“But, sir,” said Mrs Tipps, in some perplexity, “if you are to depend on description, I fear that you will never attain your end, for every one knows that descriptions given of the same person by different people never quite agree.”
“That is true, madam; and the description given to me this evening of your late husband is a case in point; for, although it agrees in many things—in most things—there is some discrepancy. Did your husband never give you the slightest hint about a set of diamonds that he had once lost?”
“Never; but I can account for that by the fact, that he never alluded to anything that had at any time given him pain or displeasure, if he could avoid it.”
“There is but the one clue, then, that I spoke of, namely, the ring that belonged to the set of diamonds. Did your husband ever possess—”
“The ring!” exclaimed Mrs Tipps and Netta in the same breath. “Yes, he had a diamond ring—”
They stopped abruptly, and looked at each other in distress, for they remembered that the ring had been lost.
“Pray, what sort of ring is it? Describe it to me,” said Dr Noble.
Netta carefully described it and, as she did so, the visitor’s countenance brightened.
“That’s it; that’s it exactly; that must be it for I remember it well, and it corresponds in all respects with—my dear ladies, let me see the ring without delay.”
“Alas! sir,” said Mrs Tipps, sadly, “the ring is lost!”
A look of blank dismay clouded poor Dr Noble’s visage as he heard these words, but he quickly questioned the ladies as to the loss, and became more hopeful on bearing the details.
“Come,” he said at last, as he rose to take leave, “things don’t look quite so bad as they did at first. From all I have heard I am convinced that my friend’s widow and daughter are before me—a sight of the ring would put the question beyond all doubt. We must therefore set to work at once and bend all our energies to the one great point of recovering the lost ring.”
Chapter Nineteen.
A Run-away Locomotive
Being, as we have had occasion to remark before, a communicative and confiding little woman, Netta Tipps told the secret of the ring in strict confidence to her old nurse. Mrs Durby, in a weak moment as on a former occasion, related the history of it to Gertie, who of course told Loo. She naturally mentioned it to her lover, Will Garvie, and he conveyed the information to John Marrot. Thus far, but no further, the thing went, for John felt that there might be danger in spreading the matter, and laid a strict injunction on all who knew of it to keep silence for a time.
While at the station the day following, just after having brought in the “Flying Dutchman,” he was accosted by the superintendent of police, who chanced to be lounging there with, apparently, nothing to do. Never was there a man who was more frequently called on to belie his true character. It was a part of Mr Sharp’s duty to look lazy at times, and even stupid, so as to throw suspicious men off their guard.
“A fine day, John,” he said, lounging up to the engine where John was leaning on the rail, contemplating the departure of the passengers whose lives had been in his hands for the last hour and a half, while Will Garvie was oiling some of the joints of the iron horse.
John admitted that it was a fine day, and asked what was the noos.
“Nothing particular doing just now,” said Mr Sharp. “You’ve heard, I suppose, of the mad fellow who caused such a confusion among Miss Tipps’s Sunday-school children last night?”
“Oh yes, I heard o’ that.”
“And did you hear that he turns out to be the man who jumped out of your train on the day of the attempted robbery?”
“Yes, I’ve heard o’ that too. They haven’t got him yet, I believe?”
“No, not yet; but I think we shall have him soon,” said Mr Sharp with a knowing glance; “I’ve heard rumours that lead me to think it would not be very surprising if we were to see him hanging about this station to-day or to-morrow. I’ve got a sort of decoy-duck to attract him,” continued Mr Sharp, chuckling, “in the shape of a retired East India doctor, who agrees to hang about on the condition that we keep a sharp eye on him and guard him well from any sudden attack.”
“You don’t mean that?” said the engine-driver in an earnest undertone.
Instead of replying, the superintendent suddenly left him and sauntered leisurely along the platform, with his eyes cast down and softly humming a popular air.
The act was so brusque and unlike Mr Sharp’s naturally polite character that John knew at once, as he said, that “something was up,” and looked earnestly along the platform, where he saw Thomson himself walking smartly about as if in search of some one. He carried a heavy-headed stick in his hand and looked excited; but not much more so than an anxious or late passenger might be.
Mr Sharp went straight towards the madman—still sauntering with his head down, however; and John Marrot could see that another man, whom he knew to be a detective, was walking round by the side of the platform, with the evident intention of taking him in rear. The moment Thomson set eyes on the superintendent he recognised him, and apparently divined his object in approaching, for he started, clenched his teeth, and grasped his stick. Mr Sharp instantly abandoned all attempt at concealment and ran straight at him. Thomson, probably deeming discretion the better part of valour, turned and fled. He almost ran into the arms of the detective, who now made sure of him, but he doubled like a hare and sprang off the platform on to the rails. Here one or two of the men who were engaged in washing or otherwise looking after empty carriages, seeing what was going on, at once sought to intercept the madman, but he evaded two or three, knocked down another, and, finding himself alongside of a detached engine which stood there with steam up ready to be coupled to its train, he leaped upon it, felled the driver who was outside the rail, oiling some of the machinery, seized the handle of the regulator and turned on full steam.
The driving-wheels revolved at first with such tremendous rapidity that they failed to “bite” and merely slipped on the rails. Thomson was engineer enough to understand why, and at once cut off part of the steam. Next moment he shot out of the station, and, again letting on full steam, rushed along the line like an arrow!
It chanced that the passenger-superintendent was on the platform at the time. That gentleman had everything connected with the traffic by heart. He saw that the points had been so set as to turn the run-away engine on to the down line, and in his mind’s eye saw a monster excursion train, which had started just a few minutes before, labouring slowly forward, which the light engine would soon overtake. A collision in a few minutes would be certain. In peculiar circumstances men are bound to break through all rules and regulations, and act in a peculiar way. Without a moment’s hesitation he ran to John Marrot and said in an earnest hurried voice—
“Give chase, John! cross over to the up-line, but don’t go too far.”
“All right, sir,” said John, laying his hand on the regulator.
Even while the superintendent was speaking Will Garvie’s swift mind had appreciated the idea. He had leaped down and uncoupled the Lightning from its train. John touched the whistle, let on steam and off they went crossed to the up-line (which was the wrong line of rails for any engine to run in that direction), and away he went at forty, fifty, seventy miles an hour! John knew well that he was flying towards a passenger-train, which was running towards him at probably thirty-five or forty miles an hour. He was aware of its whereabouts at that time, for he consulted his watch and had the time-table by heart. A collision with it would involve the accumulated momentum of more than a hundred miles an hour! The time was short, but it was sufficient; he therefore urged Will to coal the furnace until it glowed with fervent heat and opened the steam valve to the uttermost. Never since John Marrot had driven it had the Lightning so nearly resembled its namesake. The pace was increased to seventy-five and eighty miles an hour. It was awful. Objects flew past with flashing speed. The clatter of the engine was deafening. A stern chase is proverbially a long one; but in this case, at such a speed, it was short. In less than fifteen minutes John came in view of the fugitive—also going at full speed, but, not being so powerful an engine and not being properly managed as to the fire, it did not go so fast; its pace might have been forty or forty-five miles an hour.
“Will,” shouted John in the ear of his stalwart fireman, “you’ll have to be sharp about it. It won’t do, lad, to jump into the arms of a madman with a fire-shovel in his hand. W’en I takes a shot at ’im with a lump of coal, then’s yer chance—go in an’ win, lad—and, whatever—ye do, keep cool.”
Will did not open his compressed lips, but nodded his head in reply.
“You’ll have to do it all alone, Bill; I can’t leave the engine,” shouted John.
He looked anxiously into his mate’s face, and felt relieved to observe a little smile curl slightly the corners of his mouth.
Another moment and the Lightning was up with the tender of the run-away, and John cut off steam for a brief space to equalise the speed. Thomson at that instant observed for the first time that he was pursued. He looked back with a horrible glare, and then, uttering a fierce cheer or yell, tugged at the steam handle to increase the speed, but it was open to the utmost. He attempted to heap coals on the fire, but being inexpert, failed to increase the heat. Another second and they were abreast John Marrot opened the whistle and let it blow continuously, for he was by that time drawing fearfully near to the train that he knew was approaching.
Seeing that escape was impossible, Thomson would have thrown the engine off the rails if that had been possible, but, as it was not, he brandished the fire-shovel and stood at the opening between the engine and tender, with an expression of fiendish rage on his countenance that words cannot describe.
“Now, Bill, look out!” said John.
Will stood like a tiger ready to spring. John beside him, with a huge mass of coal in one hand concealed behind his back. There was a space of little more than two feet between the engines. To leap that in the face of a madman seemed impossible.
Suddenly John Marrot hurled the mass of coal with all his might. His aim was to hit Thomson on the head, but it struck low, hitting him on the chest, and driving him down on the foot-plate. At the same instant Will Garvie bounded across and shut off the steam in an instant. He turned then to the brake-wheel, but, before he could apply it, Thomson had risen and grappled with him. Still, as the two strong men swayed to and fro in a deadly conflict, Will’s hand, that chanced at the moment to be nearest the brake-wheel, was seen ever and anon to give it a slight turn.
Thus much John Marrot observed when he saw a puff of white steam on the horizon far ahead of him. To reverse the engine and turn full steam on was the work of two seconds. Fire flew in showers from the wheels, and the engine trembled with the violent friction, nevertheless it still ran on for a considerable way, and the approaching train was within a comparatively short distance of him before he had got the Lightning to run backwards. It was not until he had got up speed to nigh forty miles an hour that he felt safe, looked back with a grim smile and breathed freely. Of course the driver of the passenger-train, seeing an engine on the wrong line ahead, had also reversed at full speed and thus prevented a collision, which would inevitably have been very disastrous.
John now ran back to the crossing, and, getting once more on the down line, again reversed his engine and ran cautiously back in the direction of the run-away locomotive. He soon came in sight of it, reversed again, and went at such a pace as allowed it to overtake him gradually. He saw that the steam was still cut off, and that it had advanced that length in consequence of being on an incline, but was somewhat alarmed to receive no signal from his mate. The moment the buffers of the Lightning touched those of the other engine’s tender he applied the brakes and brought both engines to a stand. Then, leaping off, he ran to see how it had fared with Will Garvie.
The scene that met his eyes was a very ghastly one. On the floor-plate lay the two men, insensible and covered with blood and coal-dust. Each grasped the other by the throat but Will had gained an advantage from having no neckcloth on, while his own strong hand was twisted into that of his adversary so firmly, that the madman’s eyes were almost starting out of their sockets. John Marrot at once cut the ’kerchief with his clasp-knife, and then, feeling that there was urgent need for haste, left them lying there, ran back to his own engine, coupled it to the other, turned on full steam, and, in a short space of time, ran into Clatterby station.
Here the men were at once removed to the waiting-room, and a doctor—who chanced to be Dr Noble—was called in. It was found that although much bruised and cut as well as exhausted by their conflict, neither Will nor Thomson were seriously injured. After a few restoratives had been applied, the former was conveyed home in a cab, while the latter, under the charge of Mr Sharp and one of his men, was carried off and safely lodged in an asylum.
Chapter Twenty.
A Nest “Harried.”
Having thus seen one criminal disposed of, Mr Sharp returned to his office to take measures for the arrest of a few more of the same class.
Since we last met with our superintendent, he had not led an idle life by any means. A brief reference to some of his recent doings will be an appropriate introduction to the little entertainment which he had provided for himself and his men on that particular evening.
One day he had been informed that wine and spirits had been disappearing unaccountably at a particular station. He visited the place with one of his men, spent the night under a tarpaulin in a goods-shed, and found that one of the plate-layers was in the habit of drawing off spirits with a syphon. The guilty man was handed over to justice, and honest men, who had felt uneasy lest they should be suspected, were relieved.
On another occasion he was sent to investigate a claim made by a man who was in the accident at Langrye Station. This man, who was an auctioneer, had not been hurt at all—only a little skin taken off his nose,—but our fop with the check trousers advised him to make a job of it, and said that he himself and his friend had intended to make a claim, only they had another and more important game in hand, which rendered it advisable for them to keep quiet. This was just before the attack made on Mr Lee in the train between Clatterby and London. The auctioneer had not thought of such a way of raising money, but jumped readily at the idea; went to Glasgow and Dundee, where he consulted doctors—showed them his broken nose, coughed harshly in their ears, complained of nervous affections, pains in the back, loins, and head, and, pricking his gums slightly, spit blood for their edification; spoke of internal injuries, and shook his head lugubriously. Doctors, unlike lawyers, are not constantly on the watch for impostors. The man’s peeled and swelled nose was an obvious fact; his other ailments might, or might not, be serious, so they prescribed, condoled with him, charged him nothing, and dismissed him with a hope of speedy cure. Thereafter the auctioneer went down the Clyde to recruit his injured health, and did a little in the way of business, just to keep up his spirits, poor fellow! After that he visited Aberdeen for similar purposes, and then sent in a claim of 150 pounds damages against the Grand National Trunk Railway.
Mr Sharp’s first proceeding was to visit the doctors to whom the auctioneer had applied, then he visited the various watering-places whither the man had gone to recruit and ascertained every particular regarding his proceedings. Finally, he went to the north of Scotland to see the interesting invalid himself. He saw and heard him, first, in an auction-room, where he went through a hard day’s work even for a healthy man; then he visited him in his hotel and found him, the picture of ruddy health, drinking whisky punch. On stating that he was an agent of the railway company, and had called to have some conversation regarding his claim, some of the auctioneer’s ruddy colour fled, but being a bold man, he assumed a candid air and willingly answered all questions; admitted that he was better, but said that he had lost much time; had for a long period been unable to attend to his professional duties, and still suffered much from internal injuries. Mr Sharp expressed sympathy with him; said that the case, as he put it, was indeed a hard one, and begged of him to put his statement of it down on paper. The auctioneer complied, and thought Mr Sharp a rather benignant railway official. When he had signed his name to the paper, his visitor took it up and said, “Now, Mr Blank, this is all lies from beginning to end. I have traced your history step by step, down to the present time, visited all the places you have been to, conversed with the waiters of the hotels where you put up, have heard you to-day go through as good a day’s work as any strong man could desire to do, and have seen you finish up with a stiff glass of whisky toddy, which I am very sorry to have interrupted. Now, sir, this is very like an effort to obtain money under false pretences, and, if you don’t know what that leads to, you are in a very fair way to find out. The Company which I have the honour to represent, however, is generous. We know that you were in the Langrye accident, for I saw you there, and in consideration of the injury to your nerves and the damage to your proboscis, we are willing to give you a five-pound note as a sort of sticking-plaster at once to your nose and your feelings. If you accept that, good; if not you shall take the consequences of this!” The superintendent here held up the written statement playfully, and placed it in his pocket-book. The auctioneer was a wise, if not an honest, man. He thankfully accepted the five pounds, and invited Mr Sharp to join him in a tumbler, which, however, the superintendent politely declined.
But this was a small matter compared with another case which Mr Sharp had just been engaged investigating. It was as follows:—
One afternoon a slight accident occurred on the line by which several passengers received trifling injuries. At the time only two people made claim for compensation, one for a few shillings, the other for a few pounds. These cases were at once investigated and settled, and it was thought that there the matter ended. Six months afterwards, however, the company received a letter from the solicitors of a gentleman whose hat it was said, had been driven down on the bridge of his nose, and had abraded the skin; the slight wound had turned into an ulcer, which ultimately assumed the form of permanent cancer. In consequence of this the gentleman had consulted one doctor in Paris and another in Rome, and had been obliged to undergo an operation—for all of which he claimed compensation to the extent of 5000 pounds. The company being quite unable to tell whether this gentleman was in the accident referred to or not, an investigation was set on foot, in which Mr Sharp bore his part. At great expense official persons were sent to Paris and to Rome to see the doctors said to have been consulted, and in the end—nearly two years after the accident—the Company was found liable for the 5000 pounds!
While we are on this subject of compensation, it may not be uninteresting to relate a few curious cases, which will give some idea of the manner in which railway companies are squeezed for damages—sometimes unjustly, and too often fraudulently. On one occasion, a man who said he had been in an accident on one of our large railways, claimed 1000 pounds. In this case the company was fortunately able to prove a conspiracy to defraud, and thus escaped; but in many instances the companies are defeated in fraudulent claims, and there is no redress. The feelings of the juries who try the cases are worked on; patients are brought into Court exhibiting every symptom of hopeless malady, but these same patients not unfrequently possess quite miraculous powers of swift recovery, from what had been styled “incurable damage.” One man received 6000 pounds on the supposition that he had been permanently disabled, and within a short period he was attending to his business as well as ever. A youth with a salary of 60 pounds a year claimed and got 1200 pounds on the ground of incurable injury—in other words he was pensioned for life to the extent of 60 pounds a year—and, a year afterwards, it was ascertained that he was “dancing at balls,” and had joined his father in business as if there was nothing the matter with him.
A barmaid who, it was said, received “injuries to the spine of a permanent character,” was paid a sum of 1000 pounds as—we were about to write—compensation, but consolation would be the more appropriate term, seeing that she had little or nothing to be compensated for, as she was found capable of “dancing at the Licensed Victuallers’ Ball” soon after the accident and eventually she married! To oblige railways to compensate for loss of time, or property, or health, to a limited extent, seems reasonable, but to compel them to pension off people who have suffered little or nothing, with snug little annuities of 50 pounds or 60 pounds, does really seem to be a little too hard; at least so it appears to be in the eyes of one who happens to have no interest whatever in railways, save that general interest in their immense value to the land, and their inestimable comforts in the matter of locomotion.
The whole subject of compensation stands at present on a false footing. For the comfort of those who wish well to railways, and love justice, we may add in conclusion, that proposals as to modifications have already been mooted and brought before Government, so that in all probability, ere long, impostors will receive a snubbing, and shareholders will receive increased dividends!
But let us return to Mr Sharp. Having, as we have said, gone to his office, he found his faithful servant Blunt there.
“Why, Blunt,” he said, sitting down at the table and tearing open a few letters that awaited him, “what a good-looking porter you make!”
“So my wife says, sir,” replied Blunt with a perfectly grave face, but with a twinkle in his eye.
“She must be a discriminating woman, Blunt. Well, what news have you to-night? You seemed to think you had found out the thieves at Gorton Station the last time we met.”
“So I have, sir, and there are more implicated than we had expected. The place is a perfect nest of them.”
“Not an uncommon state of things,” observed Mr Sharp, “for it is well-known that one black sheep spoils a flock. We must weed them all out, Blunt, and get our garden into as tidy a condition as possible; it is beginning to do us credit already, but that Gorton Station has remained too long in a bad state; we must harrow it up a little. Well, let’s hear what you have found out. They never suspected you, I suppose?”
“Never had the least suspicion,” replied Blunt with a slight approach to a smile. “I’ve lived with ’em, now, for a considerable time, and the general opinion of ’em about me is that I’m a decent enough fellow, but too slow and stupid to be trusted, so they have not, up to this time, thought me worthy of being made a confidant. However, that didn’t matter much, ’cause I managed to get round one o’ their wives at last, and she let out the whole affair—in strict confidence, of course, and as a dead secret!
“In fact I have just come from a long and interesting conversation with her. She told me that all the men at the station, with one or two exceptions, were engaged in it, and showed me two of the missing bales of cloth—the cloth, you remember, sir, of which there was such a large quantity stolen four weeks ago, and for which the company has had to pay. I find that the chief signalman, Davis, is as bad as the rest. It was his wife that gave me the information in a moment of over-confidence.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Sharp, in some surprise; “and what of Sam Natly and Garvie?”
“They’re both of ’em innocent, sir,” said Blunt. “I did suspect ’em at one time, but I have seen and heard enough to convince me that they have no hand in the business. Natly has been goin’ about the station a good deal of late, because the wife of one of the men is a friend of his wife, and used to go up to nurse her sometimes when she was ill. As to Garvie, of course he knows as well as everybody else that some of the men there must be thieves, else goods would not disappear from that station as they do, but his frequent visits there are for the purpose of reclaiming Davis, who, it seems, is an old playmate of his.”
“Reclaiming Davis!” exclaimed Sharp.
“Yes, an’ it’s my opinion that it’ll take a cleverer fellow than him to reclaim Davis, for he’s one of the worst of the lot; but Garvie is real earnest. I chanced to get behind a hedge one day when they were together, and overheard ’em talkin’ about these robberies and other matters, and you would have thought, sir, that the fireman was a regular divine. He could quote Scripture quite in a stunnin’ way, sir; an’ did seem badly cut up when his friend told him that it was of no use talkin’, for it was too late for him to mend.”
“Has Garvie, then, been aware all this time that Davis is one of the thieves, and kept it secret?” asked Sharp.
“No, sir,” replied Blunt. “Davis denied that he had any hand in the robberies when Garvie asked him. It was about drink that he was pleadin’ with him so hard. You know we have suspected him of that too, of late; but from what I heard he must be a regular toper. Garvie was tryin’ to persuade him to become a total abstainer. Says he to him, ‘You know, Davis, that whatever may be true as to the general question of abstaining from strong drink, your only chance of bein’ delivered lies in total abstinence, because the thing has become a disease. I know and believe that Christianity would save you from the power of drink, but, depend upon it, that it would do so in the way of inducin’ you of your own free will to “touch not, taste not, handle not, that which” you “will perish by the using.”’ Seems to me as if there was something in that, sir?” said Blunt, inquiringly.
Sharp nodded assent.
“Then Garvie does not suspect him of being connected with the robberies?” he asked.
“No,” replied Blunt; “but he’s a deep file is Davis, and could throw a sharper man than Garvie off the scent.”
After a little further conversation on the subject Mr Sharp dismissed the pretended porter to his station, and called upon the superintendent of the police force of Clatterby, from whom he received an addition to his force of men.
That night he led his men to Gorton station, and when he thought a suitable hour had arrived, he caused them to surround the block of buildings in which the men of the station resided. Then, placing Blunt and two or three men in front of Davis’s house, he went up to the door alone and knocked.
Mrs Davis opened it. She gave the least possible start on observing by the light of her lobby lamp who her visitor was—for she knew him well. Mr Sharp took note of the start!
“Good-evening, Mrs Davis,” he said.
“Good-evening, sir; this is an unexpected pleasure, Mr Sharp.”
“Most of my visits are unexpected, Mrs Davis, but it is only my friends who count them a pleasure. Is your husband within?”
“He is, sir; pray, walk this way; I’m sure he will be delighted to see you. Can you stay to supper with us? we are just going to have it.”
“No, thank you, Mrs Davis, I’m out on duty to-night,” said Sharp, entering the parlour, where Davis was engaged in reading the newspaper. “Good-evening, Mr Davis.”
Davis rose with a start. Mr Sharp took note of that also.
“Good-evening, Mr Sharp,” he said; “sit down, sir; sit down.”
“Thank you, I can’t sit down. I’m on duty just now. The fact is, Mr Davis, that I am come to make a search among your men, for we have obtained reliable information as to who are the thieves at this station. As, no doubt, some of the men are honest, and might feel hurt at having their houses searched, I have thought that the best way to prevent any unpleasant feeling is to begin at the top of the free and go downwards. They can’t say that I have made fish of one and flesh of another, if I begin, as a mere matter of form, Mr Davis, with yourself.”
“Oh, certainly—certainly, Mr Sharp, by all means,” replied Davis.
He spoke with an air of candour, but it was quite evident that he was ill at ease.
Calling in one of his men, Mr Sharp began a rigorous search of the house forthwith. Mr Davis suggested that he would go out and see that the men were in their residences; but Mr Sharp said that there was no occasion for that, and that he would be obliged by his remaining and assisting in the search of his own house.
Every hole and corner of the ground-floor was examined without any discovery being made. Mrs Davis, observing that her visitors were particular in collecting every shred of cloth that came in their way, suddenly asked if it was cloth they were in search of. Mr Sharp thought the question and the tone in which it was put told of a guilty conscience, but he replied that he was in search of many things—cloth included.
Immediately after, and while they were busy with a dark closet, Mrs Davis slipped quietly out of the room. Mr Sharp was stooping at the time with his back towards her, but the two back buttons of his coat must have been eyes, for he observed the movement and at once followed her, having previously ordered Mr Davis to move a heavy chest of drawers, in order to keep him employed. Taking off his shoes he went up-stairs rapidly, and seeing an open door, peeped in.