Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn

They did not observe Kenneth, who had placed himself in the darkest corner of his stall.

“Now, lads, we’ll talk it over here, and settle what’s to be done; for whatever we do it must be done to-night.”

This much he heard of the conversation, and then his mind wandered away to its former channel. How long he might have meditated is uncertain, but he was suddenly aroused by the sound of his own name.

“We’ll have to do it to-night,” said a voice which Kenneth knew belonged to the gentlemanly man of dissipated aspect; “the young fellow won’t likely go back for a day or two, and the old ’un an’t over stout. There’s only one man in the house besides him, and he ain’t much worth speakin’ of; a groom, not very big, sleeps in the lower part o’ the house. Old Stuart himself sleeps in a wing, a good bit off from the servants. In fact, there’s nothing easier than to get into the house, and there’s no end of silver plate. Now, what say you to start by the nine o’clock train to-night? We’ll get there by eleven, and have supper before goin’ to work. You see, I think it’s always well to feed before goin’ at this sort o’ thing. It don’t pay on an empty stomach. Shall we go?”

Kenneth’s heart beat fast as he listened for the reply.

“Wall, I doan’t much loik it,” said one of the roughs, in a coarse Yorkshire dialect; “but I’m hard oop for tin, so I says Yes.”

“Agreed,” said the other rough, who was evidently not a man of many words.

For some time Kenneth sat listening to the plans of the burglars, and considering how he should best frustrate their designs. He at length made up his mind to return the parcel to his aunt, say that unexpected and pressing business called him home, and start by the same train with the burglars for Wreckumoft. His intentions, however, were interfered with by the abrupt entrance of Dollins, who was drunk, and who, on being told that a friend wanted to see him within, came forward to Kenneth, and asked, “Wot it wos ’e wanted?”

Kenneth explained that he had been sent by a lady to deliver a parcel, which he presented, and, having fulfilled his mission, was about to return when the man caught him by the sleeve—

“Wot, are you Mister Stuart? Jess Gaff wrote me a letter a day or two ago, tellin’ me you and yer aunt, Miss Peppy, as they calls her, wos a-comin’ here, and would send me a parcel.”

“Never mind, my good fellow, who I am,” said Kenneth sharply; “I’ve delivered the parcel, so now I’ll bid ye good-night.”

“It’s just him!” said one of the burglars in a hoarse whisper, as Kenneth reached the door. The latter could not avoid turning round at this.

“Yes,” he cried sternly; “and I’ll spoil your game for you to-night.”

“Will you?” shouted the gentlemanly house-breaker, as Kenneth sprang into the street, closely followed by the three men.

Kenneth regretted deeply that he had so hastily uttered the threat, for it showed that he knew all, and set the men upon their guard.

He looked over his shoulder, and observed that they had stopped as if to consult, so he pushed on, and, soon reaching one of the principal thoroughfares, walked at a more leisurely pace. As he went along he was deeply perplexed as to what course he ought to pursue, and while meditating on the subject, he stopped almost unintentionally in front of a brilliantly lighted window, in which were hanging a rich assortment of watches, gold chains, and specimens of jewellery.

The gentlemanly house-breaker, who had followed him up, observed this. A sudden thought flashed across his mind, and he at once acted upon it. Stepping quickly up to Kenneth’s side he stumbled violently against him, at the same time smashed a pane of glass in the shop-window with his gloved hand, turned quickly round, seized Kenneth by the collar, and shouted “Thief! help!” at the full pitch of his voice.

The red-haired and bearded accomplices at once responded to the call, came up behind, and also collared him, while a policeman, who chanced to be passing at the moment, seized him in front. The shopman ran out in a frantic state, and at once swore that he was the man, for he had seen him looking through the window a moment before. The whole scene passed in a few seconds, and Kenneth, thoroughly taken by surprise, stood in motionless and speechless amazement.

It is said, and apparently with truth, that thought flashes through the mind more rapidly than lightning darts through the sky. Kenneth had only a few moments to think, for the policeman was applying that gentle force to his collar which was meant as a polite hint to “come along” quietly, else stronger force should be applied; yet, before he had taken the first step towards the police-office, the extreme awkwardness of his position was fully impressed on him.

He perceived that he should certainly be locked up for the night and brought before a magistrate next morning, and that, although his accusers would of course not appear against him, and his friends would be there to testify to his character and get him off, the consequence would be that the burglars would be able to start by the nine o’clock train and accomplish their purpose while he was in jail. It did occur to him that he could warn the authorities, but he feared that they might refuse to believe or act upon the statements of a supposed thief.

The occasion was not a favourable one to correct or clear reasoning however, and as the policeman had applied a second persuasive pull to his collar, he suddenly made up his mind what he would do. Grasping the gentlemanly house-breaker by the waist, he suddenly hurled that unfortunate heels over head into the kennel, tripped up the policeman, knocked the bearded accomplice into the arms of the jeweller, the red-haired one into the broken window, and bolted!

Instantly a wild chase began. The crowd that had assembled on the first sound of the smash ran yelling after him, headed by the gentlemanly house-breaker, whose fall had been partially broken by a little boy. The accomplices were too much damaged to do more than keep up with the tail of the crowd.

At first Kenneth ran without regard to direction, and with the simple view of escaping, but as he neared the head of the main street he determined to make for the house of Colonel Crusty. Being fleet of foot he soon left behind the mass of the crowd that followed in full cry, with the exception of a few young men who were more of a match for him. Ahead of all these ran the gentlemanly house-breaker and the policeman, both of whom were strong and supple.

The roar of the augmenting crowd, however, soon became so great that people in advance of him heard it, and some of these made demonstrations of a wish to try to stop him as he passed, but most of them wisely concluded that it would be nearly as safe to place themselves in the way of a runaway locomotive engine. One man proved an exception. He was a butcher, of great size and strength, who, being accustomed to knock down horned cattle with a hammer, naturally enough thought it not impossible to knock down a man with his fist, so he tried it.

Standing in the doorway of his own shop when Kenneth came tearing along, he waited until he was within four yards of him, and darted out. Kenneth had fortunately observed the man. He stooped, without slackening his pace, to let the blow delivered by his opponent pass over his head, and drove his right shoulder into the butcher’s broad chest. The shock was so great as to completely check his career, while it sent the butcher back into his shop, over his own bench, and prostrated him on the carcase of a slaughtered ox which had been carried in just two minutes before, as if to form a bloody and congenial bed for its owner.

Kenneth instantly started off again and doubled suddenly down a by-street which led to the colonel’s residence. Here he was smitten with a feeling of shame at the idea of appearing before his friends in such a plight, so, changing his mind, he doubled again into another by-street.

This chanced to be an unfortunate turn, for the policeman saw him take it, and, knowing every intricacy of the town, he was enabled to take a cross cut by a lane, accompanied by several of his brother constables, who had joined him by this time, and by such of the crowd as were good runners.

The worst runners now came in for an unexpected share of the sport in consequence of this new turn of affairs, for the by-road conducted Kenneth back to the main street, and when he debouched into it he ran into and overturned a number of those who had just made up their minds that it was useless for them to run any farther.

The tide was now turned. The head of the crowd came rushing back, led by the policeman and the gentlemanly burglar. Kenneth thus found himself between two fires, so, like a wise general, he made a flank movement, crossed the street, and darted down a dark lane. Here the crowd gave in, but the policeman and the burglar continued the pursuit.

The lane led to the suburbs of the town, and the fugitive soon gained the open country, which in that part was a sort of uncultivated moorland.

The excitement of the chase and the suddenness of it had told upon the youth at first so much that he had been somewhat distressed while running; but this feeling now began to wear off. Like a true thoroughbred, he improved in condition the longer he ran, and when at last the perspiration began to pour over his cheeks he felt as if he could have run on for ever!

To some extent this feeling was also experienced by a few of his pursuers, who kept him well in view.

On passing over a rising ground which for some minutes concealed him, Kenneth suddenly resolved to strike aside from the high road and cross the moor. It was sufficiently light, he thought, to enable him to do this with safety. He was wrong, however, for he had not run a hundred yards when he went splashing into a boggy place, and his pursuers, who had again caught sight of him, instantly followed.

The running now became very severe, and tested Kenneth’s powers to the utmost. Of course it also proved as hard on the others, and he had at least the satisfaction of hearing them shout and gasp as they tumbled over stones and into hollows. Still they held on with unflagging vigour, until they were almost exhausted and quite covered with mud.

To Kenneth’s relief he unexpectedly stumbled on the high road again. Here he sat down for a few seconds to recover breath on one of the grey boulder stones with which the whole country was covered, and while wiping the perspiration from his brow his thoughts were busy. Having left his pursuers far behind, he felt sure that he could afford to rest for a few moments.

It occurred to him that even although he should succeed in escaping, there was no chance of his being able to get away by the train from Athenbury, for the burglars and police would certainly be at the station on the look-out for him. He remembered suddenly that there was a station twenty miles from Athenbury at which the ten o’clock train usually stopped. It was two hours yet to the starting of the train, so that he might count on nearly three to get to the station.

“I’ll do it!” he exclaimed, starting up with animation, and looking in the direction of the moor. The pursuers were now pretty close to him. They panted much and ran very heavily. A quiet smile lit up Kenneth’s countenance, for he felt his strength recruited even with the few minutes’ rest he had obtained.

“Now, then, let the memory of Eton days come over me,” he muttered, as he tied his pocket-handkerchief tightly round his waist.

Pulling his hat firmly down over his brows, he prepared to start, just as the policemen and the gentlemanly burglar stumbled on to the road, in a state of complete exhaustion, and covered from head to foot with mud!

Kenneth could not repress a cheer as he waved his hat to them and shouted farewell.

He then turned, and, stooping low, sped over the country like a greyhound.

He had not gone above four miles when he overtook a stout countryman in a smock-frock and slouch-hat plodding heavily along the road.

A new idea flashed into Kenneth’s mind. He resolved to change costumes with this man; but felt that he had no time to waste in talking over the subject or explaining why he wanted to do so. He therefore stopped abruptly when close to him, and said—

“My man, I’ve a fancy for your clothes.”

“You’ll ha’ to foight for ’em then.”

“Very well, begin at once,” said Kenneth, buttoning his coat, and suddenly seizing the countryman by the throat with a grip that made his eyes almost start out of their sockets. “How shall it be, wrestling or fisticuffs? But let me advise you to do it at once without fighting, for I don’t want to hurt you, and I do mean to have your clothes. Besides, I’ll give you mine in exchange. There now, strip!”

There was a fiery vehemence about Kenneth’s manner and look, and a tone of command in his voice that there was no resisting, especially when it was coupled with such physical strength, so the countryman heaved a sigh and took off his smock-frock and hob-nailed boots, while the supposed highwayman took off his coat and shoes.

“That’ll do, you needn’t mind the stockings,” said Kenneth, as he pulled on his new garments. “You’ll find that you gain considerably by the exchange. That’s it; now here’s a sovereign for you, my fine fellow, and many thanks.”

He finished by lifting the slouch-hat off the countryman’s head and placing his own thereon in its stead.

“Now, good-night.”

“Good-noight,” replied the man, from the sheer force of innate politeness, for he stood in such a condition of open-mouthed amazement that it was quite plain he did not very well know what he said or did.

In another minute Kenneth was again coursing along the road at full speed.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

Plotters Counterplotted

Meanwhile the gentlemanly house-breaker, returning to Athenbury, rejoined his rude colleagues, and these three choice spirits, after partaking of some refreshment, and treating the policeman who first came to their aid to a glass of gin, betook themselves to the railway station.

“He won’t come here, you may depend on’t,” observed the policeman to the gentlemanly burglar, when he had taken his ticket, “he’s too wide-awake for that.”

“Perhaps not; but it’s as well to watch.”

“Yes, it’s as well to watch,” assented the policeman.

“Besides, wide-awake fellows over-reach themselves sometimes,” continued the other. “I shouldn’t wonder, now, if he had the impudence to come straight here and denounce me as a thief, just by way o’ stoppin’ me from goin’ by the train, and so having some sort o’ revenge.”

“Ha!” exclaimed the policeman, in a tone and with a slight but peculiar look that made the gentlemanly man feel a little uneasy.

The fugitive did not appear, however. Every face that came on the platform was carefully scrutinised without any result, and at length the bell rang.

“Good-night, friend,” said the burglar, slipping a half-crown into the policeman’s hand as he was about to jump into the carriage. “It was no fault of yours that we didn’t catch him. You did your best.”

“Yes, I did my best.”

“Hallo! are you going by this train?” exclaimed the burglar.

“Yes, I’ve got business in Wreckumoft, so we’ll have the pleasure o’ travellin’ together.”

The gentlemanly man felt that the pleasure would be entirely confined to one side. However, he expressed much joy at the prospect of such good company, as the policeman sat down beside him.

The train gave a pant, then a snort, then an impatient whistle. Then the bell rang a second time, the whistle sounded a single note, and the carriages moved slowly away. A moment more, and they were sweeping out of the station; a moment more and they were rushing over the moor; another moment, and they were dashing through space, setting all terrestrial things at naught, until a station came in view; then the whistle uttered a prolonged shriek, and the train began to slow. Up to this point the policeman and his friends had sat together in comparative silence.

The former put his head out of the window, and remarked that, “there was a feller as would be too late for the train.”

The moonlight enabled him to perceive that the late man was a labourer of some sort.

The train ran into the station and stopped.

“Tickets ready!” shouted the guard.

“That’ll give him a chance,” observed the gentlemanly burglar.

“All right?” inquired the guard.

“All right,” replied the ticket-inspector. The bell rang, the guard whistled, so did the engine; it puffed too, and the train began to move.

“Look sharp now,” cried the station-master eagerly to some one outside the office. “Athenbury? Here you are—four shillings; run!”

The guard knew that it was a late passenger, and, being a good-hearted fellow, held the door of a carriage open, even although the train was on the move.

A man in a smock-frock and slouch-hat rushed across the platform at this moment, and made for the door which the guard held open.

“Jump!” said the guard.

The gentlemanly burglar and the policeman lent their aid to pull the man into the train; the door banged, and they were away.

“You’ve all but missed it,” said the burglar.

The man in the smock-frock pulled his slouch-hat well over his eyes, and admitted that it was a “close shave.” Then he laid his head on the side of the carriage and breathed hard.

“Take a drop o’ gin,” said the burglar in a patronising way, “it’ll bring you to in a minute.”

Kenneth knew by his manner that he did not guess who it was that sat beside him, so he resolved to accept the offer.

“Thank’ee, I loik gin. It waarms the cockles o’ yer ’art, it do,” said Kenneth.

“Goin’ far?” inquired the policeman.

“To Wreckumoft.”

“You seems to have got on yer Sunday trousers?” observed the policeman.

“Wall, there an’t no sin in that,” replied the supposed labourer, somewhat sharply.

“Certainly not,” said the policeman. “It’s a fine night, an’t it?”

“It is a foine night,” responded the labourer, putting his head out of the window.

“Yes, a very fine night,” repeated the policeman, also thrusting his head out at the same window, and holding a sotto voce conversation with Kenneth, the result of which was that he became very merry and confidential, and was particularly polite to the burglars, insomuch that they thought him one of the jolliest policemen they had ever had to do with—and this was not the first they had had to do with by any means!

In course of time the train ran into the station at Wreckumoft, and the occupants poured out on the platform, and took their several ways. The three friends kept together, and observed that the policeman, after bidding them good-bye, went away alone, as if he had urgent business on hand, and was soon lost to view. This was a great relief to them, because they could not feel quite at ease in his presence, and his going off so promptly showed, (so they thought), that he had not the remotest suspicion of their errand.

As for the country fellow in the smock-frock, they took no further notice of him after quitting the carriage. Had they known his business in Wreckumoft that night, they might, perchance, have bestowed upon him very earnest attention. As it was, they went off to the Blue Boar Tavern and ordered three Welsh rabbits and three pots of porter.

Meanwhile Kenneth took the road to Seaside Villa. On the way he had to pass Bingley Hall, and rang the bell. The door was opened by Susan Barepoles.

“Is Maister Gildart to hoam?”

Susan said he was, and Kenneth was delighted to find that his change of voice and costume disguised him so completely that Susan did not recognise him.

“I wants to see him.”

Susan bade him wait in the lobby. In a few minutes Gildart came down, and the country fellow asked to have a word with him in private!

The result of this word was that the two sallied forth immediately after, and went towards Seaside Villa.

Here, strange to say, they found the policeman standing at the outer gate. Kenneth accosted him as if he had expected to meet him.

“They ain’t abed yet,” observed the policeman.

“No; I see that my groom is up, and there is a light in my father’s study. I’ll tap at the groom’s window.”

“Come in av yer feet’s clean,” was Dan’s response to the tap, as he opened the shutters and flattened his nose against a pane of glass in order to observe the intruder.

“Dan, open the back door and let me in!”

“Hallo! Mister Kenneth!”

Dan vanished at once, and opened the door.

“Hush, Dan; is my father at home?”

“He is, sur.”

“Come in, Gildart. Take care of that constable, Dan; give him his supper. There’s work both for him and you to-night. He will explain it to you.”

Saying this Kenneth took Gildart to the drawing-room, and left him there while he went to his father’s study.

At first Mr Stuart was alarmed by the abrupt entrance of the big labourer; then he was nettled and disgusted at what he deemed a silly practical joke of his son. Ultimately he was astonished and somewhat incredulous in regard to the prospects of housebreaking which his son held out to him. He was so far convinced, however, as to allow Kenneth to make what preparations he pleased, and then retired to rest, coolly observing that if the burglars did come it was evident they would be well taken care of without his aid, and that if they did not come there was no occasion for his losing a night’s rest.

Between two and three o’clock that morning three men climbed over the garden wall of Seaside Villa, and, having deposited their shoes in a convenient spot, went on tiptoe to the dining-room window. Here they paused to consult in low whispers.

While they were thus engaged, three other men watched their movements with earnest solicitude from a neighbouring bush behind which they lay concealed.

After a few moments one of the first three went to the window and began to cut out part of a pane of glass with a glazier’s diamond. At the same time, one of the second three—a tall stout man in a smock-frock—advanced on tiptoe to watch the operation.

When the piece of glass was cut out the first three put their heads together for farther consultation. Immediately their respective throats were seized and compressed by three strong pair of hands, and the heads were knocked violently together!

Gildart addressed himself to the red-haired man; the policeman devoted himself to the one with the beard; and Kenneth paid particular attention to the gentlemanly burglar, whose expression of countenance on beholding into whose hands he had fallen, may be conceived, but cannot be described.

Dan Horsey, who had also been on the watch, suddenly appeared with three pair of handcuffs, and applied them with a degree of prompt facility that surprised himself and quite charmed the policeman.

Thereafter the three astounded burglars were led in triumph into Mr Stuart’s study, where that sceptical individual received them in his dressing-gown and slippers, and had his unbelieving mind convinced. Then they were conveyed to the lockup, where we shall now leave them in peace—satisfied that they are safely in the hands of justice.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

Dreadful Suspicions aroused in Anxious Bosoms

When Miss Peppy came down to breakfast next morning she found that she was the first of the household to make her appearance. This, however, was the natural consequence of her commendable desire to be always in good time—a desire which resulted in her being at least a quarter of an hour too soon for everything, except on those occasions, of course, when she over-slept, or was detained by unavoidable circumstances.

On the present occasion Miss Peppy, having had a remarkably good night’s rest, felt placid, and looked serene. She passed the spare quarter of an hour in perambulating the room, looking at the books and pictures, smoothing her cuffs, arranging her cap, and paying marked attention to a beautiful little dog which was Bella’s own particular pet, and the colonel’s particular abhorrence, because of its tendency to bark suddenly, sharply, and continuously at every visitor who entered the house.

Rosebud, (for thus was it misnamed), seemed to be, however, in no mood to receive attentions that morning. It was evidently ill at ease, without apparently knowing why.