Chapter 18

Dismissing young Bower, who was told to wait in the hall, Merton made his final arrangements. 'You will communicate with me under cover to Trevor,' he said. He took a curious mediaeval ring that he always wore from his ringer, and tied it to a piece of string, which he hung round his neck, tucking all under his shirt. Then he arranged his thick comforter so as to hide the back of his head and neck (he had bitten his nails and blackened them with coal).

'Logan, I only want a bottle of whisky, the cork drawn and loose in the bottle, and a few dirty Scotch one pound notes; and, oh! has Mrs. Bower a pack of cards?'

Having been supplied with these properties, and said farewell to Logan, Merton stole downstairs, walked round the house, entered the kitchen by the back door, and said to Mrs. Bower, 'Grannie, I maun be ganging.'

'My grandson, gentlemen,' said Mrs. Bower to the detectives. Then to her grandson, she remarked, 'Hae, there's a jeely piece for you'; and Merton, munching a round of bread covered with jam, walked down the steep avenue. He knew the house he was to enter, the gardener's lodge, and also that he was to approach it by the back way, and go in at the back door. The inmates expected him and understood the scheme; presently he went out by the door into the village street, still munching at his round of bread.

To such lads and lassies as hailed him in the waning light he replied gruffly, explaining that he had 'a sair hoast,' that is, a bad cough, from which he had observed that young Bower was suffering. He was soon outside of the village, and walking at top speed towards the station. Several times he paused, in shadowy corners of the hedges, and listened. There was no sound of pursuing feet. He was not being followed, but, of course, he might be dogged at the station. The enemy would have their spies there: if they had them in the village his disguise had deceived them. He ran, whenever no passer-by was in sight; through the villages he walked, whistling 'Wull ye no come back again!' He reached the station with three minutes to spare, took a third-class ticket, and went on to the platform. Several people were waiting, among them four or five rough-looking miners, probably spies. He strolled towards the end of the platform, and when the train entered, leaped into a third-class carriage which was nearly full. Turning at the door, he saw the rough customers making for the same carriage. 'Come on,' cried Merton, with a slight touch of intoxication in his voice; 'come on billies, a' freens here!' and he cast a glance of affection behind him at the other occupants of the carriage. The roughs pressed in.

'I won't have it,' cried a testy old gentleman, who was economically travelling by third-class, 'there are only three seats vacant. The rest of the train is nearly empty. Hi, guard! station-master, hi!'

'A' _freens_ here,' repeated Merton stolidly, taking his whisky bottle from his greatcoat pocket. Two of the roughs had entered, but the guard persuaded the other two that they must bestow themselves elsewhere. The old gentleman glared at Merton, who was standing up, the cork of the bottle between his teeth, as the train began to move. He staggered and fell back into his seat.

'We are na fou, we're no _that_ fou,'

Merton chanted, directing his speech to the old gentleman,

'But just a wee drap in oor 'ee!'

'The curse of Scotland,' muttered the old gentleman, whether with reference to alcohol or to Robert Burns, is uncertain.

'The Curse o' Scotland,' said Merton, 'that's the nine o' diamonds. I hae the cairts on me, maybe ye'd take a hand, sir, at Beggar ma Neebour, or Catch the Ten? Ye needna be feared, a can pay gin I lose.' He dragged out his cards, and a handful of silver.

The rough customers between whom Merton was sitting began to laugh hoarsely. The old gentleman frowned.

'I shall change my carriage at the next station,' he said, 'and I shall report you for gambling.'

'A' freens!' said Merton, as if horrified by the austere reception of his cordial advances. 'Wha's gaumlin'? We mauna play, billies, till he's gane. An unco pernicketty auld carl, thon ane,' he remarked, _sotto voce_. 'But there's naething in the Company's by-laws again refraishments,' Merton added. He uncorked his bottle, made a pretence of sucking at it, and passed it to his neighbours, the rough customers. They imbibed with freedom.

The carriage was very dark, the lamp 'moved like a moon in a wane,' as Merton might have quoted in happier circumstances. The rough customers glared at him, but his cap had a peak, and he wore his comforter high.

'Man, ye're the kind o' lad I like,' said one of the rough customers.

'A' freens!' said Merton, again applying himself to the bottle, and passing it. 'Ony ither gentleman tak' a sook?' asked Merton, including all the passengers in his hospitable glance. 'Nane o' ye dry?

'Oh! fill yer ain glass, And let the jug pass, Hoo d'ye ken but yer neighbour's dry?'

Merton carolled.

'Thon's no a Scotch lilt,' remarked one of the roughs.

'A ken it's Irish,' said Merton. 'But, billie, the whusky's Scotch!'

The train slowed and the old gentleman got out. From the platform he stormed at Merton.

'Ye're no an awakened character, ma freend,' answered Merton. 'Gude nicht to ye! Gie ma love to the gude wife and the weans!'

The train pursued her course.

'Aw 'm saying, billie, aw 'm saying,' remarked one of the roughs, thrusting his dirty beard into Merton's face.

'Weel, _be_ saying,' said Merton.

'You're no Lairdie Bower, ye ken, ye haena the neb o' him.'

'And wha the deil said a _was_ Lairdie Bower? Aw 'm a Lanerick man. Lairdie's at hame wi' a sair hoast,' answered Merton.

'But ye're wearing Lairdie Bower's auld big coat.'

'And what for no? Lairdie has anither coat, a brawer yin, and he lent me the auld yin because the nichts is cauld, and I hae a hoast ma'sel! Div _ye_ ken Lairdie Bower? I've been wi' his auld faither and the lasses half the day, but speakin's awfu' dry work.'

Here Merton repeated the bottle trick, and showed symptoms of going to sleep, his head rolling on to the shoulder of the rough.

'Haud up, man!' said the rough, withdrawing the support.

'A' freens here,' remarked Merton, drawing a dirty clay pipe from his pocket. 'Hae ye a spunk?'

The rough provided him with a match, and he killed some time, while Preston Pans was passed, in filling and lighting his pipe.

'Ye're a Lanerick man?' asked the inquiring rough.

'Ay, a Hamilton frae Moss End. But I'm taking the play. Ma auld tittie has dee'd and left me some siller,' Merton dragged a handful of dirty notes out of his trousers pocket. 'I've been to see the auld Bowers, but Lairdie was on the shift.'

'And ye're ganging to Embro?'

'When we cam' into Embro Toon We were a seemly sicht to see; Ma luve was in the--

I dinna mind what ma luve was in--

'And I ma'sel in cramoisie,'

sang Merton, who had the greatest fear of being asked local questions about Moss End and Motherwell. 'I dinna ken what cramoisie is, ma'sel',' he added. 'Hae a drink!'

'Man, ye're a bonny singer,' said the rough, who, hitherto, had taken no hand in the conversation.

'Ma faither was a precentor,' said Merton, and so, in fact, Mr. Merton _pere_ had, for a short time, been--of Salisbury Cathedral.

They were approaching Portobello, where Merton rushed to the window, thrust half of his body out and indulged in the raucous and meaningless yells of the festive artisan. Thus he tided over a rather prolonged wait, but, when the train moved on, the inquiring rough returned to the charge. He was suspicious, and also was drunk, and obstinate with all the brainless obstinacy of intoxication.

'Aw 'm sayin',' he remarked to Merton, 'you're no Lairdie Bower.'

'Hear till the man! Aw 'm Tammy Hamilton, o' Moss End in Lanerick. Aw 'm ganging to see ma Jean.

'For day or night Ma fancy's flight Is ever wi' ma Jean-- Ma bonny, bonny, flat-footed Jean,'

sang Merton, gliding from the strains of Robert Burns into those of Mr. Boothby. 'Jean's a Lanerick wumman,' he added, 'she's in service in the Pleasance. Aw 'm ganging to my Jo. Ye'll a' hae Jos, billies?'

'Aw 'm sayin',' the intoxicated rough persisted, 'ye're no a Lanerick man. Ye're the English gentleman birkie that cam' to Kirkburn yestreen. Or else ye're ane o' the polis' (police).

'_Me_ ane o' the polis! Aw 'm askin' the company, _div_ a look like a polisman? _Div_ a look like an English birkie, or ane o' the gentry?'

The other passengers, decent people, thus appealed to, murmured negatives, and shook their heads. Merton certainly did not resemble a policeman, an Englishman, or a gentleman.

'Ye see naebody lippens to ye,' Merton went on. 'Man, if we were na a' freens, a wad gie ye a jaud atween yer twa een! But ye've been drinking. Tak anither sook!'

The rough did not reject the conciliatory offer.

'The whiskey's low,' said Merton, holding up the bottle to the light, 'but there's mair at Embro' station.'

They were now drawing up at the station. Merton floundered out, threw his arms round the necks of each of the roughs, yelled to their companions in the next carriage to follow, and staggered into the third- class refreshment room. Here he leaned against the counter and feebly ogled the attendant nymph.

'Ma lonny bassie, a mean ma bonny lassie,' he said, 'gie's five gills, five o' the Auld Kirk' (whisky).

'Hoots man!' he heard one of the roughs remark to another. 'This falla's no the English birkie. English he canna be.'

'But aiblins he's ane o' oor ain polis,' said the man of suspicions.

'Nane o' oor polis has the gumption; and him as fou as a fiddler.'

Merton, waving his glass, swallowed its contents at three gulps. He then fell on the floor, scrambled to his feet, tumbled out, and dashed his own whisky bottle through the window of the refreshment room.

'Me ane o' the polis!' he yelled, and was staggering towards the exit, when he was collared by two policemen, attracted by the noise. He embraced one of them, murmuring 'ma bonny Jean!' and then doubled up, his head lolling on his shoulder. His legs and arms jerked convulsively, and he had at last to be carried off, in the manner known as 'The Frog's March,' by four members of the force. The roughs followed, like chief mourners, Merton thought, at the head of the attendant crowd.

'There's an end o' your clash about the English gentleman,' Merton heard the quieter of his late companions observe to the obstinate inquirer. 'But he's a bonny singer. And noo, wull ye tell me hoo we're to win back to Drem the nicht?'

'Dod, we'll make a nicht o't,' said the other, as Merton was carried into the police-station.

He permitted himself to be lifted into one of the cells, and then remarked, in the most silvery tones:

'Very many thanks, my good men. I need not give you any more trouble, except by asking you, if possible, to get me some hot water and soap, and to invite the inspector to favour me with his company.'

The men nearly dropped Merton, but, finding his feet, he stood up and smiled blandly.

'Pray make no apologies,' he said. 'It is rather I who ought to apologise.'

'He's no drucken, and he's no Scotch,' remarked one of the policemen.

'But he'll pass the nicht here, and maybe apologise to the Baillie in the morning,' said another.

'Oh, pardon me, you mistake me,' said Merton. 'This is not a stupid practical joke.'

'It's no a very gude ane,' said the policeman.

Merton took out a handful of gold. 'I wish to pay for the broken window at once,' he said. 'It was a necessary part of the _mise en scene_, of the stage effect, you know. To call your attention.'

'Ye'll settle wi' the Baillie in the morning,' said the policeman.

Things were looking untoward.

'Look here,' said Merton, 'I quite understand your point of view, it does credit to your intelligence. You take me for an English tourist, behaving as I have done by way of a joke, or for a bet?'

'That's it, sir,' said the spokesman.

'Well, it does look like that. But which of you is the senior officer here?'

'Me, sir,' said the last speaker.

'Very well, if you can be so kind as to call the officer in charge of the station, or even one of senior standing--the higher the better--I can satisfy him as to my identity, and as to my reasons for behaving as I have done. I assure you that it is a matter of the very gravest importance. If the inspector, when he has seen me, permits, I have no objections to you, or to all of you hearing what I have to say. But you will understand that this is a matter for his own discretion. If I were merely playing the fool, you must see that I have nothing to gain by giving additional annoyance and offence.'

'Very well, sir, I will bring the officer in charge,' said the policeman.

'Just tell him about my arrest and so on,' said Merton.

In a few minutes he returned with his superior.

'Well, my man, what's a' this aboot?' said that officer sternly.

'If you can give me an interview, alone, for five minutes, I shall enlighten you,' said Merton.

The officer was a huge and stalwart man. He threw his eye over Merton. 'Wait in the yaird,' he said to his minions, who retreated rather reluctantly. 'Weel, speak up,' said the officer.

'It is the body snatching case at Kirkburn,' said Merton.

'Do ye mean that ye're an English detective?'

'No, merely a friend of Mr. Logan's who left Kirkburn this evening. I have business to do for him in London in connection with the case--business that nobody can do but myself--and the house was watched. I escaped in the disguise which you see me wearing, and had to throw off a gang of ruffians that accompanied me in the train by pretending to be drunk. I could only shake them off and destroy the suspicions which they expressed by getting arrested.'

'It's a queer story,' said the policeman.

'It _is_ a queer story, but, speaking without knowledge, I think your best plan is to summon the chief of your detective department, I need his assistance. And I can prove my identity to him--to _you_, if you like, but you know best what is official etiquette.'

'I'll telephone for him, sir.'

'You are very obliging. All this is confidential, you know. Expense is no object to Mr. Logan, and he will not be ungrateful if strict secrecy is preserved. But, of all things, I want a wash.'

'All right, sir,' said the policeman, and in a few minutes Merton's head, hands, and neck, were restored to their pristine propriety.

'No more kailyard talk for me,' he thought, with satisfaction.

The head of the detective department arrived in no long time. He was in evening dress. Merton rose and bowed.

'What's your story, sir?' the chief asked; 'it has brought me from a dinner party at my own house.'

'I deeply regret it,' said Merton, 'though, for my purpose, it is the merest providence.'

'What do you mean, sir?'

'Your subordinate has doubtless told you all that I told him?'

The chief nodded.

'Do you--I mean as an official--believe me?'

'I would be glad of proof of your personal identity.'

'That is easily given. You may know Mr. Lumley, the Professor of Toxicology in the University here?'

'I have met him often on matters of our business.'

'He is an old college friend of mine, and can remove any doubts you may entertain. His wife is a tall woman luckily,' added Merton to himself, much to the chief's bewilderment.

'Mr. Lumley's word would quite satisfy me,' said the chief.

'Very well, pray lend me your attention. This affair--'

'The body snatching at Kirkburn?' asked the chief.

'Exactly,' said Merton. 'This affair is very well organised. Your house is probably being observed. Now what I propose is _this_. I can go nowhere dressed as I am. You will, if you please, first send a constable, in uniform, to your house with orders to wait till you return. Next, I shall dress, by your permission, in any spare uniform you may have here and in that costume I shall leave this office and accompany you to your house in a closed cab. You will enter it, bring out a hat and cloak, come into the cab, and I shall put them on, leaving my policeman's helmet in the cab, which will wait. Then, minutes later, the constable will come out, take the cab, and drive to any police office you please. Once within your house, I shall exchange my uniform for any old evening suit you may be able to lend me, and, when your guests have departed, you and I will drive together to Professor Lumley's, where he will identify me. After that, my course is perfectly clear, and I need give you no further trouble.'

'It is too complicated, sir,' said the chief, smiling. 'I don't know your name?'

'Merton,' said our hero, 'and yours?'

'Macnab. I can lend you a plain suit of morning clothes from here, and we don't want the stratagem of the constable. You don't even need the extra trouble of putting on evening dress in my house.'

'How very fortunate,' said Merton, and in a quarter of an hour he was attired as a simple citizen, and was driving to the house of Mr. Macnab. Here he was merely introduced to the guests--it was a men's party--as a gentleman from England on business. The guests had too much tact to tarry long, and by eleven o'clock the chief and Merton were ringing at the door bell of Professor Lumley. The servant knew both of them, and ushered them into the professor's study. He was reading examination papers. Mrs. Lumley had not returned from a party. Lumley greeted Merton warmly.

'I am passing through Edinburgh, and thought I might find you at home,' Merton said.

'Mr. Macnab,' said Lumley, shaking hands with the chief, 'you have not taken my friend into custody?'

'No, professor; Mr. Merton will tell you that he is released, and I'll be going home.'

'You won't stop and smoke?'

'No, I should be _de trop_,' answered the chief; 'good night, professor; good night, Mr. Merton.'

'But the broken window?'

'Oh, we'll settle that, and let you have the bill.'

Merton gave his club address, and the chief shook hands and departed.

'Now, what _have_ you been doing, Merton?' asked Lumley.

Merton briefly explained the whole set of circumstances, and added, 'Now, Lumley, you are my sole hope. You can give me a bed to-night?'

'With all the pleasure in the world.'

'And lend me a set of Mrs. Lumley's raiment and a lady's portmanteau?'

'Are you quite mad?'

'No, but I must get to London undiscovered, and, for certain reasons, with which I need not trouble you, that is absolutely the only possible way. You remember, at Oxford, I made up fairly well for female parts.'

'Is there absolutely no other way?'

'None, I have tried every conceivable plan, mentally. Mourning is best, and a veil.'

At this moment Mrs. Lumley's cab was heard, returning from her party.

'Run down and break it to Mrs. Lumley,' said Merton. 'Luckily we have often acted together.'

'Luckily you are a favourite of hers,' said Lumley.

In ten minutes the pair entered the study. Mrs. Lumley, a tall lady, as Merton had said, came in, laughing and blushing.

'I shall drive with you myself to the train. My maid must be in the secret,' she said.

'She is an old acquaintance of mine,' said Merton. 'But I think you had better not come with me to the station. Nobody is likely to see me, leaving your house about nine, with my veil down. But, if any one _does_ see me, he must take me for you.'

'Oh, it is I who am running up to town incognita?'

'For a day or two--you will lend me a portmanteau to give local colour?'

'With pleasure,' said Mrs. Lumley.

'And Lumley will telegraph to Trevor to meet you at King's Cross, with his brougham, at 6.15 P. M.?'

This also was agreed to, and so ended this romance of Bradshaw.

IV. Greek meets Greek

At about twenty-five minutes to seven, on March 7, the express entered King's Cross. A lady of fashionable appearance, with her veil down, gazed anxiously out of the window of a reserved carriage. She presently detected the person for whom she was looking, and waved her parasol. Trevor, lifting his hat, approached; the lady had withdrawn into the carriage, and he entered.

'Mum's the word!' said the lady.

'Why, it's--hang it all, it's Merton!'

'Your sister is staying with you?' asked Merton eagerly.

'Yes; but what on earth--'

'I'll tell you in the brougham. But you take a weight off my bosom! I am going to stay with you for a day or two; and now my reputation (or Mrs. Lumley's) is safe. Your servants never saw Mrs. Lumley?'

'Never,' said Trevor.

'All right! My portmanteau has her initials, S. M. L., and a crimson ticket; send a porter for it. Now take me to the brougham.'

Trevor offered his arm and carried the dressing-bag; the lady was led to his carriage. The portmanteau was recovered, and they drove away.

'Give me a cigarette,' said Merton, 'and I'll tell you all about it.'

He told Trevor all about it--except about the emu's feathers.

'But a male disguise would have done as well,' said Trevor

'Not a bit. It would not have suited what I have to do in town. I cannot tell you why. The affair is complex. I have to settle it, if I can, so that neither Logan nor any one else--except the body-snatcher and polite letter-writer--shall ever know how I managed it.'

Trevor had to be content with this reply. He took Merton, when they arrived, into the smoking-room, rang for tea, and 'squared his sister,' as he said, in the drawing-room. The pair were dining out, and after a solitary dinner, Merton (in a tea-gown) occupied himself with literary composition. He put his work in a large envelope, sealed it, marked it with a St. Andrew's cross, and, when Trevor returned, asked him to put it in his safe. 'Two days after to-morrow, if I do not appear, you must open the envelope and read the contents,' he said.

After luncheon on the following day--a wet day--Miss Trevor and Merton (who was still arrayed as Mrs. Lumley) went out shopping. Miss Trevor then drove off to pay a visit (Merton could not let her know his next move), and he himself, his veil down, took a four-wheeled cab, and drove to Madame Claudine's. He made one or two purchases, and then asked for the head of the establishment, an Irish lady. To her he confided that he had to break a piece of distressing family news to Miss Markham, of the cloak department; that young lady was summoned; Madame Claudine, with a face of sympathy, ushered them into her private room, and went off to see a customer. Miss Markham was pale and trembling; Merton himself felt agitated.

'Is it about my father, or--' the girl asked.

'Pray be calm,' said Merton. 'Sit down. Both are well.'

The girl started. 'Your voice--' she said.

'Exactly,' said Merton; 'you know me.' And taking off his glove, he showed a curious mediaeval ring, familiar to his friends. 'I could get at you in no other way than this,' he said, 'and it was absolutely necessary to see you.'

'What is it? I know it is about my father,' said the girl.

'He has done us a great service,' said Merton soothingly. He had guessed what the 'distressing circumstances' were in which the marquis had been restored to life. Perhaps the reader guesses? A discreet person, who has secretly to take charge of a corpse of pecuniary value, adopts certain measures (discovered by the genius of ancient Egypt), for its preservation. These measures, doubtless, had revived the marquis, who thus owed his life to his kidnapper.

'He has, I think, done us a great service,' Merton repeated; and the girl's colour returned to her beautiful face, that had been of marble.