Читать книгу Martin of Old London - George Herbert Ely - Страница 10
ОглавлениеTHE FACE AT THE WINDOW
At breakfast next morning Martin expected to have to tell his story over again to Dick Gollop, who had been out on duty half the night. But the moment he entered the room, with his head still bandaged, the constable took the wind out of his sails.
“Ahoy, shipmate!” he said, “how’s the weather? By what I hear you’ve run through a bit of a squall.”
“You know, then?” said Martin.
“Know! Of course I know. When my watch was over, somewhere about four bells, and I came below dead-beat and turned in, d’you think I could get any sleep? Not a wink, believe me. There was my old woman wide-awake, and bursting with the news.
“ ‘Gollop,’ says she, ‘there’s rogues and rascals in the world.’ That being no news at all, I just gave a grunt and began to snore. ‘Listen to me,’ says she, ‘and don’t pretend.’ What you can’t help, put up with. So I listened, always ready to oblige, and out it came, like a flood over a weir.
“I own I dozed one or twice afore she was well under way, but I was fair shook up when she’d got her canvas full spread. You take my meaning? I’ve fought with a cutlass, and I’ve knocked down a swabber with a marline-spike, but never in my born days have I hit a man with an oar; there’s something uncommon about that, and as a constable I took note of it.
“Foreign ways, to be sure. Them fellows in the boat must have been some of the crew of that Portugal ship.”
“Not the big-nosed man with the black beard,” said Martin. “I’m sure he was an Englishman.”
“Maybe, but I ask you, what was he doing along with those foreigners? And what’s his ploy with Slocum?”
“Ay, and why come along this very street?” Susan put in.
“There you go!” said Dick. “I’ve seen many a big nose, also red, and black beards, likewise many tabby cats. You can’t tell one from t’other unless you’ve studied ’em. I see a tabby in one place; you see one in another; that don’t make ’em the same.”
“What’s cats got to do with it?” protested Susan.
“Nothing,” said Dick. “All I say is, if I took up a man just because he’d a big red nose and a black beard the magistrates would call me a fool, and belike I’d have to pay damages, and then where’d you be?”
“Then why talk about cats?” said Susan. “And tabbies! Now if you’d said black cats——”
“Drat the cats!” cried the constable. “You’ll go on about ’em till you’re tired, I suppose. Martin, what I say is, keep your weather-eye open, and if so be as you spy that black-haired fellow again, keep him in sight, my lad, and inform an officer of the law.”
A tapping was heard on the banisters at the head of the stairs.
“There’s Mounseer, Lucy,” said Susan, “waiting to take you to school.”
The little girl sprang up; she liked her morning walk with the old Frenchman. She ran up the stairs, but returned in a few moments.
“Mounseer says will you please lend him a hammer and chisel,” she said.
“Willing, and anything else,” said Gollop. “But ask him if I can do the hammering for him. I’ve been reckoned a handy man in my time; you have to turn your hand to any odd job at sea.”
The girl gave the message and returned.
“Mounseer says it’s a trifle, and he won’t trouble you!”
“Very well then; take him the things, and welcome.”
The Frenchman laid the tools on a chair in his room, then locked the door and started with Lucy for the half-mile walk to her school.
Soon afterwards Gollop and Martin went out together, the former to take his morning draught with his cronies, the latter to make another effort to find work.
In his pocket he carried some bread and cheese, so that he need not come home for the mid-day meal.
All through the hot summer day he wandered about, seeking employment. In the evening he returned and reported that he had again met with no success.
“Never mind,” said Susan. “Things will take a turn. Now, just run upstairs and ask Mounseer for that hammer. I want it to knock some nails in Lucy’s cupboard, so as she can hang up her things tidy. Tell him he shall have it back if he hasn’t done with it, but he’s been banging nearly all day, so I dare say he has.”
On reaching the Frenchman’s door Martin saw that a staple had been fitted to one of the side joists, evidently to receive a padlock. From within the room came the sound of knocking. He tapped on the door; the sound ceased and Mounseer asked:
“Who is there?”
“It’s me, sir,” said Martin.
“Ah, you, my young friend. Wait but one little moment.”
The bolts were drawn inside, the door was opened, and there stood Mounseer in his shirt-sleeves, chisel in hand. Martin gave his message.
“But yes; assuredly: I ask pardon for keeping it so long. But you see, one must be careful. My lock was broken by that villain; therefore I must make other defences.”
Martin noticed that an iron socket for a bar was fitted to the inside of the door, and the bar itself, a stout baulk of wood, was leaning against the wall.
“Pouf! It is hot,” the Frenchman went on, “though I take off my coat and open the window. A little rest will be agreeable. But I ask for the hammer again, until I finish; I wish to finish this night.”
Promising to bring the hammer back in a few minutes Martin went down to the basement. But it was more than half an hour later, and dusk was already falling, before he was able to return: Susan’s job had taken longer than he had expected.
This time there was no answer to his tap on Mounseer’s door, nor any sound from within. He waited awhile, then tapped again. A sleepy voice asked who was there, and when Martin was at last admitted, the old gentleman apologised for the delay.
“It is the terrible heat,” he said, spreading out his hands. “I fall asleep; I am old, and the labour fatigues me. How I would like to be young, like you! Labour is light for the young.”
“But I can’t get any work, sir,” said Martin.
“Courage, my young friend. It will come. Seat yourself, and tell me where you go to-day; I am very much interested.”
Sitting on a chair facing the open window, Martin began to relate his wanderings of the day, while the Frenchman took the hammer and chisel and worked away at the bar of wood by the light of a candle.
While Martin was speaking he fancied he saw something move just outside the window. Though somewhat startled, he had the presence of mind to go on with his story, and a few moments afterwards was astonished to see a hat appear above the edge of the window-sill, at a corner.
It rose slowly; the dim light of the candle at the farther end of the room showed him a man’s face—a face seamed with a scar across the temple. So great was his surprise at recognising one of the men who had tried to steal his parcel that he jumped up with a sudden cry.
Instantly the face disappeared, and by the time Martin and the Frenchman reached the window the man was half-way down the gutter-pipe up which he had climbed.
With amazing quickness Mounseer seized a three-legged stool and hurled it down. It missed the man by an inch or two, and fell with a crash upon the ground. In another second the man dropped beside it and bolted across the open space into the darkness.
“What is the matter?” asked a voice from above.
Looking up, Martin saw Mr. Seymour, the occupant of the upper floor, leaning over his window-sill.
“A matter of no consequence,” said the Frenchman, drawing Martin back into the room. “I must close the shutters,” he went on, “though it will be very hot. But I do not like the curious people.”
“That face belonged to one of the men who tried to rob me,” said Martin. “It is strange he should have come to the house where I live, for I’ve nothing worth stealing here. I’ll describe him to Gollop, and he’ll circulate the description, and someone will arrest the fellow.”
“Not for me, my friend,” said the Frenchman. “I, a stranger, would not give trouble. And indeed my best protection is not in the Law, but in a few stout bolts and my lifelong friend yonder.”
He pointed to his rapier, hanging on the wall.
It was clear to Martin that the Frenchman wished to be alone, so he said Good-night and went downstairs. On the way he was struck by a curious circumstance. According to Susan Gollop, Mounseer had been hammering all day; why then was there so little sign of it? All that he had done would have been the work of only an hour or two. But perhaps the old gentleman was not expert with tools.
