The Story of Antony Grace. Fenn George Manville
I suppose it does,” I said, “but I have no friends now.”
“Well, you’d better come along o’ me, and tell your tale to the inspector. I’m not going to leave you here. He’ll soon get to know the rights of it. You’ve run away, that’s what you’ve done.”
“Yes, sir,” I said; “I did run away, but – ”
“Never mind the buts, youngster. You’ll have to be sent back to your sorrowing friends, my absconding young sloper.”
“No, no, no?” I cried wildly, as he took hold of my cuff. “Don’t send me back, pray don’t send me back.”
“None o’ that ’ere now,” he said, giving me a rough shake. “You just come along quietly.”
“Oh, I will, sir, indeed I will!” I cried, “but don’t, pray don’t send me back.”
“Why not? How do you know but it won’t be best for yer? You come along o’ me sharp, and we’ll soon physic your constitution into a right state.”
The agony of dread that seized me at that moment was more than I could bear. In imagination I saw myself dragged back to Mr Blakeford, and saw the smile of triumph on his black-looking face, as he had me again in his power, and, boy as I was then, and full of young life and hopefulness, I believe that I would gladly have jumped into the river sooner than have had to trust to his tender mercies again.
In my horror, then, I flung myself on my knees before the policeman, and clasped his leg as I appealed wildly to him to let me go.
“If you sent me back, sir,” I cried piteously, “he’d kill me.”
“And then we should kill him,” he said, laughing. “Not as that would be much comfort to you. Here, get up.”
“You don’t know what I suffered, sir, after poor papa and mamma died. He used me so cruelly, and he beat me, too, dreadfully. And now, after I have run away, if he gets me back he will be more cruel than before.”
“Well, I s’pose he wouldn’t make it very pleasant for you, youngster. There, come: get up, and you shall tell the inspector, too, all about it.”
“No, no, no,” I cried wildly, as in spite of his efforts to get me up I still clung to his leg.
“Come, none of that, you know. I shall have to carry you. Get up.”
He seized me more roughly, and dragged me to my feet, when with a hoarse cry of dread, I made a dash to escape, freed my arm and ran for freedom once again, as if it were for my life.
Chapter Thirteen.
P.C. Revitts
In my blind fear of capture I did not study which way I went, but doubling down the first turning I came to, I ran on, and then along the next, to stop short directly afterwards, being sharply caught by the constable from whom I had fled, and who now held me fast.
“Ah! you thought it, did you?” he said coolly, while, panting and breathless, I feebly struggled to get away. “But it won’t do, my lad. You’ve got to come along o’ me.”
“And then I shall be sent back,” I cried, as I tried to wrestle myself free. “I’ve never done any harm, sir; and he’ll half kill me. You don’t know him. Pray let me go.”
“I know you to be a reglar young coward,” he said roughly. “Why, when I was your age, I shouldn’t have begun snivelling like this. Now, then, look here. You ain’t come to London only to see your Mr Hot Roll, or whatever you call him. Is there any one else you know as I can take you to? I don’t want to lock you up.”
“No, sir, nobody,” I faltered. “Yes, there is – there’s Mr Revitts.”
“Mr who?”
“Mr Revitts, sir,” I said excitedly. “He’s a policeman, like you.”
“Ah, that’s something like a respectable reference!” he said. “What division?”
“What did you say, sir?”
“I said what division?”
“Please, sir, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you know P.C. Revitts, VV division?”
“No, sir,” I said, with my heart sinking. “It’s Mr William Revitts I know.”
“Which his name is William,” he muttered. Then, aloud, “Here, come along.”
“No, no, sir,” I cried in alarm. “Don’t send me back.”
“Come along, I tell yer.”
“What’s up?” said a gruff voice; and a second policeman joined us.
“Don’t quite know yet,” said the first man; and then he said something in a low voice to the other, with the result that, without another word, I was hurried up and down street after street till I felt ready to drop. Suddenly my guide turned into a great blank-looking building and spoke to another policeman, and soon, after a little shouting, a tall, burly-looking constable in his buttoned-up greatcoat came slowly towards us in the whitewashed room.
“Here’s a lad been absconding,” said my guide, “and he says he’ll give you for a reference.”
“Eh! me?” said the newcomer, making me start as he stared hard in my face. “Who are you, boy. I don’t know you.”
“Antony Grace, please, sir,” I faltered.
“And who’s Antony Grace?”
“There, I thought it was a do,” said the first constable roughly. “What d’yer mean by gammoning me in this way? Come along.”
“No, sir, please. Pray give me time,” I cried. “Don’t send me back. Please, Mr Revitts, I have run away from Mr Blakeford, and if I am sent back to Rowford he’ll kill me. I know he will.”
“’Old ’ard, Smith,” said the big constable. “Look here, boy. What did you say? Where did you come from?”
“Rowford, sir. Pray don’t send me back.”
“And what’s the name of the chap as you’re afraid on?”
“Mr Blakeford, sir.”
“I’m blest!”
“What did you say, sir?”
“I said I’m blest, boy.”
“Then you do know him?” said the first constable.
“I don’t quite know as I do, yet,” was the reply.
“Well, look here, I want to get back. You take charge of him. I found him on a doorstep in Great Coram Street. There’s his bundle. If he don’t give a good account of himself, have it entered and lock him up.”
“All right,” said the other, after a few moments’ hesitation.
“Then I’m off,” said the first man; and he left me in charge of the big constable, who stood staring down at me so fiercely, as I thought, that I looked to right and left for a way of escape.
“None o’ that, sir,” he said sharply, in the words and way of the other, whose heavy footsteps were now echoing down the passage. “Lookye here, if you try to run away, I’ve only got to shout, and hundreds of thousands of pleecemen will start round about to stop yer.”
As he spoke he pushed me into a Windsor arm-chair, where I sat as if in a cage, while he held up one finger to shake in my face.
“As the Clerkenwell magistrate said t’other day, the law’s a great network, and spreads wide. You’re new in the net o’ the law, young fellow, and you can’t get out. Just look here, we knows a deal in the law and police, and I can find out in two twos whether you are telling me the truth or doing the artful.”
“Please, sir – ”
“Hold your tongue, sir! You can make your defence when your time comes; and mind this, it’s