Post Haste by Robert Michael Ballantyne (free reads .txt) 📕

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At that moment the dining-room window was heard to open slowly but distinctly.

Miss Stivergill threw up the bedroom window.

The marrow in Miss Lillycrop's spine froze.

Mr Bones started and looked up in surprise. He received a deluge of water on his face, and at the same moment a ewer burst in atoms on the gravel at his feet--for Miss Stivergill did nothing by halves. But Bones was surprise-proof by that time; besides, the coveted treasure was on the sideboard--almost within his grasp. He was too bold a villain to be frightened by women, and he knew that sleeping country-folk are not quickly roused to succour the inmates of a lonely cottage. Darting into the room, he tumbled over chairs, tables, work-boxes, fire-irons, and coal-scuttle.

"Ring!" said Miss Stivergill sharply. At the same moment she seized the tea-tray in her left hand and belaboured it furiously with the drumstick.

"Ring out at the window!" shouted Miss Stivergill.

Miss Lillycrop did so until her spinal marrow thawed.

The noise was worse than appalling. Little Pax, unable to express his conflicting emotions in any other way, yelled with agonising delight. Even the hardened spirit of Bones trembled with mingled feelings of alarm and surprise. He found and grasped the coveted box, and leaped out of the window with a bound. It is highly probable that he would have got clear off but for the involuntary action of Miss Lillycrop. As that lady's marrow waxed warm she dashed the great bell against the window-sill with such fervour that it flew from her grasp and descended full on the burglar's cranium, just as he leaped into the arms of the policeman, and both fell heavily to the ground. The guardian of the night immediately jumped up uninjured, but Bones lay prone on the green sward--stunned by the bell.

"That's well done, anyhow, an' saved me a world o' trouble," said the constable, looking up at the window as he held the burglar down, though there was little necessity for that. "You couldn't shy me over a bit of rope, could you, ma'am?"

Miss Stivergill, to whom nothing seemed difficult, and who had by that time stopped her share in the noise, went into a cupboard and fetched thence a coil of rope.

"I meant it to be used in the event of fire," she said quietly to her friend, who had thrown herself flat on her bed, "but it will serve other purposes as well.--There, policeman."

She threw it down, and when Bones recovered consciousness he found himself securely tied and seated in a chair in the Rosebud kitchen--the policeman looking at him with interest, and the domestics with alarm. Miss Stivergill regarded him with calm severity.

"Now he's quite safe, ma'am, but I can't venture to take 'im to the station alone. If you'll kindly consent to keep an eye on him, ma'am, till I run down for a comrade, I'll be greatly obleeged. There's no fear of his wrigglin' out o' that, ma'am; you may make your mind easy."

"My mind is quite easy, policeman; you may go. I shall watch him."

When the man had left, Miss Stivergill ordered the servants to leave the kitchen. Little Pax, who had discreetly kept out of range of the burglar's eye, went with them, a good deal depressed in spirit, for his mission had failed. The burglary had not indeed, been accomplished, but--"father" was "took."

When Miss Stivergill was left alone with the burglar she gazed at him for some time in silence.

"Man," she said at length, "you are little Bones's father."

"If you means Tottie, ma'am, I is," replied Bones, with a look and tone which were not amiable.

"I have a strong feeling of regard for your child, though not a scrap of pity for yourself," said Miss Stivergill, with a frown.

Mr Bones muttered something to the effect that he returned the compliment with interest.

"For Tottie's sake I should be sorry to see you transported," continued the lady, "therefore I mean to let you off. Moreover, bad as you are, I believe you are not so bad as many people would think you. Therefore I'm going to trust you."

Bones looked inquiringly and with some suspicion at his captor. He evidently thought there was a touch of insanity about her. This was confirmed when Miss Stivergill, seizing a carving-knife from the dresser, advanced with masculine strides towards him. He made a desperate effort to burst his bonds, but they were too scientifically arranged for that. "Don't fear," said the lady, severing the cord that bound the burglar's wrists, and putting the knife in his hands. "Now," she added, "you know how to cut yourself free, no doubt."

"Well, you _are_ a trump!" exclaimed Bones, rapidly touching his bonds at salient points with the keen edge.

In a few seconds he was free.

"Now, go away," said Miss Stivergill, "and don't let me see you here again."

Bones looked with admiration at his deliverer, but could only find words to repeat that she _was_ a trump, and vanished through the back-door, just as a band of men, with pitchforks, rakes, spades, and lanterns, came clamouring in at the front garden gate from the neighbouring farm.

"What is it?" exclaimed the farmer.

"Only a burglar," answered Miss Stivergill.

"Where is he?" chorussed everybody.

"That's best known to himself," replied the lady, who, in order to give the fugitive time, went into a minute and slow account of the whole affair--excepting, of course, her connivance at the escape--to the great edification of her audience, among whom the one who seemed to derive the chief enjoyment was a black boy. He endeavoured to screen himself behind the labourers, and was obviously unable to restrain his glee.

"But what's come of 'im, ma'am?" asked the farmer impatiently.

"Escaped!" answered Miss Stivergill.

"Escaped!" echoed everybody, looking furtively round, as though they supposed he had only escaped under the dresser or into the keyhole.

"Escaped!" repeated the policeman, who entered at the moment with two comrades; "impossible! I tied 'im so that no efforts of his own could avail 'im. Somebody _must_ 'ave 'elped 'im."

"The carving-knife helped him," said Miss Stivergill, with a look of dignity.--"Perhaps, instead of speculating how he escaped, policeman, it would be better to pursue him. He can't be very far off, as it is not twenty minutes since he cut himself free."

In a state of utter bewilderment the policeman rushed out of the cottage, followed by his comrades and the agriculturists. Peter Pax essayed to go with them, but was restrained by an iron grip on his collar. Pulling him back, Miss Stivergill dragged her captive into a parlour and shut the door.

"Come now, little Pax," she said, setting the boy in a chair in front of her, "you needn't try to deceive _me_. I'd know you among a thousand in any disguise. If you were to blacken your face with coal-tar an inch thick your impertinence would shine through. You know that the burglar is little Bones's father; you've a pretty good guess that I let him off. You have come here for some purpose in connection with him. Come--out with it, and make a clean breast."

Little Pax did make a clean breast then and there, was washed white, supped and slept at The Rosebud, returned to town next day by the first train, and had soon the pleasure of informing Tottie that the intended burglary had been frustrated, and that her father wasn't "took" after all.


CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.


SHOWS HOW ONE THING LEADS TO ANOTHER, AND SO ON.

It is a mere truism to state that many a chain of grave and far-reaching events is set in motion by some insignificant trifle. The touching of a trigger by a child explodes a gun which extinguishes a valuable life, and perhaps throws a whole neighbourhood into difficulties. The lighting of a match may cause a conflagration which shall "bring down" an extensive firm, some of whose dependants, in the retail trade, will go down along with it, and cause widespreading distress, if not ruin, among a whole army of greengrocers, buttermen, and other small fry.

The howling of a bad baby was the comparatively insignificant event which set going a certain number of wheels, whose teeth worked into the cogs which revolved in connection with our tale.

The howling referred to awoke a certain contractor near Pimlico with a start, and caused him to rise off what is popularly known as the "wrong side." Being an angry man, the contractor called the baby bad names, and would have whipped it had it been his own. Going to his office before breakfast with the effects of the howl strong upon him, he met a humble labourer there with a surly "Well, what do you want?"

The labourer wanted work. The contractor had no work to give him. The labourer pleaded that his wife and children were starving. The contractor didn't care a pinch of snuff for his wife or children, and bade him be off. The labourer urged that the times were very hard, and he would be thankful for any sort of job, no matter how small. He endeavoured to work on the contractor's feelings by referring to the premature death, by starvation, of his pet parrot, which had been for years in the family, and a marvellous speaker, having been taught by his mate Bill. The said Bill was also out of work, and waiting for him outside. He too would be thankful for a job--anything would do, and they would be willing to work for next to nothing. The contractor still professed utter indifference to the labourer's woes, but the incident of the parrot had evidently touched a cord which could not be affected by human suffering. After a few minutes' consideration he said there _was_ a small job--a pump at the corner of a certain street not far off had to be taken down, to make way for contemplated alterations. It was not necessary to take it down just then, but as the labourers were so hard up for a job they were at liberty to undertake that one.

Thus two wheels were set in motion, and the result was that the old pump at the corner of Purr Street was uprooted and laid low by these labourers, one of whom looked into the lower end of the pump and said "Hallo!"

His companion Bill echoed the "Hallo!" and added "What's up?"

"W'y, if there ain't somethink queer inside of the old pump," said the labourer, going down on both knees in order to look more earnestly into it. "I do b'lieve it's letters. Some double-extra stoopids 'ave bin an' posted 'em in the pump."

He pulled out handfuls of letters as he spoke, some of which, from their appearance, must have lain there for years, while others were quite fresh!

A passing letter-carrier took charge of these letters, and conveyed them to the Post-Office, where the machinery of the department was set in motion on them. They were examined, faced, sorted, and distributed. Among them was the letter which George Aspel had committed to the care of Tottie Bones at the time of his first arrival in London, and thus it came to pass that the energies of