Detective and mystery stories, English; Police -- Fiction; Short stories
"Do you know this house they intend to stop at?" I inquired of my
assistant as soon as I got him out of sight and hearing at the back of
the premises.
"Quite well: it is within about two miles of Five Oaks' House."
"Indeed! Then you must stop there too. It is necessary I should go on to
Kendal with Mr. Bristowe; but you can remain and watch their
proceedings."
"With all my heart."
"But what excuse can you make for remaining there, when they know you
are booked for Kendal? Fellows of that stamp are keenly suspicious; and
in order to be useful, you must be entirely unsuspected."
"Oh, leave that to me. I'll throw dust enough in their eyes to blind a
hundred such as they, I warrant ye."
"Well, we shall see. And now to dinner."
Soon after, the coach had once more started. Mr. Josiah Barnes began
drinking from a stone bottle which he drew from his pocket; and so
potent must have been the spirit it contained, that he became rapidly
intoxicated. Not only speech, but eyes, body, arms, legs, the entire
animal, by the time we reached the inn where we had agreed he should
stop, was thoroughly, hopelessly drunk; and so savagely quarrelsome,
too, did he become, that I expected every instant to hear my real
vocation pointed out for the edification of the company. Strange to say,
utterly stupid and savage as he seemed, all dangerous topics were
carefully avoided. When the coach stopped, he got out--how, I know
not--and reeled and tumbled into the tap-room, from which he declared he
would not budge an inch till next day. Vainly did the coachman
remonstrate with him upon his foolish obstinacy; he might as well have
argued with a bear; and he at length determined to leave him to his
drunken humor. I was out of patience with the fellow; and snatching an
opportunity when the room was clear, began to upbraid him for his
vexatious folly. He looked sharply round, and then, his body as evenly
balanced, his eye as clear, his speech as free as my own, crowed out in
a low exulting voice, "Didn't I tell you I'd manage it nicely?" The door
opened, and, in a twinkling, extremity of drunkenness, of both brain and
limb, was again assumed with a perfection of acting I have never seen
equalled. He had studied from nature, that was perfectly clear. I was
quite satisfied, and with renewed confidence obeyed the coachman's call
to take my seat. Mr. Bristowe and I were now the only inside passengers;
and as farther disguise was useless, I began stripping myself of my
superabundant clothing, wig, spectacles, &c., and in a few minutes, with
the help of a bundle I had with me, presented to the astonished gaze of
my fellow-traveler the identical person that had so rudely accosted him
in the coffee-room of the Saracen's Head inn.
"Why, what, in the name of all that's comical, is the meaning of this?"
demanded Mr. Bristowe, laughing immoderately at my changed appearance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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