of those bright eyes, and that bewitching little figure. And Miss Russet Ray's maid had two hundred pounds in the bank. She had told Gem so. Well, he might do worse.

It was only in accordance with the eternal fitness of things that the object of Gem's thoughts should loom in sight at that same moment. The trim little figure half paused, stopped, and shook hands.

"I declare if it isn't Mr. Gem," she said.

Gem admitted his identity quite genially. He also remarked that Miss Lottie was late to-night. Perhaps she had been out to supper, or perhaps some favored mortal of the sterner sex—

Lottie of the bright eyes was properly shocked. She had never done that kind of thing, and she never would until an engagement ring sparkled on her fair finger. In some subtle way she gave Gem to understand that he was more favored than most mortals. But then he was a superior man, and had a residence inside the precincts of the gaol. Lottie was moved by a sudden curiosity to see the inside of that grim place. To Gem's great satisfaction she was seated in his sitting room a few minutes later. In that time she had learnt as much about the gaol as Gem had done in the course of years.

"And you could let the prisoners out and nobody be any the wiser?" she asked.

With a Burleigh-like nod Gem admitted that such was the case.

He looked down admiringly into Lottie's bright eyes. She was very close to him; she was deeply interested. In an absent-minded way Mr. Gem slipped his arm around the girl's slender waist. Lottie blushed rosily.

"It's easy, but dull," Gem said. "If I had a wife now! Lottie, I've been thinking a good deal about you lately."

"Have you?" Lottie asked, with a tender smile. "I don't fancy I could live here, Samuel—I mean Mr. Gem. A little place in the country now. If we'd got another five hundred pounds!"

"Ah!" Gem sighed. "If ifs and ans were pots and pans!"

Lottie sat up suddenly. Her eyes were gleaming, a bright red spot burned on either cheek. From her pocket she produced a crackling white packet, and proceeded to display five one-hundred pound Bank of England notes before Gem's dazed and astonished eyes. Visions of a cottage with roses on it, dreams of a cow, and pigs, and prize poultry danced before Gem's mental vision. He felt that he had never loved with a pure and genuine and disinterested passion till now.

"All that yours," he gasped. "What a darling."

He bent over and sought Lottie's coy lips. They were not withheld.

"It isn't mine," she whispered; "it's yours. You have only to do one little thing and the notes are your own. And then you will be able to take that cottage you told me about."

Gem could say nothing for a moment.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked hoarsely.

"To give one of your prisoners the key of the street for an hour or two. Don't stand staring at me like that. It's Mr. George Cathcart that I want you to be kind to."

"It can't be done," Gem said unsteadily.

Lottie's bright eyes filled with tears. She murmured that all her hopes were shattered. Meanwhile the white, crisp banknotes stared into Gem's fascinated eye from the table. Dare he risk it? Was it not possible that the prisoner might come back again? If not, he would lose his pension, but he would still have his five hundred pounds and the cottage.

"It's like a bit from one of them novels," he murmured. "Sort of persecuted hero. If I only felt certain that chap would come back—"

Miss Farr cast herself into Gem's arms. She carried the fortress with a rush. It was not the first time that a great man has been led by a pretty woman. Lottie was sobbing on his shoulder, but there was a smile on her face.

"Stay here till I come back," Gem said. "I never saw such a girl. Get round a judge almost, you would."

Lottie rose as Wellington might have done before the Guards at Waterloo, for the field was won. She could not stay another moment, indeed she had stayed already too long. If folks only knew, she would never hold up her head in Lewton again. She wiped her eyes, blew a kiss to Gem, and was gone like a playful zephyr before he could say another word.

Once in the dark and deserted street Lottie picked up her dress and flew. Outside the gates leading to Mostyn's house a figure accosted her.

"Well?" the other girl whispered eagerly. "Have you done it?"

"The job is done, Miss Russet," Lottie said breathlessly. "It took a little longer than I expected; dear Samuel is so slow. But he is very fond of me, and I should be sorry to get him into trouble."

"Heaven reward you for what you have done to-night," Russet Ray said. "Lottie, you must go back and watch. You must see that I am not missed. What time will George—Mr. Cathcart—be free?"

"At the time you suggested, miss. Just before midnight."

"Then I am going as far as the gaol. I cannot sleep to-night until I have seen George. I must comfort him. I must let him know that I am still true and loyal to him. I must hear his voice and feel the clasp of his hand again. You can sit up for me, and let me in when I come back. Tell my uncle that I have gone to bed with a headache."

"Better let me go and see the gentleman," Lottie suggested.

"Oh, I cannot," Russet cried. "There are things he must be told that I cannot confide to anybody. And it may be years before I shall see him again. If his enemies triumph, I want him to feel that I am still true, and that I am still waiting for him. Hark! A quarter to twelve. Go up to the house, I must fly. Go, Lottie."

Russet flashed away into the darkness, and, somewhat unwillingly, Lottie made her way up the drive.

"I'm rather fond of Samuel," she murmured; "but I don't fancy that I shall ever care for him so much as that!"

* * * * *

Somebody else heard the quarter before midnight strike besides Russet. The heavy tones of the bell came to the ears of the prisoner as he sat on the edge of the bed. For some three hours sleep had been merciful to him. Then he had come to his senses again: he recollected the scene in court, and the man with the tarry nails, as one recalls a vivid dream. Would that come all right, or was that only some delusion? But no sane man would be guilty of a hoax like that.

And if he were free for a few hours after midnight, where was he to go? and what was he to say? He could hear no sound of life in the prison. Perhaps the scheme had been detected, and promptly nipped in the bud. The place was as quiet as the grave. And there was the hour of midnight at last, midnight and nothing else. George felt his heart sink within him. Nothing was going to happen after all.

Stop! Was that a footstep? Surely, yes. Another and another, the rattle of a key in a distant lock, the sullen clanging of a metal door. Nearer and nearer came the footsteps, a lantern shone brilliantly into the cell, and a hoarse voice addressed George.

"Come this way," the voice whispered. "Quick! Ask no questions. Go on till you come to the house outside the walls."

Cathcart obeyed in a kind of dazed way. Presently he stood by the great entrance gates, which were ajar.

"Out you go," the voice whispered. "Back at six sharp, and give three knocks on the door. I'm taking a big risk, and I don't want to get myself into trouble. Lord, when I think that you might die before morning, or get run over, or break a leg. I'm a mass of sweat from head to foot at the mere idea of my folly. It's all along of them confounded women, and the scrapes they get us into. Just you hurry off before I change my mind, and haul you back again."

George slipped through the narrow slit into the deserted street. There was not a light to be seen anywhere. It seemed so strange to be free again. There was an impulse to fly and put as wide a gap between his foes and himself as possible. Why should he remain where it was certain that the net would close about him?

He put the idea from his mind as disloyal to those good and true friends who were so eager to help him. He looked up and down the road for a sign of somebody who was to come and direct him as to the use he was to make of his liberty. He could see nothing but a girl coming down the street. The girl stopped.

"George," she whispered. "George, don't you know me?"

A hoarse, stifled cry burst from the man's lips. He jumped forward and caught the girl in his arms.

"Darling," he whispered. "Oh, my darling little girl! What good angel from Heaven sent you to me, dear Russet?"