How mine host of the Cheerful Cherokee would ever have extricated his companion from this degraded position, without the timely intervention of others, is not to be said; for at this very moment the Smasher beheld a gentleman alight from a cab at a little distance from where he stood, ask two or three questions of the cabman, pay and dismiss him, and then walk on in the direction of some steps that led to the water. This gentleman wore his hat very much slouched over his face; he was wrapped in a heavy loose coat, that entirely concealed his figure, and evidently carried a parcel of some kind under his left arm.
“Hi!” said the Smasher, as the pedestrian approached; “Hi, you there! Give us a hand, will you?”
The gentleman addressed as “you there” took not the slightest notice of this appeal, except, indeed, that he quickened his pace considerably, and tried to pass the left-handed one.
“No, you don’t,” said our pugilistic friend; “the cove as refuses to pick up the man that’s down is a blot upon the English character, and the sooner he’s scratched out the better;” wherewith the Smasher squared his fists and placed himself directly in the path of the gentleman with the slouched hat.
“I tell you what it is, my good fellow,” said this individual, “you may pick up your drunken friend yourself, or you may wait the advent of the next policeman, who will do the public a service by conveying you both to the station-house, where you may finish the evening in your own highly-intellectual manner. But perhaps you will be good enough to let me pass, for I’m in a hurry! You see that American vessel yonder—she’s dropped down the river to wait for the wind; the breeze is springing up as fast as it can, and she may set sail as it is before I can reach her; so, if you want to earn a sovereign, come and see if you can help me in arousing a waterman and getting off to her?”
“Oh, you are off to America, are you?” said the Smasher, thoughtfully. “Blow that ’ere wine of Hemmar’s! I ought to know the cut of your figurehead. I’ve seen you before—I’ve seen you somewheres before, though where that somewheres was, spiflicate me if I can call to mind! Come, lend a hand with this ’ere friend o’ mine, and I’ll lend you a hand with the boatman.”
“D—n your friend,” said the other, savagely; “let me pass, will you, you drunken fool?”
This was quite enough for the Smasher, who was just in that agreeable frame of mind attendant on the consumption of strong waters, in which the jaundiced eye is apt to behold an enemy even in a friend, and the equally prejudiced ear is ready to hear an insult in the most civil address.
“Come on, then,” said he; and putting himself in a scientific attitude, he dodged from side to side two or three times, as if setting to his partner in a quadrille, and then, with a movement rapid as lightning, went in with his left fist, and planted a species of postman’s knock exactly between the eyes of the stranger, who fell to the ground as an ox falls under the hand of an accomplished butcher.
It is needless to say that, in falling, his hat fell off, and as he lay senseless on the pavement, the moonlight on his face revealed every feature as distinctly as in the broadest day.
The Smasher knelt down by his side, looked at him attentively for a few moments, and then gave a long, low whistle.
“Under the circumstances,” he said, “perhaps I couldn’t have done a better thing than this ’ere I’ve done promiscuous. He won’t go to America by that vessel at any rate; so if I telegraph to the Cherokees, maybe they will be glad to hear what he’s up to down here. Come along,” continued the sobered Smasher, hauling up Mr. De Clifford by the collar, as ruthlessly as if he had been a sack of coal; “I think I hear the footsteps of a Bobby a-coming this way, so we’d better make ourselves scarce before we’re asked any questions.”
“If,” said the distinguished Brandolph, still shedding tears, “if the town of Liverpool was conducted after the manner of the Republic of Plato, there wouldn’t be any policemen. But, as I said before, we have retrograded. Take care of the posts,” he added plaintively. “It is marvellous the effect a few glasses of light wine have upon some people’s legs; while others, on the contrary—” here he slid again to the ground, and this time eluded all the Smasher’s endeavours to pick him up.
“You had better let me be,” he murmured. “It is hard, but it is clean and comfortable. Bring me my boots and hot water at nine o’clock; I’ve an early rehearsal of ‘The Tyrant.’ Go home quietly, my dear friend, and don’t take anything more to drink, for your head is evidently not a strong one. Good night.”
“Here’s a situation!” said the Smasher. “I can’t dance attendance on him any more, for I must run round to the telegraph office and see if it’s open, that I may send Mr. Marwood word about this night’s work. The Count de Marolles is safe enough for a day or two, anyhow; for I have set a mark upon him that he won’t rub off just yet, clever as he is.”
IV
What They Find in the Room in Which the Murder Was Committed
At the
