Chapter 14

HUNT (_solus_)

Two hundred pounds reward. Curious thing. One burglary after another, and these Scotch blockheads without a man to show for it. Jock runs east, and Sawney cuts west; everything’s at a deadlock; and they go on calling themselves thief-catchers! [By jingo, I’ll show them how we do it down South! Well, I’ve worn out a good deal of saddle leather over Jemmy Rivers; but here’s for new breeches if you like.] Let’s have another queer at the list. (_Reads_.) ‘Humphrey Moore, otherwise Badger; aged forty, thick-set, dark, close-cropped; has been a prize-fighter; no apparent occupation.’ Badger’s an old friend of mine, ‘George Smith, otherwise the Dook, otherwise Jingling Geordie; red-haired and curly, slight, flash; an old thimble-rig; has been a stroller; suspected of smuggling; an associate of loose women.’ G. S., Esquire, is another of my flock. ‘Andrew Ainslie, otherwise Slink Ainslie; aged thirty-five; thin, white-faced, lank-haired; no occupation; has been in trouble for reset of theft and subornation of youth; might be useful as king’s evidence.’ That’s an acquaintance to make. ‘Jock Hamilton, otherwise Sweepie,’ and so on. [’Willie M’Glashan,’ hum—yes, and so on, and so on.] Ha! here’s the man I want. ‘William Brodie, Deacon of the Wrights, about thirty; tall, slim, dark; wears his own hair; is often at Clarke’s, but seemingly for purposes of amusement only; [is nephew to the Procurator-Fiscal; is commercially sound, but has of late (it is supposed) been short of cash; has lost much at cock-fighting;] is proud, clever, of good repute, but is fond of adventures and secrecy, and keeps low company.’ Now, here’s what I ask myself: here’s this list of the family party that drop into Mother Clarke’s; it’s been in the hands of these nincompoops for weeks, and I’m the first to cry Queer Street! Two well-known cracksmen, Badger and the Dook! why, there’s Jack in the Orchard at once. This here topsawyer work they talk about, of course that’s a chalk above Badger and the Dook. But how about our Mohock-tradesman? ‘Purposes of amusement!’ What next? Deacon of the Wrights? and wright in their damned lingo means a kind of carpenter, I fancy? Why, damme, it’s the man’s trade! I’ll look you up, Mr. William Brodie, Deacon of the Wrights. As sure as my name’s Jerry Hunt, I wouldn’t take one-ninety-nine in gold for my chance of that ’ere two hundred!