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More than ten minutes had elapsed since Reeks’ departure, and Mr. Thorneycroft, who had been struggling to contain his growing anger, began muttering threats and complaints under his breath. His impatience was mirrored by the Tinker, who approached Ginger with a frown.
“What the devil can Mr. Reeks be up to? I hope nothing has happened to him,” the Tinker grumbled.
“Don’t mention a certain gent’s name here,” Ginger remarked with a pointed glare. “Or if you do, treat it with proper respect.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed the Tinker impatiently. “I don’t like a man staying away in this manner. It looks suspicious. I say we go and see after him. We can leave the old gent to take a quiet nap by himself. Don’t worry, sir. We’ll just give a look around and then come back.”
“Stay where you are, rascal!” Thorneycroft cried angrily. “I won’t be left alone. Stay where you are, I command you!”
“Well, we’ve got a new captain, I’m thinking,” the Tinker said, winking at the others. “We’ve no wish to disoblige you, sir. I’ll just peep out into the hall and see if Mr. Reeks is anywhere about. Why, damnation!” he added, trying the door. “It’s locked!”
“What’s locked?” cried Thorneycroft in dismay.
“The door, to be sure,” replied the Tinker. “We’re prisoners.”
“O Lord, you don’t say so!” cried Thorneycroft, his face pale with fear. “What will become of us?”
A roar of laughter from the others converted his terror into fury.
“I see how it is,” he cried. “You have entrapped me, ruffians. It’s all a trick. You mean to murder me. But I’ll sell my life dearly. The first who approaches shall have his brains blown out.” As he spoke, he levelled a pistol at the Tinker’s head.
“Holloa! What are you about, sir?” cried the Tinker, raising his hands in defense. “You’re mistaken—a complete mistake. If it’s a trap, we’re caught in it as well as yourself.”
“To be sure we are,” added the Sandman. “Sit down and wait a bit. I daresay Mr. Reeks will come back, and it won’t do no good getting into a passion.”
“Well, well, I must resign myself, I suppose,” groaned Thorneycroft, sinking into a chair. “It’s a terrible situation to be in—shut up in a haunted house.”
“I’ve been in much worse situations,” observed Ginger. “And I always found the best way to get out of ’em was to take things quietly.”
“Besides, there’s no help for it,” said the Tinker, seating himself.
“That remains to be seen,” observed the Sandman, taking the chair opposite Thorneycroft. “If Reeks doesn’t come back soon, I’ll bust open the door.”
“Plenty of time for that,” said Ginger, sauntering towards the table laden with provisions. “What do you say to a mouthful of food?”
“I wouldn’t touch it for the world,” replied the Sandman.
“Nor I,” added the Tinker. “It may be poisoned.”
“Poisoned—nonsense!” cried Ginger. “Don’t you see someone has been taking his supper here? I’ll just finish it for him.”
“With all my heart,” said the Tinker.
“Don’t touch it on any account,” Thorneycroft insisted. “I agree with your companions, it may be poisoned.”
“Oh! I ain’t afraid,” Ginger retorted, helping himself to a dish. “As good a pigeon-pie as ever I tasted. Your health, Mr. Thorneycroft,” he added, filling a goblet from one of the bottles. “My service to you, gents. Famous tipple, by Jove!” He drew a long breath after the draught and smacked his lips with satisfaction. “Never tasted such a glass of wine in all my born days,” he continued, refilling the goblet. “I wonder what it’s called?”
“Prussic acid,” replied Mr. Thorneycroft gruffly.
“Prussic fiddlestick!” cried Ginger. “More likely Tokay. I shall finish the bottle and never be the worse for it!”
“He’s getting tipsy,” said the Tinker. “I wonder whether it’s really Tokay?”
“No such thing,” Thorneycroft snapped. “Let him alone.”
“I must taste it,” the Tinker said, unable to resist the temptation. “Here, give us a glass, Ginger!”
“With pleasure,” Ginger replied, filling a goblet to the brim and handing it over. “You’d better be persuaded, Sandy.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Well, I suppose I must,” replied the Sandman, taking the goblet proffered to him.
“Here’s to the lawmen!” Ginger toasted. “I give that toast ’cause they’re always so kind to us dog-fanciers.”
“Dog-fanciers—say rather, dog-stealers; for that’s the name such vagabonds deserve to be known by,” Thorneycroft interjected with some asperity.
“Well, we won’t quarrel about names,” Ginger laughed. “But I’ll relate a circumstance to you that’ll prove that whatever your opinion of our vocation may be, the law upholds it.”
“There can be but one opinion as to your nefarious profession,” Thorneycroft said. “And that is, it’s as bad as horse-stealing and sheep-stealing, and should be punished accordingly.”
“So I think, sir,” said Ginger, winking at the others. “But to my story, and don’t interrupt me, or I can’t get through with it properly. There’s a gent living not a hundred miles from Pall Mall, as the newspapers say, who had a favorite Scotch terrier, not worth more than half a crown to anyone but himself, but highly valuable to him because it was a favorite. Well, the dog goes missing. A pal of mine gets hold of it, and the gent soon offers a reward for its recovery. This don’t bring it back quite so soon as he expects because he don’t offer enough; so he goes to an agent, Mr. Simpkins, in the Edger Road, and Mr. Simpkins says to him, ‘How are you, sir? I expected you some days ago. You’ve come about that Scotch terrier. You’ve got a valuable greyhound, I understand. A man told me he’d have that before long.’ Seeing the gent stare, Mr. S. adds, ‘Well, I’ll tell you what you must give for your dog. The party won’t take less than six guineas. He knows it ain’t worth six shillings, but it’s a great favorite and has given him a precious sight of trouble in getting it.’ ‘Given him trouble!’ cries the gent angrily—‘and what has it given me? I hope to see the rascal hanged! I shall pay no such money.’ ‘Very well,’ replies Mr. Simpkins coolly, ‘then your dog will be bled to death, as the nobleman’s was, and thrown down a breathless carcass before your door.’”
“You don’t mean to say that such a horrid circumstance as that really took place?” cried Thorneycroft, who was much interested in the tale.
“Only the other day, I assure you,” replied Ginger.
“I’d shoot the ruffian who treated a dog of mine so if I caught him!” cried Mr. Thorneycroft indignantly.
“And serve him right, too,” said Ginger. “I discourage all cruelty to animals. But don’t interrupt me again. After a bit more haggling with Mr. Simpkins, the gent offers three pounds for his dog and then goes away. Next day he reads a report in the Times newspaper that a man has been taken up for dog-stealing, and that a lot of dogs are shut up in the green-yard behind the police office in Bow Street. So he goes there in search of his favorite, and sure enough he finds it, but the inspector won’t give it up to him because the superintendent is out of the way.”
“Shameful!” cried Mr. Thorneycroft.
“Shameful, indeed, sir,” echoed Ginger, laughing. “Thinking his dog safe enough in the hands of the police, the gent sleeps soundly that night, but when he goes back the next morning he finds it has disappeared. The green-yard has been broken into overnight, and all the dogs stolen from it.”
“Under the noses of the police?” cried Thorneycroft.
“Under their very noses,” replied Ginger. “But now comes the cream of the jest. You shall hear what the beak says to him when the gent craves his assistance. ‘I can’t interfere in the matter,’ says he, bending his brows in a majestic manner. ‘Parties don’t ought to come here with complaints of which I can’t take notice. This place ain’t an advertising office, and I shan’t suffer it to be made one. I won’t listen to statements affecting the characters of absent parties.’ Statements affecting our characters—do you twig that, sir?”
“I do, indeed,” said Thorneycroft, sighing. “And I am sorry to think such a remark should have dropped from the bench.”
“You’re right to say dropped from it, sir,” laughed Ginger. “I told you the beaks were our best friends; they always take our parts. When the gent urges that it was a subject of serious importance to all dog-owners, the magistrate angrily interrupts him, saying—‘Then let there be a meeting of dog-owners to discuss their grievances. Don’t come to me. I can’t help you.’ And he wouldn’t if he could, ’cause he’s the dog-fancier’s friend.”
“It looks like it, I must own,” replied Thorneycroft. “Such reprehensible indifference gives encouragement to people of your profession. The government itself is to blame. As all persons who keep dogs pay a tax for them, their property ought to be protected.”
“I’m quite satisfied with the present state of the law,” said Ginger. “Here’s to the worthy beak! I’ll drink his health a second time.”
“Halloa! What’s that?” cried the Tinker. “I thought I heard a noise.”
“So did I,” rejoined the Sandman. “A strange sort of rumbling sound overhead.”
“There it goes again!” cried Ginger. “What an awful din!”
“Now it’s underneath,” said Mr. Thorneycroft, turning pale and trembling. “It sounds as if some hidden machinery were at work.”
The noise, which up to this moment had borne an indistinct resemblance to the creaking of wheels and pulleys, now increased to a violent clatter, while the house shook as if by the explosion of a mine beneath it.
At the same time, the occupants of the chairs received a sharp electrical shock, that agitated every limb and caused Mr. Thorneycroft to let fall his pistol, which went off as it reached the ground. The Sandman dropped his goblet, and the Tinker relinquished his grasp of the cutlass. Before they could recover from the shock, all three were caught by stout wooden hooks, which, detaching themselves from the back of the chairs, pinioned their arms, while their legs were restrained by fetters that sprang from the ground and clasped around their ankles. Thus fixed, they struggled vainly to get free. The chairs seemed nailed to the ground, so that all efforts to move them proved futile.
But the worst was yet to come. From the holes in the ceiling descended three heavy bell-shaped helmets, fashioned like those worn by divers at the bottom of the sea, and having round eyelet holes of glass. It was evident, from the manner of their descent, that these helmets must drop on the heads of the sitters—a conviction that filled them with inexpressible terror. They shouted and swore frightfully, but their vociferations availed them nothing. Down came the helmets, and at the same moment, the monkey, which had been seen by Reeks, issued from a cupboard at the top of a cabinet, grinning and gibbering at them.
The first helmet covered the Tinker to the shoulders. His appearance was at once ludicrous and terrifying, and his roaring within the casque sounded like the bellowing of a baited bull. The second helmet descended more slowly, and the Sandman was eclipsed in the same manner as the Tinker, roaring as loudly.