_ BOOK II. SHADOW
CHAPTER XII. HOW I WENT UPON AN EXPEDITION WITH MR. SHRIG
I had been ringing ineffectually at the bell of my chambers for perhaps five minutes and was about to visit the adjacent mews in quest of my groom, when a voice spoke my name, and turning about, I beheld Mr. Shrig, the Bow Street officer.
"Mr. Werricker, sir," said he, touching his low-crowned, wide-brimmed hat with a thick forefinger, "it ain't no manner o' use you a-ringin' o' that theer bell, because there ain't nobody to answer same, your young man Clegg 'aving took a little 'oliday, d'ye see, sir."
"A holiday, Mr. Shrig! Pray how do you know?"
"By obserwation, sir. I've a powerful gift that way, sir--from a infant."
"This is very extraordinary behaviour in Clegg!"
"But then, sir, your young man is a rayther extraordinary young man. 'Owsoever he's gone, sir, and I appre'end as he ain't a-comin' back--judgin' by vat 'e says in 'is letter."
"What letter?"
"The letter as 'e's left for you a-layin' on your desk this werry minute along o' my stick as I 'appened to forget--but you'll be vantin' to gain hadmittance, I expect, sir."
"I do."
"Vy then, 't is rayther fortunate as I did forget my stick or I shouldn't ha' come back for it in time to be o' service to you, Mr. Werricker. By your leave, sir." Saying which, Mr. Shrig took a small, neat implement from one of his many capacious pockets, inserted it into the keyhole, gave it a twist, and the door swung open.
"Ah--a skeleton key, Mr. Shrig?"
"That werry i-dentical, sir."
"Is this how you gained admittance to my chambers?"
"Ex-actly, sir."
"And, being there, read my private letters?"
"Only the vun, sir--dooty is dooty--only the vun. And I've a varrant o' search--"
Entering my small library, I espied Mr. Shrig's knobbed staff lying upon my desk and beside it a letter laid carefully apart from a pile of unopened missives.
"Is this the letter?"
"The werry same, sir."
"But if you have read it, how comes the seal unbroken?"
"By means of a warm knife-blade, sir."
Wondering, I opened the letter and read as follows:
SIR:
I regret that I am forced by circumstances to quit your service
at a moment's notice, but trust you will find all in order as
regards tradesmen's accounts, your clothes, linen, napery, etc.
The key of the silver you will find under the hearthrug.
Hoping you will find one as zealous as the unfortunate writer,
I remain, sir,
Yours respectfully,
THOMAS CLEGG.
"Very strange!" said I.
"Ah!" sighed Mr. Shrig. "But then life generally is, Mr. Werricker, sir, if you'll take the trouble to ob-serve; so strange that I ain't never surprised at nothing--nowhere and nohow, sir. For instance, if you a-peepin' from the garret winder o' the 'ouse opposite--yonder across the street--'ad 'appened to ob-serve a young fe-male on her knees--here beside your werry own desk and veepin' fit to break 'er 'eart, pore soul--you'd ha' been surprised, I think--but I wasn't, no, not nohow--"
"Do you mean you actually saw a woman here--here in my chambers?"
"Aye, I did, sir!"
"Who--who was she?"
"A wictim o' wiciousness, sir."
"What in the world do you mean? Who was she?"
"Well, d'ye 'appen to know a young woman name of Nancy Price, sir?"
"No!"
"And yet you've 'ad same in your arms, Mr. Werricker, sir."
"What the devil are you suggesting?" I demanded angrily.
"I suggest as you found same young woman in a vood at midnight and carried 'er to a inn called the 'Soaring Lark.'"
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "That unfortunate creature?"
"That werry same i-dentical, sir--a wictim o' wiciousness as your late lamented uncle, Sir Jervas, God bless 'im--amen!--saved from des'prit courses--"
"My uncle Jervas--" I exclaimed.
"Saved from des'prit courses!" repeated Mr. Shrig. "Himself, sir. Lord love him, 'e was always a-doin' of it; many a pore soul, male and female, 'e's saved from the river--ah, and worse as well, I know--ekally ready wi' fist or purse, ah, by Goles, an' vat vas better, with 'ope for the 'elpless an' 'elp for them as it seemed nothin' nor nobody could reach 'cept the law--a friend to them as thought they 'ad no friend but death. A fine gentleman, sir--yes, a tippy, a go, a bang-up blood, a reg'lar 'eavy-toddler, but most of all--a man! And I says again, God bless 'im an' 'is memory--amen!"
"Amen!" I repeated, while Mr. Shrig, tugging at something in the depths of a capacious side pocket, eventually drew thence a large, vivid-hued handkerchief and blew his nose resoundingly; which done, he blinked at me, surely the mildest-seeming man in all the world, despite the brass-mounted pistol which, disturbed in its lurking place by the sudden extrication of the handkerchief, peeped at me grimly from his pocket.
"Mr. Shrig, I should like to shake your hand," said I.
"'Eartily an' vith a vill, sir!" he answered.
"You see, I loved and honoured him also, Mr. Shrig."
"Verefore an' therefore, sir, I make bold to ask if you're partic'ler busy to-day?"
"I am here to meet a friend and then I am for the country."
"Tonbridge vay, sir?"
"Yes, why do you ask?"
"Because I've a call thereabouts myself to-day, an' if you vas minded to go along, I'd be honoured, sir, honoured."
"Thank you, Mr. Shrig, but--" I paused, for among the pile of unopened letters I espied one addressed in a familiar hand and, breaking the seal, read:
MY DEAR PERRY:
Strong drink is raging, so am I, and London is the devil!
Temptation dogs me, but a promise is a promise, so I have
scuttled off ignominiously. You will find me at the Chequers Inn,
Tonbridge, if I am not there to meet you, wait for me.
By the way, ale is exempt from your proscription, of course.
Yours to command now as ever,
ANTHONY VERE-MANVILLE.
"Mr. Shrig," said I, pocketing this letter, "when, pray, do you propose to start Tonbridge way?"
"This werry moment, sir."
"Why, then I shall be happy to accompany you."
"Are ye ready, sir?"
"Quite; let us go!"
So side by side we stepped out into the street; here Mr. Shrig, setting two fingers to his mouth, emitted a shrill whistle and round the corner came a tilbury behind a likely-looking horse driven by a red-faced man, who, at a sign from Mr. Shrig, descended from the lofty seat, into which we climbed forthwith.
"T'morrer mornin', Joel!" said Mr. Shrig, taking up the reins; and flicking the horse, away we went at a sharp trot.
"Do you propose to stay the night at Tonbridge, Mr. Shrig?"
"Vy--it's all accordin' to Number Vun, sir. Number Vun set out for Tonbridge but might be goin' further; v'ether 'e does or no, depends on Number Two."
"I fear I do not understand you, Mr. Shrig."
"Vich is 'ardly to be expected, sir. Y' see, perfeshionally speakin', I'm arter two birds as I 'opes to ketch alive an' dead."
"But how can you catch anything alive and dead?"
"Veil, then, let's say vun alive an' t' other 'un dead."
"Ah--what kind of birds?"
"Downy vuns, sir--'specially Number Vun!" and here my companion smiled and nodded benignantly.
Mr. Shrig drove rapidly, threading his way through the traffic with the ease of an experienced Jehu, and soon in place of dingy roofs and chimneys my eyes were blessed with the green of trees shading the familiar road which led, as I knew, to those leafy solitudes where one "might walk with God." And now there rushed upon me a memory of Diana--Diana as she once had been--my Goddess of the Silent Places; and I yearned passionately for the irrevocable past and despaired in bitter hopelessness of the present and the long and lonely future.
From these gloomy thoughts I was aroused by the sound of my companion's voice:
"I am a-goin' on this here hexpe-dition, sir, with the expectation--I may say with the 'ope sir, of finding a body--"
"A body of what?" I enquired absently.
"Lord, Mr. Werricker, sir, vat should it be but a hum-ing body--a corpse, sir."
"Horrible!" I exclaimed. "Who is it? Where did he die?"
"Vell, sir," said Mr. Shrig, consulting a ponderous watch, "to the best o' my judgment 'e ain't dead yet, no, not yet, I fancy, but two hours--say three--should do 'is business neat an' comfortable; yes--in three hours 'e should be as nice a corpse as ever you might vish to see--if the con-clusions as I've drawed is correct. An' talkin' o' murder, sir--"
"Ah!" I exclaimed. "Is it murder?"
"Sir," answered Mr. Shrig, "speakin' without prejudice, I answer you, it's a-goin' to be, or I'm a frog-eatin' Frenchman, vich God forbid, sir. An' speakin' o' murder, here's my attitood towards same--there's murder as is murder an' there's murder as is justifiable 'omicide. If you commits the fact for private wengeance, windictiveness or personal gain, then 't is murder damned an' vith a werry big he-M; but if so be you commits the fact to rid yourself or friends an' the world in general of evil, then I 'old 't is a murder justifiable. Consequently it will go to my 'eart to appre-'end this here murderer."
"Who is he?" I demanded.
"Ex-cuse me, sir--no! Seein' as 'ow this cove, though a murderer in intent, ain't a murderer in fact, yet--you must ex-cuse me if I with'old 'is name. And here's Eltham Village an' yonder's the 'Man o' Kent' a good 'ouse v'ere I'm known, so if you'll 'old the 'oss, sir, I'll get down and ax a question or so."
And I, sitting outside this sleepy hostelry in this quiet village street, thought no more of Mr. Shrig's gruesome errand, but rather of shady copse, of murmurous brooks and of one whose vivid presence had been an evergrowing joy and inspiration, waking me to nobler manhood, filling me with aspirations to heroic achievement; and to-day here sat I, lost in futile dreams--scorning myself for a miserable failure while the soul within me wept for that Diana of the vanished past--
"Right as ninepence, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Shrig, beaming cheerily as he clambered up beside me. "My birds 'as flew this vay, sure enough!"
Thus as we drove I sat alternately lost in these distressful imaginings or hearkening to my companion's animadversions upon rogues, criminals, and crime in general until, as the afternoon waned, we descended the steep hill into Wrotham village and pulled up at the "Bull" Inn, into whose hospitable portal Mr. Shrig vanished, to pursue those enquiries he had repeated at every posthouse along the road.
Presently as I sat, reins in hand, an ostler appeared who, grasping the horse's bridle and heeding me no whit, led us into the stable yard. And here I found Mr. Shrig leaning upon his knotted stick and lost in contemplation of a dusty chaise beneath which lay a perspiring and profane postboy busied with divers tools upon the front axle.
Now as I glanced at the vehicle, something about it struck me as familiar and then, despite the dust, I saw that it had red wheels and a black body picked out in yellow.
"Ah, Mr. Shrig," said I, "if this is the chaise you are so interested about, I think I can tell you who rode in it."
"And who would you name, sir?"
"Captain Danby," I answered.
"Aye, to be sure, sir. Then just step into the stable wi' me!"
Wondering, I obeyed and beheld a hissing ostler rubbing down a dusty horse.
"Why, this animal is mine!" I exclaimed. "This is Caesar, one of my saddle horses."
"Aye, to be sure, sir!" nodded Mr. Shrig. "Wiciousness has been a-ridin' in that theer chaise an' Windictiveness a-gallopin' arter on your 'oss. P'raps you can likewise tell me who't was as rode your 'oss?"
"No," I answered, "unless--good heaven, can it be Anthony--my friend Mr. Vere-Manville?"
"Name sounds familiar!" said Mr. Shrig, rubbing his nose thoughtfully, while his keen gaze roved here and there.
"Where is Captain Danby--I want a word with him," said I, stepping hastily out of the stable.
"The Cap'n, sir," answered Mr. Shrig close to my elbow, "havin' partook of a glass o' brandy an' vater, has took a little valk a-top of it, an' the evenin' bein' so fine or as you might say balmy, I think we'll go a-valking too--"
Reaching the narrow street I espied the tall, lounging form of Captain Danby some considerable distance ahead and instinctively hastened my steps.
"Verefore the hurry, sir?" enquired Mr. Shrig, laying a finger on my arm.
"I must speak with yonder scoundrel."
"Scoundrel is the werry i-dentical vord, sir--but bide a bit--easy it is."
As he spoke, the Captain turned out of the street into a field path shaded by a tall hedge; in due time we also came to this path and saw a shady lane ran parallel with it, down which a man was walking. We had gone but a little way along this path when Mr. Shrig halted and seating himself upon the grassy bank, took off his hat and mopped his brow.
"A be-eautiful sunset, sir."
"Yes!" I answered, turning to view the glowing splendour.
"So werry red, Mr. Werricker, sir, like fire--like blood."
But I noticed that his keen glance was fixed upon the little wood that gloomed some distance before us, also that he held his head aslant as one who listens intently, and had taken out his ponderous watch.
"Why do you sit there, Mr. Shrig?" I enquired, a little impatiently.
"I'm a-vaitin', sir."
"What for, man?"
"Hush, sir, and you'll soon--"
The word was lost in a strange, sudden, double concussion of sound.
"At ex-actly twenty-two minutes to eight, sir!" said Mr. Shrig, and rising to his feet, set off briskly along the path. We had almost reached the wood I have mentioned when Mr. Shrig raised his knobbed stick to point at something that sprawled grotesquely across the path. The hat had fallen and rolled away and staring down into the horror of this face fouled with blood and blackened with powder, I recognised the features of Captain Danby.
"So here's the end o' Wiciousness," said Mr. Shrig and as he leaned upon his stick I saw his bright glance roving here and there; it flashed along the path before us; it swept the thicker parts of the hedge behind us; it questioned the deepening shadow of the copse. "Aye, here's an end to Number Vun, and if we look in the vood yonder, I fancy we shall see summat o' Number Two. This vay, sir--you can see the leaves is bloody hereabouts if you look--this vay!" Like one in an evil dream I followed him in among the trees and was aware that he had halted again.
"What now--what is it?" I questioned.
"Number Two, sir, and--look yonder, and--by Goles, 'e's dodged me likewise--burn my neck if 'e ain't!"
As he spoke, Mr. Shrig parted the kindly leaves and I beheld the form of my servant Clegg, as neat and precise in death as he had ever been in life.
"Poor lad!" said Mr. Shrig, baring his head. "Ye see, 'e 'appened to love Nancy Price, sir--the wictim o' Wiciousness yonder, an' 'ere's the result. Even walets has feelin's--this 'un werry much so!"
"Dead?" I mumbled, feeling myself suddenly faint. "Dead--both?"
"Aye, sir--both! Vich is comin' it a bit too low down on a man an' no error! To ha' lost both on 'em--crool 'ard I calls it!"
Sick with horror, I was stumbling away from this dreadful place when Mr. Shrig's voice stayed me.
"'Old 'ard, sir--bide a bit! If the con-clusions as I've drawed is correct, here should be summat o' yourn."
Turning about, I espied him on his knees, examining the contents of the dead man's pockets with a methodical precision that revolted me.
"Of mine?" said I, shuddering.
"Your werry own, sir. 'T was one o' the reasons as I brought you along--I do 'ope Windictiveness here ain't destroyed it--ah, 'ere it is, Mr. Werricker, sir--though the seal's broke, you'll ob-serve."
Dazed and wondering, I took the letter he held out to me, but no sooner had I glanced at the superscription than I forgot all else for the moment.
"How--how should that man--come by this?" I stammered at last.
"Took or pur-loined it from the young 'ooman Nancy Price, sir, according to 'er own ewidence, as stated to me in my little office this mornin'--an' her a-veepin' all over my papers, pore lass! Aha!" exclaimed Mr. Shrig, still busied on his researches. "He's got summat in this 'ere 'ind pocket as I can't come at--p'raps you'll obleege me by heavin' Windictiveness over a bit, sir? Why, never mind, sir--done it myself--"
"How--did the young woman come by this letter?"
"'T is in ewidence as years ago she was maid to a lady--now Mrs. Vere-Manville, it was give her by that same. What, are ye goin', sir? Werry good, this ain't exactly a cheery spot at present. Will you be so obleegin' as to send a cart an', say, a 'urdle for these ere birds o' mine?"
And so I left him, sitting between his "birds" whose flying days were done, busily making notes in his little book, very like some industrious clerk posting his ledger for the day.
Reaching the "Bull" Inn, I despatched cart and hurdle as desired and, ordering rooms for the night, shut myself therein to escape the general hubbub and horrified questioning my news had called forth. And here, remote from all and sundry, I unfolded the letter a dead man's hand had opened and read these words:
Knowing you vile, I should have grieved for you, pitied you, but loved you still. Believing me vile, you are pitiless, cold, and with no mercy in you. Indeed and you would have shamed me! But true love, being of Heaven, knows no shame and can never die. Oh, you poor, blind Peregrine.
TO MY PATIENT AND KINDLY READER
Here do I make an end of this Second Book, wherein shall be found overmuch of blood, of gloom and shadow, of misunderstanding and heartbreak engendered of my own perfervid imagination; and glad am I and more than glad to have done with it.
And here, since the longest road must end, since after storm and tempest must come peace and heavenly calm, and because "though heaviness endure for a night yet joy cometh in the morning"--here do I begin this Third, last, and shortest Book which those enduring Readers who have borne with and followed me thus far may see is inscribed
DAWN _