Guilty Bonds

Obviously there was some mistake in my calculations, and dropping the burnt match upon the carpetless boards, I resumed my search, this time in a downward direction.

And now an event happened which added increased risk to the adventure, and which, even after the lapse of many months since its occurrence, I cannot think of without a thrill of excitement.

In treading upon the match my face in some way became reversed, so that my next steps, carefully guided as I was by the wall, were in the wrong direction. The first indication I had of this was a collision, with some force, with the balustrades of the stairs. These appeared to be very old and rickety, for as my heavy frame dealt them a blow they shook and rattled ominously.

To seize them convulsively was the work of an instant; but, quick as thought, I had drawn back and thrown myself on my side.

After swaying for a second, the heavy railing plunged forward and fell with a sound almost like thunder down the whole height of the building, bumping from stage to stage in the most hideous manner.

I was saved; but what next!

For a time I lay and listened, as little pieces of plaster rolled down the stairs and the rats scuttled restlessly about. Then, half-dazed, I felt for the matches, which, happily, were safe in my pocket.

By the dim light given by one of these it was easy to see my horrible position, perched on the edge of the landing, some part of my long ulster actually hanging over the side.

Below, all was dark.

A dense cloud seemed rising between my eyes and the match slowly burning itself out.

The choking sensation told me that it was a cloud of dust raised by the fall of so much plaster.

After waiting for a short time, scarcely daring to breathe, I struck another match, and again looked around.

The cloud had disappeared, but my clothes were whitened, indicating where its particles had settled.

Then the match burnt my fingers, and as it dropped down into the Stygian darkness I could descry its course till it became merely a faint red speck in that great depth.

Lighting yet another match, and making a great effort to pull myself together, I slowly and carefully rose and crept away from that dangerous spot.

Why need I go into further detail? Let it suffice for me to state that, with care and eagerness, I searched every room I could find, till my patience and my matches were exhausted – yet without avail.

Evidently I had entered the wrong house!

On the bottom flight I had to encounter and pass over the débris which had fallen from above. The task was a difficult and perilous one, but eventually reaching the bottom, I stood on firm ground.

My journey had been for naught; my clothes were covered with a white powder which all my resources failed to remove; and the task of regaining the street unobserved and unsuspected remained to be accomplished.

I listened attentively. There was not a sound to be heard. All was silent and gloomy, save where the light from a street-lamp shone through a distant window in another room, making the outline of the door dimly visible.

Cautiously and carefully I essayed to reach the pavement by the window which had afforded me an entrance.

Suddenly I was startled by my wrists being seized from the outside, the hoarding removed in a trice, and ere an exclamation could escape me, I found myself in the grasp of a couple of stalwart constables.

“What are you doing here – eh?” one asked, roughly, turning the insufferable glare of his lantern into my eyes.

I tried to answer, but a dimness seemed to come over me, and the only recollection that remains of what followed was of darting across a road accompanied by my two captors, one of whom held me on each side.

”‘Being on unoccupied premises, supposed for an unlawful purpose – ’ eh?” suggested the man on my right.

“That’s it,” replied the other, who had first spoken to me.

Then I was dragged into a police-station.

Chapter Twenty Six

Queer Straits

“Well, constable, what’s the charge?” asked the inspector on duty, turning on his stool and surveying me critically.

“Found him getting through the window of a house in Angel Court, Drury Lane, sir. The place is unoccupied, and we arrested him in the act of coming out,” replied the man nearest me.

“Stolen anything?”

“No, sir; we think not: we haven’t searched the premises yet.”

“Put him in the dock.”

“This way,” commanded the constable, and I followed him into a bare, unfurnished room, where I entered the prisoners’ dock, and leaned upon the steel rail, silent in perplexity.

In a few moments the inspector came in and seated himself at the desk, saying, —

“Now then, look alive; charge him, and get on your beat again.”

“Stand up straight, I want to take your measure,” the constable said, and as I obeyed, he exclaimed, “Five-foot-nine.”

“What’s your name?” asked the officer, looking towards me.

I hesitated.

“Give us your right one, now; or it may go against you.”