Bindle: Some Chapters in the Life of Joseph Bindle, Herbert George Jenkins [love letters to the dead TXT] 📗

if I don't. We'll both go."

Sir Charles jumped up forthwith. He was a short, stout man, with bushy, magisterial eyebrows, a red complexion, a bald head, a monocle, and a fierce don't-argue-with-me-sir manner.

He was a man who had but one topic of conversation—the coming German invasion. It would not be his fault if the Germans found Little Compton unprepared. He had pointed out that, being an East Coast village, it lay in the very centre of the battle-ground. At first Little Compton had felt uncomfortable; but later it had apparently become reconciled to its fate. It did nothing.

No village in England knew better what invasion would mean. Sir Charles had drawn a vivid picture of what would be the fate of the women of Little Compton unless their men-folk repelled the invaders, with the result that the Dorcas Society, with the full approval of the vicar, wrote to Sir Charles protesting against such things being said on a public platform.

As he trotted towards the door, Sir Charles turned to the sergeant and said:

"This is a big business, Wrannock, a big business. We'll find out more before we communicate with headquarters. See?" And Sir Charles glared fiercely at the sergeant.

Sergeant Wrannock did see. He saw many things, including promotion for himself, and he replied, "It is indeed, sir!" And the two men went out.

From The Towers to Holmleigh is not more than half a mile. Sir Charles went first, leaving the sergeant to follow on his bicycle. If they were seen together it might arouse suspicion.

Sir Charles was to go to Holmleigh, making the best excuse he could think of, and spy out the land, and the sergeant, who fortunately was not in uniform, was to follow half an hour later. At six o'clock they were to meet at The Towers and compare notes.

On his way up the drive of Holmleigh Sir Charles met Mr. Gandy coming away with a flushed and angry face. For the first time in history his "look" had failed. He had been insulted, and that by a foreman pantechnicon-man.

Sir Charles acknowledged Mr. Gandy's salute, attaching no significance to the presence of the host of the Dove and Easel in the grounds of Holmleigh. Most probably he had called to solicit the new tenant's custom. So Mr. Gandy passed down the drive with a stormy face, and Sir Charles walked up with a determined one.

The hall door was open, and men were passing to and fro carrying various articles of furniture. Sir Charles's eyes greedily devoured all that was to be seen—in particular some long, coffin-like wooden cases.

He stood at the door for a minute; it seemed unnecessary to ring with so many men about. Presently a man came up and stared at him, rather offensively Sir Charles thought; but, remembering the delicate nature of his mission, he adjusted his monocle and said politely:

"I—er—want to see one of the er—er—moving men."

"Certainly, sir," responded the man; "'ave you any choice?'"

Sir Charles fixed his monocle more firmly in his left eye, and stared at the man in astonishment.

"We've got 'em from twenty-three to sixty-five. I'm forty-eight meself, but p'r'aps you'd like a young 'un. Fair or dark, sir, tall or short?"

Sir Charles gazed at the man as if dazed, then went very red, but controlling his wrath he replied:

"I do not know his name, I'm afraid. He has a green baize apron and is—er—bald, and—er—has a rather red nose."

The man smiled broadly, insolently, intolerably, Sir Charles thought.

"That won't 'elp us much, sir. Blessed if you 'aven't described the 'ole blessed perfession. Hi! Ginger?" This to Ginger, who was passing. He approached. "This is rather a tasty little lot, sir. 'E's got a red 'ead as well as a red nose. Not 'im? Well, let me see. Tell Bindle to come 'ere. I think Bindle may be your man, sir; 'e's got some pals in these 'ere parts, I think."

For nearly half a minute Sir Charles glared at the man before him, who grinned back with perfect self-possession.

"This 'im, sir?" he queried, as Bindle approached.

"Damn your insolence!" burst out Sir Charles. "I'll report you to your employers!" But the foreman had disappeared to give an order, and Bindle also had slipped away.

Sir Charles raged back down the drive, striving to think of some means of punishing the insolence of the foreman pantechnicon-man.

A quarter of an hour later Mr. Greenhales arrived at the hall door of Holmleigh. The foreman was there to receive him.

"Good-afternoon," said Mr. Greenhales pleasantly.

"You want to see one of our men; you don't know 'is name, but 'e's a rather bald little man, with a green baize apron an' a red nose?" replied the foreman blandly.

"Exactly!" responded Mr. Greenhales genially. "Exactly! Kindly tell him."

"I'm sorry, sir, it was 'is reception-day, but 'e's been took ill; 'e asked me to apologise. 'E's got a lot of pals about 'ere. I shouldn't be surprised if that was the cause of his illness. Good-arternoon, sir. I'll tell 'im you called."

The foreman shut the door in Mr. Greenhales' face, and for the third time that afternoon anger strode down the drive of Holmleigh.

In the hall the much-wanted Bindle was listening intently to his foreman.

"You seem to be holdin' a levvy to-day, Bindle. Seem to 'ave a lot o' blinkin' pals 'ere, too! Didn't know you was a society man, Bindle. They're all so fond of you, so it 'pears. 'Adn't you better give up this line o' business, you with your gif's, and take to squirin' it? You'd look fine follerin' the 'ounds, you would. Now, it's about time you decided wot you really are. Two hours you take for yer dinner, an' spend the arternoon receivin' callers, me a-openin' the scarlet door. Now you get back to the brilliant furniture removin', and give up yer stutterin' ambitions. If I was you——"

Bindle was never to know what the foreman would do if in his place. At that moment a loud peal at the bell caused the foreman to pause. He gazed from Bindle to the door, from the door to Bindle, and back again to the door. During the two seconds that his superior's eyes were off him Bindle slipped stealthily away.

The foreman went slowly to the door and opened it. He found there a middle-aged, rather stout man, dressed in tweeds, with trousers clipped for cycling. Behind him he held a bicycle. It was Sergeant Wrannock.

The foreman eyed the caller aggressively, his hands moving convulsively. There was that about his appearance which caused his caller to step suddenly back. The bicycle overturned with a clatter, and the sergeant sat down with great suddenness on the front wheel.

The foreman eyed him indifferently. The tears were streaming from the sergeant's eyes, for he had sat with considerable force upon one of the coasters. When he had picked himself up and replaced the bicycle the foreman spoke.

"If you've come 'ere to show me that trick, you've bloomin' well wasted yer time. You ain't no Cinquevalli, ole son! If, 'owever, you're a-lookin' for a bald little man with a green apron and a red nose"—the sergeant's eyes brightened beneath the tears—"well, 'e's bin took ill, an' 'is mother's took 'im 'ome.

"Now you'd better go, cockie, 'fore I set the dog on yer. I'm pretty damn well sick of the 'sight of yer, comin' 'ere with yer bicycle tricks, interruptin' o' the day's work. 'Ere, Bindle—where's Bindle?" he shouted into the house.

But the sergeant did not wait. He mounted his machine and disappeared down the drive. Before Bindle came—and Bindle was uneager to respond—he was a quarter of a mile up the road.

Sergeant Wrannock was stunned at the treatment he had received. From such men he was accustomed to respect, deference, and blind obedience. To be called "cockie" by a workman astonished him. Soon he became annoyed, in time his annoyance crystallised into anger, and eventually, passing through the alembic of professional discretion, it became distilled into a determination to teach this man a lesson.

He had no intention of letting him know that it was a police sergeant whom he had thus rudely treated, as if he were some ordinary person. He could not quite understand the reference to the "bald little man with a green apron and a red nose." The particulars seemed, however, to tally with the description of the man of whom Sir Charles had spoken.

At six o'clock he presented himself at The Towers, told his story, and was bidden by Sir Charles to leave the matter until the morning, when it would probably be better to report the whole affair to the superintendent at Lowestoft. Sir Charles had his reasons for suggesting delay.

CHAPTER XVI THE AMATEUR DETECTIVES
I

By nine o'clock the last pantechnicon that was going back that night had rumbled off to Lowestoft, there to be entrained for London. One still remained on the drive, waiting to be taken back by the horses that would bring the first van in the morning.

With the last van went Bindle, much to his regret.

"It's like not goin' to yer own funeral," he grumbled.

Holmleigh was shut up and in darkness, save for a slit of light that could be seen beneath the Venetian blind of the dining-room. Inside the room sat the foreman.

He was smoking a meditative pipe, and cursing the luck that left him at Holmleigh to play night-watchman. He was not a nervous man, but his mind instinctively travelled back to the events of the day. Why had so many people been desirous of seeing Bindle? He had subjected Bindle himself to a very thorough and picturesque cross-examination. He had told him what he thought of him, and of those responsible for his being. He had coaxed him and threatened him, but without result. Bindle had expressed the utmost astonishment at his sudden popularity, and professed himself utterly unable to account for it.

Once or twice the foreman thought he saw the shadow of a grin flit across Bindle's face, especially when Bindle suggested that he should act as night-watchman, adding as an excuse the obvious fatigue of his superior. It was this that had terminated the interview with great suddenness.

Thus meditating upon the curious occurrences of the day, the foreman dropped off to sleep, for he was tired, and the armchair, in which he half lay, half sat, was extremely comfortable.

As he slept a dark form moved stealthily up the drive towards the house. Keeping well within the shadow of the trees, it paused to listen, then moved on for a dozen yards and stopped again. When it reached the top of the drive it crept off to the left in the direction of the tradesmen's entrance.

Displaying great caution, the figure finally reached the scullery window, which by a curious chance was unfastened. After great deliberation, and much listening, it opened the window, and inserting itself feet foremost disappeared.

Three minutes later the back door was noiselessly unbolted and opened. The figure looked out cautiously, then retreated within, leaving the door open to its fullest extent.

The first figure had scarcely disappeared before another approached the back door from the opposite direction. It must have come through the hedge and crept along in its shadow from the main entrance. The second figure paused, as if astonished at finding the back door open. For some minutes it stood in the shadow of the water-butt, listening. Finally, with a quiet, insidious motion, it slid through the doorway.

The first figure, passing cautiously through the servants' quarters, had reached the hall. Finding all the doors shut, it proceeded stealthily upstairs to the large drawing-room that overlooked the drive. The door was open! Groping its way with great care, the figure for one second allowed the light of a dark lantern to show. The effect was startling. The whole room was piled up with long narrow wooden cases. On several tables, formed by boards on trestles, were laid out what appeared to be dozens of rifles. The figure gasped. The place was apparently nothing less than a huge arsenal. The long narrow cases contained guns! guns!! guns!!!

The figure had just picked up one of the guns to make sure that its eyes were telling the truth, when there was the sound of a footfall on the landing.

The figure turned quickly, and the rifle dropped with a crash to the floor.