The Stolen Bacillus and Other Incidents Read online

  THE HAMMERPOND PARK BURGLARY

  It is a moot point whether burglary is to be considered as a sport, atrade, or an art. For a trade, the technique is scarcely rigid enough,and its claims to be considered an art are vitiated by the mercenaryelement that qualifies its triumphs. On the whole it seems to be mostjustly ranked as sport, a sport for which no rules are at presentformulated, and of which the prizes are distributed in an extremelyinformal manner. It was this informality of burglary that led to theregrettable extinction of two promising beginners at Hammerpond Park.

  The stakes offered in this affair consisted chiefly of diamonds andother personal _bric-a-brac_ belonging to the newly married LadyAveling. Lady Aveling, as the reader will remember, was the onlydaughter of Mrs Montague Pangs, the well-known hostess. Her marriageto Lord Aveling was extensively advertised in the papers, the quantityand quality of her wedding presents, and the fact that the honeymoonwas to be spent at Hammerpond. The announcement of these valuableprizes created a considerable sensation in the small circle in whichMr Teddy Watkins was the undisputed leader, and it was decided that,accompanied by a duly qualified assistant, he should visit the villageof Hammerpond in his professional capacity.

  Being a man of naturally retiring and modest disposition, Mr Watkinsdetermined to make this visit _incog_., and after due consideration ofthe conditions of his enterprise, he selected the role of a landscapeartist and the unassuming surname of Smith. He preceded his assistant,who, it was decided, should join him only on the last afternoon of hisstay at Hammerpond. Now the village of Hammerpond is perhaps one ofthe prettiest little corners in Sussex; many thatched houses stillsurvive, the flint-built church with its tall spire nestling under thedown is one of the finest and least restored in the county, and thebeech-woods and bracken jungles through which the road runs tothe great house are singularly rich in what the vulgar artist andphotographer call "bits." So that Mr Watkins, on his arrival withtwo virgin canvases, a brand-new easel, a paint-box, portmanteau, aningenious little ladder made in sections (after the pattern of thelate lamented master Charles Peace), crowbar, and wire coils, foundhimself welcomed with effusion and some curiosity by half-a-dozenother brethren of the brush. It rendered the disguise he had chosenunexpectedly plausible, but it inflicted upon him a considerableamount of aesthetic conversation for which he was very imperfectlyprepared.

  "Have you exhibited very much?" said Young Porson in the bar-parlourof the "Coach and Horses," where Mr Watkins was skilfully accumulatinglocal information on the night of his arrival.

  "Very little," said Mr Watkins, "just a snack here and there."

  "Academy?"

  "In course. _And_ the Crystal Palace."

  "Did they hang you well?" said Porson.

  "Don't rot," said Mr Watkins; "I don't like it."

  "I mean did they put you in a good place?"

  "Whadyer mean?" said Mr Watkins suspiciously. "One 'ud think you weretrying to make out I'd been put away."

  Porson had been brought up by aunts, and was a gentlemanly young maneven for an artist; he did not know what being "put away" meant, buthe thought it best to explain that he intended nothing of the sort. Asthe question of hanging seemed a sore point with Mr Watkins, he triedto divert the conversation a little.

  "Do you do figure-work at all?"

  "No, never had a head for figures," said Mr Watkins, "my miss--MrsSmith, I mean, does all that."

  "She paints too!" said Porson. "That's rather jolly."

  "Very," said Mr Watkins, though he really did not think so, and,feeling the conversation was drifting a little beyond his grasp,added, "I came down here to paint Hammerpond House by moonlight."

  "Really!" said Porson. "That's rather a novel idea."

  "Yes," said Mr Watkins, "I thought it rather a good notion when itoccurred to me. I expect to begin to-morrow night."

  "What! You don't mean to paint in the open, by night?"

  "I do, though."

  "But how will you see your canvas?"

  "Have a bloomin' cop's--" began Mr Watkins, rising too quickly to thequestion, and then realising this, bawled to Miss Durgan for anotherglass of beer. "I'm goin' to have a thing called a dark lantern," hesaid to Porson.

  "But it's about new moon now," objected Porson. "There won't be anymoon."

  "There'll be the house," said Watkins, "at any rate. I'm goin', yousee, to paint the house first and the moon afterwards."

  "Oh!" said Porson, too staggered to continue the conversation.

  "They doo say," said old Durgan, the landlord, who had maintained arespectful silence during the technical conversation, "as there's noless than three p'licemen from 'Azelworth on dewty every night inthe house--'count of this Lady Aveling 'n her jewellery. One'm wonfower-and-six last night, off second footman--tossin'."

  Towards sunset next day Mr Watkins, virgin canvas, easel, and avery considerable case of other appliances in hand, strolled up thepleasant pathway through the beech-woods to Hammerpond Park, andpitched his apparatus in a strategic position commanding the house.Here he was observed by Mr Raphael Sant, who was returning across thepark from a study of the chalk-pits. His curiosity having been firedby Porson's account of the new arrival, he turned aside with the ideaof discussing nocturnal art.

  Mr Watkins was apparently unaware of his approach. A friendlyconversation with Lady Hammerpond's butler had just terminated, andthat individual, surrounded by the three pet dogs which it was hisduty to take for an airing after dinner had been served, was recedingin the distance. Mr Watkins was mixing colour with an air of greatindustry. Sant, approaching more nearly, was surprised to see thecolour in question was as harsh and brilliant an emerald green as itis possible to imagine. Having cultivated an extreme sensibility tocolour from his earliest years, he drew the air in sharply between histeeth at the very first glimpse of this brew. Mr Watkins turned round.He looked annoyed.

  "What on earth are you going to do with that _beastly_ green?" saidSant.

  Mr Watkins realised that his zeal to appear busy in the eyes of thebutler had evidently betrayed him into some technical error. He lookedat Sant and hesitated.

  "Pardon my rudeness," said Sant; "but really, that green is altogethertoo amazing. It came as a shock. What _do_ you mean to do with it?"

  Mr Watkins was collecting his resources. Nothing could save thesituation but decision. "If you come here interrupting my work," hesaid, "I'm a-goin' to paint your face with it."

  Sant retired, for he was a humourist and a peaceful man. Going downthe hill he met Porson and Wainwright. "Either that man is a geniusor he is a dangerous lunatic," said he. "Just go up and look at hisgreen." And he continued his way, his countenance brightened by apleasant anticipation of a cheerful affray round an easel in thegloaming, and the shedding of much green paint.

  But to Porson and Wainwright Mr Watkins was less aggressive, andexplained that the green was intended to be the first coating of hispicture. It was, he admitted in response to a remark, an absolutelynew method, invented by himself. But subsequently he became morereticent; he explained he was not going to tell every passer-by thesecret of his own particular style, and added some scathing remarksupon the meanness of people "hanging about" to pick up such tricks ofthe masters as they could, which immediately relieved him of theircompany.

  Twilight deepened, first one then another star appeared. The rooksamid the tall trees to the left of the house had long since lapsedinto slumbrous silence, the house itself lost all the details of itsarchitecture and became a dark grey outline, and then the windows ofthe salon shone out brilliantly, the conservatory was lighted up, andhere and there a bedroom window burnt yellow. Had anyone approachedthe easel in the park it would have been found deserted. One briefuncivil word in brilliant green sullied the purity of its canvas.Mr Watkins was busy in the shrubbery with his assistant, who haddiscreetly joined him from the carriage-drive.

  Mr Watkins was inclined to be self-congratulatory upon the ingeniousdevice by which he had carried all his apparatus b
oldly, and in thesight of all men, right up to the scene of operations. "That's thedressing-room," he said to his assistant, "and, as soon as the maidtakes the candle away and goes down to supper, we'll call in. My! hownice the house do look, to be sure, against the starlight, and withall its windows and lights! Swopme, Jim, I almost wish I _was_ apainter-chap. Have you fixed that there wire across the path from thelaundry?"

  He cautiously approached the house until he stood below thedressing-room window, and began to put together his folding ladder.He was much too experienced a practitioner to feel any unusualexcitement. Jim was reconnoitring the smoking-room. Suddenly, closebeside Mr Watkins in the bushes, there was a violent crash and astifled curse. Someone had tumbled over the wire which his assistanthad just arranged. He heard feet running on the gravel pathway beyond.Mr Watkins, like all true artists, was a singularly shy man, andhe incontinently dropped his folding ladder and began runningcircumspectly through the shrubbery. He was indistinctly aware of twopeople hot upon his heels, and he fancied that he distinguished theoutline of his assistant in front of him. In another moment he hadvaulted the low stone wall bounding the shrubbery, and was in the openpark. Two thuds on the turf followed his own leap.

  It was a close chase in the darkness through the trees. Mr Watkins wasa loosely-built man and in good training, and he gained hand-over-handupon the hoarsely panting figure in front. Neither spoke, but, as MrWatkins pulled up alongside, a qualm of awful doubt came over him. Theother man turned his head at the same moment and gave an exclamationof surprise. "It's not Jim," thought Mr Watkins, and simultaneouslythe stranger flung himself, as it were, at Watkin's knees, and theywere forthwith grappling on the ground together. "Lend a hand, Bill,"cried the stranger as the third man came up. And Bill did--two handsin fact, and some accentuated feet. The fourth man, presumably Jim,had apparently turned aside and made off in a different direction. Atany rate, he did not join the trio.

  Mr Watkins' memory of the incidents of the next two minutes isextremely vague. He has a dim recollection of having his thumb in thecorner of the mouth of the first man, and feeling anxious aboutits safety, and for some seconds at least he held the head of thegentleman answering to the name of Bill, to the ground by the hair. Hewas also kicked in a great number of different places, apparently by avast multitude of people. Then the gentleman who was not Bill got hisknee below Mr Watkins' diaphragm, and tried to curl him up upon it.

  When his sensations became less entangled he was sitting upon theturf, and eight or ten men--the night was dark, and he was rather tooconfused to count--standing round him, apparently waiting for himto recover. He mournfully assumed that he was captured, and wouldprobably have made some philosophical reflections on the fickleness offortune, had not his internal sensations disinclined him for speech.

  He noticed very quickly that his wrists were not handcuffed, and thena flask of brandy was put in his hands. This touched him a little--itwas such unexpected kindness.

  "He's a-comin' round," said a voice which he fancied he recognised asbelonging to the Hammerpond second footman.

  "We've got 'em, sir, both of 'em," said the Hammerpond butler, the manwho had handed him the flask. "Thanks to _you_."

  No one answered this remark. Yet he failed to see how it applied tohim.

  "He's fair dazed," said a strange voice; "the villains half-murderedhim."

  Mr Teddy Watkins decided to remain fair dazed until he had a bettergrasp of the situation. He perceived that two of the black figuresround him stood side-by-side with a dejected air, and there wassomething in the carriage of their shoulders that suggested to hisexperienced eye hands that were bound together. Two! In a flashhe rose to his position. He emptied the little flask andstaggered--obsequious hands assisting him--to his feet. There was asympathetic murmur.

  "Shake hands, sir, shake hands," said one of the figures near him."Permit me to introduce myself. I am very greatly indebted to you.It was the jewels of my wife, Lady Aveling, which attracted thesescoundrels to the house."

  "Very glad to make your lordship's acquaintance," said Teddy Watkins.

  "I presume you saw the rascals making for the shrubbery, and droppeddown on them?"

  "That's exactly how it happened," said Mr Watkins.

  "You should have waited till they got in at the window," said LordAveling; "they would get it hotter if they had actually committed theburglary. And it was lucky for you two of the policemen were out bythe gates, and followed up the three of you. I doubt if you could havesecured the two of them--though it was confoundedly plucky of you, allthe same."

  "Yes, I ought to have thought of all that," said Mr Watkins; "but onecan't think of everythink."

  "Certainly not," said Lord Aveling. "I am afraid they have mauled youa little," he added. The party was now moving towards the house. "Youwalk rather lame. May I offer you my arm?"

  And instead of entering Hammerpond House by the dressing-room window,Mr Watkins entered it--slightly intoxicated, and inclined now tocheerfulness again--on the arm of a real live peer, and by thefront door. "This," thought Mr Watkins, "is burgling in style!" The"scoundrels," seen by the gaslight, proved to be mere local amateursunknown to Mr Watkins, and they were taken down into the pantry andthere watched over by the three policemen, two gamekeepers with loadedguns, the butler, an ostler, and a carman, until the dawn allowed oftheir removal to Hazelhurst police-station. Mr Watkins was made muchof in the saloon. They devoted a sofa to him, and would not hear ofa return to the village that night. Lady Aveling was sure he wasbrilliantly original, and said her idea of Turner was just suchanother rough, half-inebriated, deep-eyed, brave, and clever man. Someone brought up a remarkable little folding-ladder that had been pickedup in the shrubbery, and showed him how it was put together. They alsodescribed how wires had been found in the shrubbery, evidently placedthere to trip-up unwary pursuers. It was lucky he had escaped thesesnares. And they showed him the jewels.

  Mr Watkins had the sense not to talk too much, and in anyconversational difficulty fell back on his internal pains. At last hewas seized with stiffness in the back, and yawning. Everyone suddenlyawoke to the fact that it was a shame to keep him talking after hisaffray, so he retired early to his room, the little red room next toLord Aveling's suite.

  The dawn found a deserted easel bearing a canvas with a greeninscription, in the Hammerpond Park, and it found Hammerpond Housein commotion. But if the dawn found Mr Teddy Watkins and the Avelingdiamonds, it did not communicate the information to the police.