His Lordship's Leopard: A Truthful Narration of Some Impossible Facts. Wells David Dwight
that we've anything to say," replied Cecil sheepishly.
"I should think not!" said the other. "Here, take off that coat!" And he stripped the official garment from the Englishman's shoulders. "The cap, too!"
Banborough handed it to him, saying as he did so:
"You're a police official, I suppose?"
"I'm the Justice of the Peace from the next town. They just missed catching you at the last place you drove through, and telegraphed on to me. Knowing there was a cross-road here, I wasn't going to take any chance of losing you. I left the police to follow. They'll be along in a minute. Now what do you mean by it?"
"I don't suppose any explanations of mine would persuade you that you're making a mistake," said Banborough.
"No, I don't suppose they would. Now you put on that coat accidentally, didn't you? Just absent-mindedly – "
"I don't know you," broke in the Englishman, "and I don't – "
"That'll do," said the Justice of the Peace. "I don't know you either, and – yes, I do know the woman." Then turning to Miss Arminster, he continued: "Didn't I perform the marriage ceremony over you the year before last?"
"Yes," she said softly. And Cecil relinquished her hand. This, he considered, was worse than being arrested.
"I thought I did," went on the magistrate. "I don't often forget a face, and I'm sorry to see you in such bad company."
The young girl began to show signs of breaking down, and the situation was fast becoming acute, when the unexpected tones of an unctuous voice suddenly diverted everybody's attention.
"Why is thee so violent, friend?" said some one behind them. And turning quickly, they perceived the sleek, clean-shaven, well-groomed figure of a Quaker, dressed in a shad-bellied brown coat, a low black silk hat with a curved brim, and square shoes.
"Who the devil – !" began the officer.
"Fie! fie!" said the stranger. "Abstain from cursings and revilings in thy speech. But I am glad thee hast come, for verily I feared the workers of iniquity were abroad."
"Oh, you know something about it, do you?" asked the Justice of the Peace.
"I was returning from a meeting of the Friends," continued the Quaker blandly, "when I came upon these two misguided souls. As my counsellings were not heeded, and I am a man of peace, I had retired into the woods to pursue my way uninterrupted, when I heard thee approach."
"Well, I'll be glad of your assistance, though I daresay I could have managed them until the police came. They're a dangerous pair.
"And what will thee do with the other prisoner, friend?"
"Eh? What other prisoner?"
"The one that lies in a debauched sleep at the farther end of the van. I have striven to arouse him, but in vain."
"Where is he?" said the magistrate, peering into the black depths of the waggon.
"In the far corner. Thee canst not see him from here."
"I'll have him out in no time!" exclaimed the officer, springing into the van, with the driver's hat and coat still in his hand.
"Not if I knows it, you old bloke!" cried the sometime Quaker, slamming the door and turning the key with vicious enjoyment, while his three companions, for Spotts had emerged from the wood, executed a war-dance round the vehicle out of sheer joy and exultation. From within proceeded a variety of curses and imprecations, while the Black Maria bounced upon its springs as if a young elephant had gone mad inside.
Suddenly the Quaker laid a detaining hand upon Banborough's shoulder, saying:
"Take care, boss; here come the cops! I'll play the leading rôle, and you follow the cues."
They all paused and stood listening, while the rapid beat of a horse's hoofs came to their ears, and a second later a Concord waggon, loaded down with policemen, swung into view round the corner of the road, and presently drew up beside them.
"Thee hast come in good time, friend," said the Quaker to the chief officer. "We have watched thy prisoners overlong already."
"Where's the boss?" demanded the official.
"Dost thee mean the worldly man with the red face, much given to profane speaking?"
"I guess that's him," laughed one of the subordinates.
"As I was returning from a meeting of the Friends with these good people," pursued the Quaker, indicating his companions, "we came upon this vehicle standing in the road, the horses being held by two men, who, when they saw us, ran into the woods towards the river."
"How were they dressed?" asked the chief officer.
"One of them had garments like thine, friend."
"That's our man, sure!"
"Very presently," resumed the Quaker, "came thy master, using much unseemly language, who, having heard our story, followed the men in the direction we indicated, begging that we guard this carriage till you came, and bidding us tell you to return with it to the town."
"Well, I guess the boss knows his own business best," said the leader of the party; "so we'd better be getting back to the station. I suppose you'll come and give your evidence."
"I am a man of peace," said the Quaker; "but if my testimony is required I and my friends will walk behind thee to the next town and give it."
"It's only half a mile from here, a straight road – you can't miss it. You'll be there as soon as we want you."
The Quaker nodded.
"Then we'd better be moving," said the chief officer. "I'll drive Maria, and you fellows go ahead in the cart."
The remarks which were now proceeding from the interior of that vehicle were much too dreadful to record. But as it was about to start, the man of peace, lifting his hands, checked the driver and said:
"I will, with thy permission, approach the grating and speak a word of counsel." And going to the door, he said in a loud voice:
"Peace, friend. Remember what the good Benjamin Franklin has said: 'He that speaks much is much mistaken.'"
The reply elicited by these remarks was of such a nature that Miss Arminster was obliged to put her hands over her ears, and the police drove off with loud guffaws, enjoying immensely the good Quaker's confusion.
"That bloke," remarked the tramp, as the Black Maria disappeared in a cloud of dust, "give me three months once, an' I feels better."
And without another word he led the party across the road and into the woods in the direction of the river.
CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH THE PARTY RECEIVES A NEW IMPETUS
An hour later, when the little party of four, weary and dusty, walked up to the hotel at Yonkers, they perceived Tybalt Smith in his shirt-sleeves, with his hat tipped over his eyes as a protection from the rays of the declining sun, lying fast asleep in a large garden chair which was tilted back on its hind legs against the side of the house. Spotts lost no time in poking him in the ribs with his cane, whereupon the tragedian, rousing himself from slumber, hastily assumed a more upright position, bringing the chair down on its front legs with a bang. Having thus been fully awakened, he became at once the master of the situation.
"We are here," he said.
"So I see," replied Spotts, "and a pretty show you've made of yourself. There's nothing private or retiring about your methods. Now where are the rest of the party?"
Mr. Smith at once assumed an air of mysterious solemnity.
"Mrs. Mackintosh," he said in a stage whisper, "is above. I reserved an apartment for her and the Leop – Miss Arminster, I mean, and a private sitting-room for us all. Mrs. Mackintosh is disturbed. Mrs. Mackintosh requires an explanation. Mrs. Mackintosh," turning to Banborough, "is a woman of great character, of great force, and she requires an explanation of you!"
"Ha!" said Spotts, casting a look of mock commiseration at the Englishman.
"Perhaps