The Iron Horse

“And have we nothing left to pay them?” asked Netta, in some anxiety.

“Nothing, my love,” replied Mrs Tipps, with a perplexed look, “except,” she added, after a moment’s thought, “the tuppence!”

The poor lady whimpered as she said this, seeing which Netta burst into tears; whereupon her mother sprang up, scattered the accounts right and left, and blaming herself for having spoken on these disagreeable subjects at all, threw her arms round Netta’s neck and hugged her.

“Don’t think me foolish, mamma,” said Netta, drying her eyes in a moment; “really it almost makes me laugh to think that I should ever come to cry so easily; but you know illness does weaken one so, that sometimes, in spite of myself, I feel inclined to cry. But don’t mind me; there, it’s past now. Let us resume our business talk.”

“Indeed I will not,” protested Mrs Tipps.

“Then I will call nurse, and go into the subject with her,” said Netta.

“Don’t be foolish, dear.”

“Well, then, go on with it, mamma. Tell me, now, is there nothing that we could sell?”

“Nothing. To be sure there is my gold watch, but that would not fetch more than a few pounds; and my wedding-ring, which I would sooner die than part with.”

Netta glanced, as she spoke, at an unusually superb diamond ring, of Eastern manufacture, which adorned her own delicate hand. It was her father’s last gift to her a few days before he died.

“What are you thinking of, darling?” inquired Mrs Tipps.

“Of many things,” replied Netta slowly. “It is not easy to tell you exactly what—”

Here she was saved the necessity of further explanation by the entrance of Joseph Tipps, who, after kissing his mother and sister heartily, threw his hat and gloves into a corner, and, rubbing his hands together as he sat down, inquired if Edwin Gurwood had been there.

“No, we have neither seen nor heard of him,” said Netta.

“Then you shall have him to luncheon in half-an-hour, or so,” said Joseph, consulting his watch. “I got leave of absence to-day, and intend to spend part of my holiday in introducing him to Captain Lee, who has promised to get him a situation in the head office. You’ve no idea what a fine hearty fellow he is,” continued Tipps enthusiastically, “so full of humour and good sense. But what have you been discussing? Not accounts, surely! Why, mother, what’s the use of boring your brains with such things? Let me have ’em, I’ll go over them for you. What d’you want done? The additions checked, eh?”

On learning that it was not the accounts so much as the discrepancy between the estimate and the actual expenditure that puzzled his mother, Tipps seized her book, and, turning over the leaves, said, “Here, let me see, I’ll soon find it out—ah, well, rent yes; taxes, h’m; wine to Mrs Natly, you put that, in your estimate, under the head of food, I suppose?”

“N–no, I think not.”

“Under physic, then?”

“No, not under that. I have no head for that.”

“What! no head for physic? If you’d said you had no stomach for it I could have understood you; but—well—what did you put it under; sundries, eh?”

“I’m afraid, Joseph, that I have not taken note of that in my extract—your dear father used to call the thing he did with his cash-book at the end of the year an extract—I think I’ve omitted that.”

“Just so,” said Tipps, jotting down with a pencil on the back of a letter. “I’ll soon account to you for the discrepancy. Here are six bottles of wine to Mrs Natly, the railway porter’s wife, at three-and-six—one pound one—not provided for in your estimate. Any more physic, I wonder? H’m, subscription for coals to the poor. Half-a-guinea—no head for charities in your estimate, I suppose?”

“Of course,” pleaded Mrs Tipps, “in making an estimate, I was thinking only of my own expenses, you know—not of charities and such-like things; but when poor people come, you know, what is one to do?”

“We’ll not discuss that just now, mother. Hallo! ‘ten guineas doctor’s fee!’ Of course you have not that in the estimate, seeing that you did not know Netta was going to be ill. What’s this?—‘five pounds for twenty wax dolls—naked—(to be dressed by —)’”

“Really, Joseph, the book is too private to be read aloud,” said Mrs Tipps, snatching it out of her son’s hand. “These dolls were for a bazaar in aid of the funds of a blind asylum, and I dressed them all myself last winter.”

“Well, well, mother,” said Tipps, laughing, “I don’t want to pry into such secrets; but here, you see, we have seventeen pounds odd of the discrepancy discovered already, and I’ve no doubt that the remainder could soon be fished up.”

“Yes,” sighed Mrs Tipps, sadly, “I see it now. As the poet truly says,—‘Evil is wrought by want of thought as well as want of heart.’ I have been assisting the poor at the expense of my trades-people.”

“Mother,” exclaimed Tipps, indignantly, “you have been doing nothing of the sort. Don’t imagine that I could for a moment insinuate such a thing. You have only made a little mistake in your calculations, and all that you have got to do is to put down a larger sum for contingencies next time. What nonsense you talk about your trades-people! Every one of them shall be paid to the last farthing—”

Here Tipps was interrupted by the entrance of Edwin Gurwood, who at once began with much interest to inquire into the health of Mrs Tipps, and hoped that she had not suffered in any way from her recent accident.

Mrs Tipps replied she was thankful to say that she had not suffered in any way, beyond being a little shaken and dreadfully alarmed.

“But railways have suffered,” said Tipps, laughing, “for mother is so strongly set against them now that she would not enter one for a thousand pounds.”

“They have suffered in worse ways than that,” said Gurwood, “if all that I hear be true, for that accident has produced a number of serious compensation cases.”

Hereupon Gurwood and his friend plunged into an animated conversation about railway accidents and their consequences, to the intense interest and horror of Mrs Tipps.

Meanwhile Netta left the room, and went to her old nurse’s apartment.

“Nurse,” she said, hurriedly, “when did you say you proposed paying your brother in London a visit—about this time, was it not?”

“Yes, dear,” said old Mrs Durby, taking off her tortoise-shell spectacles and laying down her work, “I thought of going next week, if it is quite convenient.”

“It is quite convenient, nurse,” continued Netta, in a somewhat flurried manner; “it would be still more convenient if you could go to-morrow or next day.”

“Deary me—what’s wrong?” inquired Mrs Durby, in some surprise.

“Listen, I have not time to explain much,” said Netta, earnestly, sitting down beside her faithful nurse and putting her hand on her shoulder. “We have got into difficulties, nurse—temporary difficulties, I hope—but they must be got over somehow. Now, I want you to take this diamond ring to London with you—pawn it for as much as you can get, and bring me the money.”

“Me pawn it, my dear! I never pawned a thing in my life, and don’t know how to go about it.”

“But your brother knows how to do it,” suggested Netta. “Now, you won’t refuse me this favour, dear nurse? I know it is an unpleasant business, but what else can be done? The ring is my own; besides, I hope to be able to redeem it soon. I know no more about pawning than yourself, but I do know that a considerable time must elapse before the ring shall be lost to me. And, you know, our bills must be paid.”

Good Mrs Durby did not require much persuasion. She consented to set off as soon as possible, if she should obtain permission from Mrs Tipps, who was aware that she had intended to visit her brother about that time. She received the precious ring, which, for security, was put into a pill-box; this was introduced into an empty match-box, which Netta wrapped in a sheet of note-paper and put Mrs Durby’s name on it. For further security Mrs Durby enlarged the parcel by thrusting the match-box into an old slipper, the heel of which she doubled over the toe, and then wrapped the whole in several sheets of brown paper until the parcel assumed somewhat the shape and size of her own head. It was also fastened with strong cords, but Mrs Durby’s powers of making a parcel were so poor that she left several uncouth corners and ragged ends of paper sticking out here and there. She wrote on it in pencil the simple name—Durby.

Meanwhile Joseph and his friend, having finished luncheon, prepared to set out on their visit to Captain Lee. As they quitted the house, Tipps ran back to the door and called his sister out of the parlour.

“I say, Netta, what about this fifty pounds that mother was talking of?” he said. “Do you mean to say that you are really short of that sum, and in debt?”

“We are, but I see a way out of the difficulty. Don’t distress yourself, Joe; we shall have everything squared up, as you call it in a few days.”

“Are you quite sure of that?” asked Tipps, with a doubting look. “You know I have got an uncommonly cheap lodging, and a remarkably economical landlady, who manages so splendidly that I feed on a mere trifle a week. Seventy-five pounds a year, you know, is more than I know what to do with. I can live on thirty-five or so, and the other forty is—”

“We don’t require it Joe,” said Netta, laughing. “There, go away, you are giving me cold by keeping me in the passage, and your friend is getting impatient.”

She pushed him out, nodded, and shut the door. Tipps hastened after his friend, apologised for the delay, and, stepping out smartly, they were soon ushered into Captain Lee’s drawing-room. The captain was writing. Emma was seated near the window sewing.

“Ha! Tipps, my fine fellow, glad to see you; why, I was just thinking of you,” said the captain, extending his hand.

“I have called,” began Tipps, bowing to Emma and shaking the captain’s hand, “to introduce my—my—eh!—ah, my—what’s the matter?”

There was some reason for these exclamations, for Captain Lee stood gazing in mute amazement at young Gurwood, while the latter returned the compliment with his eyebrows raised to the roots of his hair. The similarity of their expressions did not, however, last long, for Edwin became gradually confused, while the captain grew red and choleric-looking.

“So,” said the latter at length, in a very stern voice, “this is your friend, Mr Tipps?”

“Sir,” exclaimed Edwin, flushing crimson, “you ought not to condemn any one unheard.”

“I do not condemn you, sir,” retorted the captain.

“By word, no, but by look and tone and gesture you do.”

“Captain Lee,” exclaimed Tipps, who had stood perfectly aghast with amazement at this scene, “what do you mean?—surely.”

“I mean,” said the captain, “that this youth was taken up by one of our own detectives as a thief, some weeks ago, and was found travelling in a first-class carriage without a ticket.”

Young Gurwood, who had by this time recovered his self-possession, turned to his friend and said,—“Explain this matter, Tipps, you know all about it. The only point that can puzzle you is, that I did not know the name of Captain Lee when I travelled with him, and therefore did not connect him with the gentleman to whom you said you meant to introduce me.”

Tipps drew a long breath.

“Oh,” said he, “I see it all now. Why, Captain Lee, my friend is perfectly innocent. It was quite a mistake, I assure you; and the best proof of it is that he is a personal friend of our police superintendent, who was on the spot at the time the accident occurred, but we were all thrown into such confusion at the time, that I don’t wonder things were not cleared up.”

Tipps hereupon went into a detailed account of the matter as far as he knew it, at first to the surprise and then to the amusement of Captain Lee. Fortunately for Gurwood, who would have found it difficult to explain the circumstance of his travelling without a ticket, the captain was as prompt to acknowledge his erroneous impression as he had been to condemn. Instead of listening to Tipps, he stopped him by suddenly grasping Gurwood’s hand, and thanking him heartily for the prompt and able assistance he had rendered in rescuing his daughter from her perilous position on the day of the accident.

Of course Edwin would not admit that “rescue” was the proper term to apply to his action, and refused to admit that Miss Lee was in the slightest degree indebted to him, at the same time assuring her and her father that it had afforded him the highest possible pleasure to have been of the slightest service to them. The end of it was that they all became extremely good friends, and the captain in particular became quite jocular in reference to mistakes in general and stealing in particular, until Tipps, pulling out his watch, declared that procrastination was the thief of time, and that as he happened to have business to transact with the police superintendent in reference to the very accident which had caused them all so much trouble, he must unwillingly bid them adieu.

“Stay, Tipps,” exclaimed the captain, rising, “I shall accompany you to the station, and introduce our friend Gurwood to the scene of his future labours, where,” continued the captain, turning with a hearty air and patronising smile to Edwin, “I hope you will lay the foundation of a career which will end in a manager’s or secretary’s situation, or some important post of that sort. Good-bye, Emma I’ll not be back till dinner-time.”

Emma bowed to the young men, and said good-bye to her father with a smile so ineffably captivating, that Edwin resolved then and there to lay the foundation of a career which would end in a wife with nut-brown hair and large lustrous eyes.

Poor Edwin! He was not the first man whose wayward spirit had been chained, his impulses directed to good ends and aims, and his destiny fixed, by the smile of an innocent, loving, pretty girl. Assuredly, also, he was not the last!

Chapter Ten.

Sharp Practice

Standing with his back to the fireplace, his legs slightly apart, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, Mr Sharp, Police Superintendent of the Grand National Trunk Railway, communed with himself and dived into the future.

Mr Sharp’s powers of diving were almost miraculous. He had an unusually keen eye for the past and the present, but in regard to the future his powers were all but prophetic. He possessed a rare capacity for following up clues; investigating cases; detecting falsehoods, not only of the lip, but of the eye and complexion; and, in a word, was able to extract golden information out of the most unpromising circumstances. He was also all but ubiquitous. Now tracking a suspicion to its source on his own line in one of the Midland counties; anon comparing notes with a brother superintendent at the terminus of the Great Western, or Great Northern, or South-Eastern in London. Sometimes called away to give evidence in a county court; at other times taking a look in at his own home to kiss his wife or dandle his child before dashing off per express to follow up a clue to John O’Groats or the Land’s End. Here, and there, and everywhere—calm, self-possessed, and self-contained, making notes in trains, writing reports in his office, making discoveries and convictions, and sometimes making prisoners with his own hands by night and day, with no fixed hours for work, or rest, or meals, and no certainty in anything concerning him, save in the uncertainty of his movements, Mr Sharp with his myrmidons was the terror of evil doers, and, we may truly add, the safeguard of the public.

Little did that ungrateful public know all it owed to the untiring watchfulness and activity of Mr Sharp and his men. If he and his compeers were to be dismissed from our lines for a single week, the descent of a host of thieves and scoundrels to commit wide-spread plunder would teach the public somewhat severely how much they owe to the efficient management of this department of railway business, and how well, constantly and vigilantly—though unobtrusively—their interests are cared for.

But to return. Mr Sharp, as we have said stood communing with himself and diving into the future. Apparently his thoughts afforded him some amusement, for his eyes twinkled slightly, and there was a faintly humorous twist about the corners of his mouth.

David Blunt sat at a desk near him, writing diligently. Against the wall over his head hung a row of truncheons. Besides the desk, a bench, two or three wooden chairs, and a chest, there was little furniture in the room.

Blunt’s busy pen at length ceased to move, and Sharp looked at him.

“Well, Blunt,” he said, “I see nothing for it but to make a railway porter of you.”

“By all means, sir,” said Blunt, with a smile, laying down his pen.

“Gorton station,” continued Sharp, “has become a very nest of thieves. It is not creditable that such a state of things should exist for a week on our line. They have managed things very cleverly as yet. Five or six bales of cloth have disappeared in the course of as many days, besides several loaves of sugar and half-a-dozen cheeses. I am pretty sure who the culprits are, but can’t manage to bring it home to them, so, as I have said, we must convert you into a porter. You have only been once engaged on this part of the line—that was at the accident when you were so hard on poor Mr Gurwood, so that none of the Gorton people will know you. I have arranged matters with our passenger superintendent. It seems that Macdonell, the station-master at Gorton, has been complaining that he is short-handed and wants another porter. That just suits us, so we have resolved to give you that responsible situation. You will get a porter’s uniform from—”

At this point Mr Sharp was interrupted by the door opening violently, and a detective in plain clothes entering with a stout young man in his grasp.

“Who have we here?” asked Mr Sharp.

“Man travelling without a ticket sir,” replied the detective, whose calm demeanour was in marked contrast to the excitement of his prisoner.

“Ha! come here; what have you to say for yourself?” demanded the superintendent of the man.

Hereupon the man began a violent exculpation of himself, which entailed nearly half-an-hour of vigorous cross-questioning, and resulted in his giving a half-satisfactory account of himself, some trustworthy references to people in town, and being set free.

This case having been disposed of, Mr Sharp resumed his conversation with Blunt.

“Having been changed, then, into a railway porter, Blunt, you will proceed to Gorton to discharge your duties there, and while doing so you will make uncommonly good use of your eyes, ears, and opportunities.”

Mr Sharp smiled and Blunt chuckled, and at the same time Joseph Tipps entered the room.

“Good-evening, Mr Sharp,” he said. “Well, anything more about these Gorton robberies?”

“Nothing more yet, Mr Tipps, but we expect something more soon, for a new porter is about to be sent to the station.”

Tipps, who was a very simple matter-of-fact man in some ways, looked puzzled.

“Why, how will the sending of a new porter to the station throw light on the matter?”

“You shall know in the course of time, Mr Tipps,” replied the superintendent. “We have wonderful ways of finding out things here.”

“Indeed you have,” said Tipps; “and, by the way, that reminds me that they have some wonderful ways of finding out things on the Continent as well as here. I have just heard of a clever thing done by a German professor. It seems that on one of the lines—I forget which—a large box full of silver-plate was despatched. It had a long way to go, and before reaching its destination the plate was stolen, and the box filled up with sand. On this being discovered, of course every sort of investigation was set on foot, but without success. At last the thing came to the ears of a professor of chemistry—or the police went to him, I don’t know which—and it occurred to him that he might get a clue to the thieves by means of the sand in the box. You see the great difficulty the police had, was to ascertain at which of the innumerable stations on the long line, it was likely that the theft had taken place. The professor ordered samples of the sand at all the stations on the line to be sent to him. These he analysed and examined with the microscope, and found that one of the samples was precisely similar in all respects to the sand in the box. The attention of the police was at once concentrated on the station from which that sand had been gathered, and in a short time the guilty parties were discovered and the theft brought home to them. Now, wasn’t that clever?”

“Very good, very good, indeed,” said Mr Sharp, approvingly, “and rather peculiar. I had a somewhat peculiar case myself last week. You know some time ago there was a quantity of cloth stolen on this line, for which, by the way, we had to pay full compensation. Well, I could not get any clue to the thieves, but at last I thought of a plan. I got some patterns of the cloth from the party that lost it, and sent one of these to every station on the line where it was likely to have been stolen. Just the other day I got a telegram from Croon station stating that a man had been seen going about in a new suit exactly the same as the pattern. Off I went immediately, pounced on the man, taxed him with the theft, and found the remainder of the cloth in his house.”

“Capital,” exclaimed Tipps, “that was smartly managed. And, by the way, wasn’t there something about a case of stealing muffs and boas lately?”

“Yes, and we got hold of that thief too, the day before yesterday,” replied Mr Sharp. “I felt sure, from the way in which the theft was committed, that it must be one of our own men, and so it turned out. He had cut open a bale and taken out several muffs and boas of first-rate sable. One set of ’em he gave to his sweetheart, who was seen wearing them in church on Sunday. I just went to her and said I was going to put a question to her, and warned her to speak the truth, as it would be worse for all parties concerned if she attempted to deceive me. I then asked her if she had got the muff and boa from Jim Croydon, the porter. She blushed scarlet, and admitted it at once, but said, poor thing, that she had no idea they had been stolen, and I believe her. This case occurred just after I had watched the milk-truck the other night for three hours, and found that the thief who had been helping himself to it every morning for some weeks past was the watchman at the station.”

“I fear there are a great many bad fellows amongst us,” said Tipps, shaking his head.

“You are quite mistaken,” replied the superintendent. “There were a good many bad fellows, but I flatter myself that there are very few now in proportion to the number of men on the line. We are constantly winnowing them out, purifying the ore, as it were, so that we are gradually getting rid of all the dross, and leaving nothing but sterling metal on the line. Why, Mr Tipps, you surely don’t expect that railways are to be exempted from black sheep any more than other large companies. Just look at the army and navy, and see what a lot of rascals have to be punished and drummed out of the service every now and then. Same everywhere. Why, when I consider that we employ over twenty thousand men and boys, and that these men and boys are tempted, more almost than any other class of people, by goods lying about constantly in large quantities in the open air, and in all sorts of lonely and out-of-the-way places, my surprise is that our bad men are so few. No doubt we shall always have one or two prowling about, and may occasionally alight on a nest of ’em, but we shall manage to keep ’em down—to winnow them out faster, perhaps, than they come in. I am just going about some little pieces of business of that sort now,” added Mr Sharp; putting on his hat. “Did you wish to speak with me about anything in particular, Mr Tipps?”

“Yes; I wished to ask you if that fat woman, Mrs —, what’s her name?”

“You mean Mrs Podge, I suppose?” suggested Sharp; “she who kicked her heels so vigorously at Langrye after the accident.”

“Ah! Mrs Podge—yes. Does she persist in her ridiculous claim for damages?”

“She does, having been urged to do so by some meddling friend; for I’m quite sure that she would never have thought of doing so herself, seeing that she received no damage at all beyond a fright. I’m going to pay her a visit to-day in reference to that very thing.”