CHAPTER V.

Observer, Volume 1, Issue 12, 4 December 1880, Page 103

CHAPTER V.

Two important letters, for they make us acquainted with one of our principle characters, came.to light in the midst of the mass of papers bearing on this tragedy. They are a little yellowed with age. The first is written on ordinary and very cheap note paper, and is indeed scribbled rather than written. The hand that traced the characters had evidently no time to spare; it might have been indited toy a bailiff in the scant interval between two writs. The second letter in no way resembles the first j •it being as aristocratic as the other is plebeian. The paper is cream-laid, thick, and stamped. Avith a crest. No economising space here—there are not fifty words on a page. The writing is large and pointed, having a selfsatisfied air quite pleasant to look at. It is not after the English style, nor is it roundhand ; it is not too formal, nor too careless—it is-siniply the writing of a man for whom correspondence has a certain charm and serves as, a distraction, a man who dresses himself before he writes, and most probably puts on ruffles after the manner of M. de Button. I

But it is high time to acquaint our readers "with the contents of these letters —

LOUIS COOKE, EMPLOYED IN THE

DETECTIVE DEPARTMENT, TO SIR

JOHN . THORNTON, LIVERPOOL. " Dear Sir John. — To you I owe everything, you it is who, m remembrance of some services rendered in former days to your family by my father,,. took care of my childhood, and gave me an education such as is to be found in our best boardingschools. I ought, out of gratitude for all your kindness, to have followed a career according to your wishes, and to have adopted whatever walk of life you might have been pleased ±o point out. In that case I should, thanks to your protection and unalterable favour, to-day find myself curate in some pleasant town parish,' or vicar of some quiet village. But I had a vocation, one that was irresistible and strongly opposed by you out of regard for me, but in vain, to my shame be it said.

" Whence comes this vocation ? I have often asked myself that question, hut without obtaining any reply. That a young man should feel himself drawn towards painting, writing, or oratory, is intelligible ; lie might become a distinguished speaker, or author, or artist, and at once attain to fame and fortune. But to desire, as I did, but one thing in the world, to have but one aim, and that to devote myself to the police as a profession, is, I admit, peculiar*. ."Such, however, has been the solitary dream of my life, and now that this dream has become a reality I lam still constrained to confess that I do not regret any one of those vocatipnsNfcft'hich 1 might have followed. I cast my eyes round about and I recognise no career more enviable than my own. May not this inclination be the result of a physical peculiarity and not of a moral one, as might foe imagined? Just as we continually see a great, big, broadshouldered, jovial fellow turn soldier, may not I have been unwittingly draAvn towards the police because I am short and slightly out of the perpendicular, because my temperament is. bilious, and my eyes so weak that learnI c am obliged to wear blue spectacles. e "i)o not imagine, that the A'oca- __ tion springs from an honourable source, such as the desire of /being useful to my country. To you, \vhf> are making a species of collection of moral ■depravities, who take a pleasure in stumbling across them, and in ridiculing the age in which we. live — to you I may say that when I am engaged in police business neither the interest ■of : individuals, nor of the government, nor of my country, has any weight with me. I work for the sake of art and my own personal gratification. . How many there are who would ■eagerly throw themselves into my career, if ■they c-.mld appreciate the pleasure of entering, as 1 do, into the lives of others ! . "Reflect, Sir John, that my physical defects iiave. ever stood in the way of my living on my •own account, and have left me a thousand Itfngings una«suaged, a horde of small passions .•self-contained. Ah, well ! I indemnify myself if or my forced inaction and my unavoidable ■want of power, by seeing others live and living itheir life. I joiniin their pursuits, I share their feelings, and .their I rejoice with them, arid with them I suffer — in a word, I put myself in their place. jrv'fSucn, Sir John, are the principle reason? which make me one of oddest of government servants- — a servant who loves his place, Avho is content with his lot "contentus sua sorte" and who does not pick holes in his chiefs or the State. That is a real phenomenon, and I have every right to expect that, after my death, a special corner will be reserved for me in one oi ©lir. museums,' with the following inscription, '^contented civil servant' (extinct species). "'But, [Louie,' you will say, 'to what end this long rigmarole ? I will do you the justice to confess that you have never written to me unless you wanted something. What can yon want now that you are so contented ? '

"Ah ! Sir Jojiin, now we come to the point, but round Ohe comer, as becomes the police.

Yes, all-satisfied though I be, you have divined rightly, my dear protector, that I want something, but it is neither a question of advancement in the service, nor of increase of salary. The Fates forbid ! It is simply a matter of change. I wish, for some time at least, to pass from the sedentary (if I may make use of a term hitherto applied to the magistraeyonly) to the active' police. Instead of hearing the reports of men in uniform or those in plain clothes — in a word, recognised policemen, or secret agents — I wish, in' my turn, to be em-: powered, as they are, to make reports. \ " Fancy me, Sir John, emerging one day from my house completely transformed ; . my goggles have given way to spectacles on nose ; I , wear an imperial, and heels to my boots Avhich make me two inches taller ; in my right hand is a sword-cane, and in my pockets are a warrant or two, and a , pair of handcuffs. | Then, so disguised, I go in search of the malefictors, who have been described to me ; I run, I climb, 1 tumble down, I ride in carriages, or behind them; I go ten miles in every direction, or I stop for twelve hours in the same place with: my eyes riveted on a front door. Ah, wihat incomparable happiness ! '■"Up to. this time, I have but spoken of ordinary pleasures, of everyday nourishment, siich as swindlers, thieves, old offenders, escaped convicts, — vulgar criminals in fact. Bjut sometimes I may be bidden to wage Avar afcainst some terrible enemy of society. Then one has to arm for the fray, to rush upon the foe, to expose one's life, to pay for it with one's blood, to beat or be beaten ; or else you dodge about, manoeuvre, lay plots, and so in the end cpme off victorious. Yes, Dear Sir John, it ought to be a grand satisfaction to be able to s&y, thanks to me, this miserable assassin has

been discovered ; I have avenged an outraged Society which but for me would be still at the mercy of his blows !

, " If I grow thus warm, whilst dealiug with an imaginary assassin, a fictitious criminal, an ideal case, you may judge, Sir John, what my zeal would be in a real occurrence, with an actikal offender. The very thought of it makes my spectacles radiant with the glances from my eyes', my heart beats faster, and my trembling right hand drives home the sharp penknife into the leathern arm-chair of the office.

'-, " The fact is, I know of an affair, a superb affair, which at this moment engages the attention of London. I allude to the tragedy in the St. John's Wood.

i " What ! you know the mnrderer ? I think I liear "you say, Sir John, — no, I do not know him, but this tragedy interests me, and something.tells me that I alone can put Justice on the track of this mysterious assassin.

" And with two words from you, two words written to the Chief Commissioner of Police, I emerge from the police office in Scotland Yard, I have all the necessary resources placed at my disposal, I enter on the campaign and I come out of it victorious.

" Will you, my dear protector ? Will you ? Think, not only is there the punishment of a great criminal, but the avenging of a woman. A. woman, did I say? If you. only knew her, the most charming, the most virtuous, the most beautiful of women ! And I dared to suspect her — her ! Never shall. I forgive myself such a thought imtil I can say to her — ' Here is the murderer of your husband, I give him up to you !'

"I pray you to excuse the length of this letter, Sir J.ohri, and continue my Mild patron."

REPLY OF SIR JOHN THORNTON TO' LOUIS COOKE. 22nd October, 18—. •" On my honour, young man, your letter does not annoy me in the least. <>n the contrary, it amuses me. You are in the full swing of that moral decay which I have foreseen. The immortal, principles of '89, the rights of man, and the overthrow of monarchies, could not bring about any other results. Like all people of your generation, who are stayed upon nothing, who have no solid faith, you are corrupt to the very marrow of ■ your bones. I cause you to be brought up after the most honourable fashion, I fill you to the brim with excellent principles, I destine you to be a clerk or a priest, and one fine day your sole ambition proves to be to turn police-agent ! "But a truce to sentiment, Louis, I am about to tell you the truth with regard to yourself. What seduces you in the new duties which you wish to undertake is to live on the outskirts of society, to be brought in contact •with, every vice and every corruption, to assume without acknowled cement the airs and graces of the rascals you are told oft' to watch, to share their pleasures, and to become little by little familiar with their libertine manners.

" But here am I talking as though I were out of temper ! I am giving a moral lesson to a police agent ! What pretension have Ito correct you ? Had I the power, I should not have the will. All's well that ends well ; and you of the Solice, I hope, will end by falling from drop to rop, from degradation to degradation, and by being punished for your revolutionary vileness. "Tis all the good I wish you. "As regards yourself personally, my good Louis, I wish nothing of the kind ; you belong to your age, and, in saying that, I have said all.

I know you, in spite of your frankness ; you are less ,of a hypocrite than the rest, you do not attempt to conceal your defects. Consequently, I ihave lost no time in acting according to your washes. I have written to Sir Richard Payne, I 1 have spoken highly to him of your zeal; he a-yvaits you to-morrow, when he will give youthe necessary permission to vacate your post in tlie sedentary police, as you call it. "A bove all, do not thank me. Ido not like it; I believe neither in public nor in private gratitude. But if, in your own proper interest, you wish to please me, keep me fully informed of this mysterious affair ; and see that I, before all the world, am told of all the vicissitudes of the case. Great crimes have always proceeded revolution, and if we could in 18— ! " Whilst on this subject, did you not tell me tliat a lovely woman is mixed up in the St. John's Wood affair ? The more reason that I should know all that goes on. Nothwithstahding my sixty-six years, I hold still that woman is the better part of man. ■ "Adieu, dweller iii the" Great City. Put yourself on the scent, hasten to discover the trail. I await your report."