The Greatest Murder Mysteries of Mary Elizabeth Braddon. Mary Elizabeth Braddon
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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 to-night, 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, as I thinks, ses, ‘Lend us a hand with this ’ere, vill yer?’ and it giv’d me another turn like, for though it’s Jim’s face, somehow it ain’t quite Jim’s voice—more genteel and fine like; but I goes up to the bed, and I takes hold of von end of vot lays there; and then I gets turn number three—for I find my suspicions was correct—it was a dead body!”
“A dead body?”
“Yes; but whose it vos there vos no knowin’, it vos wrapped up in that manner. But I feels myself turn dreadful vhite, and I ses, ‘If this ere’s anythink wrong, I vashes my hands ov it, and you may do your dirty vork yourself.’ I hadn’t got the vords out afore this ’ere young man, as I thought at first vos Jim, caught me by the throat sudden, and threw me down on my knee. I ain’t a baby; but, lor’, I vos nothink in his grasp, though his hand vos as vite and as deliket as a young lady’s. ‘Now, you just look ’ere,’ he says; and I looked, as vell as I could, vith my eyes a-startin’ out ov my head in cosekence of bein’ just upon the choke, ‘you see vot this is,’ and vith his left hand he takes a pistol out ov his pocket; ‘you refuse to do vot ve vant done, or you go for to be noisy or in any vay ill-conwenient, and it’s the last time as ever you’ll have the chance ov so doing. Get up,’ he says, as if I vos a dog; and I gets up, and I agrees to do vot he vants, for there vas that there devil in that young man’s hye, that I began to think it vos best not to go agen him.”
Here Mr. Withers paused for refreshment after his exertion and blew his nose very deliberately on a handkerchief which, from its dilapidated condition, resembled a red cotton cabbage-net. Silence reigned throughout the crowded court, broken only by the scratching of the pen with which the counsel for the defence was taking notes of the evidence, and the fluttering of the leaves of the reporters’ pocket-books, as they threw off page after page of flimsy paper.
The prisoner at the bar looked straight before him; the firmly-compressed lips had never once quivered, the golden fringed eyelashes had never drooped.
“Can you tell me,” said the counsel for the prosecution, “whether you have ever, since that night, seen this young man, who so closely resembled your old friend, Jim?”
“Never seen him since, to my knowledge”—there was a flutter in the crowded court, as if every spectator had simultaneously drawn a long breath—“till to-day.”
“Till to-day?” said the counsel. This time it was more than a flutter, it was a subdued murmur that ran through the listening crowd.
“Be good enough to say if you can see him at this present moment.”
“I can,” replied Mr. Withers. “That’s him! or my name ain’t vot I’ve been led to believe it is.” And he pointed with a dirty but decided finger at the prisoner at the bar.
The prisoner slightly elevated his arched eyebrows superciliously, as if he would say, “This is a pretty sort of witness to hang a man of my standing.”
“Be so good as to continue your story,” said the counsel.
“Vell, I does vot he tells me, and I lays the body, vith his ’elp, on the truck. ‘Now,’ he ses, ‘follow this ’ere old voman and do every-think vot she tells you, or you’ll find it considerably vorse for your future ’appiness;’ vith vich he slams the door upon me, the old un, and the truck, and I sees no more of ’im. Vell, I follows the old un through a lot o’ lanes and back slums, till ve leaves the town behind, and gets right out upon the ’eath; and ve crosses