Pictures and Problems from London Police CourtsHolmes, Thomas
History
Pictures and Problems from London Police Courts
Holmes, Thomas
Crime -- England -- London; Poor -- England -- London
At length I told him he must look out for himself, and that I should
not pay for his lodgings any longer. I missed him for some days, and
flattered myself that he was gone, so I went to his lodgings to make
sure. As I stood in the passage the shrill tones of the piccolo and
the strains of the ‘Bohemian Girl’ came downstairs to greet me. The
landlady besought me to take him away. ‘He’ll be the death of me. He
has not left his bed for five days, and has been blowing that thing all
the time,’ she said. I went up to him. There he lay, happy as a king.
A bed to lie upon, a piccolo to play, some tea-leaves to smoke, he was
all right; nothing put him out--nothing but physical force ever did.
He put his instrument down and filled and lit his pipe when I entered.
I wanted him to get up and dress, offering him a dinner if he would do
so. ‘And find the door closed against me when I come back? No thanks!’
he said. I had taken the room, and was morally bound to get the fellow
out. I could not dress him against his will, I could not put him in the
street, so I told him that I should come round at five o’clock with the
relieving-officer and a conveyance to take him to the workhouse. He got
up, dressed, put his piccolo in his pocket and his keyboard under his
arm, and went. He did not wait for a dinner, but I noticed that he put
the dried tea-leaves in his pockets. Some weeks afterwards he was at
my door again. It was the morning of the day on which our only daughter
was buried. I went to speak to him, and, telling him of our sorrow, I
gave him half a crown, and told him to go quietly away. He did so, but
returned, bringing some choice flowers, a pretty card, and some ‘In
Memoriam’ verses written by himself. He had spent the half-crown, and
was again penniless. I saw him bareheaded in the cemetery, and I saw
him and my burglar friend approach the grave after we had left it; but
he came to the house no more. Twelve months afterwards I again had a
sight of him. From the top of an omnibus I saw him walking along the
Strand with the keyboard under his arm.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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