Chapter V: Act IV

TABLEAU VII. THE ROBBERY

_The Stage represents the outside of the Excise Office in Chessel’s Court_. _At the back_, _L.C._, _an archway opening on the High Street_. _The door of the Excise in wing_, _R._; _the opposite side of the stage is lumbered with barrels_, _packing-cases_, _etc._ _Moonlight_; _the Excise Office casts a shadow over half the stage_. _A clock strikes the hour_. _A round of the City Guard_, _with halberts_, _lanterns_, _etc._, _enters and goes out again by the arch_, _after having examined the fastenings of the great door and the lumber on the left_. _Cry without in the High Street_: ‘_Ten by the bell_, _and a fine clear night_.’ _Then enter cautiously by the arch_, SMITH _and_ MOORE, _with_ AINSLIE _loaded with tools_.

SCENE I

SMITH, MOORE, AINSLIE

SMITH (_entering first_). Come on. Coast clear.

MOORE (_after they have come to the front_.) Ain’t he turned up yet?

SMITH (_to_ AINSLIE). Now Maggot! The fishing’s a going to begin.

AINSLIE. Dinna cangle, Geordie. My back’s fair broke.

MOORE. O muck! Hand out them pieces.

SMITH. All right, Humptious! (_To_ AINSLIE.) You’re a nice old sort for a rag-and-bone man: can’t hold a bag open! (_Taking out tools_.) Here they was. Here are the bunchums, one _and_ two; and jolly old keys was they. Here’s the picklocks, crow-bars, and here’s Lord George’s pet bull’s eye, his old and valued friend, the Cracksman’s treasure!

MOORE. Just like you. Forgot the rotten centrebit.

SMITH. That’s all you know. Here she is, bless her! Portrait of George as a gay hironmonger.

MOORE. O rot! Hand it over, and keep yourself out of that there thundering moonlight.

SMITH (_lighting lantern_). All right, old mumble-peg. Don’t you get carried away by the fire of old Rome. That’s your motto. Here are the tools; a perfect picter of the sublime and beautiful; and all I hope is, that our friend and pitcher, the Deakin, will make a better job of it than he did last night. If he don’t, I shall retire from the business—that’s all; and it’ll be George and his little wife and a black footman till death do us part.

MOORE. O muck! You’re all jaw like a sheep’s jimmy. That’s my opinion of you. When did you see him last?

SMITH. This morning; and he looked as if he was rehearsing for his own epitaph. I never see such a change in a man. I gave him the office for to-night; and was he grateful? Did he weep upon my faithful bosom? No; he smiled upon me like a portrait of the dear departed. I see his ’art was far away; and it broke my own to look at him.

MOORE. Muck! Wot I ses is, if a cove’s got that much of the nob about him, wot’s the good of his working single-handed? That’s wot’s the matter with him.

SMITH. Well, old Father Christmas, he ain’t single-handed to-night, is he?

MOORE. No, he ain’t; he’s got a man with him to-night.

SMITH. Pardon me, Romeo; two men, I think?

MOORE. A man wot means business. If I’d a bin with him last night, it ain’t psalm-singin’ would have got us off. Psalm-singin’? Muck! Let ’em try it on with me.

AINSLIE. Losh me, I heard a noise. (_Alarm; they crouch into the shadow and listen_.)

SMITH. All serene. (_To_ AINSLIE) Am I to cut that liver out of you? Now, am I? (_A whistle_.) ’St! here we are. (_Whistles a modulation_, _which is answered_.)

SCENE II

_To these_ BRODIE

MOORE. Waiting for you, Deacon.

BRODIE. I see. Everything ready?

SMITH. All a-growing and a-blowing.

BRODIE. Give me the light. (_Briefly examines tools and door with bull’s eye_.) You, George, stand by, and hand up the pieces. Ainslie, take the glim. Moore, out and watch.

MOORE. I didn’t come here to do sentry-go, I didn’t.

BRODIE. You came here to do as I tell you. (MOORE _goes up slowly_.) Second bunch, George. I know the lock. Steady with the glim. (_At work_.) No good. Give me the centrebit.

SMITH. Right. (_Work continues_. AINSLIE _drops lantern_.)

BRODIE. Curse you! (_Throttling and kicking him_.) You shake, and you shake, and you can’t even hold a light for your betters. Hey?

AINSLIE. Eh Deacon, Deacon . . .

SMITH. Now Ghost! (_With lantern_.)

BRODIE. ’St, Moore!

MOORE. Wot’s the row?

BRODIE. Take you the light.

MOORE (_to_ AINSLIE). Wo’ j’ yer shakin’ at? (_Kicks him_.)

BRODIE (_to_ AINSLIE). Go you, and see if you’re good at keeping watch. Inside the arch. And if you let a footfall pass, I’ll break your back. (AINSLIE _retires_.) Steady with the light. (_At work with centrebit_.) Hand up number four, George. (_At work with picklock_.) That has it.

SMITH. Well done our side.

BRODIE. Now the crow bar! (_At work_.) That’s it. Put down the glim, Badger, and help at the wrench. Your whole weight, men! Put your backs to it! (_While they work at the bar_, BRODIE _stands by_, _dusting his hands with a pocket-handkerchief_. _As the door opens_.)_ Voilà_! In with you.

MOORE (_entering with light_). Mucking fine work too, Deacon!

BRODIE. Take up the irons, George!

SMITH. How about the P(h)antom?

BRODIE. Leave him to me. I’ll give him a look. (_Enters office_.)

SMITH (_following_). Houp-là!

SCENE III

AINSLIE; _afterwards_ BRODIE; _afterwards_ HUNT _and_ OFFICERS

AINSLIE. Ca’ ye that mainners? Ye’re grand gentry by your way o’t! Eh sirs, my hench! Ay, that was the Badger. Man, but ye’ll look bonnie hangin’! (_A faint whistle_.) Lord’s sake, what’s thon? Ay, it’ll be Hunt an’ his lads. (_Whistle repeated_.) Losh me, what gars him whustle, whustle? Does he think me deaf? (_Goes up_. BRODIE _enters from office_, _stands an instant_, _and sees him making a signal through the arch_.)

BRODIE. Rats! Rats! (_Hides L. among lumber_. _Enter noiselessly through arch_ HUNT _and_ OFFICERS.)

HUNT. Birds caught?

AINSLIE. They’re a’ ben the house, mister.

HUNT. All three?

AINSLIE. The hale set, mister.

BRODIE. Liar!

HUNT. Mum, lads, and follow me. (_Exit_, _with his men_, _into office_. BRODIE _seen with dagger_.)

HUNT (_within_). In the King’s name!

MOORE (_within_). Muck!

SMITH (_within_). Go it, Badger.

HUNT (_within_). Take ’em alive, boys!

AINSLIE. Eh, but that’s awful. (_The Deacon leaps out_, _and stabs him_. _He falls without a cry_.)

BRODIE. Saved! (_He goes out by the arch_.)

SCENE IV

HUNT _and_ OFFICERS; _with_ SMITH _and_ MOORE _handcuffed_. _Signs of a
severe struggle_

HUNT (_entering_). Bring ’em along, lads! (_Looking at prisoners with lantern_.) Pleased to see you again, Badger. And you too, George. But I’d rather have seen your principal. Where’s he got to?

MOORE. To hell, I hope.

HUNT. Always the same pretty flow of language, I see, Hump. (_Looking at burglary with lantern_.) A very tidy piece of work, Dook; very tidy! Much too good for you. Smacks of a fine tradesman. It _was_ the Deacon, I suppose?

SMITH. You ought to know G. S. better by this time, Jerry.

HUNT. All right, your Grace: we’ll talk it over with the Deacon himself. Where’s the jackal? Here, you, Ainslie! Where are you? By jingo, I thought as much. Stabbed to the heart and dead as a herring!

SMITH. Bravo!

HUNT. More of the Deacon’s work, I guess? Does him credit too, don’t it, Badger?

MOORE. Muck. Was that the thundering cove that peached?

HUNT. That was the thundering cove.

MOORE. And is he corpsed?

HUNT. I should just about reckon he was.

MOORE. Then, damme, I don’t mind swinging!

HUNT. We’ll talk about that presently. M’Intyre and Stewart, you get a stretcher, and take that rubbish to the office. Pick it up; it’s only a dead informer. Hand these two gentlemen over to Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, with Mr. Jerry Hunt’s compliments. Johnstone and Syme, you come along with me. I’ll bring the Deacon round myself.

* * * * *

ACT-DROP