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

beginning to scowl at the visitor, no doubt with sinister intentions, when the outer door was again opened, and a young thief, obviously familiar with the place, entered, closely followed by a respectable-looking man in a surtout and a light topcoat. It required no second look to tell that the new-comer was a city missionary. Like our Scot, he had gained admission to the place through the influence of a friendly thief.

"Hullo, _more_ visitors!" growled a big savage-looking man with an apron, who proved to be the landlord of the den.

Advancing quickly to this man, the missionary said, in a quiet gentle tone--

"You supply coffee, I see. May I have a cup?"

"No you mayn't, you spy! I know you, you canting wretch!"

He locked the door as he spoke, and then, striding forward in a towering rage, threatened vengeance on the intruder. The company, expecting a scene, rose _en masse_ to their feet, while those in the inner room crowded to the front. Laidlaw, who was for the moment forgotten in this new excitement, followed them. He was well enough informed in reference to the work of the London City Missionaries to understand at a glance that one of those fearless men had managed to worm his way into the thieves' den, and was perhaps in danger of his life. That the man realised his danger was apparent from the fact that he stood erect and closed his eyes for a moment--evidently in silent prayer for help in the hour of need. The act probably saved him, for the ferocious landlord, although ready enough to crush defiance with a savage blow, did not quite see his way to dash his great fist into a mild, manly face with shut eyes! It was such an unusual way of receiving his onset that he hesitated and lowered his fist. Suddenly the missionary drew out a pocket-Bible, and, pointing upwards with it, said, in loud solemn tones, "A great white throne will be set up among the stars above us. The Saviour who died for sinners will sit upon it, and the dead that are in their graves shall hear His voice and live. _We_ shall be there!"

At this the people were silenced, apparently under a spell--some gazing upwards as if to see the throne; others staring into the missionary's face in wonder.

"And I and you and you," he continued, pointing to one and another, "shall be there: `We must all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ.' I am not an enemy, or a spy, but a servant of the Lord Jesus, who will be your judge at the last day. He is now the Saviour of the ruined and lost, and in His name I offer you mercy through the blood He shed for you upon the Cross. In His blessed Book it is written, `Whosoever believeth on Him shall be saved.' I hope to come again before long to see you, friends. Now, landlord, open that door and let me out."

The landlord, who seemed to be thoroughly taken aback, unlocked the door with a trembling hand, and the missionary passed out. But that was not the end of this remarkable visit. It was only the beginning of a grand work for Christ which afterwards took place in and around that thieves' den. On this, however, we may not do more than touch here. Smitten in conscience, that landlord hurried out after the missionary and actually begged of him to repeat his visit. Then he returned to the den and found his people recovering somewhat from their surprise.

But, touched though the landlord was, he had by no means changed his character.

"Now, then," he demanded, going up to David Laidlaw, "are _you_ a missionary too?"

"Na, freen', I am not; but I 'maist wush that I was, for it's a graund wark t' carry help t' the destitute."

"Well, guv'nor," cried one fellow with a crushed nose and a huge black eye, "if that's wot you're a-'ankerin' arter you can go a-'ead 'ere an' 'elp us to yer 'eart's content, for we're all destitoot in this 'ere den. So, come along, table down all the cash you've got about you."

"I'll dae that wi' pleasure," said David, rising promptly, and turning all his pockets inside out. "Ye shall hae every bodle I possess."

A general laugh greeted this proceeding, and one young thief shouted, "Well done, checkers," (referring to his garments); "but 'ow comes it that you've bin cleaned out?"

"Plain as pea-soup," cried another. "Don't you see? He's bin keepin' company with Trumps!"

Here Trumps rose to explain. "No, pals, that's not the reason; but just before comin' here he gave away every rap he had to poor widow Grain."

"He's a brick!" cried one man, with a fierce oath.

"He's a fool!" shouted another, with a fiercer oath. Regardless of the interruption, Trumps went on to explain how he had attempted to rob our hero, and been caught by him, and let off with a mild reproof and a lot of coppers. He also explained how that black-hearted villain Tandy Spivin (meaning David's landlord) had hired him--Trumps--to take this "gen'lem'n" (pointing to David) "down into the den _for a purpus_--ahem! Of course, on bein' introdooced to him," continued Trumps, "I at once recognised the Scotchman I had tried to rob, and expected he would refuse to go with me; but I soon found that Scotty was a deep as well as a plucky cove, and wasn't to be done out of his fun by trifles, for he said he would go to the slums with me because he could _trust me--trust me_, pals--note that!"

A loud explosion of laughter interrupted the speaker at this point.

"What!" exclaimed several voices, "said 'e could trust _you_, Trumps?"

"Ay," cried the thief, looking suddenly fierce, "and why not? Isn't it said, `There's honour among thieves?'"

"Thrue for ye," cried a big burglarious-looking Irishman, "sure there's honour 'twixt the likes o' you an' me, Trumps, but that gen'lem'n an't a thief!"

"That's so, Bill," exclaimed another man, with bloodshot eyes and beetling brows; "an' it's my opinion that as the cove hain't got no browns 'e ought to contribute 'is checker suit to the good o' the 'ouse. It would fetch summat."

The interest in the missionary's words seemed to be passing away, for at this point the language and looks of some of the company made David Laidlaw feel that he was indeed in a ticklish position. The threats and noise were becoming louder and more furious, and he was beginning to think of the hopeless resource of using his fists, when a loud exclamation, followed by a dead silence, drew every eye to the door.

The girl to whom the keeping of it had been intrusted had neglected her duty for a moment. In letting one of the company out she incautiously stood looking through the open chink into the dark passage. That instant was seized by two tall and powerful limbs of the law, in cloth helmets and with bull's-eye lanterns, who pushed quietly but quickly into the room. Shutting the door, one of the constables stood with his back against it, while the other advanced and examined the faces of the company one by one.

There was dead silence, for the constables were men of business, not of words, while the criminals, some of whom became grave as well as silent, seemed very anxious not to attract undue attention.

The particular person "wanted," however, was not there at that time. On coming to David, who met the glare of the bull's-eye with his grave smile, the constable looked surprised.

"I think, young man," he said in a low voice, "you've come to the wrong shop here."

"That's _my_ business," replied David coolly.

"Well, you know best of course, but if you'll take my advice you'll come out of this place along with us."

"Na. I'll bide where I am. I'll _trust_ them."

"Brayvo! well done, Scotty!" burst from the company, whose courage quickly revived when they found that no one there was "wanted."

The policemen laughed and went out.

"Noo, freen's, I want to say a word," said David, rising. "I'm gaun awa', an' it's ower late t' mak' a speech the nicht, but I want t' ask leave t' come back here again an' hae a crack wi' ye. I want t' ask 'ee some questions, an' gie ye some guid advice. May I come?"

"Of course you may, Scotty," said the landlord, grasping David's hand and receiving a good-humoured squeeze that made him wince. "You're a trump, and we'll give you the freedom of the 'ouse. Won't we, pals?"

"Agreed, agreed," shouted the whole company; "and we've got two Trumps now!" added a wag, amid much laughter and staves of, "He's a jolly good fellow," during the singing of which Laidlaw and his friend took their departure.

Having marked the position of the den well and taken its bearings they said good-night cordially and separated, the thief to his lair, and the Scotsman to his lodging, where he fully expected that the "villain" Tandy Spivin had availed himself of the opportunity to rob him.

But he was wrong. He found his bag, with his watch and money and his little all, intact as he had left it.


CHAPTER SEVEN.


MISCHIEF BREWING.

David Laidlaw was one of those comfortably constituted men who eat heartily, sleep profoundly, and lie thinking in bed in the mornings-- when awake--with philosophic intensity.

On the morning after his first day in London our hero's mind had to grapple with the perplexing question, whether it was possible that a man with a jovial face, a hearty manner, well-off to all appearance in a worldly point of view, and who chanced to have a man's money at his mercy yet did not take it, _could_ be a deceiver and in league with thieves. Impossible! Yet there were the damaging facts that Mr Spivin had introduced a thief to him as a true and converted man, and that this thief, besides denying his own conversion, had pronounced him--Spivin--a black-hearted villain!

"It bothers me!" said David at length, getting over the side of the bed, and sitting there for some time abstractedly stroking his chin.

Pondering the subject deeply, he dressed, called for breakfast, met Spivin with a quiet "guid-mornin', freen," said that he had had "a pleesant time o't i' the slums," and then went out to visit his friends in Cherub Court. Before going, however, he removed his money from his bag, put it in an inner breast-pocket, and paid his bill.

"You won't be back to dinner, I suppose," said the landlord in his genial manner.

"Na. I'm gaun to plowter aboot a' day an' see the toon. I may be late o' comin' in, but ye'll keep my bed for me, an' tak' care o' my bag."

Spivin said he would do so with such hearty goodwill that David said, mentally, "He's innocent."

At the moment a tall dark man with a sharp intelligent expression entered the house and bade the landlord good-morning. The latter started, laughed, winked, glanced expressively at the Scotsman, and returned the stranger's salute in a tone that induced David to say, mentally, "He's guilty."

Gravely pondering these contradictory opinions, our