A HOUSE-BREAKER’S WIFE.

Going down the Canongate one day I was accosted by a little treacherous rascal known as Dirty Dick. I suppose he had followed me down the street for the purpose of so addressing me, but at the moment I did not think much of the circumstance. Dick was not particularly dirty in his appearance or person, so it is possible he had got the name rather for some dirty trick or act of treachery. He had the distinction of being heartily despised by every one who knew him, myself included.

After a little preliminary patter, to throw me off my guard, Dick said—

“Bob Brettle has finished his time and got back here.”

That, then, was Dick’s business with me. Had he quarrelled with the convict and ticket-of-leave man he named? I knew perfectly well that the reckless Bob Brettle had returned, for he had duly reported himself to us, as bound by his ticket-of-leave, but I thought proper to say innocently in reply—

“Has he, really?”

“Yes,” continued Dick, with animation; “I’ve seen him often, and know where he hangs out—Brierly’s, in the Grassmarket. Is a straight tip of any use to you?”

I looked at the rascal, and if the imp had only had the sense of an owl he would have seen how contemptuous was the glance. But it is given to some natures to be perfectly unconscious of the loathing they inspire, and Dick’s was one of these.

“I’ll tell you when I get it,” was my reply. I did not expect Dick to give me any news or promp me to anything that was not likely to benefit himself.

“Well, you’ll soon have Bob Brettle in your hands again,” said Dick, button-holing me with an affectionate caress, which made my flesh creep. “He’s planning something now. I don’t know what the job is, but it’s something dashing and daring. If he was took at the same old game, wouldn’t it be ten years this time?”

“What was his last term?” I asked, affecting ignorance.

“Seven.”

“Well, you don’t need to ask, knowing that,” I said, making Dick uncomfortable with a steady stare.

“If you was to watch him well, and get me to help you, I believe you’d be sure of nabbing him,” said the traitor temptingly.

“Oh, you’ve quarrelled with him, then?” I sharply returned.

“Not me!” he exclaimed with great fervour.

I set the answer down as a lie, but pursued—

“Well, you think to get money for the dirty work of betraying him?”

“Not a penny,” he vociferated, with a tremendous oath, “and there’ll be no betraying about it. Only I thought you’d be always glad to hear the news or get a tip. You helped me so much in that last fix that I haven’t forgot it;” and the villain tried to put on a sentimental and grateful look by way of drawing a red herring across my path.

I was not deceived, but Dick’s next words were lost to me. I was thinking hard, and trying to account for Dick’s sudden zeal in the cause of law and order. He did not want money—I was bound to believe that at least;—could he have an old grudge at Brettle, or was this freak of treachery only the result of a quarrel?

I could not see how it could be either, for Brettle was not the man to associate much with a cur like Dick, but I resolved to make some inquiries with a view to laying bare the informer’s motive.

Brettle was a man who, in spite of the fact that we were professionally enemies, called out from within me a deal of admiration and sympathy. He was a powerfully-built fellow, still under thirty, and had once been handsome. He had not been born into a life of crime, but had been a hard-working silversmith, led off his feet and ruined by a pretty woman. The woman was really a beauty, but with the figure and face of an angel she had the heart of a devil.

She was known as Pretty Polly, and Brettle conceived such a passion for her that he actually married her. Brettle’s dash and daring carried him on for a long time unscathed, but at length he was caught and had a smart sentence. Pretty Polly supported herself as a barmaid during the interval, but being detected in helping herself from the till, she went into prison just as Bob came out. When her three months were finished they got together again. Brettle had another spell of good luck, till in a moment altogether unexpected by him he was neatly trapped, and laid past for seven years. I had the taking of him, but I was quite ignorant of the source of the information upon which I had acted. There had been a traitor, but I did not trouble to seek out the person, when the act brought grist to my mill.

Now, in surveying Dirty Dick’s shifty countenance, the thought came to me for the first time—Could he, that insignificant looking wretch, have been the betrayer of Brettle before his last conviction? I could scarcely credit it, but if it was he, then the fact would point to a long-standing grudge and a revengeful feeling not yet satiated. Now, I had never given Dick credit for brain enough to conceive and nourish a good hatred, and one does not care to discover a flaw in his own estimate of another’s character.

After a little further conversation, from which I learned that it was not yet settled how Brettle was to distinguish himself, I parted with Dick, he kindly volunteering to “see me again” as soon as he had important information to tender.

For a day or two after I could not be called idle. The foremost question in my mind was—Why does Dirty Dick wish Brettle laid up for ten years? and all my work was in the direction of a feasible explanation or answer. I searched, and questioned, and ferreted in every conceivable direction, but was only left more puzzled than before. Dick, I found, had had no quarrel with Brettle, nor could I discover that he had any grudge against the ticket-of-leave man. I discovered also that it was absolutely impossible that Dick could have been the cause of Brettle’s last capture, as at the time Dick had himself been fulfilling a three months’ sentence for theft.

I happened one afternoon to meet Brettle himself, and, though he generally showed great hostility to me, and never exchanged words with me if he could avoid it, I thought I would have a word with him in passing.

“How are you getting on Bob?” I pleasantly asked, before he could hurry past.

“Not getting on at all,” he gloomily answered. “I’ve been trying to get work, but can’t.”

I opened my eyes to their widest, and for a moment could scarcely speak.

“What kind of work?” I cautiously inquired, thinking he might mean his adopted trade of housebreaking.

“Any kind—anything to keep life in me,” he cried, with some bitterness. “I’m sick of prison, and don’t mean to go inside of one again if I can live on the square.”

I could scarcely trust my own senses. I had never expected such words out of his mouth; and then, after the hint I had received from Dirty Dick, I was doubly suspicious, and must have looked the feeling. Could it be possible that he was trying to deceive me for some purpose? I could not believe it. It was quite out of his line. He was not of the stuff out of which a good hypocrite could be made.

“I’m glad to hear that you’ve come to your senses,” I dryly remarked. “What has given you the notion?”

“I don’t know, but the spunk’s all gone out of me,” he dejectedly answered. “I haven’t my wife now.”

“Oh, indeed! what has become of her?” I asked with fresh interest.

“Gone,” he said, with a sorrowful shake of the head and a quiver of the lip.

“Gone where?”

“Gone dead, I’m afraid,” he huskily answered. “If she’d been alive she would have met me whenever I got out. She worshipped the very ground I trod on. I hear she went on the stage as a ballet-girl after I was laid up, and that and the loss of me killed her, I suppose. We had a bit of a tiff before I was took. I was so hanged jealous of her—but that was nothing. The like of her doesn’t walk the earth. True as steel, and she loved me so!”

I said nothing; for if I had spoken I should have had to say that if the loss of Pretty Polly made him adopt an honest life, her absence would be a blessing.

I chatted away for a little, and then said abruptly—

“What was your object in telling me you were going on the square?” I thought perhaps that he might want assistance.

“What was your object in speaking to me?” he roughly and snappishly returned. “I had no object at all. I know that the more thieves there are the better it is for you.”

“You’re mistaken there, Bob, and I’ll prove it some day,” I answered pleasantly, and then I left him.

My curiosity was roused regarding Brettle, and I took the trouble to have him watched, when I discovered that he really was trying to get work, and even undertaking the meanest drudgery to earn a living. Everything was against him, of course, and he went back steadily till his clothes would scarcely allow him to appear on the street.

In making these investigations I was continually contrasting Brettle’s condition and evident inclinations with Dirty Dick’s prophecy, that I should soon have the ticket-of-leave man in my hands again, and with no success so far as a solution is concerned. The promised “tip” had never come, and even Dick was a mystery to me. I was at a loss to know whence came the money which Dick spent so freely upon himself. He did not work; he was too cowardly to engage in any act of plundering likely to produce much gain; and yet he had abundance, while Brettle was in great want. Dick had the reputation of being able to arrange a robbery very nicely, but would never risk his own liberty in the affair, however tempting the gain; but even knowing that to be a source of income to him, I was at a loss to account for his seeming wealth. Thus it chanced that my attention came to be more earnestly fixed upon Dick than upon the man he had promised to betray into my hands. When I saw Dick moving in a stealthy and cat-like way before me, one day when I was passing along Princes Street, and knew that he was quite unconscious of my presence, I was quickly roused to an interest in his movements. I had not watched him long, when I thought the solution of the whole mystery was in my hands. It seemed to me that Dick’s new line was pocket-picking, and that he was following a likely plant—an elderly gentleman and a lady—with the intention of exercising his new art. After a time it dawned upon me that Dick’s cowardice was against him. Several chances occurred which he did not attempt to make use of. At length the gentleman went into one of the shops alone, and then, to my surprise, the lady, who had remained standing at the window, turned slightly, noticed Dick standing near, moved a little closer to him, and addressed some words to him in a hurried and constrained manner, which Dick as swiftly answered. The lady then took out her purse, and, placing a coin in his hand, turned once more to look in at the window, while Dick passed on with the crowd as if nothing had happened. Now, had Dick been the first to speak, and had the lady’s manner been different, I should have considered it an ordinary case of begging, and had no scruple in following and taking Dick. But as it was I could only wonder what connection such a haughty and evidently wealthy person could have with a miserable coward like him. Instead of following Dick I followed the lady as soon as she had been rejoined by the white-haired gentleman, whom I took to be her husband. From the side glimpse which I had of her face she seemed to be quite young and very good-looking, though there was a nameless something in the expression of her face which told me that she had not always been in such a position. In order to get a better look at her, I got past the couple on the opposite side of the street, crossed over while they stood inspecting a window, and then, as soon as they moved, sauntered slowly forward and met them full in the face. Purposely I got directly in front of the lady, in seeming forgetfulness, and, as she stopped in haughty surprise, I had a good look into her eyes. Then I started and looked again, upon which her glance fell before mine as surely as those of one of “my bairns” ever did. In a moment more she was past, and I was left wondering. I was puzzled and bewildered. The face seemed strangely familiar to me; I could have sworn that I had known the owner of it long before, and yet I could not tell her name or recall a single circumstance in her history. I stood there cudgelling my brains till I had almost lost sight of the couple who had so interested me; then, unable to make a better of it, I roused myself and followed them for a full hour, till they entered one of the biggest hotels in the city and remained there. A waiter running out a moment or two after, on being stopped by me, said that the couple were “Mr and Mrs Harper, from Glasgow,” and that he understood that the gentleman was very wealthy. They were in Edinburgh on a pleasure trip, and, so far as he knew, had no children.

That was all I could get from the waiter, but the news did not banish that beautiful face—so full of sweetness and innocence, if a certain flash could have been taken from her fine eyes. That flash was the only thing to turn the scales, and it did that most effectually. It gave just such an expression to the whole face as I could imagine Lucrezia Borgia to have owned.

Later in the day, when thinking of Brettle and his affairs, by some queer turn of memory I recalled the name of Pretty Polly, and then her sweet-looking features rose before me as vividly as if I had seen them only the day before. But that was not all; for lo! as I looked, the fine features became somewhat stouter and coarser, and rapidly changed into those of Mrs Harper, whom I had that day followed along Princes Street.

“How like they are to each other!” was my mental exclamation. “It must have been that resemblance which puzzled me. But could they be the same person? Never! Brettle says Pretty Polly is dead.”

This reasoning did not convince me, for there still remained the curious fact that the haughty Mrs Harper had allowed her glance to fall before my own in that fashion so suggestive to me of “auld acquaintance.” Could Pretty Polly have had a sister who resembled her? I thought not; for had not Brettle himself said, “The like of her doesn’t walk the earth?” Besides, if she had a sister, and she in such a good position, I could scarcely believe that the lady would be so heartless as to allow her brother-in-law to almost perish of want while she revelled in luxury.

I was waited for by Dick at a street corner on the afternoon of the following day. When I saw him I was a little pleased, as I thought it possible that I might get out of him all I wanted in regard to the strange woman. But as Dick was full to the eyes with his own affairs, I let him chatter about them first.

“I can give you the straight tip about Brettle at last,” he eagerly began.

“Do you expect me to pay you for it?” I quietly interposed.

“No, no, not a penny.”

“You work for nothing, then—for the mere love of the thing?” I said, with a palpable sneer.

“Just that,” he said, swallowing the insult smilingly. “Brettle is to break into a shop in Leith Street to-night—Calderston’s, No.—. The place above enters from the Terrace, and the key of that is sent home every night by a drunken porter. Brettle will treat him on the way, get the key from him, and work inside all night. Perhaps he will stay there over the Sunday. He is to work the job single-handed, and take the plunder out by the Terrace stair in different lots.”

“And who arranged all this for him?” I asked, nailing Dick’s shifty glance with a steady stare.

“Oh, I don’t know—himself, I suppose,” he confusedly answered.

That was enough for me. I saw that Dick had arranged it all as a nice trap for Brettle. What could be his object?

“Dick,” I said suddenly, after noting down all he had revealed, “have you any idea what has become of Brettle’s wife, Pretty Polly?”

The start the man gave! and his face! I never thought that there was such a blush in him.

“Dead, I think,” he guiltily stammered, after a horrible pause.

I thought not, and said so.

“She couldn’t be married again, to a richer man?” I suggestively observed. “I understand she and Brettle were lawfully man and wife.”

Dick’s face was the picture of guilt and confusion. If the ground could have swallowed him at that moment I imagine he would have been thankful. I was reading all the answers to the questions which had puzzled me for days in his tell-tale features.

“You have seen her lately, then?”

“No,” he faltered, while his face said “Yes,” and cursed me into the bargain.

“And have you no idea where she could be found?”

“Not the least,” he said, with the lie almost choking him.

“Imphm! Well, that’s all I want with you just now,” I coldly remarked, and with a dive he was gone.

I saw the whole plot now, and felt sure that that beautiful devil of a woman was at the bottom of it all. But was I to allow that miserable man—that well-meaning convict who had actually made an effort towards a life of honesty—to walk into the shambles? No doubt it would look like a feather in my cap to take him in the act and walk him off for his certain ten years’ penal; every one would think it neat and clever, and speak of the vigilance and sharpness of the police, &c., but there would still be a voice within me crying out against the whole as a crime—an offence against a law that never was written. After giving the matter some thought, I went out to the Grange to a gentleman with a big heart and unbounded faith in myself.

“I want you to give me some money,” I said, as his hand grasped my own, “without asking any questions. It is to help a convict and ticket-of-leave man till he shall be able to help himself.”

“All right, Mr M^cGovan; you shall have it,” was the frank response. “Just say how much it is to be.”

I named the sum, and it was placed in my hands. Little more was said, and I left that wide-souled and big-hearted man to have a hunt for Bob Brettle. I expected to find him quite easily, but I did not; and what gave me more concern was to learn in the course of my search that Bob had broken out—that is, had been drinking hard, and was, when last seen, in a state of savage ferocity and excitement, which, I feared, would not help me greatly in my mission. Still it was no time to delay. I must see him then, or be forced to take him as a house-breaker a few hours later. I persevered till I found him in a public-house—savage and fierce as could be. He would scarcely answer me, and only consented to speak with me alone when I told him he must.

“You’ve had a struggle lately, and I promised to prove that I had no interest in you remaining in the old line,” I quietly began. “I’ve brought you some money which a gentleman has given, on my assurance that it would not be thrown away, to help you till you get work.”

“Take it back to him then—I don’t need it now,” he angrily returned. “I’ve got work, or at least expect to get it.”

“Yes, I can guess what kind of work you mean,” I pointedly answered. “Do you know what your next sentence will be, Bob, if you’re taken at the old game?”

“I’m not taken yet,” he confidently answered, with an oath and a thundering blow of his fist on the little table of the box in which we were secluded. “He’ll be a clever man that will take me; ay, and he’ll need to be a strong man too!”

“Bob Brettle!” I cried, starting up and leaning across the table towards him, “you’re a fool!”

“What!” and his big fist was clenched as if to let drive at my face.

“A fool—a perfect baby—a blind idiot, who would walk into a trap chuckling all the while over his own cleverness and daring. Man alive! what is all your bravery or daring against the wiles of a wicked woman?”

“A woman! what woman?” he faltered, apparently pulled up by my very abuse.

“Why, the woman you call your wife—Pretty Polly—who is now in this city with a wealthy man to whom she is married. Her name is Mrs Harper now, and I suppose she feared that your claims on her might be awkward, and so employed Dirty Dick to prepare a job for you—that Leith Street affair which you mean to go to as soon as you leave this place, and at which I am to take you in the act, so that you may be booked for ten years at least. Now, smash out at me now, and say I’ve an interest in keeping you on the cross!”

“My wife—Pretty Polly—living and married to another man!” he breathed, with a look positively frightful settling on his heavy features. “I—don’t—believe—a—word—of—it!”

I folded my arms and said nothing. The idea was a new one to him; I would let it work. I had not long to wait. I could see the workings of the demon Jealousy in his face, in his twitching lips and flushed cheeks, in his clouded brow and clenched hands.

“You’ve got a name for telling the truth,” he at last hoarsely observed, with a look of piteous agony on his haggard face, “but I must see the woman before I believe it. Tell me where she lives, or take me to her. The she-devil! Oh, if it’s only true!”

“Rest content with my word. I shall not give you her address—at least not now. It wouldn’t be safe. When you are sober and calm you shall have it.”

“I am sober,” he quickly returned; and he seemed to speak the truth, for every trace of drink had vanished like a flash, “and I am calm—as death. Give me her address!”

I refused most positively, and at length he rose, deliberately put on his cap, and quietly walked out of the shop with the simple remark that he would see me again. I knew enough of Brettle’s character to warn me that the sooner Pretty Polly was got out of his reach the better it would be for her.

I therefore hurried over to the hotel, and learned that she and her husband had gone out about six o’clock, and not yet returned. I sat down to wait for them, little guessing that I was to remain there till nearly eleven o’clock, they being at the theatre, as I afterwards learned. While I was thus waiting at the hotel, Bob Brettle had taken action in a style characteristic of him and his passionate nature. He hunted through all the dens till he came upon Dirty Dick singing songs in a half-gleeful and half-fuddled condition. Dick remained gleeful not one moment after he saw Brettle’s face. The house-breaker invited him out to the darkness of the stair-head, and there brought out a long-bladed clasp-knife, at the same moment throttling Dick with his left hand, and forcing him down on his knees. There, with the point of the knife at Dick’s heart, he dragged out of the quaking wretch a full and abject confession of the plot, and also of the name of the hotel at which Pretty Polly and her wealthy husband had put up. When Dick had finished, Bob simply swung round his powerful left hand, and in a moment Dick lay groaning on the landing below with a broken leg and fractured rib. Paying no attention to the injured wretch or his cries, Brettle ran down the stair and made for the hotel.

A waiter at the portico told him that the Harpers were not in, but were expected shortly. Brettle stood sentry there at the door or near it for a full half hour, and at length was rewarded by seeing a cab drive up, and a gentleman get out and hand forth a sweet-faced and elegantly dressed lady—the veritable Pretty Polly.

With a bound like that of a tiger Brettle was upon her, and had her taper wrist clenched in his hand, and her face swung round to the light of the street lamps with a force that almost crushed the delicate bones.

“You jewelled serpent!” he hissed, “you would sell me to the shambles! Look at me, you beautiful devil, and say, if you can, that it is not true!”

A shriek—appalling enough to reach my ears above, and bring me rushing down—was Pretty Polly’s only answer.

Her husband, however, laid a hand on Brettle’s shoulder—

“How dare you, sir? Who are you?”

“Her husband!” shouted the infuriated house-breaker; and at the same moment there was the flash of a knife and an agonising cry from the wounded woman, and a rush upon the assailant from all sides. I was among the number, and Brettle recognised me with a quiet nod.

“I’m not going to struggle or bolt,” he quietly observed, as Pretty Polly was lifted from the pavement and borne insensible into the hotel, with the blood gushing from a deep wound in her breast. “I’m satisfied now. I have paid her off. I’ve taken it out of her, and she was the only woman I ever loved!”

Bob’s grief, however, seemed quiet and tame compared with that of Polly’s second husband, upon whom the revelation came with a shock which nearly proved fatal. Mr Harper quietly slipped away out of Edinburgh without once asking to look on the face of the woman who had deceived him. Brettle went to prison, of course, and Pretty Polly, as soon as she could be moved, was sent to the Infirmary. She lingered long, but did not die. In about six months she was pronounced able to leave the hospital. She appeared as witness against Brettle, and helped to fix a year’s imprisonment on him, and then she drifted out to a life of hardship and degradation which ended her before Brettle’s sentence had expired. Brettle heard the news unmoved when he was liberated, and then disappeared. I have never heard of him since.