The Missing Link, Edward Dyson [new reading .TXT] 📗

Nickie by the scruff and the back, he rushed him from the tent, and pitched him headlong into the garish day.

There were a few youths and half a score of children loitering about. Fortunately, the mask-like structure covering Nickie's nose, cheeks and chin, had fallen into place, and what the loiterers saw was infuriated man kicking a gigantic monkey, and assailing him with vehement profanity. The sight was sufficiently amazing. The children fled, screaming, to carry the astonishing news through the township. The youths stood off and yelled.

The Missing Link rolled to some distance, and backed against a tree.

"Don't show your nose inside my show again, you dirty crawler!" said the great entrepreneur. "If you do, by the Lord Harry, I'll break every bone in your body."

People were coming from all directions, and a small crowd had already gathered from the adjacent houses. The inhabitants of Catcat drew as near as they dared, and gazed in open-mouthed amazement from Thunder to the Missing Link.

"I'll teach you to come creepin' and sneakin' into a man's home, tryin' t' ruin his happiness," the Professor roared, and he made another dash at Nickie.

The Missing Link slipped round the tree, and Madame Marve caught her husband, by the arm and dragged him hack.

"What's he done, mister?" asked a bystander.

"What's he done?" bellowed Thunder, the actor instinct in him coming out strongly. "What's he done, sir? This infamous scoundrel has tried to wreck my home, sir, to blight my peace of mind."

"What, th' bloomin' Missing Link?"

"Yes, sir, the perfidious Missing Link; the ungrateful Missing Link that I warmed in this bosom, and that has turned and stung the hand that fed him. But now I know all, the villain is unmasked, and if the slimy trail of the serpent enters the abode of peace again, by Heaven! I'll beat the life out of him."

A crowd had now collected, and when Madame Marve dragged her husband into the tent all attention was turned upon Nickie, who cowered against the tree, his mind busy on a way out of the peculiarly unpleasant situation. Thunder was still storming inside, and presently he reappeared, and hurled an armful of shirts, boots, trousers and other human habiliments into the air. These were the belongings of Nicholas Crips.

The people of Catcat maintained a respectful distance, not knowing for certain what so formidable an animal might do next.

"Better mind out," said one youth; "he bites! He bit the bloke inside. Didn't yeh 'ear him say?"

On the whole the attitude towards the Missing Link was hostile. It was felt that here was a dangerous brute at large. Several armed themselves with stones and sticks. Inside Professor Thunder was still raving to drown Madame's rational arguments. Twice he burst into the open with fresh invectives for Nickie, and some trifling piece of dress or property to hurl at him; but Madame Marve and the Living Skeleton hung on his coat-tails and dragged him back.

Nickie had a thought of lifting his mask and letting his humanity be known to the crowd, but there were many present who had paid to see the show, and these might take it into their heads to resent the imposition. Besides, Professor Thunder might relent. On the whole, it seemed better to await developments. Crouched against the tree, the Missing Link glowered at the people. If they came too near, he bared his fangs and growled ominously, and the venturesome ones backed away precipitately.

Somebody threw a clod of earth, and it smote Mahdi on the side of the head. The Missing Link sprang towards the crowd with a fearful cry. His antics were most alarming. The people ran, but they edged back again, and another clod thrown. Then came a stone. A second stone hit Nickie on the shin, and with a yell of pain he took cover behind the butt.

There was a burst of laughter from the crowd, and a rush for stones. Missiles fell about Nickie in a shower. Suddenly the situation had assumed a dangerous complexion. The crowd opened in a circle to get at the monster; stones rattled about his head.

With a horse cry, with eyes rolling and teeth bared in a shocking grimace, the Missing Link dashed at the spot where the circle was weakest, broke through, and went bounding up the township's single street.

Believing now that the great monkey was afraid, the crowd trooped after him, yelling as they ran, snatching up stones and other missiles from the road. Terror lent wings to the Missing Link. He raced up the dusty road in the white heat of a blinding summer day, and the stones flew about him as he ran.

Those of the inhabitants of Catcat who had had no hint of the partial disruption of Thunder's unparalleled show ran to their doors, and beheld the hunt with speechless wonder. They saw a huge, monkey-like creature speeding up the street, pursued and pelted by a clamorous throng.

Nickie's physical condition was not good, he was ill-trained for a footrace, his wind was bad; he felt that he must presently succumb, and then Constable Daniel Mack loomed before him as a possible saviour.

Constable Mack had stepped from Hogan's store, drawn forth by the yells of the pack. He looked and beheld a terrific creature rushing towards him, erect like a man, but covered with thick, short, reddish hair, and displaying a face of demoniacal ugliness. Constable Mack had his good points; one of them an appreciation of the fact that discretion is the better part of valour. He turned to run for his valuable life, but too late; the monster was upon him, it grappled with him, it hung on, and the pair rolled in the dust together.

The zealous and intelligent officer thought his last day had come, but awoke presently to the knowledge that no harm was being done, and a voice was crying crying in his ear:

"For God's sake, run me in! Arrest me! They'll kill me!"

Constable Mack sat up in the dust, and stared stupidly at the Missing Link.

"Blarst me if it ain't Perfessor Thunder's man-monkey!" he said.

"Yes, yes," gasped Nickie. "Run me in. Be quick about it."

The crowd was forming about them, only refraining from using missiles out of respect for the law.

"Be th' holy, th' baste can spheak!" murmured the policemen.

"They'll kill me. Put me in the cell," pleaded the Missing Link.

"Troth an' I will," answered Mack; "but niver a one iv me knows iv ut's lagel arristin' monkeys."

Nickie was run in. Next morning he appeared to answer a charge of insulting behaviour, inciting a breach of the peace, and assaulting the police. Thanks to Matty Cann, a change of raiment was made in the cell, and Nickie Crips appeared in court in his proper person, and was fined two pounds.

Nicholas Crips paid his fine, collected his belongings from the Museum of Marvels, and went forth into the great world again, a man amongst men. His career as an artist was ended.


CHAPTER XX.

THE RETURN.

NICHOLAS CRIPS came back to Melbourne, the image of a reputable and orderly citizen. He had accepted office as a billiard-marker in a township hotel while his whiskers grew; and now, full-bearded, dressed in a new suit of sedate, grey tweed, wearing an excellent hat and whole boots, he re-entered the city. His pockets were fairly-well lined, much of the proceeds of his professional engagement under Professor Thunder having been stored by Nickie as a provision for a long journey he was contemplating. Nickie the Kid had mapped out for himself a well-considered and wholly excellent scheme of life as a man of comparative affluence, but that life must be lived under alien skies.

In the small chamois bag lurking next his heart was the talisman that was to make an existence of comfort and good living possible to the vagabond and outcast. The diamond is the true philosopher's stone.

Nicholas put in a few days sauntering about Melbourne, swinging a neatly-rolled silk umbrella, smoking very excellent cigars. He passed several frowsy acquaintances of other days, and on two he bestowed small alms. He felt great satisfaction in the fact that none of his former companions recognised Nickie the Kid in the well-groomed, well-dressed, sleek, whiskered citizen.

On the third afternoon Mr. Crips entered a jeweller's shop, and placing a small stone on the pad before the man behind the counter, said:

"Would you be so good as to tell me the value of that diamond, sir? I picked it up on the floor of a first-class railway carriage the other day, and having no means of testing it, I thought I might, eh, venture to ask an expert."

The jeweller took up the stone, examined it, subjected it to a simple test, and handed it hack to Mr. Crips:

"A good carbon, but practically valueless," he said.

Had Nicholas Crips received a blow full in the face he would not have betrayed greater consternation. His cheeks turned grey, he gripped the counter, all his assumed ease fell from him, he dropped every precaution, forgot the grim necessity for care and cunning.

"It is not a diamond?" he gasped.

The jeweller shook his head. "It an awful disappointment," he said, "but you may be sure you'll hear of it pretty quickly if you ever have the luck to pick up a true diamond of that size."

Nicholas hadn't the spirit to thank the man. He turned into the street. The buildings swam in a garish light, he felt his head rocking, and his feet seemed scarcely to touch the paving stones rising and dipping under him like a choppy sea. He drifted into a bar, and drank brandy, and went forth again with renewed strength and revived hopes.

The jeweller was mistaken or ignorant, the diamonds must be genuine. Nickie selected another stone, and told the same tale at a pawnbroker's shop in another part of the city. The benignant Hebrew passed judgment after a glance.

"Paste, my boy," he said, "not vorth ninepenth."

Grown rash in his anguish and anxiety, Nicholas Crips visited other shops. The experts all told the same tale. The chamois bag held nothing but carbon counterfeits! The prospect of a life of ease and elegance faded away. It had been a vision, an illusion. Nickie's philosophy was not proof against this stroke. He felt broken, beaten. In the seclusion of his small room in a respectable suburban boarding-house, Nicholas wept and brooded. And now that the possibility of the splendid reward was gone, Nickie dwelt upon the fearful risk he had run more than he had done in all the long months since he knelt by the murdered man in Bigg's Buildings. He realised that in offering these sham stones for inspection he had probably done a mad thing. The act might bring the noose about his neck, if he were arrested, who would believe the absurd story he had to tell.

Nickie had been careful to betray no particular interest in the great murder case in the presence of his friends in the Museum of Marvels. He knew that the fictitious Rev. Andrew Rowbottom had been inquired for by the police as a man who might provide a clue, but the search for him had not been warmly followed up, it being assumed that he was some trumpery imposter. In any case, his importance was forgotten in a splendid dramatic idea entertained by the detectives, inculpating a clever and notorious criminal. The notorious criminal proved an