A Race With Ruin

Auckland Star, Volume XXXV, Issue 96, 22 April 1904, Page 6

A Race With Ruin

CHAPTER XXXV. A SOFT-ROED BLOATER. "Any nice dried fish this morning, mem? 'Addieks, kipper*, blotters, all fresh." The tempter deposited his basket on the doorstep of 17, Beaker-street, and surveyed Mrs William Tidmarsh with the insinuating smile of the itinerant hawker. The lady was large and well-favoured, albeit for the moment not in the best of tempers after being brought by a resounding peal of the bell to answer the door while her hair was not yet in curlpapers. They were not early risers at No. 17, and it was scarcely nine o'clock. "No, thank you; I deal at the fishmongers," snapped Mrs Tidmarsh, and would have shut the door in the hawker's face if he had not adroitly given his basket a twist so that the handle prevented the manoeuvre. "Just a relish for your good gentleman's breakfast, mem. Come, I'll put you in two of these 'ere bloaters, warranted soft-roed, for three-ha'pence. You'll never regret it." And with the patient persistence of his class the vendor selected a couple of fish and held them alluringly close to the lady's nose. "I tell you," she was beginning, when from the inner regions there rang out the male command— "I could do with a soft-roed 'un for breakfast, my dear. I'm partial to 'em that way." That settled the matter, and, grumbling to herself, Mrs. Tidmarsh took out her purse, and, finding nothing smaller, tendered a florin in payment. The hawker gave her a shilling and some coppers in change, and, shouldering hit basket, proceeded down the street, crying his wares. By the time Mr. Tidmarsh descended from the bedroom the succulent "softroed 'un" was ready for him, done to a turn, but Ms wife noticed that he was strangely preoccupied, and paid more attention to the vendor of the fish than ro the dainty itself. The man was still in the street, coming back on the opposite side, and every now and then the bookmaker would rise from his seat to peer at him from behind the window curtains. "That chap won't eat you, Bill; why don't you get on with your victuals?" said Mrs. Tidmarsh severely. Mr. Tidmarsh, who had kept the secret of his intended revenge locked in his own huge bosom, shot a cunning glance at his wife. He dared not tell her of the work he hoped to accomplish that day, yet he wanted her assistance in a little project that had been germinating in his brain during the last five minutes. For he thought, without being positively sure, that the voice of the fishhawker was the voice of Inspector Croal —the very last person with whom ne wished to be troubled during the next twenty-four hours. His project was aimed at bringing the detective to confusion, so that he might pursue his blood feud in peace. "Sue,' he said solemnly, "it's my belief that that hawker's a tec." The modicum of truth doled out to her was more than sufficient to command Mrs. Tidmarsh's interest and co-opera-tion. Since the raid by the local police had caused her husband to abandon his calling for a while, money had been "tight," and she had to abandon those Sunday excursions in a hired trap, which, as opportunities for the display of gorgeous raiment, were the chief delight of her existence. Consequentlysh_ was consumed with a pious hatred of all detectives. "You don't mean it!" she gasped. "Hang mc if I don't," responded her husband. "Now, see here, Sue; I've got to best that cove. You paid him in silver; I heard from the top of the stairs. What change did you give him? A bob and some coppers, eh ? Well, go up to the bedroom and find that bad shilling I took a while back. You'll find it on the mantelpiece." Mrs Tidmarsh not unnaturally jumped to the conclusion that her husband was still under surveillance for betting, and obeyed with alacrity. While .he was gone, Mr Tidmarsh took another peep from the window and saw that the hawker was sitting on the kerb a little higher up. Just as Mrs Tidmarsh .returned and handed her husband an unmistakable "duffer" the man rose and got on the move again in a direction which would bring him past the house once more. Tidmarsh strode to the front door and flung it open, holding tlie base coin in the palm of his hand. "You thieving rogue!" he thundered as the hawker came up. "You're a pretty feller to be passing bad money on the missus, and I'm going to lock you up. Here, you nipper (to a gaping shopboy), run round into Upper-street and send along the first p'liceman you meet." Mr Croal, for the hawker was indeed Mr Croal, by being surprised into his natural facial expression for the fraction of a second, gave away the first trick in the game he was destined to play that day. Mr Tidmarsh was sure of his man now and realised that he must win a duel of wits with a keen antagonist before he could, unwatched, reach the lonely house at Mitcham where his prey awaited him. Mr Croal was in the painful predicament of not knowing whether he had inadvertently passed a bad shilling or not. It was quite probable that he had done so; on the other hand he did not overlook the chance that Tidmarsh had recognised him and was taking this course in -order to get rid of him. For the moment he was non-plussed, but he thought it advisable to sustain his assumed character. "I aint passed no bad money—knowingly at least," he replied, feigning tho requisite whine. "You can tell that to the magistrate." stormed the bookmaker. "Here, constable," as the officer arrived, "I this man in charge for passing bad money —a reg'lar old hand, T expect." The policeman examined the pewter shilling which had been reposing or the bedroom mantelpiece for six months, and shook his head wisely as he pulled out his notebook to take the prosecutor, name and address. i__t Mr Tidmarsli waved it aside.

By HEADON.HALL, Author of " Guilty Gold," " Qusen of the Night," ttm

"Never mind that," he said; "I'll come along to the station with you and charge him myself." For he knew that the moment Croal was alone with the constable he would make matters right for himself by producing his official card, whereas so long as he desired to preserve his incognito he would* not divulge his identity in Mr | Tidmarsh's presence. The latter meant, if he could, to get his shadow badly "left" in the attempt to follow him. So Mr Croal was duly taken into custody and Mr Tidmarsh marched close at his heels so that he could have no opportunity of whispering to the constable. It was not till he was half-way to the station that the bookmaker remembered that this early commencement of hide-and-seek with the inspector had relieved him of one unpleasantness. He had been sorely dreading saying good-bye to his wife that day, all ignorant as she was of his homicidal intentions. Now that awkward farewell would not be necessary. He would not go home again till after he had "wiped out Hooligan." Croal accepted the position with resignation, confident in his ability not to lose sight of his man- His investigations during the last day or two, especially Skinner's meeting with Tidmarsh at the Union Jack on the previous evening, had convinced him that Tannadyce was playing a deep game and using the bookmaker to pull the chestnuts out of the lire. In fact he had gained a shrewd inkling of the truth — that Tidmarsh's private vendetta against the slayer of his sister had been seized on by the gioneylender to terminate an association that would be inconvenient in the event of Hooligan being brought to trial. * The inspector had ascertained that the dissolute peer had completedly vanished from his usual haunts, and all his efforts to connect Tannadyce with the fugitive had failed till he hit on the idea of watching Tidmarsh as well as Tannadyce. Though he had been unable to overhear much of the interview with Skinner, he had learned enough to guess that the bookmaker would lead him straight to his quarry and enable him not only to prevent the law being taken into private hands but to execute a certain document in hi 3 possession." The document was a warrant for "wilful murder," against Henry Augustus Vansittart Blundell, BaTon Hooligan of Hooligan, in the County of Waterford. Arrived at the .police station, the constable quickly put his prisoner and the prosecutor through the usual formalities before the inspector on dnfy. Croal refused to give any riame .or address, and having been measured and charged was hustled off to a cell, from which, after a hurried explanation and exhibition of his card, he emerged exactly 40 seconds later—in time to catch sTight of Mr Tidmarsh's broad hackdescending the station steps. Mr Croal had won the second trick and started in pursuit. He would have been glad of five minutes to do a "quick change" into a fresh disguise, but all he could do was to leave his basket of "soft-roed 'uns" with the respectful and sympathetic, but highly amused, local police. Then began a chase which was diversified by varying fortunes. Tidmarsh's object was fo kill time, for he did not want to go down _o Mitcham till tire evening, when the pugilists mentioned by Skinner would have left him a clear field. He wandered :down to the Strand, stared at the shops, lunched at Gatti's, and, finally, about 4 o'clock when leaving the Grand Hotel buffet after a drink with a chance-met sporting acquaintance, became aware that Croal was not shaken 1 off after all. He smiled grimly to himself as he noticed the absence of the fish-basket and the ragged garments of the "hawker." Somehow, a basket, or a handful of bootlaces, p or a bunch of grounsel seemed necessary to the inspector's make up, and Mi-. Tidmarsh rejoiced at the incompleteness. He must have put his shadow to considerable inconvenience to hustle him into such a lack 1 of consistency in his disguise. Well, the game would have to begin all over again—that was all. The bookmaker said good-bye to his friend, hailed a hansom, and gave the word in a loud voice for 17, Beaker Street. But Croal was not deceived by the ruse. Jumping into another cab he soon perceived that the bookmaker was instructing the drive, through the flap, .with the" result that the cab turn ed up the Haymarket, crossed Regent Street and finally pulled up at the Northern entrance of the Burlington Arcade. Mr. Tidmarsh was down and into the Arcade before Croal's cab had stopped, and then the inspector realised that lie had been "done on the post" again. Just as Tidmarsh had artfully calculated, Croal's disreputable appearance did not find favour with the beadle on duty at the gate, and it was not until after a lengthy explanation that the detective was permitted to pass in, By that time the man he was pursuing was ensconced in a tobacconist's shop half way down the Arcade, bending over the counter, and pretending ~o make an elaborate choice of a cigar. His idea was, that Croal, on being allowed to enter, would dash straight through and out at the other end, in the supposition that he himself would have done the same. But in this respect his cunning had overreached itself. Croal certainly made all speed to the southern exit, but there he introduced himself to the second beadle, and quickly ascertained that no one answering to- Tidmarsh's description had gone out that way—no difficult matter, owing to the showy suit worn by the bookmaker. So presently Mr.- Tidmarsh, who had lighted his cigar and seated himself in the shop to await developments, had the chargin of seeing his antagonist slowly repass, and he was not at all sure that the inspector's sharp eyes had not caught sight of him in the dark interior. After that it became a battle of impatience. Croal patrolling the Arcade, and Tidmarsh smoking cigar after cigar while maturing a fresh plan. He hit on one at last, and none too , soon, if he was to catch the train to Mitcham he had decided on—the 6.45 from Victoria. The afternoon had slipped away apace in all these dodgings to and fro, and it was already past six. His move was also expedited by the fact j that the tobacconist had begun to eye ' him askance, despite his profuse purchases. He rose and walked from the shop, and knew long before he was out of the Arcade that Croal was close on his tracks.

Disregarding him entirely, he hailed a cab in Piccadilly, and bade the man take him to Victoria Station. There he swaggered into "the first-class booking office and asked for a Pullman car return for Brighton. The express was drawn up at the main-line departure platform, and Mr Tidmarsh ostentatiously seated himself in the drawing-room car. The third-class carriages were in front of the train, and a minute later he saw Croal go by the car towards them. Once again he was trading on the unfortunate detective's make-up, for he told himself with much satisfaction that his pursuer' 3 present style was hardly "classy" enough for the Pullman. And this time his simple-hearted cunning was crowned with success. The whistle sounded, the train began to move, but not till it was well in motion did he step from the platform of the car on to the platform of the terminus and wave a parting hand to the fast receding face of Mr Croal, who was leaning out of" one of the third-class carriages, peering back. "Yah! What price soft-roed 'uns ?" resounded the bookmaker's jubilant shout. Croal tore frantically at the doorhandle of his compartment, but the train had gathered too much way for a safe descent, and those within restrained him from making the attempt. With a sigh of relief Tidmarsh ran round and jumped into the suburban train, which started, almost as he sank into his seat. (To be continued daily.)

MONEY TO LEND