Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City DetectiveM'Govan, James
General
Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City Detective
M'Govan, James
Detective and mystery stories; Edinburgh (Scotland) -- Fiction
At the office I stated all the facts, how I had seen Peter entering
the house of Mr Bannister, and watched him leaving it, and knowing
his character and antecedents had followed him and arrested him
passing a £5 note, for the possession of which he could not properly
account. Peter, on being searched, was found to have in his
possession other £5, in one pound notes, thus clearly proving that
the changing of the large note had been a matter of choice or policy,
not necessity. To the Fiscal, however, he boldly declared that he had
got all the money in way of business from his very good friend Mr
Bannister, and he was put in the cells till I should go over to that
gentleman to make inquiries. What the “business” was for which he had
been paid ten pounds he refused to state, and I concluded that that
business existed only in Peter’s imagination.
When I reached the house and was shown in, the impression I had
formed was strengthened. Everything in the place seemed so stately
and grand that I could not conceive how the possessor could be
beholden to such a crime-stained wretch as Peter Hart. Mr Bannister
at length appeared, and accompanied by his amiable young wife. I
studied their faces closely as they entered, and it struck me that
that of the husband was careworn, fearful, and anxiously watchful in
expression; that of the young wife looked tenderly solicitous, and
somewhat saddened and subdued.
“I have called about rather an awkward business,” I at length said,
not knowing very well how to begin. “My name is James M^cGovan, and I
am connected with the detective staff——”
I would have proceeded to say that I had watched and arrested Peter
as already described, but I was at that juncture interrupted in a
manner altogether unexpected. The gentleman who had an appearance
at once refined and dignified, started back at the mention of my
name, with his face as suddenly changed to a deadly and anguished
expression as if he had been at the moment stabbed to the heart. He
seemed ready to drop to the floor in his pitiable agony, and his wife
saw the change even before my eye had taken it in.
“O Matthew! dearest!” she cried, starting forward, with her own face
flashing almost as white as his own. “What is wrong? What is to
happen to you?”
I scarcely caught his answer, it was so huskily spoken, but it seemed
to me something like—
“The very worst that could happen to me.”
Then the young wife gave a low moan, and fell slowly forward in his
arms. She had fainted, and her very helplessness, I believe, was all
that kept him in his senses.
Mr Bannister rang for a servant, and had his wife removed, and then
with a blanched face turned to me and said—
“Now, sir, I am ready to attend to you. Will you state your business
with me?”
“A man named Peter Hart entered your house this morning, and shortly
after left, having in his possession £10 in bank notes, which he
declared had been given him by you. Is that actually the case?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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