He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (books you need to read .txt) 📕

‘Very nice family of ladies at the Clock House,’ said Bozzle. The

Colonel answered him by a more developed snore. ‘Particularly Mrs T,’

said Bozzle.

The Colonel could not stand this. He was so closely implicated with Mrs

Trevelyan at the present moment that he could not omit to notice an

address so made to him. ‘What the devil is that to you, sir?’ said he,

jumping up and confronting Bozzle in his wrath.

But policemen have always this advantage in their difficulties, that

they know to a fraction what the wrath of men is worth, and what it can

do. Sometimes it can dismiss a policeman, and sometimes break his head.

Sometimes it can give him a long and troublesome job, and sometimes it

may be wrath to the death. But in nineteen out of twenty cases it is

not a fearful thing, and the policeman knows well when he need not fear

it. On the present occasion Bozzle was not at all afraid of Colonel

Osborne’s wrath.

‘Well, sir, not much, indeed, if you come to that. ‘Only you was there,

sir.’

‘Of course I was there,’ said the Colonel.

‘And a very nice young gentleman is Mr Stanbury,’ said Bozzle.

To this Colonel Osborne made no reply, but again had resort to his

newspaper in the most formal manner.

‘He’s a going down to his family, no doubt,’ continued Bozzle.

‘He may be going to the devil for what I know,’ said the Colonel, who

could not restrain himself.

‘I suppose they’re all friends of Mrs T.‘s?’ asked Bozzle.

‘Sir,’ said the Colonel, ‘I believe that you’re a spy.’

‘No, Colonel, no; no, no; I’m no spy. I wouldn’t demean myself to be

such. A spy is a man as has no profession, and nothing to justify his

looking into things. Things must be looked into, Colonel; or how’s a

man to know where he is? or how’s a lady to know where she is? But as

for spies, except in the way of evidence, I don’t think nothing of

‘em.’ Soon after this, two more passengers entered the train, and

nothing more was said between Bozzle and the Colonel.

The Colonel, as soon as he reached London, went home to his lodgings,

and then to his club, and did his best to enjoy himself. On the

following Monday he intended to start for Scotland. But he could not

quite enjoy himself because of Bozzle. He felt that he was being

watched; and there is nothing that any man hates so much as that,

especially when a lady is concerned. Colonel Osborne knew that his

visit to Nuncombe Putney had been very innocent; but he did not like

the feeling that even his innocence had been made the subject of

observation.

Bozzle went away at once to Trevelyan, whom he found at his chambers.

He himself had had no very deep-laid scheme in his addresses to Colonel

Osborne. He had begun to think that very little would come of the

affair especially after Hugh Stanbury had appeared upon the scene and

had felt that there was nothing to be lost by presenting himself before

the eyes of the Colonel. It was necessary that he should make a report

to his employer, and the report might be made a little more full after

a few words with the man whom he had been ‘looking into.’ ‘Well, Mr

Trewillian,’ he said, seating himself on a chair close against the

wall, and holding his hat between the knees ‘I’ve seen the parties, and

know pretty much all about it.’

‘All I want to know, Mr Bozzle, is, whether Colonel Osborne has been at

the Clock House?’

‘He has been there, Mr Trewillian. There is no earthly dobt about that.

From hour to hour I can tell you pretty nearly where he’s been since he

left London.’ Then Bozzle took out his memorandum-book.

‘I don’t care about all that,’ said Trevelyan.

‘I dare say not, sir; but it may be wanted all the same. Any gentleman

acting in our way can’t be too particular, can’t have too many facts.

The smallest little tiddly things, and Bozzle as he said this seemed to

enjoy immensely the flavour of his own epithet ‘the smallest little

“tiddly” things do so often turn up trumps when you get your evidence

into court.’

‘I’m not going to get any evidence into court.’

‘Maybe not, sir. A gentleman and lady is always best out of court as

long as things can hang on any way, but sometimes things won’t hang on

no way.’

Trevelyan, who was conscious that the employment of Bozzle was

discreditable, and whose affairs in Devonshire were now in the hands

of, at any rate, a more honourable ally, was at present mainly anxious

to get rid of the ex-policeman. ‘I have no doubt you’ve been very

careful, Mr Bozzle,’ said he.

‘There isn’t no one in the business could be more so, Mr Trewillian.’

‘And you have found out what it was necessary that I should know.

Colonel Osborne did go to the Clock House?’

‘He was let in at the front door on Friday the 5th by Sarah French,

the housemaid, at 10.37 a.m., and was let out again by the same young

woman at 11.44 a.m. Perhaps you’d like to have a copy of the entry, Mr

Trewillian?’.

‘No, no, no.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Of course it’ll be with me when it’s wanted. Who

was with him, exactly, at that time, I can’t say. There is things, Mr

Trewillian, one can’t see. But I don’t think as he saw neither Mrs

Stanbury, nor Miss Stanbury not to speak to. I did just have one word,

promiscuous, with Sarah French, after he was gone. Whether the other

young lady was with ‘em or not, and if so for how long, I can’t say.

There is things, Mr Trewillian, which one can’t see.’

How Trevelyan hated the man as he went on with his odious details,

details, not one of which possessed the slightest importance. ‘It’s all

right, I dare say, Mr Bozzle. And now about the account.’

‘Quite so, Mr Trewillian. But there was one question—just one

question.’

‘What question?’ said Trevelyan, almost angrily.

‘And there’s another thing I must tell you, too, Mr Trewillian. I come

back to town in the same carriage with the Colonel. I thought it

better.’

‘You did not tell him who you were?’

‘No, Mr Trewillian; I didn’t tell him that. I don’t think he’d say if

you was to ask him that I told him much of anything. No, Mr Trewillian,

I didn’t tell him nothing. I don’t often tell folks much till the time

comes. But I thought it better, and I did have a word or two with the

gent, just a word or two. He’s not so very downy, isn’t the Colonel for

one that’s been at it so long, Mr Trewillian.’

‘I dare say not. But if you could just let me have the account, Mr

Bozzle—’

‘The account? Oh, yes that is necessary; ain’t it? These sort of

inquiries do come a little expensive, Mr Trewillian; because time goes

for so much; and when one has to be down on a thing, sharp, you know,

and sure, so that counsel on the other side can’t part you from it,

though he shakes you like a dog does a rat, and one has to get oneself

up ready for all that, you know, Mr Trewillian; as I was saying, one

can’t count one’s shillings when one has such a job as this in hand.

Clench your nail—that’s what I say; be it even so. Clench your nail—

that’s what you’ve got to do.’

‘I dare say we shan’t quarrel about the money, Mr Bozzle.’

‘Oh dear no. I find I never has any words about the money. But there’s

that one question. There’s a young Mr Stanbury has gone down, as knows

all about it. What’s he up to?’

‘He’s my particular friend,’ said Trevelyan.

‘Oh h. He do know all about it, then?’

‘We needn’t talk about that, if you please, Mr Bozzle.’

‘Because there was words between him and the Colonel upon the platform

and very angry words. The young man went at the Colonel quite

open-mouthed savage-like. It’s not the way such things should be done,

Mr Trewillian; and though of course it’s not for me to speak—she’s your

lady—still, when you has got a thing of this kind in hand, one head is

better than a dozen. As for myself, Mr Trewillian, I never wouldn’t

look at a case, not if I knew it, unless I was to have it all to myself.

But of course there was no bargain, and so I says nothing.’

After considerable delay the bill was made out on the spot, Mr Bozzle

copying down the figures painfully from his memorandum-book, with his

head much inclined on one side. Trevelyan asked him, almost in despair,

to name the one sum; but this Bozzle declined to do, saying that right

was right. He had a scale of pilfering of his own, to which he had

easily reconciled his conscience; and beyond that he prided himself on

the honesty of his accounts. At last the bill was made out, was paid,

and Bozzle was gone. Trevelyan, when he was alone, threw himself back

on a sofa, and almost wept in despair. To what a depth of degradation

had he not been reduced!