A Breaker of Laws/Chapter 9

by W. Pett Ridge

 

CHAPTER IX

At this period the Fates were kind. The accident to William Finnis had an odd effect. Formerly a stolid man, with a leisurely process of thought, there was now more of alertness under his steady manner; it seemed as though the fall from the tram-car had awakened dormant faculties. During his time of convalescence he learned to ride a bicycle, and in connection with this made the acquaintance of a repairing shop; a habit on the first days of running his bicycle clumsily soon enabled him to become on familiar terms with the shop and its manners. The result of all this appeared on one Sunday afternoon, when, having pulled Alfred and Caroline and the baby out into mid-stream off Greenwich—it was usual on these occasions to assume that the large be-frilled, hatted Trafalgar, sitting, with an amazed expression, on his pretty mother's lap, was a retired naval captain with a limitless knowledge of the sea—William Finnis, resting, made an important announcement. He had been back at work in Barraclough's for several months, and it had been noticed by the other workmen that he occupied his spare moments by working out figures on slips of paper; the men guessed that he was following the form of a horse with the view of making safe bets on a coming race.

'Talking about rowing,' said William Finnis, looking hard at Greenwich College, 'I've made up my mind to take a shop.'

'You'll get yourself into trouble,' remarked Alfred, 'if anybody sees you at it. What ho, Keptin'! You're keeping your weather eye open, ain't you?'

'He's a dear old scamp,' said Caroline, pinching the baby's nose; 'and I believe he takes notice of everything.'

The baby cooed argumentatively at this, puckering his small forehead, and Caroline contested the point with a fine assumption of earnestness, but presently gave in, acknowledging the baby to be entirely in the right; whereupon baby gurgled and closed his preposterous little mouth with a satisfied expression that said: 'It's of no use you women trying to argue with a man.

'What were you saying about a shop, Mr. Finnis?' asked Caroline, when this one-sided discussion closed. 'You wouldn't think of giving up Barraclough's?'

'That's jest what I am going to do,' said William steadily to the College. 'I'm going to chuck Barraclough's, and I'm going into business for meself.'

'Sweetstuff?' asked Alfred.

'No,' said William Finnis.

He fixed the two sculls between his knees, and found a printed card which seemed to have been done cheaply and recently. The ink smudged as he handed it over.

'William Finnis and Co,' read Alfred, with interest, 'Cycle Merchants, No. 142, Loampit Vale, Lewisham. Repairs attended to. Finest workmansbip guaranteed. W. F. and Co.'s motto is Nil Desperandum.'

'Don't you like the last bit?' asked William anxiously, but not withdrawing his gaze from the College.

'Wha's it mean?'

'I forget what it means,' confessed William; 'but it looks all right in print, don't it?'

'Let me look,' begged Caroline. She read it through. 'I think those two last words give a finish to the whole thing,' she said definitely.

'I'm glad you think that,' said William, turning now with great relief. 'I had doubts meself.'

'And what on earth is this bloomin' pan'omine about?' demanded Alfred. 'What's it supposed to mean?'

'Means,' said William, looking him well in the eyes, 'that in the past, by not mouchin' about and not getting mixed up with wrong uns'—Alfred coughed—'I've been able to put by a bit. Means that I want to make some more. Means that I've discovered there's money in this cycle business. Means'—here William Finnis lowered his voice—'that I've got an idea for an improvement in bicycles and I b'lieve there's money in that, too.'

'Well, I am blowed!' said Alfred. 'I never thought there was so much in you.'

'Baby say "Ooray for Mr. Finnis!"' ordered Caroline. The infant's small boiled sausage of an arm was waved by Caroline, who, listening attentively to the crowing, declared, in the manner of an interpreter, that baby had said: 'Here's wishing good luck and long life to Mr. Finnis'; and the baby gave a little kick with his woollen-booted foot, showing, explained Caroline, that he wanted to dance for joy. William Finnis bent forward to the baby, and, replacing for him the indiarubber cigar, which the baby smoked with great vigour and enjoyment, told him that he was a desperate old chatterbox.

'I shall miss you,' said Alfred thoughtfully. 'Let me 'ave a turn with the oars. I can't row, but——'

'Keep where you are,' remarked Finnis, 'and listen to me. What I thought was that you might come down there and 'elp me with the business, and act as a kind of 'alf foreman, 'alf partner.'

'I've only got one and nine with me,' said Alfred, taking some loose money from his pocket. 'What's the use of talkin' about partnership to a man who's got no coin?'

'I don't want your coin,' growled Finnis, 'I want your 'elp.' He turned to Caroline. 'Moreover, there's fine good rooms at the back of the shop, and I was wonderin' whether you'd care to give up Exmouth Terrace.'

'That would be capital!' cried Caroline delightedly.

'It'd be jest as good as capital,' said William. 'If you and Elf wasn't there, I should have to 'ire a man and get a 'ousekeeper.'

'Or else get a wife,' said Caroline, with the humour of a married woman.

William Finnis flushed scarlet.

'I'll pull you down to the wharf and back,' said he; 'by that time the hour'll be up.'

More talk that evening in regard to the important proposal, and Alfred began to feel something like admiration for Finnis, noting the precise and definite way in which he had arranged everything before disclosing the project. Hitherto he had considered William to be his inferior; it gave him a novel sensation to observe Finnis taking the management of affairs into his own hands and overruling objections. Caroline, delighted with the idea of leaving Greenwich, declared, after running to consult the sleeping baby in the bedroom, that Trafalgar was strongly in favour of the change. This decided it. The next morning the two men gave in their notices at Barraclough's, and during the week young Barraclough gave to William a book of Ruskin's, and to Alfred a book by Herbert Spencer.

In the work of moving Miss Ladd proved herself invaluable. Anxious not to be again denied the privilege of visiting, Miss Ladd ingratiated herself by promising to obtain a van for the transport of furniture—a new van which had been hired by Ladd, now returned to Deptford Green after a long absence. William Finnis protested against this, but a compromise was effected which arranged that Mr. Ladd was not to interfere in the matter; that Mr. Ladd was to efface himself, as it were, and on no account presume to come to the cycle-shop at Lewisham; but that Miss Ladd should be allowed to see to the removals, and to call once a week afterwards to visit Trafalgar, and to sing to that youth extraordinary nursery rhymes that always caused the infant to wreathe his little face into one comprehensive smile. Alfred drove the van twice between Exmouth Terrace and Lewisham—a neat van, with its plain black tarpaulin; one could, he thought, do much with a van like that.

Thus it happened that no happier young woman existed in all Lewisham (and Lewisham is a large and a well-filled parish) than Caroline. The shop had been stuck against the ground-floor of a small dwelling-house which had few rooms, but just enough of them, and Caroline, finding herself for the first time mistress of an entire house, sang at her work like a cheerful young bird. It was good to be free of the ex-cornet's wife, and the nearness to that lady's rooms, where there seemed always a scent of yesterday's beer; good to be able to come and go without running the gauntlet of the ironical matrons of East Street. In comparison Lewisham seemed Belgravia to the good young woman; a place where etiquette, mind you, had to be observed, and going to the grocer's without your hat constituted an offence against society; a call at the draper's in your apron placed you at once and for ever outside the ring that enclosed the respectable sphere. Young Trafalgar found himself wheeled out in a mail-cart every afternoon to take the air, apparelled somewhat in the fashion of Bluff King Hal, only in white, and less intent on marrying. And when ladies of Lewisham with infants of their own stopped Caroline in the public gardens at Ladywell, and, with the curiosity of their admirable sex, said: 'Excuse me, madam, how old is your little boy? and what do you feed him on? and does he behave well at nights?' then Caroline, in a voice copied from that of her former mistress, bragged about Trafalgar until that young gentleman could endure adulation no longer and screamed aloud for less talk and more wheeling of mail-carts.

'This job suits me, William,' said Alfred Bateson, smoking at the doorway one evening, 'a jolly sight better than the old one.'

'I want you to keep on at your work,' submitted Finnis from his corner of the cycle-shop. 'Fix on that rubber tyre over there.'

'There's no 'urry,' said Alfred.

'I noticed that,' remarked William Finnis acutely. 'That was why I spoke.'

'How's that dodge of yourn getting on?' asked Alfred, after a pause.

'Come in and do some work,' replied William Finnis, 'and I'll tell you all about it.'

'You are a worry!' complained the other, throwing the end of his cigarette in the air and kicking it across the pavement. 'I can't believe it was ever meant that we should work our fingers to the bone like this. There's plenty of people who make a living in this world as easy as easy.'

'Honest?' asked Finnis.

'I thought bygones was to be bygones,' said Alfred pathetically. 'I don't think you ought to get at a chap, William, when he's trying to run straight.'

'Sorry if I was too sharp,' replied the master of the shop. 'Touching this patent of mine. The idea is—only mind you don't go letting it go any further.'

'You know you can trust me, old man.'

'Well, the idea is simply this. Instead of 'aving a——'

There certainly seemed reason in Finnis's invention, and Alfred took trouble to understand it thoroughly. In a rough way William sketched it out on a piece of millboard which he kept in his drawer, and this helped to make the proposal clear. Alfred was asking some questions to elucidate, when a tall, middle-aged, sharp-nosed lady appeared at the doorway, peering in with a short-sighted manner, and William Finnis, with a jerk of his elbow, directed him to attend upon her. The head of the firm knew his own want of polish in dealing with lady customers, and preferred that Alfred should undertake those duties.

Alfred, advancing to the doorway, where the lady waited with a bicycle that had its hind wheel bent ludicrously, started back for a moment, pulling his cap over his eyes, then went on again.

'Considering what I have done for omnibus-drivers,' said the lady bitterly, 'considering that I organized meetings on behalf of their wives when they were on strike, and considering all the many public movements with which I have at various times been connected, it seems singularly out of place that the driver of one of these absurd little Lee Green 'buses—quite a human document in his way—should have come into collision with me and have ruined this poor cycle and smashed my glasses.'

'Bit of 'ard luck, ma'am,' remarked Alfred in a bass voice. 'Set yourself down and get cool whilst I over'aul the machine.'

'I shall have to leave it, of course, and I dare say it will have to go back to the makers and—I seem to know your face, my man.'

'Lot of faces like mine about,' he growled, bending over the machine.

'I am never wrong in matters of identity.'

'Fine thing to be always right,' said Alfred. 'Give the guv'nor over there your name and address, will you, ma'am?'

Caroline wheeled in the mail-cart as the tall lady, in her loud, decided way, gave the particulars to William Finnis.

'Why,' exclaimed Caroline delightedly, 'if it isn't mistress!'

'Surely it is Caroline!'

'Why, yes, miss. Fancy coming across you! This,' lifting Trafalgar proudly from the mail-cart—'this is my baby; and that,' nodding with equal pride towards Alfred, now at the back of the shop—'that is my husband.'

'I wonder where I can have seen him before,' remarked the tall, short-sighted lady, taking Trafalgar awkwardly from Caroline's arms and allowing that youth to tug at her gold chain. 'Perhaps he called at The Chase.'

'Oh no, miss. He was never there but once, and then he only met the butler.'

'You should have been to see me, Caroline.'

'Alf preferred that we should keep ourselves to ourselves, miss. Falgy, you shocking boy, you must reely not pull the lovely lady about like that' Trafalgar assumed a look of apology and held up his chubby little face. 'Oh, he wants you to kiss him, miss.'

'Why, of course,' said the mistress of The Chase, 'I forgot that.'

'You're not used to babies, miss,' Caroline ventured to remark.

'No,' said the other thoughtfully, 'no.'

She looked closely at the small infant in her short-sighted manner, and at first seemed inclined to urge him to join some society for the reformation of the world, but presently began to talk baby language with the facility that comes to every woman. He was a 'plendid lil boy, that's what he was, with the bluest, bluest, bluest, bluest eyes in all the world, and the sauciest lil smiley-smiley, badinage which pleased Trafalgar so much that he nearly kicked himself out of her arms with delight. Alfred, from the back of the shop, looked on furtively and nervously. He wished she would go.

'You're quite happy, Caroline?'

'As happy as happy, miss,' declared the young woman. ('Falgy, don't you go and tire the lady out, mind. Where's daddy?')

The infant, looking around, summoned Alfred with a scream of recognition, and Alfred was obliged to come forward.

'You've often 'eard me speak of my old—I mean my mistress, Elf, who was always so good to me? She seems to think she remembers you.'

'I used to get about a bit in my single days,' remarked Alfred humorously. 'Since I've been married I ain't had a moment to call me own.'

'Don't you believe him, miss,' begged Caroline good-temperedly.

'You ought to be proud of your wife. She was the best servant I ever had.'

'She does pretty well,' admitted Alfred, 'as a wife.'

'And I've got the best husband, miss,' declared Caroline earnestly, 'in all the world.'

'Don't exaggerate, Keroline.'

'I'm speaking the truth, Elf.'

He grew red under the critical gaze of Caroline's late mistress, and went over to William Finnis. She gave some further instructions about the damaged bicycle, found a gold piece in her parse for Trafalgar, which that youth essayed, as a first step towards thrift, to swallow, and said good-bye to Caroline with a touch of affection that softened her hard manner.

'If ever you are in any trouble, Caroline,' she said in a low voice, 'then send for me. And bring your baby. You know that Miss Jennie is married?'

'To young Mr. Mellish?'

'Yes, unfortunately—mere boy and girl.'

'Still, they were very fond of each other, miss.'

'How can a girl of nineteen tell whether she is really fond or not? May I kiss baby once more?'

This visit gave Alfred thoughts which occupied his head for some time that evening, to the exclusion of everything else. Was there ever such a fortunate man as he? If another had been concerned, depend upon it the chances in regard to this meeting would not have been so happy. Alfred, accompanied by Finnis, took a long walk away through High Road towards Lee (William in no way disturbed by his companion's unusual lack of conversation), and considered all this with thoroughness. What was it old Ladd had once called him? A lucky cove! Old Ladd was right, too! Luck had always seemed on his side. He might have gone on at the old game, perhaps, and never have been caught. One seldom heard of anyone who practised the fine arts of crime and came out scatheless at the end, but it seemed conceivable that this might have happened over and over again; careful men might have made bagfuls of money at the work and then retired, taking gorgeous public-houses for a hobby in the autumn of their days. That would be something like a career. There would be adventure in it, and sudden income of money, and time between the grand efforts to enjoy laziness. To a man who had to work, as he had had to do of late, the world offered little but monotony; he knew precisely the amount of money that would come to him at the end of each week; there were none of the old bursts of affluence when every pocket (for a time) held money. If it were not for Caroline!

'And whilst I think of it,' said William Finnis, speaking for the first time as they neared Lee Green, 'don't you go giving away by mistake anything about that what I was tellin' you about.'

'You must think I'm a juggins.'

'Only in some things,' remarked William.

Outside the inn where they stopped lounged a circle of young City men in astonishing tennis suits that failed to disguise their wearers' occupation in life; in the centre stood the long-absent Mr. Ladd (this sudden encounter seemed natural to Alfred after his recent thoughts)—Mr. Ladd, perspiring with the possession of wealth, a silk hat perched obliquely on his head, bran new gloves carried in his hand, frock-coat of fawn colour with a creased, second-hand look, rumpled white waistcoat, and shepherd's-plaid trousers. Looking at him, one might have thought him to be a man doing so well in the City as to have no time to guide his tailor, but with sufficient leisure to drink.

'Come away,' said Finnis warningly; 'you don't want to see him. Let's have a look at these bikes over 'ere.'

'Old Ladd's a reg'lar toff,' remarked Alfred amusedly. 'I must 'ave a talk with him 'fore we go.'

'You leave him alone and he'll leave you alone,' said William strenuously.

'For the sake of old times,' urged Alfred.

'’Pon me word, I wonder I don't give you a clip 'side the 'ead! Come along o' me this minute.'

They looked at the row of dusty cycles resting against the fence. The owner of the smartest machine came out, and entering into conversation in a frank, commercial-traveller way, gave to each a card of his firm, and mentioned that his firm's motto was 'Scorch Along.' On William Finnis asking diffidently whether the adoption of this motto would prevent the firm from considering any new improvement that a man might make, he was immediately informed that the contrary was the case. Tuesday mornings before twelve he was always at the Holborn Viaduct address shown on the cards.

'If it's worth anything to anybody,' said the Viaduct man importantly, 'it's worth something to J. P. W. Come right along, one of you, on a Tuesday morning, when you've got it all fixed up, and if there's any money in it you'll get a cheque from J. P. W. before you've taken your hat off.'

'Don't be surprised if I give you a call,' said William Finnis deliberately.

'My dear sir,' remarked the representative of the 'Scorch Along' firm, as he prepared to spin away, 'I'm the kind of man who is surprised at nothing. Is your friend a partner of yours?'

'He works with me.'

'Looks a cute sort of chap,' said the cycle merchant approvingly. 'Knows enough to come in when it rains, I bet.'

'I never get very damp,' said Alfred.

'We're the kind of boys that make things hum,' sang out the Viaduct man over his shoulder as he went off. 'It's either Portland Place or Portland Prison that we finish in.'

'Let's go and guy old Ladd now,' suggested Alfred sportively; 'I feel in the humour for a game of chipping.'

'You'll have some shandy-gaff,' retorted the other sharply, ' and then you'll come 'ome. I should 'ave thought you'd had enough of Ladd.'

'But he's boozed,' urged Alfred.

Despite William's care, Alfred managed on coming out of the bar to elude him, and a few moments later he was leading the semicircle in their-chaffing attack. Mr. Ladd appeared not to recognise Alfred, and took off his silk hat, bowing foolishly.

'What ho, me lord!' said Mr. Ladd, with a great effort at courtesy. 'What news on the Rialto? What'm I goin' to 'ave to drink?'

'Feel thirsty, old chap?'

'I 'aven't touched drop liquor,' said Mr. Ladd solemnly, 'this is truth that I'm tellin' you now—'aven't touched drop liquor for th' last five minutes.'

'What made you sign the pledge?' asked someone in the crowd.

'Sir,' replied Mr. Ladd tipsily, 'you're bringing false accusation 'gainst me. I never signed no pledge. Don't you go and render yourself li'ble for the law of libel.' Mr. Ladd stared around him with a surprised air, and then burst into a loud laugh. 'Gaw bless my soul,' he said exhaustedly, 'if I ain't been and made joke without knowin' it!'

'You've been in the sun,' said Alfred. 'Why don't you stand upright?'

'Gen'lemen,' said Mr. Ladd with gravity, 'I can talk, but I can't walk. Some people in my condition can walk, but can't talk; some can neither walk nor talk. That in my humble 'pinion shows want of breeding.'

'How're you going to get 'ome to your town 'ouse?' asked Alfred.

'On all fours,' hiccoughed Mr. Ladd.

A red-haired man, who had been standing out of sight behind a dog-cart, now strolled round. He nodded to Alfred, and made his way through the circle.

'I'm going Deptford way,' he said.

'What, Mis'r Dowton!' exclaimed Mr, Ladd, with great respect.

'That's me,' said Dowton. 'Let us have a quiet talk together, and I'll see you safe home.'

'I don't stir from this spot,' declared Ladd, 'till I've had something to drink. Fetch me small soda, and I'll go with you and talk away to your 'eart's content.'

'Look after him, Mr. Bateson,' said Dowton.

He went into the bar.

'Don't you know me?' whispered Alfred, as the small crowd, seeing that the comedy had nearly finished, began to break up. 'My name's Alf.'

'Course I know you,' said Mr. Ladd quietly and soberly. 'I'm only kiddin' drunk. I want to find out how much he knows about a certain bisness. He's been watching me the last ten minutes.'

'You're as deep as the ocean,' said Alfred admiringly.

'But not so green. Lor! what a pity it was you ever give up the game, Elf! You had luck, you had, and that's worth everything. Still, I don't blame you.'

'Rare old days, wasn't they?' remarked Alfred wistfully.

Dowton reappeared, bearing a tumbler of effervescing soda-water, which appeared to be slightly coloured with spirits, and Ladd broke out into confused song:

 

'Oh for the d'ys of long ago, gone beyond recall!
Dear old pals, and merry old gels—hic——'

 

'Here's your drink,' said the detective. 'Get outside of it, and then let us two walk home together.'

'"How I remember them all!"' sang Mr. Ladd joyously. He emptied the glass with one drink, and handed it back to Dowton, who hurried with it to the inn.

'I'd like to be playing your bloomin' part,' said Alfred enviously. 'What was your last job?'

'You don't think I'm going to tell you?' remarked old Ladd.

'Beg pardon,' said the younger man. 'I forgot.' He sighed and looked away.

'The gel,' said Ladd, 'told me I wasn't to interfere with you, and I ain't goin' to. All the same, if you ever come to me—— "New frien's come and new frien's—hic—may go,"' sang Mr. Ladd as Dowton returned, '"but I am true till aye!"'

'Pull up, old man,' said Dowton. 'Put your best foot foremost.'

Mr. Ladd gave a tipsy farewell to the people outside the inn, and Alfred watched the two depart arm-in-arm. Just before they went out of sight they encountered a piano-organ, and Alfred noticed that Mr. Ladd, like the excellent actor he was, declined to move another step until the detective had honoured him with his company in a waltz.

Alfred and Finnis walked home to Lewisham in the same silent manner that had characterized the out journey. Alfred had successfully undertaken a most important burglary, and was reading the newspaper reports the following morning with the reassuring note, 'The police have at present no clue,' when he was disillusioned by arrival at the cycle-shop of Finnis and Co. In the clean sweet-smelling sitting-room at the back of the shop Caroline, the neatest young woman that ever existed, was busily arranging a white-cloth'd table. She threw a kiss to Alfred, nodded to Finnis, and went out into the kitchen.

'I felt so lively at seeing mistress again,' declared Caroline, reappearing with a loaded dish, 'that I was obliged to set to and have a good clean up.'

'Woman-like,' remarked Alfred. 'And blow William, if she hasn't got us a cucumber and a bit of pickled salmon for supper. Just what we're both partial to.'

'Woman-like again,' said Finnis.

'I found a piece of paper, Elf, in your old hat-box,' went on Caroline, 'and I didn't like to destroy it until I'd showed it to you.'

Alfred took it. It was the delivery order that the young carman had produced at the bar in High Street, Deptford.

'Thanks,' he said, placing it carefully in his pocket. 'I don't want to lose sight of that. William, fill your glass. 'Ere's success to crime.'

'Elf,' said Caroline, laughing, 'you are a caution!'