The Victorian Villains Megapack (63 page)

* * * *

Dockbridge threw the manuscript on his desk and lit a cigarette.

“Is that all?” asked the lank deputy, stretching himself. “I thought it was going to have some sort of a plot.”

“It’s a pretty good story,” said the chief of staff. “Have you really got any clippings?”

“I think it’s rotten!” remarked Bob.

“Well, it’s every word of it true, anyway,” muttered Dockbridge.

EXTRADITION, by Arthur Train

Taken from
McAllister and His Double
(1905).

I

“Dockbridge,” said the
District
Attorney, coming hurriedly out of his office, “I’ve got to send you to Seattle. We’ve just located Andrews there—Sam Andrews of the Boodle Bank. One of Barney Conville’s cases, you remember. Here’s the Governor’s requisition. Barney’s down in Ecuador, so McGinnis of the Central Office will go out to make the arrest; but I must have someone to look after the legal end of it—to fight any writ of
habeas corpus
—and handle the extradition proceedings. They might get around a mere policeman, so I’m going to ask you to attend to it. The trip won’t be unpleasant, and the auditor will give you a check for your expenses. Remember, now—your job is to
bring Andrews back
!”

He handed his assistant a bulky document bedecked with seals and ribbons, and closed the door. Dockbridge gazed blankly after his energetic chief.

“Oh, certainly, certainly! Don’t mention i
t!
Delighted
, I’m sure! Thank you so much!” he exclaimed with polite sarcasm. Then he turned ferociously to a silent figure sitting behind the railing. “Sudden, eh? Don’t even ask me if it’s convenient! Exiles me for two months! Just drop over to Bombay and buy him a package of cigarettes! Or run across to Morocco and pick up Perdicaris, like a good fellow! Don’t you regard him as a trifle
inconsequent
?”

Conville’s side partner McGinnis, a gigantic Irishman with extraordinarily long arms and huge hands, climbed disjointedly to his feet.

“
In
-consequence, is it, Mister Dockbridge?” The words came in a gentle roar from the altitudes of his towering form. “Sure, the
in
-consequence of it is that we’re to have the pleasure of travellin’ togither.” He looked big enough to swing the little Assistant lightly upon one shoulder and stride nimbly across the continent with him.

“An iligant thrip it will be! I’m only regretful I can’t take me wife along wid me.”

Pat’s matrimonial troubles were the common property of the entire force. The only person totally unconscious of their existence was McGinnis himself. His lady, the daughter of fat ex-Detective-Sergeant O’Halloran, made one think inevitably of the small bird that travels through life roosting on the shoulder of the African b
uffalo. His domestic life would have been one of wild excitement for the average citizen, but McGinnis had a blind and unwavering faith in the perfection of his spouse. Conceive, however, his surprise when the Assistant District Attorney suddenly smote him sharply in the abdomen, and shouted:

“I’ll do it!”

“Phwat?” ejaculated Pat.

“Take
my
wife!”

“Yez have none, ye spalpeen!”

“I’ll have one by tomorrow!”

“An’ is it Miss Peggy ye mane?”

“No other. The county pays part of the bills. I’ll make this my wedding trip!”

“God save us, Mr. Dockbridge!” gasped McGinnis. “Ain’t he the little divel!” he added to himself delightedly.

Peggy had at first opposed strenuously Jack’s proposition. The idea of going on one’s honeymoon with a policeman! Yes, it was all right to combine business and pleasure on occasion, but one did not usually associate business with marriage—at least she hoped she did not—for Jack Dockbridge knew he hadn’t a cent, and neither had she. He explained guardedly that that was the principal reason in favor of the plan. They would have part of their expenses paid.

Peggy, being a New Englander, acknowledged t
he force of the argument but pointed out that there was still the policeman.

Then Dockbridge pictured the West in glowing colors. Why, there were so many bad men out there, one actually needed a body-guard. Had she never heard of the Nagle case? What, not heard of the Nagle case, and she going to marry a lawyer! A newly married pair could not travel alone, unprotected.

Peggy said he was a fraud, an unadulterated fraud—an unabashed liar! Still, she had those furs that had belonged to her mother. She admitted, also, wondering what the Rockies were like. If she did not marry him now, how long would he be gone? Six months?

Jack explained that he might be killed by Indians or desperadoes. In that case the wisdom of her course would undoubtedly be apparent. She could then marry someone else. But that was the reason a policeman would be desirable. And then he was only a sort of policeman himself, anyway. One more would make little difference. In the end they were married.

II

It was a gay little party of three that l
eft Montreal for Vancouver the following Saturday. The red-headed Patrick pruned his speech and proved himself a most entertaining comrade, as he recounted his adventures in securing the return of divers famous criminals under the difficult process of extradition. He had brought safely back “Red” McIntosh from New Orleans, and Trelawney, the English forger, from Quebec; had captured “Strong Arm” Moore in St. Louis, and been an important figure in the old Manhattan Bank cases. He insisted on addressing Dockbridge as “Judge,” and introducing him to all strangers as “me distinguished frind, the Disthrick Attorney av Noo York.”

There were few passengers for the West, and the triumvirate easily became friendly with the conductors, brakemen, and engine hands upon the various divisions. The trip itself proved one unalloyed delight. Peggy sat for hours spellbound at the windows as the train sang along the frozen rails around the ice-bound shores of Superior and through the snow-mantled forests of Ontario. Sometimes the three in furs and mufflers clung to the reverberating platform of the end car watching the diminishing track, or held their breath
in the swaying cab as the engine thundered through the drifts of Manitoba and Assiniboia toward Moose Jaw, Calgary, and the Rockies.

In the monotonous hours across the frozen prairie Peggy learned all the mysteries of the throttle, the magic of the reversing gear, the pressure-valve and the brakes, and once, when there was a clear track for a hundred miles, the driver, with his perspiring brow and frosty back, allowed her slender fingers to guide the dangerous steed. For an hour he stood behind her as she opened and closed the valve, pulled the whistle at his direction, and slackened on the curves. She was undeniably pretty. The driver had been stuck on a girl that looked a bit like her out on the Edmonton run. He opined loudly that by the time they reached Vancouver Peggy could send her along about as well as he could himself. He repeated this emphatically, with much blasphemy, to the fireman.

Peggy lived in an ecstasy of happiness. At odd moments she perused diligently her husband’s copy of “Moore on Extradition.” She didn’t intend to be the man of the family—she was too sensible for that—but she saw no reason why a woman should not know something about her husband’s profession, particularly when it was as exciting a one as Jack’s.

Four days brought them within sight of the moun
tains, and the next morning, when they stopped for water, the whole range of the Canadian Rockies lay around and above them, their virgin summits sparkling in the winter sun.

“Glad you came, Peg?” shouted Dockbridge, hurling a feather-weight snowball in her direction as she stood on the platform in silent wonder at the scene.

She answered only with a deep inspiration of the dry, cold air.

“Shure, ain’t we all av us?” inquired McGinnis lighting his pipe. “Say, this beats th’ Bowery. Th’ Tenderloin ain’t in it wid this. I’d loike to camp right here for the rest of me days!”

There was something so unlikely in this, since, apart from the mountains, the only visible object in the landscape was a watering-tank, that they all laughed.

Up they climbed into the glistening teeth of the divide, clearing at last the first Titanic bulwark, now in the darkness of Stygian tunnels, now bathed in glittering ether, until, sweeping down past the whole magnificent range of the Selkirks, they dropped into the boisterous cañon of the Fraser, and knew that their journey was drawing to a close.

The blue shadows of morning melted into the breathless splendor of high noon upon the summi
t of the world, then, reappearing, faded to purple, azure, gray, until the blazing sun sank in an iridescent line of burning crests. Night fell again, and the stars crowded down upon them like myriads of flickering lamps, while the moon swung in and out behind the giant peaks.

“Shure, ’tis a sad thing we can’t ride in a train, drawin’ th’ county’s money foriver!” sighed McGinnis as the sunset died over the foaming rapids.

“Ah, but we’ve work to do, Pat!” answered Peggy. “You mustn’t forget Sam Andrews and the Boodle Bank. There’s fame and fortune waiting for us.”

On the run down the coast they held a council of war. Pat was to continue on to Seattle and arrest the fugitive, while Jack and Peggy hastened to Olympia to secure the Governor’s recognition of their credentials and his warrant for the deliverance of Andrews to the representatives of the State of New York.

The Governor, a short, fat man, with a black beard, proved unexpectedly tractable, and not only issued the warrant, but invited them both to lunch. It developed that he had graduated from Jack’s college. Oh, yes, he knew Andrews! Not a bad sort at all. One of those fellows that under pressure of circumstances had technically violated the law, but a perfect gentleman. Of course he had
to honor their requisition, but he was really sorry to see such a decent fellow as Andrews placed under arrest. He was sure that Sam would take the affair in the proper spirit and return with them voluntarily. You must not be too hard on people! Everybody committed crime—inadvertently. There were so many statutes that you never knew when you were stepping over the line. He frankly sympathized with the fugitive, although obliged officially to assist them. You could not help feeling that way about a man you always dined with at the club. Well, the law was the law. He hoped they would have a pleasant trip back. He must return himself to the Council Chamber to a blasted hearing—a delegation of confounded Chinese merchants.

They took the train for Seattle, highly elated. They found McGinnis, together with the prisoner and his lawyer, awaiting them at The Ranier-Grand. Andrews proved to be another stout man, with a brown beard and a pair of genial gray eyes. As the Governor had stated, it was clear that he was a perfect gentleman. He apologized for bringing his lawyer. It was only, they would understand, to make sure that his arrest was entirely legal. He had no intention of attempting to retard or thwart their purpose in any way. Of course, the whole thing was unfortunate in many r
espects, but that he should be desired in New York to unravel the complicated affairs of the bank was only natural. Everything could be easily explained, and, in the meantime, the only thing to do was to return with them as quickly as possible. Altogether he was very charming and entirely convincing. He hoped they would not consider him presuming if he suggested that a few days in Seattle would prove interesting to them; there was so much that was beautiful in the way of scenery of easy access; and in the meantime he could get his affairs in shape a little.

Peggy thought that was a splendid idea. It would be mean to take Mr. Andrews away without giving him a chance to say good-by to his friends, and she wanted to see Victoria and Esquimault, and Tacoma. While Mr. Andrews (in charge of McGinnis) was arranging his business matters, she and Jack could do the sights. In the meantime they could all live together at the hotel, and no one need know that Mr. Andrews was under arrest at all. Jack saw no harm in this, and neither did McGinnis. Andrews was politely grateful. It was most kind of them to treat him with such courtesy. He hastened to assure them they would not have any reason to regret so doing.

Two days passed. The Dockbridges wearied themselves with sight-seeing, while Andrews busie
d himself with arrangements to depart. The favorable impression made by the prisoner upon his captors had steadily increased, and in a short time they found themselves regarding him in the light of a most agreeable companion whom fate had thrown in their way.

“And now for New York!” exclaimed Jack, lighting his cigar, as they sat around the dinner-table on the evening of the third day after their arrival in Seattle. “How shall we go—Northern Pacific, Union, or The Short Line and across on The Rock Island?”

“Divel a bit do I care,” answered Pat comfortably from behind an enormous Manuel Garcia Extravaganza, tendered him by Mr. Andrews. “Th’ longer th’ better, suits
me
. ’Tis the county pays me, an’ I loike ridin’ in the cars down to th’ ground.”

“What is the prettiest way, Mr. Andrews?” inquired Peggy, “You know the country. Where would we see the most mountains?”

Had it not been for the thick clouds of cigar smoke, they would have noticed the flash of Andrews’ gray eyes which so quickly died away. He hesitated a moment, as if giving the matter the consideration it deserved.

“There’s practically no choice,” he replied at length, knocking the ash from his cigar. “They’re
all lovely at this time of year. The Rock Island route is longer, but perhaps it is the more interesting.” He paused doubtfully, then resumed his cigar.

But Peggy, who at the thought of the trip had become all eagerness, had observed his manner.

“You were going to add something, Mr. Andrews; what was it?”

Andrews smiled. “Oh, nothing! I was about to say that if it wasn’t such a tough journey you might go back by the Northern Montana and connect with the Soo. It’s a magnificent trip in summer, but I dare say pretty cold in winter. Wonderful scenery, though.”

“Let’s go!” exclaimed Peggy. “That’s what we are after—scenery! I don’t care if it
is
cold. I’ve got my furs. Montana, you say? And the Soo? That sounds like Indians. What do you say, Jack?”

“Oh, I don’t mind!” answered her husband. “Andrews knows best. He’s been that way. Sure, if you say so.”

Andrews hid a smile by lighting another cigar.

III

All day long the snow had been falling steadily
in big, fluffy flakes. The heavy train ploughed through dense pine-clad ravines, beside torrents buried far below the snow, under sheds into whose inky blackness the engine plunged as into the bowels of the earth, across vibrating trestles, and up grades that seemed never-ending, where the driving-wheels slipped and ground ineffectually, then clutched the sanded rails and slowly forged onward. For two days it had been thus, and from the windows only the gently falling, ever-falling snow met the eye. Heavy clouds shrouded the shoulders of the mountains, and the gorges between them were choked with mist. And onward, upward, always upward groaned the train.