A LONDON ADVENTURE,

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 99, 25 April 1885, Page 4

A LONDON ADVENTURE,

Three years since 1 had occasion to pass a few weeks in London. lam about to relate an adventure which befell me at this time, which came vory near having a very serioas termination. I cannot even now think of it without a shudder. I was wending my way in the early part of the ovening towards Drury Lane Theatre —a famous temple of the drama, known the world over— when my attention was suddenly drawn to an appeal for charity made by a figure crouching on the doorstops of a house. I looked at the applicant. He appeared to bo an oldorly man, attired in a manner which bospoke tho extreme of destitution. His coat was soiled and ragged. From benoath a shocking hat I could aoe grey locks stealing out. His form was bowed, and I judged from his general bearing that he must at least be sixty years of age. " A few pence, sir, for a poor old man," he whispered. I am cold and hungry. I have had nothing to oat since yesterday." My compassion was stirred. Had he been in the prime of life, I could have passed by his petition unheeding. But age and infirmity make poverty a pitiful spectacle. " Aro you, indeed, so poor?" I asked, stopping before him. "lam too feeble to work," he said. " I dopend on what gentlemen give me. Yet I should not care so much for myself, but my poor child — I dtn obliged to leave her at home hick while I come out to bog." I was on the point of giving him a shilling whon an instinct of caution stepped in. " After all," I thought, " he might be an impostor." In that case I should grudge the shilling, small as it was, which I intended to give him. But if things were really as he said, I should be willing to bestow on him a larger amount. " How am I to knosv whether your story is true?'' I said, stopping in the act of drawing a shilling from my pocket. " How am I to know whether you havo a sick child as you represent?" "If you will come home with me," he said, in a t®ne of subdued eagerness (I remembered this afterwards), "1 will convince you." " Perhaps he makes this offer," I thought, " feeling confident that I will not accopt it. He shall find himself mistaken this time. I am resolved for once to satisfy myself, and if it is as ho says, he shall have a crown instead of a shilling " " Whore do you live?" 1 asked, after a moment's pause. " Abcut a quarter of a mile from here," was the reply. " Lead on, then," said I. "I will accompany you home and satisfy myself whether your story is correct. If you are as needy as you appear to be, I will do what I can to help you." The old man was profuse in his protestations of gratitude. In fact, he seemed so willing to comply with my request that again there was a revulsion of feeling, and I felt ashamed that I had questioned his honesty, I inwardly resolved to make it up to him. It was a dUmal night. The air was misty and damp, and the occasional stieet ligh's revealed a disagreeable neighbourhood. On either side I saw wretched tenement houses. At the doors were gaunt faces, sometimes wearing a fierce, almost desperate look. I felt that I should not like to pass through these streets at a late hour of the night Yet it is only fair to say London is tolerably well governed. The police are numerous, and, so far as my experience extends, are polite and attentive to strangers, Considering how great an amount of poverty and utter destitution there is in the great city, it furnishes a matter of surprise that the harvest of crime, great os it is, should not be even greater. Yet doubtless, as the incident I am relating serves to show, there is many a secret crime committed that never scoa the light, and never becomes known to the authorities. My glance fell thoughtfully upon my guide. Ho was toiling along, apparently with difficulty, a little in advance of me, and from time to time looked back to see if I were following him. Once when he looked back I had my watch out— a valuablo gold chronometer — from which I was ondoavou r in{£ to ascertain tho time by the light of a neighbouring street lamp. Perhaps I was imprudent in making a display in so suspicious a neighbourhood. My guide looked ufc the watch greedily. "Poor fellow!" I thought. "Every evidence of wealth and comfort mudt, no doubt, fill him with envy " I don't know why it was that no suspicions of the man's good faith had thus far entorod my mind. If thero had, the sight of hia feebleness would have led me to smilo vith contempt at tho thought that he could pospibly do me any harm. Still he hobbled on. Wo had by degrees got a considerable distance from the place where I first encountered him. I felt that I should be late for the play, and thought of pausing and dismissing him with a gratuity of half-a-crown. "Are you far from your room —from where you live?" I asked. "We must have gone half-a-mile instead of a quarter." •« That is the house," said he, pointing to a wretched building only a few steps distant. " In for a penny in for a pound," thought I. "I will see this adventure through, even if I am late at the thoatre." My guide entorod the house, and I followed him up a rickctty staircase— rather up three— until we reached tho fourth story. It was pitch dark all the way. When wo had mounted to tho third landing he fumbled at the door and opened it. I followed him in. " Stop a moment, kind gentleman, and I will light a candlo," said the old man. I stopped, and in a moment the dim light of a farthing dip illuminated the apartment. I had pcarcely time to take a hasty glance at the room and its appurtenances, than the old man stepped behind me and closed the door. Thero was a click audible. It fastened as it closed. What did I see? Of couree I had expected to see a miserable den with brokon-down furniture, and every evidence of the direst destitution and wretchedness. Instead of this my gaze rested on a room comfortably furnished ; a Kidderminster carpet, not much worn, covered the floor. Thero were a few neat chairs, a mahogany table, and a comfortable bed.

"You have deceived me," said I sternly, turning upon the old man. 1 turned as I said this ; but what was my bewilderment at perceiving that the old man had disappeared, and in his place there stood before mo quite a different personage. The grey hair, the bowed form, the marks of age had vanished. My guide was no longer old and decrepit, but a man in the prime of life, strong and vigorous. His grey wig, for it was a wig, lay on the carpet, whither he had carelessly tossed it. "You seem a little surprised," he said in a mocking voice, "Strange miracles sometimes happen nowadays." " What does this mean ?" I asked, in bewilderment. " What does it mean ?" repeated the man, coolly. "It means that I will trouble you for that watch of yours. It appears to be a valuable one," he continued with bold impudence. "I will take the liberty to borrow it of you for an indefinite period. Just now, unfortunately, my watch happens to be at the jeweller' 3, so that I am unable to be on time in my fashionable engagements. I shall be compelled to trouble you for the loan of yours." " Is there anything else you would like ?" 1 asked hotly, indignant at having been so cleverly outwitted, and that, too, by a man whom I had been intending to succour. It seemed the worst kind of an imposition, playing upon my feelings only to work me injury. " Yes," he replied carelessly. " I am out of money just at present. Slightly overdrawn at my banker's. Awkward, isn't it? I will take the additional liberty of borrow ing your puree. Though I don't generally do such things, I will, if it will be any satisfaction, give you my note of hand for the amount, due say in ninety years." Again ha laughed mockingly. " You are an atrocious villain ! said I indignantly. " Oh, no doubt. You're quite welcome to call mo so. We're all sinners, you know !" The man's insufferable coolness and impudence quite took away my breath. I felt that a discussion could do no possible good. Ho had me in his power, and, of courao, that gave him tho entire advantage. , . " Let me out !" I exclaimed, advancing towards the door. " Notyeb % "saidhe, resolutely, displayinga pistol. "Not till you have complied with my very reasonable demands. Do that, and you shall go freely, and not a hair of your head shall be harmed. Come, what do you say?" What cjuld I say ? How was I, singlehanded and without weapon, to contend , with this man, my equal in strength, and armed with a pistol ? This makes the weak , equal with the strong. If I only had that pistol — if I could only tnatch it from him. But that scorned impossible He was watchful and wary. Should I make the attempt and fail, he would probably kill me without mercy. Yet that attempt I meant to make A lucky thought came to my assistance. I was something of a ventriloquist, and had been from my youth • that is, I could throw my voice to another part of the room, so that someone else might seem to be speaking. No sooner did I think of this than I resolved upon my plan. " Well," said he impationtly, " have you decided?" "Wretch!" said a voice just behind him. He turned suddenly, and at that moment I snatched the pistol from his grasp. "Now is my turn," said I exultingly. ; " Open that door or I fire." Ho looked at me in stupid surprise*. I repeated my command. He advanced a step towards me. "Make the slighteat attempt to retake this wt »pon, and I fire." He glared at me with a look of bafiled ferocity, and looked undecided. I repeated my order, and ho sullenly, opened the door. I passed through, backing out warily, ready to fire at the slightest movement showing intent to assault me. I should have felt no hesitation in doing so. The man was a desperate villain, very likely a murdcrtr, and I felt that I should be ju&tifud. But he seemed to have given up his enterprise as bootless. He went back into hi < room and tlammcd the door. I made my way out into the street, and huiried to the theatre, first removing the charge from my weapon. It proved to bo a valuable one, and I decided to retain it as " contra band of war."— Prize Tit-Bit.