The Garret and the Garden by Robert Michael Ballantyne (pocket ebook reader .txt) 📖

He went whistling along, therefore, until his steps were suddenly and violently arrested.

To account for this we must tell how, about this time, it chanced that a very drunk man of the very lowest London type, as far as appearance went, awoke from a heavy slumber which he had been enjoying under the seat of a compartment in a certain low gin-palace. He was about to stretch himself and give vent to a noisy yawn when the word "Laidlaw" smote his ear. Pale, worn-out, cadaverous, threadbare, inexpressibly mean, the man gently raised his dissolute form on one elbow and listened to two men in a box beside him. Their heads met almost over the spot where his own head rested. The men were Lockhart and Spivin, and the occasion was that on which we have already described them as engaged in plotting, or referring to, the downfall of the man from Scotland.

Trumps (for he was the listener), though well practised in the art of eavesdropping, could not gather the gist of the plotters' discourse. Only this he made out, that, in some way or other, they meant to do, or had done, mischief to the man who had spared and helped, and, above all, had _trusted him_! It was tantalising to hear so little, though so near, for, from his position under the seat, he could have grasped Mr Lockhart's ankles. But the plotters were much too knowing to speak in tones that could be easily overheard. Besides, other noisy people were arguing in the neighbouring and opposite compartments, so that the confusion of tongues rendered them, they thought, safe. Even the man under the seat although so very near, would have failed to catch the drift of a single sentence had not the name of Laidlaw sharpened his ears and faculties. One that he did catch, however, was suggestive, viz., "put the 50 pound note in his bag," or something to that effect.

When the two friends rose to depart, Trumps sank noiselessly on the ground like a filthy shadow, but the quick eye of the lawyer caught sight of his leg.

Lockhart started, turned aside, and gave Trumps a kick in the ribs. It was a sharp painful kick, but drew from him only a heavy snore. To make quite sure the man of law administered another kick. This caused the recumbent man to growl forth a savage oath which terminated in a snore so very natural that the lawyer fell into the trap, and went off with the contemptuous remark--"Dead drunk!"

Trumps, however, was very much the reverse. He was indeed all alive and greatly sobered by his nap as well as by what he had heard. He rose and followed the plotters, but missed them in the crowd outside. In his anxiety to overtake them he ran somewhat violently against Tommy Splint, and thus arrested him, as we have said, in the pursuit of pleasure.

"Hallo, Thunderbolt!" exclaimed the boy sternly, as he started back and doubled his fists, "who let _you_ out o' Noogate?"

The thief was about to pass without deigning a reply, when, glancing at the small questioner, he suddenly stopped and held out his hand.

"I say, Splint, is it _you_ I've run into?"

"Well, it's uncommon like me. Any'ow, not a twin brother, I s'pose it must be myself. But I hain't got the pleasure o' _your_ acquaintance as I knows on."

"What! Don't you remember Trumps?"

"No, I don't remember Trumps, an', wot's more, I don't b'lieve from the look of 'im that any of Trumps's family or friends wants to remember 'im."

The possibility that the boy might remember Trumps was not so unlikely after all, for, being of a highly social disposition, Tommy was pretty well acquainted with, and known to, nearly all the thieves and pickpockets of the locality. Indeed he would certainly have been one of themselves but for garret-garden influences.

"Well, Tommy," said the thief confidentially, "I remember _you_, an' I wants a little conversation with you."

"No, you don't" returned the boy, retreating; "you wants my wipe, or puss, or ticker, you do--or suthin' o' that sort--but you've come to the wrong shop, you have."

"But really, Tommy, I've got summat to say to 'ee about your noo friend from Scotland, David Laidlaw."

"How d'ee know he's _my_ friend?" asked Tommy, becoming suddenly interested.

"'Cause I've seen you jawin' with 'im; an' I've seen you go up together to visit chimney-pot Liz an' Susy; an'--"

"Oh! you knows chimley-pot Liz an' Susy, do ye? But of course you does. Everybody as knows anythink knows _them_."

"Ay, lad, an' I knows lawyer Lockhart too," said Trumps, with a peculiar look; "him that owns the 'ouses 'ereabouts, an' draws the rents--"

"_Draws_ the rents!" interrupted the boy, with a look of scorn; "_screws_ the rents, you mean."

"Jus' so, boy--screws 'em. Ah, 'e _is_ a thief, is lawyer Lockhart."

"Come, if that's so, you've no occasion to be 'ard on 'im, Trumps, for you're in the same boat, you know."

"No, I ain't," replied Trumps, with virtuous indignation, "for 'e's a _mean_ thief!"

"Oh, an' you're a 'ighminded one, I s'pose," returned the boy, with a hearty chuckle; "but come along, young man. If you've suthin' to tell me about Da-a-a-vid Laidlaw I'm your man. This way."

He led the man down the alley, across the court, round the corner, and up the stair to the landing.

"There you are," he said, "this is my snuggery--my boodwar, so to speak. Sot down, an' out with it."

Seated there, the thief, in low confidential and solemn tones, related what he had seen and heard in the public-house, and told of his own acquaintance with and interest in Laidlaw.

"The willains!" exclaimed Tommy. "An' wot d'ee think they're agoin' to do?"

"Screw 'im some'ow, an' git 'im out o' the way."

"But w'y?"

"That's wot I wants to ask _you_, lad. I knows nothing more than I've told 'ee."

"We must save Da-a-a-vid!" exclaimed Tommy in a tragic manner, clutching his hair and glaring.

Tommy's sense of the ludicrous was too strong for him, even in the most anxious times, and the notion of him and Trumps saving anybody overwhelmed him for a moment; nevertheless, he really was excited by what he had heard.

"Come--come with me," he cried, suddenly seizing Trumps by the sleeve of his shabby coat and half dragging him up to the garret, where he found old Liz and Susy in the garden on the roof.

"Allow me to introdooce a friend, granny. 'E ain't much to look at, but never mind, 'e's a good 'un to go."

Old Liz and Susy had become too much accustomed to low life in its worst phases to be much troubled by the appearance of their visitor, and when he had explained the object of his visit they became deeply interested.

"You think, then," said Liz, after listening to the whole story, "that lawyer Lockhart intends to hide a 50 pound note in Mr Laidlaw's travelling bag, and say he stole it?"

"Yes, ma'am; that's what I think."

"And for what purpose?" asked Susy with some anxiety.

"To git him convicted an' sent to prison, miss," replied Trumps promptly. "I know lawyer Lockhart--we call 'im liar Lockhart in the-- well, ahem! an' as I was sayin', 'e's a villain as'll stick at nothing. If 'e sets 'is 'art on gittin' Mr Laidlaw into prison 'e'll git 'im in; for what purpus, of course, _I_ don't know."

After further discussion of the subject it was finally arranged that Tommy Splint should go straight to the house of Mr Spivin, where the Scotsman lodged, and reconnoitre.

"And be sure, Tommy," whispered Susan at the head of the stair when he was about to leave, "that you find out all about this horrid plot. We _must_ save him. He saved _me_, you know," she added, with a blush.

"Yes, we _must_ save 'im," said the boy in a tone of determination that inspired confidence in the girl, even though it made her laugh.

Trumps accompanied Tommy part of the way, and told him that he knew some ugly things about lawyer Lockhart that might get that gentleman into difficulties if he could only prove them, but he couldn't quite see his way to that, not being learned enough in the law.

"You see, Tommy--"

"Thomas, if you please," interrupted the urchin with dignity. "My hintimates calls me Tommy, but you ain't one o' _them_ yet, Mr Trumps. You ain't even on my wisitin' list. P'r'aps I may promote yer to that some day, but--it depends. Now, look 'ere, slimey-coat--if any one larned in the law was inclined to pump you, could you be pumped?"

With a remarkably sly look Trumps replied, "Yes--for a consideration!"

"All right, young man. Give me your card; or, if you hain't got one, let me know w'ere you 'ang hout."

Having been satisfied on this point, Tommy told the thief that he had no further use for him, and as he wished to cross London Bridge alone, he (Trumps) was free to make himself scarce.


CHAPTER TEN.


DETECTIVE DOINGS.

For a considerable time the boy prowled about the house of Mr Spivin in the hope of seeing David Laidlaw go out or in; but our Scot did not appear. At last a servant-girl came to the open door with a broom in her hand to survey the aspect of things in general. Tommy walked smartly up to her, despite the stern gaze of a suspicious policeman on the opposite side of the street.

"My sweet gal," he said affably touching his cap, "is Capting Laidlaw within?"

"There's no _Captain_ Laidlaw here," answered the girl sharply; "there _was_ a Daivid Laidlaw, but--"

"Da-a-a-vid, my dear, not Daivid. The gen'l'm'n hisself told me, and surely 'e knows 'ow to prenounce 'is own name best."

"You've a deal of cheek, boy--anyway, Laidlaw 'as bin took up, an' 'e's now in prison."

The sudden look of consternation on the boy's face caused the girl to laugh.

"D'ee know w'ere they've took 'im to?"

"No, I don't."

"But surely you don't b'lieve 'e's guilty?" said the boy, forgetting even his humorous tendencies in his anxiety about his friend.

"No, I don't" said the girl, becoming suddenly earnest, "for Mary an' me saw--"

"Martha-a-a!" shouted a female voice from the interior of the house at that moment.

The girl ran in. At the same time the suspicious policeman came up with, "Now then, youngster, move on."

"Move off you mean, bobby. Hain't you been to school yet, stoopid?" cried the boy, applying his thumb to his nose and moving his fingers in what he styled a thumbetrical manner as he ran away.

But poor Tommy Splint was in no jesting mood. He had been impressed with the idea from infancy--rightly or wrongly--that once in the clutches of the law it was no easy matter to escape from them; and he was now utterly incapable of deciding what his next step should be. In this difficulty he was about to return disconsolate to Cherub Court when it occurred to him that it might be worth while to pay a visit to the good ship _Seacow_, and obtain the opinion of Sam Blake.