The Trail of the Serpent

Slopperton jury today? But there were plenty to certify that here he was in the flesh⁠—this very Jabez North, whom so many people remembered, and had been in the habit of seeing, eight years ago. They were ready to identify him, in spite of his dark hair and eyebrows. On the other hand, there were some who had seen the body of the suicide, found by Peters the detective, on the heath outside Slopperton; and these were as ready to declare that the aforementioned body was the body of Jabez North, the usher to Dr. Tappenden, and none other. But when a rough-looking man, with a mangy fur cap in his hand, and two greasy locks of hair carefully twisted into limp curls on either side of his swarthy face, which curls were known to his poetically and figuratively-disposed friends as Newgate knockers⁠—when this man, who gave his name to the jury as Slithery Bill⁠—or, seeing the jury didn’t approve of this cognomen, Bill Withers, if they liked it better⁠—was called into the witness-box, his evidence, sulkily and rather despondingly given, as from one who says, “It may be my turn next,” threw quite a new light upon the subject.

Bill Withers was politely asked if he remembered the summer of 18⁠—. Yes; Mr. Withers could remember the summer of 18⁠—; was out of work that summer, and made the marginal remark that “them as couldn’t live might starve or steal, for all Slopperton folks cared.”

Was again politely asked if he remembered doing one particular job of work that summer.

Did remember it⁠—made the marginal remark, “and it was a jolly queer dodge as ever a cove had a hand in.”

Was asked to be good enough to state what the particular job was.

Assented to the request with a polite nod of the head, and proceeded to smooth his Newgate knockers, and fold his arms on the ledge of the witness-box prior to stating his case; then cleared his throat, and commenced discursively, thus⁠—

“Vy, it vas as this ’ere⁠—I vas out of work. I does up small gent’s gardens in the spring, and tidies and veeds and rakes and hoes ’em a bit, back and front, vhen I can get it to do, vich ain’t often; and bein’ out of vork, and old Mother Thingamy, down Blind Peter, she ses to me, vich she vas a vicked old ’ag, she ses to me, ‘I’ve got a job for them as asks no questions, and don’t vant to be told no lies;’ by vich remark, and the vay of her altogether, I knowed she veren’t up to no good; so I ses, ‘You looks here, mother; if it’s a job a respectable young man, vot’s out o’ vork, and ain’t had a bite or sup since the day afore yesterday, can do vith a clear conscience, I’ll do it⁠—if it ain’t, vy I von’t. There!’ ” Having recorded which heroic declaration, Mr. William Withers wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked round the court, as much as to say, “Let Slopperton be proud of such a citizen.”

“ ‘Don’t you go to flurry your tender constitution and do yourself a unrecoverable injury,’ the old cat made reply; ‘it’s a job as the parson of the parish might do, if he’d got a truck.’ ‘A truck?’ I ses; ‘is it movin’ boxes you’re making this ’ere palaver about?’ ‘Never you mind vether it’s boxes or vether it ain’t; vill you do it?’ she ses; ‘vill you do it, and put a sovering in your pocket, and never go for to split, unless you vant that precious throat of yours slit some fine evenin’?’ ”

“And you consented to do what she required of you?” suggested the counsel.

“Vell, I don’t know about that,” replied Mr. Withers, “but I undertook the job. ‘So,’ ses she, that’s the old ’un, she ses, ‘you bring a truck down by that there broken buildin’ ground at the back of Blind Peter at ten o’clock tonight, and you keep yourself quiet till you hears a vhistle; ven you hears a vhistle,’ she ses, ‘bring your truck around agin our front door. This here’s all you’ve got to do,’ she ses, ‘besides keepin’ your tongue between your teeth.’ ‘All right,’ I ses, and off I goes to see if there was any cove as would trust me with a truck agen the evenin’. Vell, I finds the cove, vich, seein’ I wanted it bad, he stood out for a bob and a tanner for the loan of it.”

“Perhaps the jury would wish to be told what sum of money⁠—I conclude it is money⁠—a bob and a tanner represent?” said the counsel.

“They must be a jolly ignorant lot, then, anyways,” replied Mr. Withers, with more candour than circumlocution. “Any infant knows eighteenpence ven it’s showed him.”

“Oh, a bob and a tanner are eighteenpence? Very good,” said the counsel, encouragingly; “pray go on, Mr. Withers.”

“Vell, ten o’clock come, and veren’t it a precious stormy night, that’s all; and there I was a-vaitin’ a-sittin’ on this blessed truck at the back of Blind Peter, vich vos my directions. At last the vhistle come, and a precious cautious vhistle it vas too, as soft as a niteingel vot’s payin’ its addresses to another niteingel; and round I goes to the front, as vos my directions. There, agen’ her door, stands the old ’ag, and agen her stands a young man in an old ragged pair of trousis an’ a shirt. Lookin’ him hard in the face, who does I see but Jim, the old un’s grandson; so I ses, ‘Jim!’ friendly like, but he makes no reply; and then the old un ses, ‘Lend this young gent a ’and ’ere, vill yer?’ So in I goes, and there on the bed I sees something rolled up very careful in a old counterpane. It giv’ me a turn like, and I didn’t much like the looks of it; but I ses nothink; and then the young man, Jim,