CHAPTER XXXVII.
A CHASE AND A BRAWL.
It would be impossible to describe the suspense in which Tom Dimsdalelived during these weeks. In vain he tried in every manner to find someway of tracing the fugitives. He wandered aimlessly about London fromone inquiry office to another, telling his story and appealing forassistance. He advertised in papers and cross-questioned every one whomight know anything of the matter. There were none, however, who couldhelp him or throw any light upon the mystery.
No one at the office knew anything of the movements of the seniorpartner. To all inquiries Ezra replied that he had been ordered by thedoctors to seek complete repose in the country. Dimsdale dogged Ezra'sfootsteps night after night in the hope of gaining some clue, but invain. On the Saturday he followed him to the railway station, but Ezra,as we have seen, succeeded in giving him the slip.
His father became seriously anxious about the young fellow's health.He ate nothing and his sleep was much broken. Both the old people triedto inculcate patience and moderation.
"That fellow, Ezra Girdlestone, knows where they are," Tom would cry,striding wildly up and down the room with unkempt hair and clenchedhands. "I will have his secret, if I have to tear it out of him."
"Steady, lad, steady!" the doctor replied to one of these outbursts."There is nothing to be gained by violence. They are on the right sideof the law at present, and you will be on the wrong if you do anythingrash. The girl could have written if she were uncomfortable."
"Ah, so she could. She must have forgotten us. How could she, afterall that has passed!"
"Let us hope for the best, let us hope for the best," the doctor wouldsay soothingly. Yet it must be confessed that he was considerablystaggered by the turn which things had taken. He had seen so much ofthe world in his professional capacity that he had become a veryreliable judge of character. All his instincts told him that KateHarston was a true-hearted and well-principled girl. It was not in hernature to leave London and never to send a single line to her friends totell them where or why she had gone. There must, he was sure, be somegood reason for her silence, and this reason resolved itself into one ortwo things--either she was ill and unable to hold a pen, or she had losther freedom and was restrained from writing to them. The lastsupposition seemed to the doctor to be the more serious of the two.
Had he known the instability of the Girdlestone firm, and the necessitythey were under of getting ready money, he would at once have held thekey to the enigma. He had no idea of that, but in spite of hisignorance he was deeply distrustful of both father and son. He knew andhad often deplored the clause in John Harston's will by which the ward'smoney reverted to the guardian. Forty thousand pounds were a bait whichmight tempt even a wealthy man into crooked paths.
It was Saturday--the third Saturday since Girdlestone and his ward haddisappeared. Dimsdale had fully made up his mind that, go where hewould, Ezra should not escape him this time. On two consecutiveSaturdays the young merchant had managed to get away from him, and hadbeen absent each time until the Monday morning. Tom knew, and thethought was a bitter one, that these days were spent in some unknownretreat in the company of Kate and of her guardian. This time at leasthe should not get away without revealing his destination.
The two young men remained in the office until two o'clock. Then Ezraput on his hat and overcoat, buttoning it up close, for the weather wasbitterly cold. Tom at once picked up his wide-awake and followed himout into Fenchurch Street, so close to his heels that the swinging doorhad not shut on the one before the other passed through. Ezra glancedround at him when he heard the footsteps, and gave a snarl like an angrydog. There was no longer any pretence of civility between the two, andwhenever their eyes met it was only to exchange glances of hatred anddefiance.
A hansom was passing down the street, and Ezra, with a few mutteredwords to the driver, sprang in. Fortunately another had just dischargedits fare, and was still waiting by the curb. Tom ran up to it."Keep that red cab in sight," he said. "Whatever you do, don't let itget away from you." The driver, who was a man of few words, nodded andwhipped up his horse.
It chanced that this same horse was either a faster or a fresher onethan that which bore the young merchant. The red cab rattled down FleetStreet, then doubled on its tracks, and coming back by St. Paul'splunged into a labyrinth of side streets, from which it eventuallyemerged upon the Thames Embankment. In spite of all its efforts,however, it was unable to shake off its pursuer. The red cab journeyedon down the Embankment and across one of the bridges, Tom's ablecharioteer still keeping only a few yards behind it. Among the narrowstreets on the Surrey side Ezra's vehicle pulled up at a low beer-shop.Tom's drove on a hundred yards or so, and then stopped where he couldhave a good view of whatever occurred. Ezra had jumped out and enteredthe public-house. Tom waited patiently outside until he shouldreappear. His movements hitherto had puzzled him completely. For amoment the wild hope came into his head that Kate might be concealed inthis strange hiding-place, but a little reflection showed him theabsurdity and impossibility of the idea.
He had not long to wait. In a very few minutes young Girdlestone cameout again, accompanied by a tall, burly man, with a bushy red beard, whowas miserably dressed, and appeared to be somewhat the worse for drink.He was helped into the cab by Ezra, and the pair drove off together.Tom was more bewildered than ever. Who was this fellow, and whatconnexion had he with the matter on hand? Like a sleuth-hound thepursuing hansom threaded its way through the torrent of vehicles whichpour down the London streets, never for one moment losing sight of itsquarry. Presently they wheeled into the Waterloo Road, close to theWaterloo Station. The red cab turned sharp round and rattled up theincline which leads to the main line. Tom sprang out, tossed asovereign to the driver, and followed on foot at the top of his speed.
As he ran into the station Ezra Girdlestone and the red-bearded strangerwere immediately in front of him. There was a great swarm of people allaround, for, as it was Saturday, there were special trains to thecountry. Tom was afraid of losing sight of the two men in the crowd, sohe elbowed his way through as quickly as he could, and got immediatelybehind them--so close that he could have touched them with his hand.They were approaching the booking-office, when Ezra glanced round andsaw his rival standing behind him. He gave a bitter curse, andwhispered something to his half-drunken companion. The latter turned,and with an inarticulate cry, like a wild beast, rushed at the young manand seized him by the throat with his brawny hands.
It is one thing, however, to catch a man by the throat, and another toretain that grip, especially when your antagonist happens to be anInternational football player. To Tom this red-bearded rough, whocharged him so furiously, was nothing more than the thousands ofbull-headed forwards who had come upon him like thunder-bolts in thedays of old. With the ease begotten by practice he circled hisassailant with his long muscular arms, and gave a quick convulsive jerkin which every sinew of his body participated. The red-bearded man'sstumpy legs described a half-circle in the air, and he came down on thestone pavement with a sounding crash which shook every particle ofbreath from his enormous body.
Tom's fighting blood was all aflame now, and his grey eyes glitteredwith a Berserk joy as he made at Ezra. All the cautions of his fatherand the exhortations of his mother were cast to the winds as he saw hisenemy standing before him. To do him justice, Ezra was nothing loth,but sprang forward to meet him, hitting with both hands. They were wellmatched, for both were trained boxers and exceptionally powerful men.Ezra was perhaps the stronger, but Tom was in better condition.There was a short eager rally--blow and guard and counter so quick andhard that the eye could hardly follow it. Then a rush of railwayservants and bystanders tore them asunder. Tom had a red flush on hisforehead where a blow had fallen, Ezra was spitting out the fragments ofa broken tooth, and bleeding profusely. Each struggled furiously to getat the other, with the result that they were dragged farther apart.Eventually a burly
policeman seized Tom by the collar, and held him asin a vice.
"Where is he?" Tom cried, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of hisenemy. "He'll get away after all."
"Can't 'elp that," said the guardian of the peace phlegmatically."A gen'elman like you ought to be ashamed. Keep quiet now! Would yer,then!" This last at some specially energetic effort on the part of theprisoner to recover his freedom.
"They'll get away! I know they will!" Tom cried in despair, for bothEzra and his companion, who was none other than Burt, of Africannotoriety, had disappeared from his sight. His fears proved to be onlytoo well founded, for when at last he succeeded in wresting himself fromthe constable's clutches he could find no trace of his enemies. A dozenbystanders gave a dozen different accounts of their movements.He rushed from one platform to another over all the great station.He could have torn his hair at the thought of the way in which he hadallowed them to slip through his fingers. It was fully an hour beforehe finally abandoned the search, and acknowledged to himself that he hadbeen hoodwinked for the third time, and that a long week would elapsebefore he could have another chance of solving the mystery.
He turned at last sadly and reluctantly away from the station, andwalked across to Waterloo Bridge, brooding over all that had occurred,and cursing himself for his stupidity in allowing himself to be drawninto a vulgar brawl, when he might have attained his end so much betterby quiet observation. It was some consolation, however, that he had hadone fair crack at Ezra Girdlestone. He glanced down at his knuckles,which were raw and bleeding, with a mixture of satisfaction and disgust.With half a smile he put his injured hand in his pocket, and looking uponce more became aware that a red-faced gentleman was approaching him ina highly excited manner.
It could not be said that the red-faced gentleman walked, neither couldit be said that the red-faced gentleman ran. His mode of progressionmight best be described as a succession of short and unwieldy jumps,which, as he was a rather stout gentleman, appeared to indicate somevery urgent and pressing need for hurry. His face was bathed inperspiration, and his collar had become flaccid and shapeless from thesame cause. It appeared to Tom, as he gazed at those rubicund, thoughanxious, features, that they should be well known to him. That glossyhat, those speckless gaiters, and the long frock-coat, surely they couldbelong to none other than the gallant Major Tobias Clutterbuck, late ofher Majesty's 119th of the Line?
As the old soldier approached Tom, he quickened his pace, so that whenhe eventually came up with him he could only puff and pant and hold outa soiled letter.
"Read!" he managed to ejaculate.
Tom opened the letter and glanced his eye over the contents, with a facewhich had turned as pale as the major's was red. When he finished it heturned without a word, and began to run in the direction from which hehad come, the major following as quickly as his breath would permit.