The Complete Works of Arthur Morrison (Illustrated). Arthur Morrison

so deaf she never ‘ears it. Then the milkman, he just slips ‘is ‘and through the gate-rails, lifts the bolt and goes and bangs at the door. Old Fuller runs out and swears a good ‘un. The old gal comes out and old Fuller swears at ‘er, and she turns round and swears back like anything. She don’t care for ‘im—not a bit. Then when he ain’t ‘avin’ a row with the milkman and the old gal he goes down the garden and rows with the old nurseryman there down the ‘ill. He jores the nurseryman from ‘is side o’ the hedge and the nurseryman he jores back at the top of ‘is voice. I’ve stood out there ten minutes together and nearly bust myself a-laughin’ at them gray-‘eaded old fellers a-callin’ each other everythink they can think of; you can ‘ear ‘em ‘alf over the parish. Why, each of ‘em’s ‘ad a board painted, ‘Trespassers will be Prosecuted,’ and stuck ‘em up facin’ each other, so as to keep up the row.”

      “Very funny, no doubt.”

      “Funny? I believe you, sir. Why it’s quite a treat sometimes on a dull beat like this. Why, what’s that? slowed if I don’t think they’re beginning again now. Yes, they are. Well, my beat’s the other way.”

      There was a sound of angry voices in the direction of the nursery ground, and Hewitt made toward it. Just where the hedge peeped over the wall the altercation was plain to hear.

      “You’re an old vagabond, and I’ll indict you for a nuisance!”

      “You’re an old thief, and you’d like to turn me out of house and home, wouldn’t you? Indict away, you greedy old scoundrel!”

      These and similar endearments, punctuated by growls and snorts, came distinctly from over the wall, accompanied by a certain scraping, brushing sound, as though each neighbour were madly attempting to scale the hedge and personally bang the other.

      Hewitt hastened round to the front of the nursery garden and quietly tried first the wide gate and next the small one. Both were fastened securely. But in the manner of the milkman at the gate of the house above, Hewitt slipped his hand between the open slats of the small gate and slid the night-latch that held it. Within the quarrel ran high as Hewitt stepped quietly into the garden. He trod on the narrow grass borders of the beds for quietness’ sake, till presently only a line of shrubs divided him from the clamorous nurseryman. Stooping and looking through an opening which gave him a back view, Hewitt observed that the brushing and scraping noise proceeded, not from angry scramblings, but from the forcing through an inadequate opening in the hedge of some piece of machinery which the nurseryman was most amicably passing to his neighbour at the same time as he assailed him with savage abuse, and received a full return in kind. It appeared to consist of a number of coils of metal pipe, not unlike those sometimes used in heating apparatus, and was as yet only a very little way through. Something else, of bright copper, lay on the garden-bed at the foot of the hedge, but intervening plants concealed its shape.

      Hewitt turned quickly away and made towards the greenhouses, keeping tall shrubs as much as possible between himself and the cottage, and looking sharply about him. Here and there about the garden were stand-pipes, each carrying a tap at its upper end and placed conveniently for irrigation. These in particular Hewitt scrutinised, and presently, as he neared a large wooden outhouse close by the large gate, turned his attention to one backed by a thick shrub. When the thick undergrowth of the shrub was pushed aside a small stone slab, black and dirty, was disclosed, and this Hewitt lifted, uncovering a square hole six or eight inches across, from the fore-side of which the stand-pipe rose.

      The row went cheerily on over by the hedge, and neither Trennatt nor his neighbour saw Hewitt, feeling with his hand, discover two stop-cocks and a branch pipe in the hole, nor saw him try them both. Hewitt, however, was satisfied, and saw his case plain. He rose and made his way back toward the small gate. He was scarce half-way there when the straining of the hedge ceased, and before he reached it the last insult had been hurled, the quarrel ceased, and Trennatt approached. Hewitt immediately turned his back to the gate, and looking about him inquiringly hemmed aloud as though to attract attention. The nurseryman promptly burst round a corner crying, “Who’s that? who’s that, eh? What d’ye want, eh?”

      “Why,” answered Hewitt in a tone of mild surprise, “is it so uncommon to have a customer drop in?”

      “I’d ha’ sworn that gate was fastened,” the old man said, looking about him suspiciously.

      “That would have been rash; I had no difficulty in opening it. Come, can’t you sell me a button-hole?”

      The old man led the way to a greenhouse, but as he went he growled again, “I’d ha’ sworn I shut that gate.”

      “Perhaps you forgot,” Hewitt suggested. “You have had a little excitement with your neighbour, haven’t you?”

      Trennatt stopped and turned round, darting a keen glance into Hewitt’s face.

      “Yes,” he answered angrily, “I have. He’s an old villain. He’d like to turn me out of here, after being here all my life-and a lot o’ good the ground ‘ud be to him if he kep’ it like he keeps his own! And look there!” He dragged Hewitt toward the “Trespassers” boards. “Goes and sticks up a board like that looking over my hedge! As though I wanted to go over among his weeds! So I stuck up another in front of it, and now they can stare each other out o’ countenance. Buttonhole, you said, sir, eh?”

      The old man saw Hewitt off the premises with great care, and the latter, flower in coat, made straight for the nearest post-office and despatched a telegram. Then he stood for some little while outside the post-office deep in thought, and in the end returned to the gate of the house above the nursery.

      With much circumspection he opened the gate and entered the grounds. But instead of approaching the house he turned immediately to the left, behind trees and shrubs, making for the side nearest the nursery.

      Soon he reached a long, low wooden shed.

      The door was only secured by a button, and turning this he gazed into the dark interior.

      Now he had not noticed that close after him a woman had entered the gate, and that that woman was Mrs. Geldard. She would have made for the house, but catching sight of Hewitt, followed him swiftly and quietly over the long grass. Thus it came to pass that his first apprisal of the lady’s presence was a sharp drive in the back which pitched him down the step to the low floor of what he had just perceived to be merely a tool-house, after which the door was shut and buttoned behind him.

      “Perhaps you’ll be more careful in future,” game Mrs. Geldard’s angry voice from without, “how you go making mischief between husband and wife and poking your nose into people’s affairs. Such fellows as you ought to be well punished.”

      Hewitt laughed softly. Mrs. Geldard had evidently changed her mind. The door presented no difficulty; a fairly vigorous push dislodged the button entirely, and he walked back to the outer gate chuckling quietly. In the distance he heard Mrs. Geldard in shrill altercation with the deaf old woman. “It’s no good you a-talking,” the old woman was saying. “I can’t hear. Nobody ain’t allowed in this here place, so you must get out. Out you go now!” Outside the gate Hewitt met me.

      III.

      My own adventure had been simple. I had secured a back seat on the roof of the omnibus whereon Emma Trennatt travelled south from the Bank, from which I could easily observe where she alighted. When she did so I followed, and found to my astonishment that her destination was no other than the Geldards’ private house at Camberwell—as I remembered from the address on the visitor’s slip which Mrs. Geldard had handed in at Hewitt’s office a couple of days before. She handed a letter to the maid who opened the door, and soon after,