Читать книгу Short Stories Volume 3 - John Arthur Barry - Страница 4

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To everyone concerned it was admitted that Mr. James Hunter, or the "Toff Bird"—which latter was the most popular of his many aliases—stood at the very head of his mixed profession. I use the adjective advisedly; for, in addition to being an accomplished burglar, he was—and the blend is most uncommon—a very competent and successful chevalier d'industrie. Forgery was a speciality of his; so was the "confidence trick" in all its varied branches; "faked" cards and dice, too, had received much attention at his hands. But so clever were his disguises, so consummate his impudence and skill in conducting his operations, that, although at times the Australian police laid hold of him, he invariably slipped through their fingers, owing generally to some defective link in the question of identity. Burglary the "Toff Bird" looked upon as an inferior and demoralizing form of excitement: one to be seldom practised, and then only when the booty was well worth the risk. "Stones" were the only things that appealed to him; and the melting-pot was rarely the richer by any contribution from his hands. This matter was probably another factor in his long immunity. Newspapers were, of course, his principal sources of information. No person in Mr. Hunter's line of business can have better or more reliable ones in these days. Thus when he noticed a reporter's glowing eulogy anent a parcel of fine gems—diamonds and sapphires—just received from London by Messrs Bezil and Carat, the big jewellers of Pitt Street, Sydney, New South Wales, he felt the time had arrived for one of his rare debauches—an irresistible craving sensation much the same as at intervals seizes upon the reformed dipsomaniac for spirits. So, hurriedly winding up his affairs in Adelaide, where he had been doing uncommonly well amongst returned miners from Coolgardie, he journeyed to the New South Wales capital. And then, after inspecting the jewels in the character of a lucky Westralian digger, and finding them well worthy of his attention, he at once went to work.

First adopting a precaution that more than once had served him in good stead, he booked a steerage passage by the outgoing mail steamer for San Francisco and sent a certain amount of luggage on board.

The steamer sailed on the fourth day from his arrival in the Eastern capital; and at midnight on the third the "Toff Bird" was taking the measure of the great safe in Messrs. Bezil and Carat's show-room, out of which he had on his previous visit seen the precious stones produced. Two hours later, before the combined forces of drill and jemmy, the door swung open. But it had been a tough contract even for that master of scientific entry, and the floor was wet with perspiration as his trembling hands wandered over the shelves, seeking the box whose shape and contents he had taken such strict cognizance of only a few days ago. But it was gone. In vain he flashed his lantern here and there. Nothing met his eager eyes except watches, bracelets, rings—all very well in their way, doubtless, but nothing to him. The parcel had vanished! Sold, perhaps. Not a loose stone could he see as he ransacked the safe, pulling its glittering contents out on to the floor beside him. In his deep disappointment he swore aloud. Then, presently, a very beautiful opal and diamond ring catching his eye, he absently put it on the index finger of his right hand and, leaning back, watched the iridescent gleaming of the big central stone—a Queensland opal of most exceptional lustre and size.

All the interest of his venture had departed. Five thousand pounds' worth of mixed jewellery lay around him, as he squatted there, gleaming in the light of his open bull's-eye. But he had missed his shot and cared little for aught besides. Still, after all, there were some stones that might be worth troubling about. And choosing from amongst his array of tools a peculiarly-shaped pair of pincers, he took up a bracelet set with two large rubies, and deftly—snip, snip—cut them out of their setting and let them drop on the floor beside him. As the last one fell he heard a noise at his back and screwed his head round. In a second he was on his feet, a short, thin, wiry, dark-faced, clean-shaven man confronting another—a burly, tall one, whose shadow ran huge and black along the shop as, waving his lantern, he exclaimed, in a harsh, ropy voice:—

"Aha, got yer, 'ave I? Nice little game this, ain't it? Well, yer'd better come along o' me. No larks now, 'cause I'm big enough and strong enough to eat yer. So——"

That was the last word he ever spoke, for the next instant a steel bar crashed full on his head, and he fell like a pithed bullock, shaking the whole place with the fall of him—fell right across the heap of jewellery, a thick stream of blood running slowly from the cleft skull amidst the scattered gold and silver. Almost unconsciously the "Toff Bird" stooped to rescue the rubies; but he was too late. Already the dark pool had surrounded them, and he drew his hand back with a gesture of repulsion and disgust as his fingers nearly came in contact with it.

"Hang the luck!" he muttered, clicking tongue and teeth together irritably. "What a cursed mess! Snuffed out, I suppose, in one act!" And he bent down to listen at the prostrate figure. The man had fallen forward on his face, and all that could be seen by the strong light from the "Toff Bird's" lantern, resting on one of the safe shelves, was a mass of dark, curly hair, with a raw and gaping wound across it, from which blood oozed. The body gave no sign of life. Evidently the heavy "slice"—in shape something like a great paper-knife, and used for inserting and prising—had cut right through into the brain.

"What rotten luck!" exclaimed the "Toff Bird" again, as he began to gather his tools up. "Who'd ha' thought a tap like that would ha' spread him out in such fashion? It was not finding what I came for, I expect, that made me hit so hard—that and his cheek. A nice row there'll be to-morrow. There's a few stones here worth having," he continued, taking out his pliers. "But, no, I'll touch nothing. They can have the bag, too. It might work mischief outside." Then, after carefully examining his clothes, and giving a last glance of distaste and anger at the motionless form, he extinguished the light and made his way into the narrow alley from which he had effected an entrance.

It was an advantage that the police would never dream of suspecting him as the author of such a clumsy, half-completed piece of work. And as he let himself into his lodgings he doubted whether there would be any necessity for him to leave the Colony. Lighting the gas, his eye fell upon the ring—until now completely forgotten. With a curse he took it off and put it into his waistcoat-pocket.

Suddenly he started, hurriedly searched his other pockets, and turned out the contents of a small hand-bag. And then he remembered; and knew that the sooner he got away the better. Already, indeed, he seemed to feel the fatal rope tightening about his neck. Yesterday he had bought a knife at a shop in George Street—a small, expensive, tortoise-shell-handled one with six blades. He had intended to leave this in his room when setting out on his expedition, but had neglected to do so. And now he distinctly recollected making use of it whilst busy at the safe. A blade had snapped, and he threw the knife into the bag. It was there at this minute—a damning bit of evidence indeed! And, worse than all, he had in an idle moment scratched on the little silver plate, in sign of ownership, the figure of a bird. As he thought on this he hurriedly put on his cap and drew up the blinds. Alas, the dawn was breaking and noises came to his ears from the main thoroughfares! Too late to return!

The Alaska did not sail before midday, and would, of course, be watched. That fact, however, gave him little trouble. He had deceived the "D's" so many times with success that he held them cheap. All the same, murder was murder; and the change, he felt, would be healthier for him.

Never a great believer in the common mode of disguise by wigs, false whiskers, and such things—giving their wearer no end of trouble with a minimum of satisfaction—he had elaborated notions of his own, helped by much reading up on the subject. So now, going to the glass, he took out three front teeth in the upper jaw and replaced them by others so made that when the plate was in position they gave to his mouth the shape known as "overshot," and completely altered the expression of the face. From many experiments he had come to the conclusion that, with concealment of identity in view, the mouth was, perhaps of all, the most susceptible feature to work upon. Having fixed the upper jaw to his liking and extracted the middle tooth in the lower one, he grinned with satisfaction as he realized the wonderful transformation brought about by such simple means. Sixty guineas was the sum a clever American dentist had charged for the "fake." And as he stared in the glass the "Toff Bird" told himself that it was cheap at the price. His clear-cut features were naturally dark, but with a touch or two of some liquid on the cheek-bones and over the forehead as high as the hat-mark he gave to the skin a capital imitation of long exposure to sun and weather. By similar means his thick brown hair presently changed to jet black and took a curl in it. Finally adjusting a pair of blue spectacles and putting on a wide-brimmed felt hat, he looked to the life the character he was making up for—an Australian bushman from the hot Queensland interior, on his way to try the wonderful new diggings at Klondike, British Columbia. And it was with the utmost confidence that he presently appeared in the streets and entered a restaurant for an early breakfast.

Another hour, and he was calmly sitting smoking on the Alaska's rail, whilst within a few feet of him two detectives he knew well chatted together, and kept a perfunctory watch on the passengers until the last bell rang, and the cry arose of "All for the shore!"