Statement of Gabriel Foot: Highwayman

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

　　From Noughts and Crosses: Stories, Studies and Sketches.

　　The jury re-entered the court after half an hour's consultation.It all comes back to me as vividly as though I stood in the dock atthis very moment. The dense fog that hung over the well of thecourt; the barristers' wigs that bobbed up through it, and weredrowned again in that seething cauldron; the rays of the gutteringcandles (for the murder-trial had lasted far into the evening) thatloomed through it and wore a sickly halo; the red robes and red faceof my lord judge opposite that stared through it and outshone thecandles; the black crowd around, seen mistily; the voice of the ushercalling "Silence!"; the shuffling of the jurymen's feet; the palloron their faces as I leant forward and tried to read the verdict onthem; the very smell of the place, compounded of fog, gaol-fever, theclose air, and the dinners eaten earlier in the day by the crowd--allthis strikes home upon me as sharply as it then did, after the numbapathy of waiting.As the jury huddled into their places I stole a look at my counsel.He paused for a moment from his task of trimming a quill, shot aquick glance at the foreman's face, and then went on cutting ascoolly as ever."Gentlemen of the jury"--it was the judge's voice--"are you agreedupon your verdict?""We are.""Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?""Not guilty."It must have been full a minute, as I leant back clutching the railin front of me, before I saw anything but the bleared eyes of thecandles, or heard anything but a hoarse murmur from the crowd.But as soon as the court ceased to heave, and I could stare about me,I looked towards my counsel again.He was still shaping his pen. He made no motion to come forward andshake hands over my acquittal, for which he had worked untiringly allday. He did not even offer to speak. He just looked up, noddedcarelessly, and turned to his junior beside him; but in that glance Ihad read something which turned my heart cold, then sick, within me,and from that moment my hatred of the man was as deep as hell.

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　　In the fog outside I got clear of the gaping crowd, but the chill ofthe night after that heated court pierced my very bones. I had onthe clothes I had been taken in. It was June then, and now it waslate in October. I remember that on the day when they caught me Iwore my coat open for coolness. Four months and a half had gone outof my life. Well, I had money enough in my pocket to get agreatcoat; but I must put something warm inside me first, to get outthe chill that cursed lawyer had laid on my heart.I had purposely chosen the by-lanes of the town, but I remembered acertain tavern--the "Lamb and Flag"--which lay down a side alley.Presently the light from its windows struck across the street, ahead.I pushed open the door and entered.The small bar was full of people newly come from the court, anddiscussing the trial in all its bearings. In the babel I heard adozen different opinions given in as many seconds, and learnt enough,too, to make me content with the jury I had had. But the warmth ofthe place was pleasant, and I elbowed my way forward to the counter.There was a woman standing by the door as I entered, who lookedcuriously at me for a moment, then turned to nudge a man at her side,and whisper. The whisper grew as I pressed forward, and before Icould reach the counter a hand was laid on my shoulder from behind.I turned."Well?" said I.It was a heavy-looking drover that had touched me."Are you the chap that was tried to-day for murder of Jeweller Todd?"he asked."Well?" said I again, but I could see the crowd falling back, as if Iwas a leper, at his question."Well? 'Taint well then, as I reckon, to be making so free withrespectable folk."There was a murmur of assent from the mouths turned towards me.The landlord came forward from behind the bar."I was acquitted," I urged defiantly."Ac-quitted!" said he, with big scorn in the syllables. "Hear imnow--'ac-quitted!' Landlord, is this a respectable house?"The landlord gave his verdict."H'out yer goes, and damn yer impudence!"I looked round, but their faces were all dead against me."H'out yer goes!" repeated the landlord. "And think yerself lucky itaint worse," added the drover.With no further defence I slunk out into the night once more.A small crowd of children (Heaven knows whence or how they gathered)followed me up the court and out into the street. Their numbersswelled as I went on, and some began to hoot and pelt me; but when Igained the top of the hill, and a lonelier district, I turned andstruck among them with my stick. It did my heart good to hear theirscreams.After that I was let alone, and tramped forward past the scatteredhouses, towards the open country and the moors. Up here there wasscarcely any fog, but I could see it, by the rising moon, hanginglike a shroud over the town below. The next town was near upontwelve miles off, but I do not remember that I thought of getting sofar. I could not have thought at all, in fact, or I should hardlyhave taken the high-road upon which the jeweller had been stopped andmurdered.There was a shrewd wind blowing, and I shivered all over; but thecold at my heart was worse, and my hate of the man who had set itthere grew with every step. I thought of the four months and morewhich parted the two lives of Gabriel Foot, and what I should make ofthe new one. I had my chance again--a chance gained for me beyondhope by that counsel but for whom I should be sleeping to-night inthe condemned cell; a chance, and a good chance, but for that samecursed lawyer. Ugh! how cold it was, and how I hated him for it!There was a little whitewashed cottage on the edge of the moorlandjust after the hedgerows ceased--the last house before the barrenheath began, standing a full three hundred yards from any otherdwelling. Its front faced the road, and at the back an outhouse anda wretched garden jutted out on the waste land. There was a light ineach of its windows tonight, and as I passed down the road I heardthe dismal music of a flute.Perhaps it was this that jogged my thoughts and woke them up to mypresent pass. At any rate, I had not gone more than twenty yardsbefore I turned and made for the door. The people might give me anight's lodging in the outhouse; at any rate, they would not refuse acrust to stay the fast which I had not broken since the morning.I tapped gently with my knuckles on the door, and listened.I waited five minutes, and no one answered. The flute stillcontinued its melancholy tune; it was evidently in the hands of alearner, for the air (a dispiriting one enough at the best) keptbreaking off suddenly and repeating itself. But the performer hadpatience, and the sound never ceased for more than two seconds at atime. Besides this, nothing could be heard. The blinds were drawnin all the windows. The glow of the candles through them wascheerful enough, but nothing could be seen of the house inside.I knocked a second time, and a third, with the same result.Finally, tired of this, I pushed open the low gate which led into thegarden behind, and stole round to the back of the cottage.Here, too, the window on the ground floor was lit up behind itsblinds, but that of the room above was shuttered. There was a holein the shutter, however, where a knot of the wood had fallen out, anda thin shaft of light stretched across the blackness and burieditself in a ragged yew-tree at the end of the garden. From theloudness of the sounds I judged this to be the room where theflute-playing was going on. The crackling of my footsteps on thethin soil did not disturb the performer, so I gathered a handful ofearth and pitched it up against the pane. The flute stopped for aminute or so, but just as I was expecting to see the shutter open,went on again: this time the air was "Pretty Polly Oliver."I crept back again, and began to hammer more loudly at the door."Come," said I, "whoever this may be inside, I'll see for myself atany rate," and with that I lifted the latch and gave the door a heavykick. It flew open quite easily (it had not even been locked), and Ifound myself in a low kitchen. The room was empty, but the relics ofsupper lay on the deal table, and the remains of what must have beena noble fire were still smouldering on the hearthstone. A crazy,rusty blunderbuss hung over the fireplace. This, with a couple ofrough chairs, a broken bacon-rack, and a small side-table, completedthe furniture of the place. No; for as I sat down to make a meal offthe remnants of supper, something lying on the lime-ash floor beneaththis side-table caught my eye. I stepped forward and picked it up.It was a barrister's wig."This is a queer business," thought I; and I laid it on the tableopposite me as I went on with my supper. It was a "gossan" wig, aswe call it in our parts; a wig grown yellow and rusty with age andwear. It looked so sly and wicked as it lay there, and brought backthe events of the day so sharply that a queer dread took me of beingdiscovered with it. I pulled out my pistol, loaded it (they hadgiven me back both the powder and pistol found on me when I wastaken), and laid it beside my plate. This done, I went on with mysupper--it was an excellent cold capon--and all the time the fluteup-stairs kept toot-tootling without stopping, except to change thetune. It gave me "Hearts of Oak," "Why, Soldiers, why?" "Like HermitPoor," and "Come, Lasses and Lads," before I had fairly cleared thedish."And now," thought I, "I have had a good supper; but there are stillthree things to be done. In the first place I want drink, in thesecond I want a bed, and in the third I want to thank this kindperson, whoever he is, for his hospitality. I'm not going to beginlife No. 2 with housebreaking."I rose, slipped the pistol into my tail-pocket, and followed thesound up the ramshackle stairs. My footsteps made such a racket ontheir old timbers as fairly to frighten me, but it never disturbedthe flute-player. He had harked back again to "Like Hermit Poor" bythis time, and the dolefulness of it was fit to make the dead cryout, but he went whining on until I reached the head of the stairsand struck a rousing knock on the door.The playing stopped. "Come in," said a cheery voice; but it gave meno cheerfulness. Instead of that, it sent all the comfort of mysupper clean out of me, as I opened the door and saw him sittingthere.There he was, the man who had saved my neck that day, and whom most Ihated in the world, sitting before a snug fire, with his flute on hisknee, a glass of port wine at his elbow, and looking so comfortable,with that knowing light in his grey eyes, that I could have killedhim where he sat."Oh, it's you, is it?" he said, just the very least bit surprised andno more. "Come in."I stood in the doorway hesitating."Don't stay letting in that monstrous draught, man; but sit down.You'll find the bottle on the table and a glass on the shelf."I poured out a glassful and drank it off. The stuff was rare (I canremember its trick on the tongue to this day), but somehow it did notdrive the cold out of my heart. I took another glass, and satsipping it and staring from the fire to my companion.He had taken up the flute again, and was blowing a few deep notes outof it, thoughtfully enough. He was a small, squarely-built man, witha sharp ruddy face like a frozen pippin, heavy grey eyebrows, and amouth like a trap when it was not pursed up for that everlastingflute. As he sat there with his wig off, the crown of his bald headwas fringed with an obstinate-looking patch of hair, the colour of abadger's. My amazement at finding him here at this hour, and alone,was lost in my hatred of the man as I saw the depths of complacentknowledge in his face. I felt that I must kill him sooner or later,and the sooner the better.Presently he laid down his flute again and spoke:--"I scarcely expected you."I grunted something in answer."But I might have known something was up, if I'd only paid attentionto my flute. It and I are not in harmony to-night. It doesn't likethe secrets I've been blowing into it; it has heard a lot of queerthings in its time, but it's an innocent-minded flute for all that,and I'm afraid that what I've told it to-night is a point beyond whatit's prepared to go.""I take it, it knows a damned deal too much," growled I.He looked at me sharply for an instant, rose, whistled a bar or twoof "Like Hermit Poor," reached down a couple of clay pipes from theshelf, filled one for himself, and gravely handed the other with thetobacco to me."Beyond what it is prepared to go," he echoed quietly, sinking backin his chair and puffing at the pipe. "It's a nice point that wehave been discussing together, my flute and I, and I won't say butthat I've got the worst of it. By the way, what do you mean to donow that you have a fresh start?"Now I had not tasted tobacco for over four months, and its effectupon my wits was surprising. It seemed to oil my thoughts till theyworked without a hitch, and I saw my plan of action marked out quiteplainly before me."Do you want to know the first step of all?" I asked."To be sure; the first step at any rate determines the direction.""Well then," said I, very steadily, and staring into his face,"the first step of all is that I am going to kill you.""H'm," said he after a bit, and I declare that not so much as aneyelash of the man shook, "I thought as much. I guessed that whenyou came into the room. And what next?""Time enough then to think of 'what next,'" I answered; for though Iwas set upon blowing his brains out, I longed for him to blaze outinto a passion and warm up my blood for the job."Pardon me," he said, as coolly as might be, "that would be the veryworst time to think of it. For, just consider: in the first placeyou will already be committed to your way of life, and secondly, if Iknow anything about you, you would be far too much flurried for anythought worth the name."There was a twinkle of frosty humour in his eye as he said this, andin the silence which followed I could hear him chuckling to himself,and tasting the words over again as though they were good wine.I sat fingering my pistol and waiting for him to speak again.When he did so, it was with another dry chuckle and a long puff oftobacco smoke."As you say, I know a deal too much. Shall I tell you how much?""Yes, you may if you'll be quick about it.""Very well, then, I will. Do you mind passing the bottle?Thank you. I probably know not only too much, but a deal more thanyou guess. First let us take the case for the Crown. The jeweller istravelling by coach at night over the moors. He has one postilliononly, Roger Tallis by name, and by character shady. The jeweller hasmoney (he was a niggardly fool to take only one postillion), andcarries a diamond of great, or rather of an enormous and notablevalue (he was a bigger fool to take this). In the dark morning twohorses come galloping back, frightened and streaming with sweat.A search party goes out, finds the coach upset by the Four HoledCross, the jeweller lying beside it with a couple of pistol bulletsin him, and the money, the diamond, and Roger Tallis--nowhere.So much for the murdered man. Two or three days after, you, GabrielFoot, by character also shady, and known to be a friend of RogerTallis, are whispered to have a suspicious amount of money about you,also blood-stains on your coat. It further leaks out that you weretravelling on the moors afoot on the night in question, and that yourpistols are soiled with powder. Case for the Crown closes. Have Istated it correctly?"I nodded; he took a sip or two at his wine, laid down his pipe as ifthe tobacco spoiled the taste of it, took another sip, andcontinued:--"Case for the defence. That Roger Tallis has decamped, that nodiamond has been found on you (or anywhere), and lastly that thebullets in the jeweller's body do not fit your pistols, but came froma larger pair. Not very much of a case, perhaps, but this last is astrong point.""Well?" I asked, as he paused."Now then for the facts of the case. Would you oblige me by castinga look over there in the corner?""I see nothing but a pickaxe and shovel.""Ha! very good; 'nothing but a pickaxe and shovel.' Well, to resume:facts of the case--Roger Tallis murders the jeweller, and you murderRoger Tallis; after that, as you say, 'nothing but a pickaxe andshovel.'"And with this, as I am a living sinner, the rosy-faced old boy tookup his flute and blew a stave or two of "Come, Lasses and Lads.""Did you dig him up?" I muttered hoarsely; and although deathly coldI could feel a drop of sweat trickling down my forehead and into myeye."What, before the trial? My good sir, you have a fair, a very fair,aptitude for crime, but believe me, you have much to learn both oflegal etiquette and of a lawyer's conscience." And for the firsttime since I came in I saw something like indignation on his ruddyface."Now," he continued, "I either know too much or not enough.Obviously I know enough for you to wish, and perhaps wisely, to killme. The question is, whether I know enough to make it worth yourwhile to spare me. I think I do; but that is for you to decide.If I put you to-night, and in half an hour's time, in possession ofproperty worth ten thousand pounds, will that content you?""Come, come," I said, "you need not try to fool me, nor think I amgoing to let you out of my sight.""You misunderstand. I desire neither; I only wish a bargain.I am ready to pledge you my word to make no attempt to escape beforeyou are in possession of that property, and to offer no resistance toyour shooting me in case you fail to obtain it, provided on the otherhand you pledge your word to spare my life should you succeed withinhalf an hour. And, my dear sir, considering the relative value ofyour word and mine, I think it must be confessed you have the betterof the bargain."I thought for a moment. "Very well then," said I, "so be it; but ifyou fail--""I know what happens," replied he.With that he blew a note or two on his flute, took it to pieces, andcarefully bestowed it in the tails of his coat. I put away my pistolin mine."Do you mind shouldering that spade and pickaxe, and following me?"he asked. I took them up in silence. He drained his glass and puton his hat."Now I think we are ready. Stop a moment."He reached across for the glass which I had emptied, took it upgingerly between thumb and forefinger, and tossed it with a crash onto the hearthstone. He then did the same to my pipe, after firstsnapping the stem into halves. This done, he blew out one candle,and with great gravity led the way down the staircase. I shoulderedthe tools and followed, while my heart hated him with a fiercer spitethan ever.We passed down the crazy stairs and through the kitchen. The candleswere still burning there. As my companion glanced at thesupper-table, "H'm," he said, "not a bad beginning of a new leaf.My friend, I will allow you exactly twelve months in which to gethanged."I made no answer, and we stepped out into the night. The moon wasnow up, and the high-road stretched like a white ribbon into thegloom. The cold wind bore up a few heavy clouds from the north-west,but for the most part we could see easily enough. We trudged side byside along the road in silence, except that I could hear my companionevery now and then whistling softly to himself.As we drew near to the Four Holed Cross and the scene of the murder Iconfess to an uneasy feeling and a desire to get past the place withall speed. But the lawyer stopped by the very spot where the coachwas overturned, and held up a finger as if to call attention. It wasa favourite trick of his with the jury."This was where the jeweller lay. Some fifteen yards off there wasanother pool of blood. Now the jeweller must have dropped instantlyfor he was shot through the heart. Yet no one doubted but that theother pool of blood was his. Fools!"With this he turned off the road at right angles, and began to strikerapidly across the moor. At first I thought he was trying to escapeme, but he allowed me to catch him up readily enough, and then I knewthe point for which he was making. I followed doggedly.Clouds began to gather over the moon's face, and every now and then Istumbled heavily on the uneven ground; but he moved along nimblyenough, and even cried "Shoo!" in a sprightly voice when a startledplover flew up before his feet. Presently, after we had gone aboutfive hundred yards on the heath, the ground broke away into a littlehollow, where a rough track led down to the Lime Kilns and the thinlywooded stream that washed the valley below. We followed this trackfor ten minutes or so, and presently the masonry of the disused kilnspeered out, white in the moonlight, from between the trees.There were three of these kilns standing close together beside thepath; but my companion without hesitation pulled up almost beneaththe very arch of the first, peered about, examined the groundnarrowly, and then motioned to me."Dig here.""If we both know well enough what is underneath, what is the use ofdigging?""I very much doubt if we do," said he. "You had better dig."

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　　I can feel the chill creeping down my back as I write of it; but atthe time, though I well knew the grisly sight which I was todiscover, I dug away steadily enough. The man who had surprised mysecret set himself down on a dark bank of ferns at about ten paces'distance, and began to whistle softly, though I could see his fingersfumbling with his coat-tails as though they itched to be at the fluteagain.The moon's rays shone fitfully upon the white face of the kiln, andlit up my work. The little stream rushed noisily below. And so,with this hateful man watching, I laid bare the lime-burnt remains ofthe comrade whom, almost five months before, I had murdered andburied there. How I had then cursed my luck because forced to hidehis corpse away before I could return and search for the diamond Ihad failed to find upon his body! But as I tossed the earth and limeaside, and discovered my handiwork, the moon's rays were suddenlycaught and reflected from within the pit, and I fell forward with ashort gasp of delight.For there, kindled into quick shafts and points of colour--violet,green, yellow, and fieriest red--lay the missing diamond amongRoger's bones. As I clutched the gem a black shadow fell between themoon and me. I looked up. My companion was standing over me, withthe twinkle still in his eye and the flute in his hand."You were a fool not to guess that he had swallowed it. I hope youare satisfied with the bargain. As we are not, I trust, likely tomeet again in this world, I will here bid you Adieu, thoughpossibly that is scarcely the word to use. But there is one thing Iwish to tell you. I owe you a debt to-night for having prevented mefrom committing a crime. You saw that I had the spade and pickaxeready in the cottage. Well, I confess I lusted for that gem. I wasarguing out the case with my flute when you came in.""If," said I, "you wish a share--""Another word," he interrupted very gravely, "and I shall be forcedto think that you insult me. As it is, I am grateful to you forsupporting my flute's advice at an opportune moment. I will nowleave you. Two hours ago I was in a fair way of becoming a criminal.I owe it to you, and to my flute, that I am still merely a lawyer.Farewell!"With that he turned on his heel and was gone with a swinging strideup the path and across the moor. His figure stood out upon thesky-line for a moment, and then vanished. But I could hear for sometime the tootle-tootle of his flute in the distance, and it struck methat its note was unusually sprightly and clear.

　　THE END.