LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 854, 20 March 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ELLEN CAVANAGH. CHAPTER I—MY STORY. ( Continued) My uncle, of course, did not know what every lawyer did— i e, that for the woman, who claimed to be Michael Carter’s wife, it was possible to plead the compulsion of the husband as an excuse for her share in the charge against the two men and herself. The plea was made and was urged in the proper place as the trial dragged its slow length along. The end was reached, and the question went to the jury, ‘ Guilty, or not guilty?’ The minutes which passed while the twelve jurymen, who never left the court, put their heads together to obtain a general opinion were minutes of horrible suspense even to me, who had sat out such formalities dozens of times before, and cared little or nothing. I dared not look at my uncle ; I dared not look at the prisoners. The woman I knew was staring with a fixed stony gaze at her husband Carter ; and he, apparen ly indifferent, hut not really so, stored about the court, and up to the gallery at the people. The audience in the Court held their breath, the clock ticked, and my heart beat audibly to me. At the end of five minutes the rustle of expectation announced that the deliberations of the jurymen were at an end, and then the question went up from the clerk of the court, to be answered by the foreman of the jury. To the first question the answer was ‘Yes;’ the jury were all agreed. The second question referred to the man Newman, Michael Carter’s confederate, and the answer came back * Guilty. ’ The third question was as to Michael Carter, ‘ Guilty, or not guilty?’ and the answer was clear—‘Guilty.’ The seconds were like hours; would it never be over? Would my heart never stop its heavy beating ? Then the fourth question went up : Do you find the prisoner Ellen Carter guilty, or not guilty ? ’ And the foreman answered, ‘ Not guilty, my lord.’ A strong hand, but trembling violently, grasped my arm and held me close, and I heard a whispered ‘ Thank God ! ’ from my uncle.

There was a painful scene of the parting of husband and wife in the dock : she being released into the open court; and he, with his fellow-convict--sentence of ten years’ penal servitude having been passed upon each—being led below to the prison cells. And the case was at an end.

Bidding me not to leave till he returned, my uncle disappeared after the woman, who made her way out by the public door, and both were soon lost to sight. That some great mystery existed about tbe woman was evident, but in what way could my uncle be connected With it ? I did not hope for an explanation —which, indeed, I feared to ask for—from him. My brain got dazed with the thought of the mystery, and yet I knew guessing was useless. The inspector who had captured the prisoners passed me as I stood watching the door for my uncle. A sudden thought struck me, and so I spoke to him. I complimented him on the way in which he had acted in the matter, and then asked him to call at my chambers the following day. He promised, and so left me. That was all I could do then. What could he tell me? After the lapse of about half an hour my uncle’s return somewhat relieved my mind, but he said nothing. We called a passing cab, and we were driven towards his hotel. He said nothing during the first half of the ride, and I waited for him to speak. I had just made up my mind to go to his hotel with him, and remain in his company until I heard something from him, when he said, ‘ I’ll drop you at your chambers, and dine alone this evening. You’ll excuse me, I know Fred ; the old man is not well.’ So there was the end of my plan. What could I do ? What say ? Truth to tell, I felt when left to myself as if I had been injured by my uncle. I was dissatisfied with him. He was ill, and had a secret which he would not confide to me. It was most unreasonable —nearly madness—l thought, but I did not know. _ , t The morning brought different opinions, and all my sympathy for the poor old man came back, and anxiously I waited for his appearance or some letter from him. But none came, and again I was in a fever. So I went to my business, and left word that I should be in all day if anybody wanted to see me there.

About two o’clock, not having heard of my uncle, 1 was just going out, with an intention of calling at the hotel, when the inspector entered my office, 1 really forgotten all about him, and on hearing his name at once my motive for asking him recurred to me. We sat down, and over some wine I produced we talked about the case of the day before. I judged enough of the inspector to know that he would tell me no secrets, and so, as I did not know how much or how little of the matter he was acquainted with, I pretended to know the whole of the facts. Was he in my uncle’s confidence ? That was the question I put to myself, and that was what X was anxious to discover.

Chapter 11. TUB INSPECTOR’S STORY.

Yes, sir, a [you say, your uncle is a strange gentleman, but he’s a thorough good one. I wouldn’t wish to have a better or more trusty man at my side when I entered into a capturing business than the old gentleman your uncle. He’s as ‘ strong as a as, ‘brave s a lion,’ and as ‘ true as steel,’ I wish all the police were like him. Thieves would have to be sharp to, get over them then, and London would h® ever so much better olf. Do I think that right’s work has done him, any harm? Well, I don’t know bu.t that perhaps I do. Not that I’d say fo l ' certain ; for beyond seeing him in court the next day and yesterday I haven’t met him, but he certainly looks changed. But then it isn’t as if he was a young man. In court of course nothing more than necessary evidence was given, but some of the particular bits would have made the public open their eyes a little if they’d come out. You remember that day as you asked me in the Old Bailey what I was going to do, and I told you 1 wanted to get some information from a man in custody about some of his companions who were coiners 1 Well, that was the first moment I ever saw your uncle, air. But five minutes afterwards I knew him as well as if I had known him from a boy. You kao\y he iOi-

lowed me out of court, and the first word* ho said to me were,

! ‘Mr B ,if you are going to take : the coiners to-morrow night I should like to go with you ’ It don’t do for a policeman ever to be took by surprise, but I must confess that I was at that moment ‘took aback,’ as the saying is. He gave me his card, or I might have suspected his intentions, and he gave me something else besides, as perhaps you know I thought at first that he might be one of the ‘ special commissioners ’ of a daily paper wanting to be in a fight, so as to make an article out of it, I know they do that sort of thing, when Parliament is out and murders slack. But no ; I saw that he wanted only to be in it out of a curious motive, and he was strong, so I said I didn’t mind. But I told him he’d have to take his chance of a broken head: Odd, wasn’t it ? He said ho didn’t mind that, and seemed quite pleased. I got my information soon afterwards, and then I told him to meet me at seven o’clock the next night. It was my intention then to have taken him to some ‘ slop ’ shop and put him in costume, because a ‘swell,’ begging your pardon, would have spoilt our plan. But, bless you, your uncle came down the next night done up perfect. Even my professional eye couldn’t find anything wrong in him. He didn’t look a gentleman to a' tract attention where he was going, and he didn’t look a policeman. That’s the great mistake some of our best men make. They fancy they’re got up well because they don’t look respectable or gentlemanly, and yet so sharp is the London thief he’ll tell him for a ‘ bobby ’ at once. Your uncle, sir, had an artist’s eye for the thing, and seemed to know what was wanted. I gave him a life-preserver, which he hadn’t got, and then we went on. I knew that one of the men I wanted would be in a low public-house up in Soho that night, and I hoped to follow him from there to his lodgings, where I expected the coining was carried on, (We call it ‘ smashing,’you know, sir, but I won’t trouble you with our slang terms.) When we arrived in Soho I found the public-house being watched, as I had directed, by another of my men. I learnt that the man I suspected was inside drinking. 1 posted your uncle at a corner and gave him a sign, so that the policeman on the beat shouldn’t interfere with him. If the man I wanted turned, on leaving the public-house, that way, your uncle was to follow him and keep him in sight till we got up. But he turned my way when he did come out, and me and the other officer went after him. Your uncle joined us after a bit, not showing a bit of hurry over it, but as cool as the best man I ever worked with We went out into the broad thoroughfares then, and were safer with our man while we kept our eyes open, because among so many he wouldn’t be so likely to pick out us three in particular. At last he entered a public, and I sent my man and your uncle in after him to watch. I daredu’t go myself, for if he’d seen me it would have been all up at once. I’m too well known among ’em, sir, but I know every one of the crew that make bad money. I’ve made my mark upon all of ’em sometime or other, and some of ’em have made their mark on me. It must have been as good as a play in that public. Your uncle, sir, acted splendidly, and was as sharp as a needle. I saw through the door that the man we had been watching had ordered some beer, and I guessed that the money he would offer in payment would be bad. I knew, then, that a crisis was at hand. I saw my man edge closer to him, and your uncle on the watch. The money was placed on the counter, and the next second was picked up and the man seized. A second more, a sharp scuffle, and your uncle found himself lying on the ground. The man came dashing out at the door and almost knocked me down. 1 made a fruitless attempt to seize him, but he was as slippery as an eel. He had a good start when I began the chase, and your uncle was soon by my side. Breath was too precious for us to waste in cries of alarm, which would have been of no use. We knew we should want it, and felt we had to struggle for a chance. On we went, and, we certainly gained on the man, when he suddenly darted up a dirty side street. I knew it well as a bad ‘ den,’ and I gave up all hope |,of the man. When we turned the corner he was not in sight. Where had he gone? you ask. Why, into a house of course, but which one of the dark, dirty, tumble-down places that made up the street was the question. Your uncle, sir, seized on a boy who was standing staring open mouthed in the middle of the road. He had found means of solving the difficulty, and, showing the ragged urchin a shilling, quick as lightning said, ‘ Where did the man go, boy ? Quick ! ’ He shook the answer out of the boy, who replied, ‘The Boss? Inter number 9.’ Your uncle dropped the shilling at the

boy’s feet, and, quicker than I can tell it j you, sir, we were off again. The noise of 1 barring a door quickened our footsteps, if ' possible, and when we arrived at No 9, there . seemed little chance of getting in. Your J uncle, however, at once put his shoulder to | the door, and together we crashed it in. Up | the dark stairs we rushed, your uncle first, i A room on the first floor seemed empty, and your uncle sprang up the next flight. I stopped a mement to make a hasty examination of the room, but suddenly I heard a fall and something like a splash. That’s it!’ I cried out, and then I darted up the stairs. I heard a scuffle going on, but in my haste to get up I knocked my head against the low ceiling of the stairs, and on the rough broken woodwork I scraped my shins. At the top of tko landing I saw a light from the room above. By the light I saw a struggle going on between your uncle and a man who had him by the throat, forcing him back to the old rotten hand-railing. It he got him there I knew it was all up with him, for it would give way beneath his weight, and drop him head first down stairs. 1 knew it was the

man’s intention, and if I could not save him he’d do it. The man saw me and called out something. Another man ran from the room to him, and put a life preserver into his hand. The next moment there was a whiz and the thud of a falling weight, luatinc lively I moved my head aside, no time for more than thought, for life or death was at the top. It takes a long time telling, sir, but it was only a few seconds before I got up, and then your uncle was jammed hard against the banisters, and 1 thought every second he’d go over. The aeumd' sprang at me as J reached the tpp, but, I had got a life-pre-server, and he had nothing. I hit him on the arm as he struck at , me, and the neyt second put my fist between his eyes. He

went down, sir, beautiful and lay quito quiet. I hit the other man just as he raised! the life-preserver to knock your uncle’s brains out. I hit him on the arm, and sent his weapon flying over the stairs. The next moment we had the best of him, and the fight was over, but it was a touch and go for your uucle, sir. I found afterwards that they threw a lot of hot metal at him as he rushed up the stairs, and that would have killed him if he’d been hit, and then if that life-preserver had come down on his head it would have ended his days at once. Do I think he was hurt? No sir, not to say hurt, because shaking a man by the throat, although it’s unpleasant, won’t leave bad hurts as a rule. But from the moment these men were captured it seemed to me your uncle, sir, regretted it. We’d put the handcuffs on them in the passage and then gone into the room. There wo found a'l the things they used to make bad money, and the woman was there with a baby. She looked at the old gentleman, sir, and went down on her knees at once, and hid her face in the bed, crying as •if her heart would break. We spoke to her and your uucle tried to comfort her. I left the room to look after the two men outside, and as I went in again I saw that the woman had moved. Your uncle was then leaning half fainting on the table, and I heard him say to himself, ‘ Alive!’ (To le continued.)