THE MAN FROM MELBOURNE
By Mrs Henry E. Dudeney, Author of “ The Strange Will of Josiah Kitterby” “My Terrible Flight ,” Sfc."
[all bights CHAPTER IX. PARTNERS IN CRIME. ‘ Five, ten, fifteen, twenty ! ’ Roy came out of Christoper Cunliffe’s room, bank notes crisply rustling in his hands. He took his hat from the rack and went out. On the way down stairs, he thrust two of the notes into his pocket to keep company with keys and loose cash, folded the other two in his pocket-book, and at the same time took from it a letter which the morning’s post had brought him.
‘ Curse the fellow ! He does not let the grass grow under his feet,’ lie muttered, slipping: back the letter beside the notes. ‘ Twenty pounds ! If 1 give him ten pounds to go on with —it is a long walk, but I’ll do it and think as I go.’ His brows met over his gloomy eyes. ‘ I can see that Pratt will stick to me like a leech. Of course I know if it had not been for his help, I should never have got quit of Melbourne and arrived here safely. But if I could give him the slip ’ He laughed loud and bitterly in the open street at the scant possibilities of getting rid of a bird so wily as Amos Pratt— his black-mailer. He walked along by the river, turned inland by the coal wharves at Pimlico, and wound out again near squat Millbank. Past Lambeth Bridge, through the quaint streets of old Westminster, skirting the Abbey and Houses of Parliament, swelling the scurrying stream of humanity in Whitehall, crossing Trafalgar Square and treading a bewildering zigzag of streets and courts into Long Acre, where he stopped to look about him, refresh his memory with a glance at Pratt’s letter of instructions, and dive down to the left. The morning was damp and mild A heavy, sickly smell seemed to stream up from the narrow streets with their shifting crowd of frowsy women, feeble children, and stunted men. Roy stopped at last at an eating house, and stepped back to the curb to read the gilt-lettered name on the signboard. Mixed and over-power-, ing odours of meat, vegetables, and pudding, rushed out. He sickened and turned his head from contemplation of the window where sausages were temptlingly bubbling in tins of fat, and the steam of plum * duff ’ of abnormal dimensions was dimming the glass. Then he plunged in. A counter ran along one side ; ranged close by the opposite wall were long wooden tables, not scrupulously clean and devoid of cloths. Roy ran his eye over the feeding rows of men and boys, and saw in a snug far corner near the long iron piping of the heating stove, the man with whom he had an appointment to keep. A man of peculiar appearance, big of head, short and spindled of legs, and squat of body. He had a great tangled mop of red hair, a pair of grey eyes, so small as to be mere twinkling points in the pock-marked •expanse of his face, a nondescript nose, a wide mouth full of discoloured and uneven teeth, a pair of hands disproportionate in size and strength to the puny arms which they terminated. He looked up with a genial grin, and a quick glance at the clock, ‘ How do, partner P - Twenty past one ! Almost give you up. Thinks I, there’ll be the unpleasant necessity of a visit to. Ohelsea for me. But better late than never, as the saying is. You’ve turned up and spared me the necessity of a shave and a clean dickey —must be a bit smart for the ladies, eh, my boy ?’ ‘ None of that.’ Roy dropped on to
the end of the form which served the patrons of the place in lieu of chairs. ‘ You give Chelsea a wide berth, .my. good Amos, unless you want our little game to be off!’ ‘ Well, that’s as you like,’ said Amos with easy accommodation. ‘ Please yourself and you please me. I’m the easiest cove to pull with in the three kingdoms. But let me tell you, Mr Roy Cunliffe,’ his low voice grew threatening, he paused impressively, poising meanwhile the steel fork with which he was eating baked batter pudding spotted with gaping raisins, ‘that not one in a dozen, knowing what I know, would let you down so easy. If I was to play my own game I should do business with the principal. I should go on the old ’un, and tip him the wink. He’d shell out handsome, he would. You don’t suppose he’d like to hear that his son his dear dutiful boy—l know the patter —is a common —’ ‘ For Heaven’s sake !’
Pratt grinned. ‘You’d rayther me not give it a name. Well, well, perhaps ’taint safe in a public place like this ’ere.’ ‘ Time enough for you to threaten when I turn tail. Remember, we are both rowing in the same boat.’ ‘Go easy! That’s jest where we ain’t. I haven’t abused the confidence of my sole surviving parent when all the time I’m but a —you’d rather not? Well, ’taint a pretty word when I comes to think of it.’
‘ I do not wish to quarrel with you. If I did I would not come to this confounded place to meet you.’ ‘I can understand it ain’t up to your level. But I am not a swell. I ain’t got no club or hotel to give you an invite to —at present. I’m like many another gent —hard up till I gets my remittances. That’s a neat way of putting it, eh, my boy ?’ ‘ Are you not nearly ready to leave this den ?’ was the other’s savage query. The clatter _and scrape of knives and forks, the noisy orders of incoming customers, the perpetual outgoing tramp of those whose appetites were gratified, the huge, half-raw joints at which a fat, perspiring man, and a fatter and yet more freely perspiring woman were constantly carving, the noisy zest of the diners as they shovelled food out of sight, disgusted him. ‘ For Heaven’s sake let us go out into the air, into a broader, sweeter street, where we can talk in peace.’ ‘ Well, this is good enough for me.’ Pratt made a final circuit of spoon round plate to capture stray, tasty scraps. ‘ But there’s no accounting for taste, and some folks is high stomached. I fixed this place because I thought w 0 could pick a bit comfortable and do business at the same time. “ Whistle and ride,” as my old mother used to say. But you’re too squeamish, you are. At places I have—ahem ! —visited, another neat turn, eh; my boy P they soon take that sort of picksomeness out of a man. A bowl of skilly and a lump of suet ‘ duff.’ But why refer to what ain’t acceptable to present company ?’ He took his hat from the peg, wiped a greasy coat cuff across his loose-lipped mouth, and signified his readiness to start, concluding laconically : ‘You pay piper.’ This being done, they turned into the street, Roy with well cut, -well fitting clothes, sleek tall hat, flowers in buttonhole, and faint atmosphere of foppery. Amos Pratt in pepper and salt suit, ‘ Couldn’t be -worse if it was marked with the broad arrow,’ as he took occasion to comment, baggy and black at knee. On his fiery head was rammed a greasy billycock hat. ‘ Where are we going now ?’ he inquired. ‘ To any nlace where we can be quiet for an hour or so.’ ‘ Well, I know one, not a stone’s throw off, that will suit us down to the ground. Nice, quiet, respectable place where we can have a glass of something short and jaw in peace.’ He led the way through Great Turnstile into Holborn, and along to old-fashioned ‘ shades,’ with sawdust strewn floor, plenty of high wooden stools and a pretty barmaid sparkling
behind the engines of the well-set bar.
4 _ Now,’ said Pratt, as h.e smacked his lips over a glass of port, and snapped dog-like at dry biscuits, 4 for business. How’s the state of the market ?’
‘ I did not expect you. to write so soon,’ grumbled Roy. ‘lt is only a month since we parted. You promised to give me time to settle.’ 4 A month ! Ain’t that long enough ? Tou know I was pretty well cleaned out when you left me. I ain’t greedy—just a little of the swag to keep my heart up is all I arsks — for the present. When business improves, when you get your foot in, so to speak, we’ll come to some comfortable arrangement.’ ‘ How much do you want now ?’ ‘Well, not to .bleed you, as the saying is, I’ll sing as small as I’m able. There’s grub and togs and a place to hang out in—l’ve been dossing it rather rough, while you’ve snoozed in feathers —say £2O. 4 Why not say fifty while you are about it P’ ‘ I’m agreeable.’ Pratt’s tone was urbane. ‘ Don’t be a fool. I can give you ten —not a penny more.’ ‘ That’s a long drop. If I takes it, till when ?’ ‘ Impossible to fix a date. lam absolutely dependent on my father.’ ‘On your father ? Just so.’ Pratt nodded, with a wicked glance at Roy from under half-shut lids. 4 It is to our interest not to rouse his suspicions.’ ‘To yours. Nothing like putting a thing pat. 4 Nonsense, said Roy, roughly. ‘ You can’t show clean hands any more than I can. 4 Spotless ■! I’ve washed ’em my boy. And precious hard work it was. ‘ A ticket of leave man ! Pratt airily beckoned the barmaid for more refreshment, ‘ I don’t think they’d ever give you a ticket, he remarked mournfully. Roy took from his pocket-book the two five pound notes and pushed them across to Pratt. ‘ Make that last as long as you can. Lord knows where the next is coming from, he remarked with caution. 4 Don’t let that fret you, returned Pratt, soothingly, 4 1 don’t. And now for news. How was the poor old gent when you left him, and the nice gal P 4 Never mind them. 4 But I do mind. I don’t know how soon I may be on free and easy terms with ’em.
‘ You have your money —all you have a right to. I’m off now. Roy pushed half a sovereign towards the barmaid, and pocketed the change. ‘ There’s one tioklish bit you’ve forgotten, said Pratt, with a familiar interlinking of arms as the door swung dully on them. You’ve forgotten him. Roy paled. ‘ You have not heard of him P ‘ Not since I told 3 ou —he was shoving his way into the bush then. He’d a fancy to try his luck that way. ‘ Grood job if he finds his death there.
‘ But that’s a good time hack, pursued Pratt ‘lt would be awkward for you if he turned up on this side. ‘ Deuced awkward! ‘You’d have to shoot I reckon. ‘Hot a bit of it. Let him come; cried Roy, with sudden courage and resourceful optimism. ‘ Well, remarked Pratt, infected with pluck, ‘ I don’t doubt we can pull through somehow. ‘ But you’ll have to be precious fly. You see your mug’s pretty well known—in Melbourne, at least. Beautiful portraits of you in the Sunday papers eh, my hoy P He chuckled at the recollection.
‘ Yet you’ve altered considerable since you were booker to Barclay & Dobbin, he went on with a critical glance at Roy’s flushing face. ‘ Blow me if your own father would know you. Poor old chap, pity he’s stone blind, ain’t it now ? You’re shy of my mentioning him. Well, ’taint
necessary. What I wants to know-is,' how to muzzle that other chap. Chances are ten to one he comes to England. ‘ You’ll keep a sharp look out for him ?
‘ I’m a doin’ of it. I’ve got your interest at heart, I have. I never plays double with a pal s’long as he acts square by me. ‘ If he comes to England, to London, keep him away from Chelsea at all risks. ‘ I understands. But don’t forget as he aint the only one to harm you. Kitty Peacher’s another. She is in London turning the heads of all the swells. I had a shillingworth of gallery last week. ‘Kitty ! A faint smile played about Boy’s lips. ‘ I can manage her. He is the only one I fear. ‘ Well, there is one way of shutting people’s mouths, said Pratt, enigmatically. ‘lt is risky work, and wants well paying for, but it’s a job that can be done safe and secure by the right party. Roy looked at the puffy face, at the little eyes which- blinked up at him, half mocking, half questioning, at the abnormal hands and heavy jaw. His face grew ashy, ‘ You mean murder ? ‘ Come, no names among partners. Did I say murder ? Do I look like a cove as ’ud risk his precious neck- — even to oblige a friend. We ain’t all so fond of a rope, you know. Can’t yon keep a man quiet without killing him ? ‘ Hot for long, I should fancy. ‘ Leave it to me —I’ll manage. All I arsks from you in return is a bit of paper promising to come down handsome when the old gent kicks the bucket. Don’t look so blue —even Methusalera didn’t last for ever —and the thing’s done. ♦ ‘ Without injury to life ? ‘ Or limb. Why, you’re as tender as a blessed infant, ‘ Or risk of discovery ? ‘ Chicken-hearted now ! Risk 1 Ain’t it chock full of risks ? Do you expect to live like a fighting cock when you ought to be doing your penal P CHAPTER XII. DRIVEN TO A DANGEROUS EXTREMITY. ‘ If you persist in backing our father in his support of that quack West, Roy was saying angrily, ‘ you will bitterly regret it. It was a dull afternoon in February four months after his return home. He and May were skating in Battersea Park. The air was heavy with the rythmical whirr of skates and the clear ring of much laughter. ‘ There is every reason to suppose the operation will be successful, she reminded him gently, ‘ only you are —forgive me —so obtuse, so prejudiced against Dr. West. He has given his word that there is only a minimum of risk.
‘ It is an experiment, said Roy doggedly. As such I oppose it. ‘ I am weary of discussing it with you, she said and sighed. Shall we go home ? They were on the stairs of Sloane Mansions when he dropped on the landing and caught her hand. The gas flared on two young faces —pale with emotion. ‘ May! For Heaven’s sake use your influence to prevent this—this —murder. This is no time to mince and mouth. West is actuated solely by cruel professional zeal. He knows that his chance of success is very slender. He does not care. To him it is simply a ‘ case. ‘ You, misjudge him. Roy flung her hand free and strode up the remaining flight in advance of her. He unlocked the flat door. As she passed into the hall she said, with a little sob—- ‘ Do not let us quarrel. He grasped her wrist, half led, half forced her into the dining room. ‘ It is a question not of quarrelling, but of life and death. If our father dies under the knife, think of your remorse,. You have influence with Philip West. Use it, unless you wish
to drag ns all into tragedy. This is the last appeal I shall make. If the operation takes place, I will not stay here while it is performed. If he dies—as I believe and dread he will • —I will never foi’give you ; I will never see your face again. He turned away abruptly. He lieard her smother a little wounded cry aS she slipped out of the room. *The table was laid for dinner. He had filled a tumbler with whiskey—the only stimulant permitted the elder Cunliffe —and drank it off. ‘ It must be prevented, he muttered, as he paced the room. ‘I wish I had never come to England. The position is unbearable threatened with, disclosure at every turn, tortured by wbat remnant of conscience is left, bled by Pratt. He could ruin me by a word. Monejq money —bis dmands grow daily. I cannot get sufficient to keep him quiet. • He stopped at the table to pour out more whiskey. ‘ 1 will face it out. I will trust to past luck for future safety and, who knows, future happiness. If May and I had met —in different— He turned an ashy face towards the ingle nook. A leather screen was drawm round it to keep out draught and light. From behind the screen came the sound of a yawn. Immediately afterwards Philip West came ont into the room. Hoy strode forward. ‘ What the devil do you mean by playing spy ? ‘ You are not responsible for your words. West looked significantly from the young man’s flushed face to the half-empty whiskey bottle, ‘ else I might resent them. I simply came in here to wait alone for my carriage. The coachman was ordered to pick me up at half-past five. I w r as tired —up three parts of the night with a tedious case —I sat down by the fire and fell asleep. I have only just woke up. I thought the room was still empty. * I suppose I must accept your explanation, Hoy said, sulkily. ‘How you are here, 1 want a calm word with you—‘About the operation! I’m afraid I must decline. It is useless —w r e have gone over the ground too often. I am at a loss to account for your persistent obstruction in the matter, even though I make large allowance for a son’s natural anxiety. You must permit me to remind you that Mr Cunliffe had assented to my proposal before your return. And, if I may offer a word of advice, be went on ominously as, Roy with a shaking hand, jangled the decanter against the glass and let the whiskey dribble in a golden stream to the carpet, * leave that stuff alone. There is a very ugly name for the disorder which attacks presistent tipplers. I have watched you carefully. As a friend and a doctor, I say, be warned in time. There was a sound of wheels outside. With no further word, Dr West left the room. Left alone, Roy sunk stupidly into a chair, then staggered, drawn by a horrid fascination, to the fiery stuff on the table. His fingers were clasped round the glass, be was about to raise it to his lips, -when, by a sharp effort at self-control, he drew his hand back empty. ‘ He is right. And if ever I needed a clear head I need it now. Before May and her brother parted for the night he had made peace with her, apologised, admitted that perhaps over-anxiety had made him a Jrttle too sceptical about West’s skill and likelihood of success in his attempt to restore the sight of Christopher Cunliffe. But he still refused to countenance the operation by his presence. When he was alone he read again a letter received that morning from Pratt, in which that worthy hinted that a further and speedy remittance of cash was necessary to ensure his continued silence. ‘ This scheme, carefully worked, will supply cash for present need, ‘Roy was saying thoughtfully to himself, as he sat by the dying fire and the clock of old Chelsea church
struck a solemn twelve. ‘lt is dangerous, but I cannot ask the governor again without rousing his suspicions. I shall never be found out. If he lives and regains bis sight, I must fly. If he dies — He broke off remorsefully. 4 AmI as bad as that ? Have I come to counting on dead men’s shoes ? He has been kind to me. If he knew the man be harboured, knew my guilty secret, his would be the first voice to denounce. And May —suppose I cut the whole thing, go back to Australia,' bide myself in the bush. Pooh ! I have gone too far to turn back. Now for business —and a ticklish bit too.
He rose, kicked off bis slippei’s, crossed the ball to bis father’s door, assured himself of perfect silence within and turned the handle. A handful of fire ’ still smouldered in the grate ; a night light was spluttering to its death in a glass on the dressing table. Roy crept round the bed. A glance showed him that Christopher Cunliffe was asleep. A quiver of compunction crossed bis haggard face as be stared at the sleeper, as he stooped and with dexterity and softness slid a band under the pillow, and very gradually drew from under the head that pressed it, a bunch of keys. The blind man, vaguely restless, turned and muttered in his sleep. Roy hastily straightened up his stooping figure ; in doing so he crooked an awkward elbow and knocked over the handbell that stood on the table by the bedside. He cursed under bis breath as the thing rolled jangling under the bed, its tongue striking a series of mad tingles as it rolled. Christopher Cunliffe started up in the bed. Roy saw with horror the spare, white figure rise painfully on its elbows, saw the blind bead turn confusedly from side to side, then—sink back, heavy with sleep on the pillow. The quick thump of the young man’s heart subsided into normal beatings. In a little while he picked up the bell, muffling its tongue with bis finger, crept away back to the drawing-room, where be locked himself in. Here be lighted a couple of candles and went to the bureau, the writing flap of which be unlocked and opened. ‘ Lucky that confounded bell did not awaken May or the maids !he said, as he wiped his clammy face and palms, and began quickly to turn over the disordered papers before him. He rummaged till he came upon a roll of tracing cloth, which he spread out. It was covered with mechanical drawings. At the foot was a signature—broadly bold —a clerk’s hand with the confidence of a principal. In the thick down strokes, exaggerated capitals and final flourish he read the signature, ‘ Christopher Cunliffe. Then he searched in drawers and pigeon holes until he found a cheque book. After this his occupation for over an hour consisted in making many trials of copying the signature on the tracing paper. Fortunately for his scheme, the engineer’s handwriting was not peculiarly characteristic. Each sheet of discarded counterfeits, Roy dug down into the fire' and watched burn. He put on more coal; tongues of flame were shooting merrily up the chimney and glinting yellow on his head as he knelt on the rug. At last he succeeded in forging a presentable signature. He laid it immediately under the genuine one and compared them critically, making a careful alternation or so —a thicker downstroke here the‘o’ in the Christian- name more closed in, the ‘ i ’ with a bolder cross.
He then reached for the cheque book, tore a cheque from the end, and prepared to fill it for a thousand pounds in his own hand writing. Just as he reached his pen to the pot for a fresh dip for the signature, a sudden thought occurred to him. He must simulate the tremulous hand of a blind man. When he had finished, when the cheque was in hia pocket book, the papers arranged precisely as he had found them, and the keys slipped back
under the pillow of the sleeping blind man, dawn had broken, another day begun. The hall porter threw back the outer door of the mansions; the housemaid meeting her young master in the little hall on his way to his bedroom, started and let fall her dustpan and broom at this unexpected and dishevelled figure with the haggard face and bloodshot eyes. Shortly before twelve that morning, Roy, his nerves steadied by a couple of hours’ sleep, a bath, a good breakfast, and a brisk walk, stepped jauntily up to the counter of the bank in Victoria Street. A row of people were in front of him, paying in gold or gathering it up, glittering, as it fell from the scoop and spread across the counter. He stepped to the front when a bi each occurred, and fluttered down his bit of paper with smiling fearlessness. The clerk arched his bi’ows as he read it, handed it to a superior, who conferred with a yet higher power. Finally, the first clerk carried the cheque into an inner room. Roy stood apparently at ease, tipping the head of his light cane impatiently against the counter, pulling at his collar point and glancing from time to time, as the seconds ticked off, at the clock on the wall facing him. But he turned now and then to nervously fix an eye on the door. Once when it swung back to admit a customer and a momentary vision of a patch of blue, wintry sky, he thought of flight —freedom, while he could secure it. A minute hence it might be too late. He might be arrested. To his guilty imagining the eyes of every man in the bank was fixed on him and said ‘ Forger.’
No. He would face it out. He saw the clerk returning towards him. It needed all his self-possession, all the nerve which he could command, to brave the business out, to keep the easy smile about his mouth. c There is some mistake here. The man’s voice was blandly, deadly smooth. ‘Mistake! I do not understand. Roy’s voice was haughtily incredulous. ‘ The cheque was drawn for Mr. Cunliffe last night: his signature ’ ‘ Oh, the signature P That is not the point. Rather tremulous, certainly ’ ‘ Probably you do not know that Mr CunlifEe has been blinded by an accident. ‘ Yes, we know of that. ‘ Then you will easily understand that his signature is more or less of a scrawl. For that reason, I, at his request, filled in the cheque with my own hand, ‘ Oh, it’s doubtless all right in that way. The mistake is that there is no account. Mr CunlifEe closed with us twelve months ago, 1 Closed his account ?
Try as he might, he could not keep his voice quite steady, could not stay the blood that was rushing to his guilty face. He felt that the man’s eyes were fixed on him with brooding suspicion, and with a hugh effort he pulled himself together. Reaching out for the cheque he folded it away and frankly laughed.
‘ Ridiculous mistake ! I was at Mr Cunliffe’s last night when this was drawn. He told me that this cheque book was in the top right hand drawer of his bureau. I must have misunderstood him and used the wrong book. So sorry to havtjtroubled you. As for myself it is rather inconvenient, as I must go back and get him to draw another cheque on the right bank. ‘ Mistakes will happen, returned the clerk, with civil convention. If at one moment he had suspected the business was ‘ queer,’ Roy’s frank insouciance dispelled it. He passed on to attend to an importunate customer with a weighty canvas bag which from time to time during the clerk’s colloquy with Roy he bad dumped significantly on the counter. Roy shrugged his shoulders smilingly, swung through the door, and passed into the street, where noonday traffic was at its highest. A curse burst faintly from his dry lips. Foiled! (To be continued.)
Permanent link to this item
Hononga pūmau ki tēnei tūemi
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/SOCR18941208.2.45
Bibliographic details
Ngā taipitopito pukapuka
Southern Cross, Volume 2, Issue 37, 8 December 1894, Page 13
Word count
Tapeke kupu
4,628THE MAN FROM MELBOURNE Southern Cross, Volume 2, Issue 37, 8 December 1894, Page 13
Using this item
Te whakamahi i tēnei tūemi
No known copyright (New Zealand)
To the best of the National Library of New Zealand’s knowledge, under New Zealand law, there is no copyright in this item in New Zealand.
You can copy this item, share it, and post it on a blog or website. It can be modified, remixed and built upon. It can be used commercially. If reproducing this item, it is helpful to include the source.
For further information please refer to the Copyright guide.