“Well, I wouldn’t have believed it,” I said aloud, when I had recovered somewhat my astonishment6.
My own driver, who had doubtless begun to think that the sovereign I had promised him was in danger, was inclined to be somewhat bellicose7. It appeared as if he were anxious to make a personal matter of it, and in proof of this he sternly demanded of his rival what he had done with his fare.
“You don’t think I’ve ate him, do yer?” asked that worthy8. “What’s it got to do with me what a fare does? I set ’im down, same as I should do you, and now I am on my way ‘ome. Look arter your own fare, and take him ‘ome and put him ter bed, but don’t yer a’come abotherin’ me. I’ve done the best day’s work I’ve ever ‘ad in my life, and if so be the pair of yer like to come into the pub here, well, I don’t know as I won’t a stand yer both a two of Scotch9 cold. It looks as if ’twould kind a’ cheer the guvner up a bit, seem’ as how he’s dis’pointed like. Come on now!”
It is one of my best principles, and to it I feel that I owe a considerable portion of my success, that I never allow my pride to stand in the way of my business. The most valuable information is not unfrequently picked up in the most unlikely places, and for this reason I followed my own Jehu and his rival into the public-house in question. The man was visibly elated by the good stroke of business he had done that night, and was inclined to be convivial10.
“ ’e was a proper sort of bloke,” he said as we partook of our refreshment11. “ ’e give me a fiver, ’e did, an’ I wishes as ‘ow I could meet another like ’im every day.”
“They do say as how one man’s mutton is another man’s poison,” retorted my driver, who, in spite of the entertainment he was receiving, visibly regarded the other with disfavour. “If you’d a give us the tip, I’d ‘ave ‘ad my suvering. As it is I don’t take it friendly like that you should a’ bilked us.”
“Yer can take it as yer darned well please,” said the other, as he spoke12 placing his glass upside down on the counter, in order to prove beyond contradiction that it was empty. I immediately ordered a repetition, which was supplied. Thereupon the cabman continued —
“When I ‘as a bit of business ter do yer must understand that I does it, and that no man can say as I doesn’t. A gent gets into my keb and sez he, ‘Drive me until I tell yer to stop, and go as fast as yer can,’ sez he. ‘Take every back street yer know of, and come out somewhere Hoxton way. I’m not partic’lar so long as I go fast, an’ I don’t git collared by the keb that’s after us. If yer help me to give ’im the slip there’s a five-poun’ note for yer trouble.’ Well, sez I to myself, this is a proper bit of busness and there and then I sets off as fast as the old ‘orse cud take us. We turns up Southampton Street, and you turns up after us. As we was agoin’ down ‘enrietta Street I asked him to let me ‘ave a look at his five-poun’ note, for I didn’t want no Bank of Fashion or any of that sort of truck shoved into me, you’ll understand. ‘You needn’t be suspicious, Cabby,’ sez he, ‘I’ll make it suverings, if you like, and half a one over for luck, if that will satisfy yer? ‘When I told him it would, he give me two poun’ ten in advance and away we went again. We weren’t more than ‘arf a mile away from here — thank ye, sir, I don’t mind if I do, it’s cold drivin’— well, as I was a sayin’ we wasn’t more than ‘arf a mile away from here, when the gent he stands up and sez to me, ‘Look here, Kebby, turn the next corner pretty sharp, and slow down at the first bye-street you come to. Then I’ll jump out,’ ‘Right yer are, guvner,’ sez I, and with that he ‘ands me up the other two poun’ ten and the extry half-suvering. I fobbed it and whipped up the old ‘oss. Next moment we was around the corner, and a-drivin’ as if we was a trying to ketch a train. Then we comes to a little side street, an’ I slows down. Out ’e jumps and down he goes along a side street as if the devil was arter him. Then I drives on my way and pulls up ’ere. Bilked you were, guvner, and I don’t mind sayin’ so, but busness is busness, and five poun’ ten ain’t to be picked up every day. I guess the old woman will be all there when I get ‘ome to-night.”
“That’s all very well, cabby,” I said, “but it’s just likely you want to add another sovereign to that five-pound ten. If you do I don’t mind putting another in your way. I tell you that I want to catch the man I was after to-night. He’s as big a thief as ever walked the earth, and if you will help me to put my hand upon him, you’ll be doing a service, not only to me, but to the whole country at large.”
“What is it you want me to do?” he asked suspiciously. “He treated me fair, and he’ll take it mean of me if I help you to nab him.”
“I don’t want you to do anything but to drive me to the side street where you put him down. Then you can take your sovereign and be off home as quick as you like. Do you agree?”
He hesitated for a space in which a man could have counted twenty, and then set his glass upon the counter.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll drive yer there, not for the suvering, but for the good of the country yer speaks about. Come on.”
I gave my own man his money, and then followed the other out to his cab. He mounted to his box, not without some help, and we presently set off. Whether it was the effect of the refreshment he had imbibed13, or whether it was mere14 elation15 of spirits I cannot say, the fact, however, remains16 that for the whole of the journey, which occupied ten or twelve minutes he howled vociferously17. A more joyous18 cabman could scarcely have been discovered in all that part of London. At last he pulled his horse to a standstill, and descended from his seat.
“This ’ere’s the place,” he said, “and that’s the street he bolted down. Yer can’t mistake it. Now let’s have a look at yer suvering, guvner, and then I’ll be off home to bed, and it’s about time too.”
I paid him the sum I had promised him, and then made my way down the narrow street, in the direction Hayle had taken. It was not more than a couple of hundred yards long, and was hemmed19 in on either hand by squalid cottages. As if to emphasize the misery20 of the locality, and perhaps in a measure to account for it, at the further end I discovered a gin-palace, whose flaring21 lights illuminated22 the streets on either hand with brazen23 splendour. A small knot of loafers were clustered on the pavement outside the public, and these were exactly the men I wanted. Addressing myself to them I inquired how long they had been in their present position.
“Best part of an hour, guv’ner,” said one of them, pushing his hands deep down into his pockets, and executing a sort of double shuffle24 as he spoke. “Ain’t doin’ any harm ’ere, I ‘ope. We was ‘opin’ as ‘ow a gent like yourself would come along in the course of the evening just to ask us if we was thirsty, and wot we’d take for to squench it.”
“You shall have something to squench it, if you can answer the questions I am going to ask you,” I replied. “Did either of you see a gentleman come down this street, running, about half-an-hour or so ago.”
“Was he carrying a rug and a bag?” asked one of the men without hesitation25.
“He was,” I replied. “He is the man I want. Which way did he go when he left here?”
“He took Jim Boulter’s cab,” said another man, who had until a few moments before been leaning against the wall. “The Short ‘Un was alookin’ after it for ’im, and I heard him call Jimmy myself. He tossed the Short ‘Un a bob, he did, when he got in. Such luck don’t seem ever to come my way.”
“Where is the Short ‘Un, as you call him?” I inquired, thinking that it might be to my advantage to interview that gentleman.
“A-drinkin’ of his bob in there,” the man answered. “Where d’ye think ye’d be a-seein’ ’im? Bearin’ ‘isself proud like a real torf, and at closen’ time they’ll be chuckin’ ’im out into the gutter26, and then ‘is wife’ll come down, and they’ll fight, an’ most like both of ’em’ll get jugged before they knows where they is, and come before the beak27 in the mornin’.”
“Look here,” I said, “if one of you will go in and induce the gentleman of whom you speak to come out here and talk to me, I would not mind treating the four of you to half-a-crown.”
The words had scarcely left my lips before a deputation had entered the house in search of the gentleman in question. When they returned with him one glance was sufficient to show me that the Short ‘Un was in a decidedly inebriated28 condition. His friends, however, deeming it possible that their chance of appreciating my liberality depended upon his condition being such as he could answer questions with some sort of intelligence, proceeded to shake and pummel him into something approaching sobriety. In one of his lucid29 intervals30 I inquired whether he felt equal to telling me in what direction the gentleman who had given him the shilling had ordered the cabman to drive him. He turned the question over and over in his mind, and then arrived at the conclusion that it was “some hotel close to Waterloo.”
This was certainly vague, but it encouraged me to persevere31.
“Think again,” I said; “he must have given you some definite address.”
“Now I do remember,” said the man, “it seems to me it was Foxwell’s Hotel, Waterloo Road. That’s where it was, Foxwell’s Hotel. Don’t you know it?
“Foxwell’s Hotel is a merry, merry place,
When the jolly booze is flowin’, flowin’ free.”
Now chorus, gen’men.”
Having heard all I wanted to, I gave the poor wretches32 what I had promised them, and went in search of a cab. As good luck would have it I was able to discover one in the City Road, and in it I drove off in the direction of Waterloo. If Hayle were really going to stay the night at Foxwell’s Hotel, then my labours had not been in vain, after all. But I had seen too much of that gentleman’s character of late to put any trust in his statements, until I had verified them to my own satisfaction. I was not acquainted with Foxwell’s Hotel, but after some little search I discovered it. It was by no means the sort of place a man of Hayle’s wealth would be likely to patronize, but remembering that he had particular reasons for not being en evidence just at present, I could understand his reasons for choosing such a hostelry. I accordingly paid off my cabman and entered the bar. Taking the young lady I found there a little on one side, I inquired whether a gentleman had arrived within the last half-hour, carrying a bag and a heavy travelling-rug.
Much to my gratification she replied that such a gentleman had certainly arrived within the past half-hour, and was now at supper in the coffee-room. She inquired whether I would care to see him? I replied in the negative, stating that I would call next day and make myself known to him.
“We are old friends,” I said, “and for that reason I should be glad if you would promise me that you will say nothing to him about my coming to-night.”
Woman-like the idea pleased her, and she willingly gave the promise I asked.
“If you want to see him you’d better be here early,” she said. “He told me when he booked his room, that he should be wanting to get away at about ten o’clock to-morrow morning.”
“I’ll be here well before that,” I replied. “If all goes right, I shall call upon him between eight and nine o’clock.”
Feeling sure that, after what I had said to her, she would say nothing to Hayle about my visit, I returned to my own hotel and retired33 to rest.
Next morning I was up betimes, had breakfasted, and was at Foxwell’s Hotel before eight o’clock had struck. I proceeded straight to the bar, where I discovered my acquaintance of the previous evening, in curl papers, assiduously dusting shelves and counter. There was a fragrance34 of the last night’s potations still hovering35 about the place, which had the dreary36, tawdry appearance that was so different to the glamour37 of the previous night. I bade the girl good-morning, and then inquired whether she had seen anything of my friend. At first she did not appear to recognize me, but on doing so she volunteered to go off and make inquiries38. She did so, to return a few moments later with the information that the gentleman “had rung for his boots, and would be down to breakfast in a few minutes.”
“I wonder what you will have to say for yourself when you see me, Mr. Hayle,” I muttered. “You will find that I am not to be so easily shaken off as you imagine.”
I accordingly made my way to the dining-room, and seating myself at a table, ordered a cup of coffee and an egg. The London egg is not a favourite of mine, but I was prepared to eat a dozen of them if necessary, if by so doing I could remain in the room long enough to find myself face to face with Gideon Hayle. Several people put in an appearance and commenced their morning repast, but when a quarter of an hour had elapsed and the man I wanted had not presented himself, my patience became exhausted39 and I went in search of my hourie of the bar.
“My friend’s a long time coming down,” I said, “I hope he has not gone out to breakfast?”
“You must be mistaken,” she answered. “I saw him come down-stairs nearly a quarter of an hour ago. He went into the dining-room, and I felt sure you must have seen him. If you will follow me I’ll show him to you.”
So saying she led the way along the dingy40 passage until she arrived at a green baize door with two glass panels. Here she stopped and scanned the dining-room. The boots, who had just come upstairs from the lower regions, assisted in the operation, and seemed to derive41 considerable satisfaction from it.
“There he is,” said the girl, pointing to a table in the furthest corner of the room; “the tall man with the black moustache.”
I looked and was consumed with disappointment. The individual I saw there was no more like Hayle than he was like the man in the moon.
“Do you mean to tell me that he is the man who arrived late last night in a cab, and whose luggage consisted of a small brown bag and a travelling rug?” I asked. “You’ve been having a game with me, young woman, and I should advise you to be careful. You don’t realize who I am.”
“Hoighty toity,” she said, with a toss of her head that sent her curl-papers dancing. “If you’re going to be nasty, I am going. You asked for the gentleman who came late last night with a bag, and there he is. If he’s not the person you want, you mustn’t blame me. I’m sure I’m not responsible for everybody’s friends. Dear me, I hope not!”
The shock-headed boots had all this time been listening with the greatest interest. He and the barmaid, it appeared, had had a quarrel earlier in the morning, and in consequence were still far from being upon the best of terms.
“The cove5 as the gent wants, miss, must be ’im as came close upon eleven o’clock last night,” he put in. “The toff with the bag and blanket. Why I carried his bag up to number forty-seven with my own ‘ands, and you know it.”
The girl was quite equal to the occasion.
“You’d better hold your tongue,” she said. “If you don’t you’ll get into trouble.”
“What for?” he inquired. “It’s a free country, I ‘ope. Nice sort of toff ’e was, forgot all about the boots, and me a-doin’ ‘is browns as slap-up as if ’e was a-goin’ out to dinner with the Queen. But p’reaps he’s left a ‘arf-sovereign for me with you. It ain’t likely. Oh no, of course it isn’t likely he would. You wouldn’t keep it carefully for me, would you? Oh no, in course not? What about that two bob the American gent give you?”
The girl did not wait to hear any more, but with a final toss of her head, disappeared into the bar.
“Now, look here, my friend,” I said to the boots, “it is quite evident that you know more about this gentleman than that young lady does. Tell me all about him, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“There ain’t much to tell,” he answered. “Leastways, nothin’ particular. He was no end of a toff, great-coat with silk collar, neat browns, gloves, and a bowler42 ‘at.”
“Moustache?”
“Yes, and waxed. Got a sort of broad-arrow on his cheek, and looked at ye as if ‘is eyes was gimlets, and he wanted to bore a hole through yer; called at seven, breakfast at half-past, ‘am and eggs and two cups of corfee and a roll, all took up to ’im in ‘is room. Ordered a cab to catch the nine o’clock express to Southampton. I puts ’im in with his bag and blanket, and says, ‘Kindly remember the boots, sir,’ and he says, ‘I’ve done it,’ I said I ‘adn’t ‘ad it, and he told me to go to ------, well the place as isn’t mentioned in perlite company. That’s all I know about ’im.”
He paused and shook his head in the direction of the bar, after which he observed that he knew all about it, and one or two other things beside.
I gave him a shilling for his information and then left the house. Once more I had missed Gideon Hayle by a few minutes, but I had received some information that might help me to find him again. Unfortunately, however, he was now well on his way to Southampton, and in a few hours might be out of England. My respect for that astute43 gentleman was increasing hourly, but it did not deter44 me, only made me the more resolved to beat him in the end. Making my way to Waterloo, I inquired when the next train left for Southampton. Finding that I had more than an hour and a half to wait, I telegraphed to the man I had sent to Southampton to watch the docks, and then took the electric railway to the city, and made my way to my office, where a pile of correspondence awaited me on my table. Calling my managing clerk to my assistance, I set to work to examine it. He opened the letters while I perused45 them and dictated46 the various replies. When he came to the fifth he uttered an exclamation47 of surprise.
“What is it?” I inquired. “Anything wrong?”
In reply he handed me a letter written on good note-paper, but without an address. It ran as follows —
“Mr. Gideon Hayle returns thanks for kind inquiries, and begs to inform Mr. Fairfax that he is leaving England to-day for Algiers.”
“If he thinks he is going to bluff48 me with that sort of tale, he’s very much mistaken,” I said. “I happen to be aware of the fact that he left for Southampton by the nine o’clock train this morning. If I might hazard a guess as to where he was going, I should say that his destination is the Cape1. But let him go where he will, I’ll have him yet. In the meantime, send Williams to Charing49 Cross at once, Roberts to Victoria, and Dickson to St. Paul’s. Furnish each with a description of the man they are to look after, be particular about the scar upon his left cheek, and if they see him, tell them that they are not to lose sight of him, happen what may. Let them telegraph should they discover anything definite, and then go in pursuit. In any case I shall return from Southampton to-night, and shall call here at once.”
Half-an-hour later I arrived at Waterloo, took my ticket and boarded the train for Southampton. When I reached the port I was met at the station by my representative, who informed me that he had seen nothing of the man I had described, although he had carefully looked for him.
“We’ll try the various shipping-offices first,” I said. “I feel positively50 certain that he came down here by the nine o’clock train.”
We drove from shipping-office to shipping-office, and made the most careful inquiries, but in every case without success. Once we thought we had discovered our man, only to find, after wasting a precious hour, that the clerk’s description was altogether a wrong one, and that he resembled Hayle in no sort of way. We boarded the South African mail-boat, but he was not among her passengers; we overhauled51 the American liner, with an equally barren result. We paid cursory52 visits to the principal hotels, but could hear no tidings of him in any one of them. As a matter of fact, if the man had journeyed to Southampton, as I had every reason to suppose he had done, he must have disappeared into thin air when he got there. The whole affair was most bewildering, and I scarcely knew what to think of it. That the boots at the hotel had not been hoodwinking me I felt assured in my own mind. His anger against the man was too real to allow any doubt upon that point. At last, having exhausted all our resources, and not seeing what I could do further, I returned to my subordinate’s lodgings53, where it had been arranged that telegrams should be addressed to me. On my arrival there a yellow envelope was handed to me. I tore it open eagerly and withdrew the contents. It proved to be from Dickson, and had been sent off from Dover. I took my codebook from my pocket and translated the message upon the back of the telegraph-form. It ran as follows —
“Man with triangular54 scar upon left cheek, brown bag and travelling rug, boarded train at Herne Hill, went through to Dover, and has booked to Paris. Am following him according to instructions.”
“Then he slipped me after all,” I cried. “He must have gone on to Waterloo, crossed to Cannon55 Street, then on to London Bridge. The cunning scoundrel! He must have made up his mind that the biggest bluff he could play upon me was to tell the truth, and by Jove! he was not very far wrong. However, those laugh best who laugh last, and though he has had a very fair innings so far, we will see whether he can beat me in the end. I’ll get back to Town now, run down to Bishopstowe to-morrow morning to report progress, and then be off to Paris after him on Monday.”
At 8.45 that night I reached London. At the same moment Mr. Gideon Hayle was sitting down to a charming little dinner at the Café des Princes, and was smiling to himself as he thought of the success that had attended the trick he had played upon me.
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1
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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bellicose
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| adj.好战的；好争吵的 | |
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8
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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9
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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10
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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vociferously
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| adv.喊叫地，吵闹地 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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inebriated
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| adj.酒醉的 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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48
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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49
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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50
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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51
overhauled
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| v.彻底检查( overhaul的过去式和过去分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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52
cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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53
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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