The Amateur Gentleman Part 125

"For--the murder of Jasper Gaunt. Oh, sir, why have you aroused suspicion against yourself by disappearing at such a time?"

"Suspicion?" said Barnabas, and with the word he rose and laying his hands upon John Peterby's shoulders, looked into his eyes. Then, seeing the look they held, he smiled and shook his head.

"Oh, friend," said he, "what matters it so long as you know my hands are clean?"

"But, sir, if you are arrested--"

"They must next prove me guilty, John," said Barnabas, sitting down at the table.

"Or an accessory--after the fact!"

"Hum!" said Barnabas thoughtfully, "I never thought of that."

"And, sir," continued Peterby anxiously, "there are two Bow Street Runners lounging outside in the court--"

"But they're not after me yet. So cheer up, John!" Yet in that moment, Peterby sprang to his feet with fists clenched, for some one was knocking softly at the door.

"Quick, sir--the other room--hide!" he whispered. But shaking his head, Barnabas rose and, putting him gently aside, opened the door and beheld a small gentleman who bowed.

A pale, fragile little gentleman this, with eyes and hair of an indeterminate color, while his clothes, scrupulously neat and brushed and precise to a b.u.t.ton, showed pitifully shabby and threadbare in contrast with his elaborately frilled and starched cravat and gay, though faded, satin waistcoat; and, as he stood bowing nervously to them, there was an air about him that somehow gave the impression that he was smaller even than Nature had intended.

"Gentlemen," said he, coughing nervously behind his hand, "hem!--I trust I don't intrude. Feel it my obligation to pay my respects, to--hem! to welcome you as a neighbor--as a neighbor. Arthur Bimby, humbly at your service--Arthur Bimby, once a man of parts though now brought low by abstractions, gentlemen, forces not apparent to the human optic, sirs. Still, in my day, I have been known about town as a downy bird, a smooth file, and a knowing card--hem!"

Hereupon he bowed again, looking as unlike a "smooth file" or "knowing card" as any small, inoffensive gentleman possibly could.

"Happy to see you, sir," answered Barnabas, returning his bow with one as deep, "I am Barnabas Barty at your service, and this is my good friend John Peterby. We are about to have supper--nothing very much--tea, sir, eggs, and a cold fowl, but if you would honor us--"

"Sir," cried the little gentleman with a quaver of eagerness in his voice and a gleam in his eye, both quickly suppressed, "hem!--indeed I thank you, but--regret I have already supped--hem--duck and green peas, gentlemen, though I'll admit the duck was tough--deuced tough, hem! Still, if I might be permitted to toy with an egg and discuss a dish of tea, the honor would be mine, sirs--would be mine!"

Then, while Peterby hastened to set the edibles before him, Barnabas drew up a chair and, with many bows and flutterings of the thin, restless hands, the little gentleman sat down.

"Indeed, indeed," he stammered, blinking his pale eyes, "this is most kind, I protest, most kind and neighborly!" Which said, he stooped suddenly above his plate and began to eat, that is to say he swallowed one or two mouthfuls with a nervous haste that was very like voracity, checked himself, and glancing guiltily from unconscious Barnabas to equally unconscious Peterby, sighed and thereafter ate his food as deliberately as might be expected of one who had lately dined upon duck and green peas.

"Ah!" said he, when at length his hunger was somewhat a.s.suaged, "you are noticing the patch in my left elbow, sir?"

"No indeed!" began Barnabas.

"I think you were, sir--every one does, every one--it can't be missed, sir, and I--hem! I'm extreme conscious of it myself, sirs. I really must discard this old coat, but--hem! I'm attached to it--foolish sentiment, sirs. I wear it for a.s.sociations' sake, it awakens memory, and memory is a blessed thing, sirs, a very blessed thing!"

"Sometimes!" sighed Barnabas.

"In me, sirs, you behold a decayed gentleman, yet one who has lived in his time, but now, sirs, all that remains to me is--this coat. A prince once commended it, the Beau himself condescended to notice it!

Yes, sirs, I was rich once and happily married, and my friends were many. But--my best friend deceived and ruined me, my wife fled away and left me, sirs, my friends all forsook me and, to-day, all that I have to remind me of what I was when I was young and lived, is this old coat. To-day I exist as a law-writer, to-day I am old, and with my vanished youth hope has vanished too. And I call myself a decayed gentleman because I'm--fading, sirs. But to fade is genteel; Brummell faded! Yes, one may fade and still be a gentleman, but who ever heard of a fading ploughman?"

"Who, indeed?" said Barnabas.

"But to fade, sir," continued the little gentleman, lifting a thin, bloodless hand, "though genteel, is a slow process and a very weary one. Without the companions.h.i.+p of Hope, life becomes a hard and extreme long road to the ultimate end, and therefore I am sometimes greatly tempted to take the--easier course, the--shorter way."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, there are other names for it, but--hem!--I prefer to call it 'the shorter way.'"

"Do you mean--suicide?"

"Sir," cried Mr. Bimby, s.h.i.+vering and raising protesting hands, "I said 'the shorter way.' Poor little Miss Pell--a lady born, sir--she used to curtsy to me on the stairs, she chose 'the shorter way.' She also was old, you see, and weary. And to-night I met another who sought to take this 'shorter way'--but he was young, and for the young there is always hope. So I brought him home with me and tried to comfort him, but I fear--"

Peterby sprang suddenly to his feet and Mr. Bimby started and turned to glance fearfully towards the door which was quivering beneath the blows of a ponderous fist. Therefore Barnabas rose and crossing the room, drew the latch. Upon the threshold stood Corporal Richard Roe, looming gigantic in the narrow doorway, who, having saluted Barnabas with his s.h.i.+ning hook, spoke in his slow, diffident manner.

"Sir," said he, "might I speak a word wi' you?"

"Why, Corporal, I'm glad to see you--come in!"

"Sir," said the big soldier with another motion of his glittering hook, "might I ax you to step outside wi' me jest a moment?"

"Certainly, Corporal," and with a murmured apology to Mr. Bimby, Barnabas followed the Corporal out upon the gloomy landing and closed the door. Now at the further end of the landing was a window, open to admit the air, and, coming to this window, the Corporal glanced down stealthily into the court below, beckoning Barnabas to do the like:

"Sir," said he in a m.u.f.fled tone, "d' ye see them two coves in the red weskits?" and he pointed to the two Bow Street Runners who lounged in the shadow of an adjacent wall, talking together in rumbling tones and puffing at their pipes.

"Well, Corporal, what of them?"

"Sir, they're a-waiting for you!"

"Are you sure, Corporal? A poor creature committed suicide to-day; I thought they were here on that account."

"No, sir, that was only a blind, they're a-watching and a-waiting to take you for the Gaunt murder. My pal Jarsper knows, and my pal Jarsper sent me here to give you the office to lay low and not to venture out to-night."

"Ah!" said Barnabas, beginning to frown.

"My pal Jarsper bid me say as you was to keep yourself scarce till 'e's got 'is 'ooks on the guilty party, sir."

"Ah!" said Barnabas, again, "and when does he intend to make the arrest?"

"This here very night, sir."

"Hum!" said Barnabas thoughtfully.

"And," continued the Corporal, "I were likewise to remind you, sir, as once your pals, ever and allus your pals. And, sir--good-night, and good-luck to you!" So saying, the Corporal shook hands, flourished his hook and strode away down the narrow stairs, smiling up at Barnabas like a beneficent giant.

And, when he was gone, Barnabas hurried back into the room and, taking pen and paper, wrote this:

You are to be arrested to-night, so I send you my friend, John Peterby. Trust yourself to his guidance.

BEVERLEY.

And having folded and sealed this letter, he beckoned to Peterby.

"John," said he, speaking in his ear, "take this letter to Mr. Barrymaine, give it into his hand, see that he leaves at once. And, John, take a coach and bring him back with you."

So Peterby the silent thrust the note into his bosom, took his fur cap, and sighing, went from the room; and a moment later, glancing cautiously through the window, Barnabas saw him hurry through the court and vanish round the corner.