Read Ebook: Chambers's journal of popular literature science and art fifth series no. 131 vol. III July 3 1886 by Various

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I was pensioned off late in the year, in November; so, as Christmas drew near, I had not yet grown tired of the pleasure of being my own master, and would sit, after the gas was lighted, by the hour at a time alone with my pipe, picturing how I would enjoy myself in the holidays, when some of my friends would be coming up to London; for I had not much of a family party at home, as I lived with my daughter, the only one left with me out of four. She was now nineteen years old, and just like her mother, as I remembered her, some thirty years before. Winifred--called so after a favourite sister of my wife, who died young--was a very pretty girl, as many others besides me thought; and wonderfully steady too. She was a dressmaker; none of your day-workers or needlewomen, but really an artist--I believe that is now the correct name; and at the West End would have commanded a high salary. She could have gone to the West End easily enough; but she would not do this, nor would she live in the house where she was employed, and where she might have had, young as she was, full charge of a department. She would not leave her father, who, she knew, if she went away, would be dull and mopish in the house without her.

Well, as you see, I was comfortable enough, and truly thankful that I had for ever done with station-houses, police courts, prison vans, and the like, of which I had grown heartily tired. I had bought a couple of fowls, with etceteras, for our Christmas dinner; and I am not at all ashamed to say that I stoned the plums, chopped the suet, cut up the peel, and did a lot more towards getting the pudding ready; Winny of course finishing everything, polishing off my rough work, so to speak. Everything of this kind being done, my time hung a little heavy on my hands. It was only one clear day from Christmas, so the shops would be gay and busy, and I should have enjoyed a stroll through the streets; but in the morning a cold drizzle had set in, which made the pavements greasy and everything around sloppy, forbidding all chance of a saunter. Luckily, the omnibus which passed Winifred's shop also passed our door, so she could ride every yard of the way.

I made up my mind to do the best I could with the newspaper, and a nap in my easy-chair--this had already grown into a habit--and was turning away from the window, when I saw a shabby-looking man run up the three steps which led to our front door. I am a pretty good judge of a man by his looks, and I at once decided that this was not only a shabby man, but that he was in the law; he seemed the sort of man who would be 'put in possession;' and I was not far wrong. The man knocked. I heard him ask for me; then the servant--not mine, I had none, but the servant of the house--said a gentleman wanted to see me. I already knew what kind of gentleman this was, and had a vague prophetic feeling that he was coming on no very pleasant errand; however, I told the girl to show him in.

He entered, and at once said; 'Mr Holdrey. I know you, of course; and I daresay you know me. At anyrate, I am a clerk in Mr Browle's office, and I have come from him.'

I recognised the man now. I knew him and his master well enough. Dicky Browle, we used to call the lawyer. He had a good deal of business, but all of the lowest kind, and was, in fact, so mixed up with the worst of the class who got into 'trouble,' that I often wondered how it was that he escaped getting into trouble himself, for many was the felony he had been the means of 'squaring' or compounding. One or two of these cases I knew of to an absolute certainty; but the knowledge never came to me at a time or in a manner so that I could use it. As just said, I expected him to get into trouble some day, and thought, on hearing the messenger, that the day had come.

'Well,' I answered shortly, 'what do you want of me?'

'Mr Browle wishes you to go up to the Central Criminal at once, if you please, Mr Holdrey,' returned the man. 'You know Sam Braceby, I believe--Long-necked Sam, they call him--he is in trouble, and wants you as a witness.'

Know Long-necked Sam! I should think I did! There were few old officers in the force who did not know him.

'What is he in trouble about? and what does he want me for?' I naturally asked. 'I have heard nothing of this.'

'No. The governor did not know that you could say anything until this morning,' replied the clerk. 'Sam is up for burglary. He has been in trouble so often, that a very little will send him for life.'

He went on to say that Sam declared that I, and no one else, could save him; and so, almost before I had made up my mind on the subject, I found I had pulled on my coat and was in a 'bus with the clerk.

He apologised for not calling a cab by saying that it 'was dead low water with Sam,' and the governor did not care about laying out more money than could be helped. This, however, did not explain why I was wanted; and the inside of a 'bus not being a good place for talking secrets, we said little more until we got down at the corner of the Old Bailey, and then there was too much hurry to think of talking.

Sam's trial had begun; the facts were so simple that it was not likely to last long. A robbery had been committed, somewhat early in the night--eleven or twelve o'clock--at a house in Camberwell. Two of the residents in the next house saw a man leap from a back window into the garden, and gave the alarm. This man the witnesses believed to be Sam. They had even described the burglar as having a remarkably long neck; and the accused being notoriously a bad character, the event was likely to be against him. Mr Browle hurried to me the moment I entered the court--leaving the then witness to go without cross-examination--and thanked me for coming. 'We hardly hoped it, you know,' continued the legal gentleman, 'as you had not been subpoenaed, and I know you do not think much of Braceby. But the man is innocent this time; he is, indeed, Mr Holdrey.'

I naturally asked about my expenses and so forth--I did this as a matter of business--before I entered on what I was expected to prove.

'Don't hesitate over that, there's a good fellow,' said Browle. 'Sam will pay you; you know he will, for he is honest enough in private life, even if he is not so professionally. I don't think you are the man to sacrifice a poor wretch for the sake of your fees; but if you insist--why, I will guarantee them myself, and it is no business of mine to do that, as you know.'

I was fairly surprised at this, and liked the old fellow for being so much in earnest. I felt that I could not let him outdo me, and said so.

Two minutes told me what I was expected to say, and the case for the prosecution being closed, I was at once called on. I was the only witness for the defence. Long-necked Sam was not likely to call any of his friends as to character, and indeed all his 'pals' were shy of showing themselves in the Old Bailey when the trials were on and the police about. Braceby had recollected on the very morning of the trial, that the day on which the burglary took place was the St Leger day, and that I had met him late in the evening and expressed my wonder that he was not down at the races. Had he not been able to fix the day by this incident, it would have gone hard with him; but I was able to prove beyond all sort of doubt that I was in his company, fully five miles from the scene of the burglary, at the very moment the robber, whoever he was, was leaving the house. So it was impossible that Sam could have been the burglar, and the case virtually broke down at once.

The prosecuting counsel and, for the matter of that, the judge also, or I fancied so, looked anything but pleased at my interference, and some of my old comrades rallied me a little on my new friends--but that was all in good temper.

Sam met me outside the court, and rough as he was, the tears stood in his eyes as he thanked me. 'I won't ask you to have a glass with me, Mr Holdrey,' he said, 'because I know I am not in your line. I daresay you will live to see me in the dock again and to hear of my getting a lifer. But if, afore that comes on, I can do anything to show you what I think of you to-day, I will do it; and if I send that pretty daughter of yours a present--and I have watched her bright face many a day, when she did not know I was looking at her--if I send her a present, it shall be something as I have come by honestly, and that she needn't be afraid of taking from my hands.'

Having got rid of him, I went home, all the more disposed to enjoy my daughter's conversation--and she had always plenty to tell me of her little adventures during the day--and all the more inclined to enjoy my unread newspaper, from the long and disagreeable business I had gone through.

Winny came in soon after me; her place had closed a little earlier, being so near Christmas. I was glad I had got home first, as she might have been anxious about me and my going off so suddenly. I told her my adventures; and when I said it was almost a pity that I had been able to clear such a bad lot as Sam undoubtedly was, and had always been, as he would be sure to do some harm soon, she put her hand over my mouth, to prevent my saying anything so wicked. The poor creature had one more chance, she said, and perhaps he would make good use of it--there was hope for everybody. I knew, better perhaps than she did, how much hope there was for Sam; but Winny was always soft-hearted, and took the most favourable view of everything. I gave way to her; and somehow, she seemed to be more affectionate than ever that night, and I felt pleased at the idea of a quiet evening with her. Then she got her needlework, and I my pipe, while the beating of the rain against the window--for the wind had risen at nightfall--made everything seem brighter and cosier than before. I had scarcely taken a single whiff, when I heard a vehicle stop opposite the house, then a double knock followed. 'Some one for the landlord,' I thought. But no; it was for me, and for the second time that day I told the servant to show a strange gentleman in.

This arrival was a very different-looking man from the shabby clerk from Browle the lawyer, but his errand was much the same in effect. It was to take me out; indeed, a cab had been brought so that no time should be lost, and the stranger was directed to take me to the private house of Mr Thurles--Mr Thurles of Cornhill, the man explained.

I knew who Mr Thurles was--knew where he lived, and knew his house of business as well as I knew St Paul's; but I had never spoken to him; and what he wanted me for, I could not guess. And what was stranger, the messenger knew little more than I did. He was valet, or butler, or something; but all he had been told was to ask Mr Holdrey to accompany him, and to say, if any objection should be made, that money was no object. He believed it was about a robbery--that was all he knew.

This sounded stranger still; and I turned to my daughter to say something about it, when I was horrified at her pale, almost ghastly looks. All the bloom had gone from her face, and she held one hand on her breast as if to stop her heart from beating too violently.

'Why, Winny, what are you frightened at?' I exclaimed. 'There is no harm in my being sent for by Mr Thurles, who is a highly respectable gentleman. You should not let yourself be excited.'

'O father!' she said, 'it was so unexpected, so sudden--I thought--I do not know what I thought.' She faltered as she spoke, and the tears were in her eyes.

This was so different from her usual cheerful manner, that I would not go out until she had recovered herself. Perhaps I should not have gone then, but that a young friend of her own happened to call in, and so I was more satisfied to leave her.

My companion scarcely spoke during the ride; and when we arrived at the square where Mr Thurles lived, I was at once shown up into the library, where the gentleman was waiting for me. I never saw a harsher or sterner looking man than the merchant. He was, I supposed, about sixty years old, with thin iron-gray hair, gray bushy whiskers, and large heavy eyebrows, which, when he frowned, gave an expression to his face which was anything but pleasant.

He came to business directly, and spoke in just the tone one would have expected from such a man. 'You are, or were, Sergeant Holdrey, of the -- division, I believe?'

I replied that he was right.

'I have sent for you,' he went on, 'because our house was interested in a case managed by you, and I then made up my mind that if ever I wanted a detective, you should be the man.'

I began to say something about my feeling flattered by being thus distinguished; but he continued, without taking notice of it.

'You will be paid well; and the quicker you are, the better I shall pay you. I am inclined to think that you will not find your work specially difficult. I believe I know who is wanted, but I must have better information. My counting-house has been robbed, the safe opened with false keys, and ransacked.'

'It has been kept very quiet,' I said, as he paused; 'for I have never heard a word of it. I hope you did not lose much?'

'It has been kept quiet,' answered Mr Thurles; 'no one out of my establishment knows of it, and very few of our own people have more than a dim idea of the right story. We did not lose much; only the outer safe was opened. The thieves had not the keys of the inner one, which contained a large amount in money; but perhaps they did not want to open that.'

'If you will listen to me, and not interrupt,' was his pleasant remark, 'you may understand your instructions the sooner. The person who stole, or caused to be stolen, what really was taken, wanted only a couple of bills, accepted by Waterman & Co.--Do you know the firm?'

'No; I can't say I do. I know most of the City houses, but I never came across them.'

'And you are not likely to do so,' he returned; 'for there is no such firm in existence. The bills were forgeries. They were never intended to get into my hands, and no doubt would have been taken up by the drawer. But the holders were pressed for money, and gave them to another firm not much better off, who handed them to us. I did not believe that a large house, as I heard Waterman & Co. were, would have anything to do with such small matters; and some other things, trivial enough in themselves, adding to my suspicions, I caused inquiries to be made, with the result I expected--that is, of finding they were forgeries. The next thing was to trace them; and as I was already pretty certain of the forger, I should easily have done that, when the office was entered, the safe unlocked, not forced, so it must have been done by some one who had access to the keys. These bills were stolen, so all proof is lost. But if I cannot trace the forger, I may the burglar, and that is what I want you for--and for this I will pay five hundred pounds.'

All this, with a very different colouring, the merchant told me now. I could have saved him the trouble, but you should always let such persons have as much talking as they like. When he had finished this part, he told me something which surprised me. He had reason to believe, he said, that this step-son, Godfrey Harleston, was the person who forged these bills and who robbed the office. There were marks on the counting-house window frames and sills which showed that the burglar had entered and left by that way; indeed, it would have been almost impossible for any one to leave by the front of the house without attracting attention. All this was clear enough; but then he went on to say that he would cheerfully spend a thousand pounds, besides the reward, to bring the crime home to his step-son, who, he explained, was a thoroughly bad character, and had been a thorn in his side for a long time.

'If he is as bad as you are, old gentleman,' I thought to myself, 'he must be a bad one indeed.'

I took a great dislike to Mr Thurles for showing such bitter animosity to the young fellow; but I could see that the chief aim of the merchant was to wound his mother through him; and although, after seven-and-twenty years in the police, it took more than a little to upset me, I could hardly stand this. However, some one else would have the job if I did not, so I agreed to undertake the business.

I was to do what I liked, spend what I pleased, and have whatever help I wanted; but I do not care much about help. In some things, of course, you must have people with you; but, as a rule, a single man can do all there is to be done, and when he works, he is sure to be always working on the same line, which is more than you can be certain of when there are two or three of you in it. Nor did I see that laying out much money would help us. I told him so; and before I left him, had given him a sketch of what I thought would be a good beginning.

He rang for a bottle of port and some cigars. After a time, I went home in capital temper with myself, and talked my last cigar out with Winny, who was sitting up for me, and still, I thought, looking anything but her usual self.

MUSICAL SAND.

Most persons have heard of stones which on being struck give out musical notes, and many may have seen the arrangement of such stones known as the Rock Harmonicon, which is capable of discoursing eloquent music. But the existence of musical or sonorous sand is not so well known, although such sand appears to occur in localities widely distributed over the earth's surface. A paper giving some interesting particulars respecting this phenomenon was communicated to the meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science at Philadelphia in 1884, by Professor Bolton of Hartford, Connecticut, and Dr Alexis Julien of New York. The authors begin their paper by stating that at the Minneapolis meeting of the Association they had given some account of the so-called 'Singing Beach' at Manchester-by-the-Sea, Massachusetts, and of the occurrence of sonorous sand at Eigg, in the Hebrides, and other localities. During the twelve months that had elapsed, they had continued their researches; and by means of extensive correspondence, they had established the fact, that sonorous sand, instead of being a rarity, is of very common occurrence. Circulars were sent to all keepers of life-saving stations throughout the United States; and from the replies received to date, a list of seventy-four localities in America had been obtained.

Through the Smithsonian Institution, specimens of sonorous sand had been received from the island of Bornholm, Denmark; Colberg, Prussia; and Kanai, Hawaii Islands. Experiments had been conducted both at Manchester-by-the-Sea and at Far Rockaway, Long Island, to determine accurately the properties of sonorous sand, with the object of explaining the cause of its singular characteristics. It was found that the loudest sound of which a given sand is capable was most conveniently produced by confining a quart or more in a bag and strongly striking together the contents. Sounds thus produced were heard distinctly at both the Manchester and Rockaway beaches at a distance of one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet, the distance varying according to the strength and direction of the wind and the interference of the surf-noise. At Rockaway, a careful experiment was made in fields removed from the beach. The sound produced by striking the bag was heard at a distance of four hundred and fifty feet, measured by a tape-line. The sound has a hoot-like tone, easily recognised.

The evanescent character of the acoustic quality of the sand is strongly marked. Sand which has been recently wet requires thorough drying before it resumes its acoustic powers; consequently, sandy beaches do not always possess the sonorous power in equal measure, and the seeker sometimes fails to discover musical sand in the locality reputed. Meteorological conditions decidedly affect the sonorousness.

Musical sand is easily deprived of its acoustic qualities. Besides wetting it, friction between the dry hands also accomplishes the result. The quickest way of 'killing' the sand--except by water--is to shake a small quantity in a tin box. When first agitated, a peculiar sound is heard, which entirely ceases after twenty to twenty-five slow up-and-down movements of the box. Attempts to restore to 'killed' sand its sonorous properties have met with indifferent success. Sonorous and mute sand occur in the beach closely adjoining, but they cannot be distinguished by the eye; friction alone determines the difference. In sand of strongly marked acoustic properties, a tingling sensation is perceived in the finger and also in the toe, even through the boots.

Microscopical examination of the samples of musical sand showed that the great majority were remarkable for a certain degree in uniformity of size--usually about 0.3, 0.4, 0.5 millimetres in diameter, general round form, polished superficies, and freedom from fine dust or minute fragments; consequently, they often present a characteristic oolitic or roe-like appearance, light colour, and mobile condition. At certain localities, the sonorous sand has been found to present the decided features of a quicksand; and a general connection between these two facts is suspected to prevail wherever the conformation of coasts and oceanic currents permit the concentration of the sonorous sand below the high-tide mark.

The information on this curious subject collected by the two American savants may perhaps set some of our readers to search for 'singing beaches' on these islands. The phenomenon is well worthy of investigation, and no light seems as yet to have been thrown on its cause, nor any progress made towards the solution of the mystery of the difference between mute and musical sand.

NOSES.

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