CHAPTER V

"MANY A MAN WOULD GIVE A HANDFUL OF GUINEAS FOR A KISS FROM SALLY

SALISBURY"

The fugitive found himself in a narrow ill-smelling, vilely paved alley

to the east of the Borough. Tall, ugly, dirty houses bordered it on each

side, a thick greasy mud covered the uneven stones. Dimly he was

conscious of the sound of a window being opened here and there, of

hoarse shouts and shrill screams, of shadowy beings who doubtless were

men and women but who were more like ghosts than creatures of flesh and

blood.

But no one molested him. This might be explained by the fact that those

who saw him running took him to be some criminal fleeing from justice to

take sanctuary in the Southwark slums, an impression quite sufficient to

ensure their sympathy. At least, this was what at first happened.

Afterwards the mob took it into their heads to pursue him and for no

particular reason save devilry.

The seething crowd poured into the narrow alley. Like a hunted deer the

young man ran up one court and down another, stumbling now and again

half from exhaustion and half from the greasy mud covered stones. He

could hear his pursuers coming nearer and nearer, but his strength was

gone. He dragged himself a few steps further and staggered into a

doorway, sinking on the steps in an almost fainting condition.

The next moment the door behind him opened, a hand gripped his shoulder

and a woman's voice whispered:--

"Come inside. Make haste before you're seen."

The young man raised his head. He was dimly conscious of a handsome

face, of a pair of bold eyes staring into his.

"Come. Why are you waiting? Do you want to be murdered?" she cried

imperiously.

He struggled to his feet and she dragged him into the passage and closed

the door. Scarcely had she done so when the clatter of feet and a

confused sound of voices told that his pursuers were approaching. Had

they tracked him to the house? The point was at once settled by a loud

hammering at the door.

The woman half turned her head and cast a scornful look over her

shoulder.

"Knock away, you devils. You won't break those panels in a hurry. For

all that, the place isn't safe for you, Mr. Vane."

"What, you know me?"

She laughed. Her laughter was loud rather than musical.

"Haven't I seen you with many a merry party at Spring Gardens? Don't you

remember that mad night when one of your friends was full of wine?

Didn't I cut off the end of his periwig and throw it to the mob to be

scrambled for?"

Lancelot Vane's pale face flushed slightly. He hadn't a very precise

recollection of what had happened on that night of frolic and revelry.

Like the rest he had had his bottle or two. The full blooded handsome

woman whom nothing abashed, who could take her liquor like a man, whose

beauty fired the souls of the gallants hovering about her wrangling for

her smiles, was part of the confused picture that had remained in his

memory. He had some vague remembrance of having kissed her or that she

had kissed him--it didn't matter which it was, nothing mattered very

much when the wine was in and the wit was out.

Yet now when both were sober and her round, plump arm was round his

shoulders on the plea of supporting him he felt embarrassed, ashamed.

"I thank you, madam, for your help," he said hurriedly. "But I won't

bring trouble upon you. Those rascals are still clamouring for my

blood--why I know not--and if they once burst into the house you'll

suffer."

"They won't frighten me, but I wouldn't have you come to harm. There's a

way of escape. I'll show it you."

With her arm still round him though there was no necessity for his

strength was gradually returning, she led him up the first flight--some

half dozen steps--of a narrow staircase to a small window which she

threw open.

"That's the Black Ditch. It leads to the river and is fairly dry now

that the tide is out. You can easily find your way to Tooley Street."

"Thanks--thanks," he murmured.

He clambered on to the window sill and gradually lowered himself. While

his head, slightly thrown back, was above the sill she bent down swiftly

and kissed him full on the lips.

"Many a man would give a handful of guineas for a kiss from Sally

Salisbury. You shall have one for nothing. It mayn't bring you luck, but

what of that?"

He let go his hold, alighted safely on his feet and ran along the ditch,

every nerve quivering in a tumult of emotion, and with Sally Salisbury's

strident, reckless laugh ringing in his ears.

Sally leaned her elbows on the sill and craning her head watched the

receding figure of the young man. Then she straightened her body and

walked leisurely from the room into one at the front of the house on the

first floor. The hammering at the entrance door had never ceased. She

threw open the window and looked down upon the swaying crowd.

"What do you want?" she called out.

"The man you're hiding," was the reply in a hoarse voice.

"You lie. There's no man here."

"No man where Mistress Sally Salisbury is? Ho-ho!"

She knew the voice. It was that of Captain Jeremy Rofflash.

Seizing a lamp Sally Salisbury ran down the stairs and opened the door.

Holding the lamp high over her head the light fell with striking effect

upon her luxuriant yellow hair clustering down upon a neck and shoulders

that Juno might have envied. The resemblance did not stop here. Juno in

anger could have found her double in Sally Salisbury at that moment.

Evidently the visitor was unwelcome.

"What does this silly masquerade mean?" she demanded, her eyes roaming

over the coachman's livery in high displeasure. "Have you turned over a

new leaf and gone into honest service?"

"Honest service be damned! Honesty doesn't belong to me or to you

either, Sally. Where's the man I'm looking for? I twigged the fellow

just as you shut the door upon him."

"Did you? Then you're welcome to go on looking."

He strode in, muttering oaths. When the door was closed he turned upon

her.

"Hang me, Sally, if I know what your game is in sheltering this spark.

Anyhow you wouldn't do it if you didn't see your way to some coin out of

him."

"I don't, so shut up your sauce."

"More fool you then. Look here, Sal. I've got hold of a cull or I

shouldn't be in this lackey's coat. The fool's bursting with gold and he

wants someone to help him to spend it. I'll be hanged if there's another

woman in London like you for that fun. Now's your chance. He's sweet on

a wench--a raw boarding school miss--he ran off with her an hour or so

ago. The little fool thought she was going to be married by a Fleet

parson, but somehow she took fright and jumped out of the coach on

London Bridge. How the devil she did it beats me, though to be sure when

one of your sex makes up her mind to anything she'll do it and damme, I

believe Beelzebub helps her. Now then----"

"What's this gabble to do with me?" broke in Sally, disdainfully.

"Wait a minute. The wench had a friend in the crowd--a man who got her

away--damn him. I jumped from the coach and we had a set to. See this?"

Scowling ferociously Rofflash pointed to a lump beneath his eye which

promised to become a beautiful mouse on the morrow.

"The jackanapes got me on the hop; my foot slipped and s'life, I was

down. But for that I'd ha' spitted him like a partridge. By the time I

was on my legs the mob were after him. I joined in the hue and cry and

we ran him down to your house. Now then, where's his hiding hole? It'll

mean a matter o' twenty guineas in your pocket to give him up."

"Blood money! I don't earn my living that way. You could have spared

your breath, Rofflash. The man's not here. I'll show you how he escaped.

Come this way."

Sally led the fellow to the window overlooking the Black Ditch and told

him the story.

"Are you bamboozling me, you jade?" growled Rofflash. "It would be like

you."

"I daresay it would if it were worth my while but it isn't. Look for

yourself. Can't you see the deep foot-prints in the mud?"

The waning moon gave sufficient light to show the black slimy surface of

the ditch. An irregularly shaped hole immediately below the window

showed where Vane had alighted. Footprints distinct enough indicated the

direction taken.

"If you're not satisfied search the house."

"I'll take your word. Who's your friend? You wouldn't lift your little

finger to save a stranger."

"Who's the girl?" Sally parried in a flash. "What's she like?"

Rofflash had sharp wits. Cunning was part of his trade.

"Ho ho," he thought. "Sits the wind in that quarter? I'll steer

accordingly."

"The girl? As tempting as Venus and a good deal livelier, I'll swear.

'Faith, she's one worth fighting for. I'll do her gallant justice. If

he's as handy with his blade as he is with his fists he'll be a pretty

swordsman. He'll need all he knows, though," added Rofflash darkly,

"when I meet him."

"Yes, when!" echoed Sally sarcastically. "You'll get no help from me."

"What! Sally Salisbury handing over the man she fancies to another

woman? Is the world coming to an end?"

Rofflash burst into a jeering laugh. It irritated Sally beyond endurance

as he intended it should. But it did not provoke the reply he hoped for.

"Mind your own business," she snapped.

"Why, that's what I'm doing and _my_ business is _yours_. But if you're

fool enough to chuck away a handful of guineas, why do it. All I can say

is that _my_ man would give you anything you like to ask if you'd open

your mouth and tell him where _your_ man is."

"Then I won't. That's my answer, Jeremy Rofflash. Put it in your pipe

and smoke it."

Rofflash made her a profound bow and smiled mockingly.

"Have your own way, mistress. What about this? Something more in your

line, I'll warrant."

He thrust his hand beneath the upper part of his long flapped waistcoat

and drew out a necklace. The pearls of which it was composed were

suffused with a pinkish tinge, the massive gold clasp gleamed in the

lamplight. Sally's eyes flashed momentarily and then became scornful.

"I'm not going to be bribed by _that_ either," she cried.

"Wait till you're asked, my dear. This is my business alone. It has

nought to do with t'other. A week ago these pearls were round the fair

neck of my Lady Wendover. I encountered her in her coach on the Bath

Road near Maidenhead Thicket--my favourite trysting place with foolish

dames who travel with their trinkets and fal-lals. At the sight of my

barkers her ladyship screamed and fainted. This made things as easy as

an old glove. Click! and the necklace was in my pocket and I was

galloping back to Hounslow as if Old Nick himself was behind me."

"Well, and what have your highway robberies to do with me?"

"Just this, pretty one. My Lord Wendover's offered £1,000 reward for the

return of her Ladyship's jewels. I dursn't hand 'em about. I've no fancy

for the hangman's rope. But _you_ can get rid of them and no one be the

wiser."

It was true. Sally had been very useful to Rofflash in disposing of some

of the trophies of his exploits on the Bath Road. The highwayman never

grumbled at whatever commission she chose to take and the arrangement

was to their mutual advantage.

Sally took the pearls and stroked their smooth surfaces lovingly.

"It's a shame to part with 'em."

"Aye, they'd look brave on your neck, sweetheart."

"No. I'm as loth to travel to Tyburn as you. Every fine woman of quality

knows the Wendover pearls. I'd be marked at the first ridotto or

masquerade I showed my face in. I'll do my best to turn 'em into money."

"You're a jewel yourself, Sally. That's all I want. Adieu, mistress, and

good luck go with you."

Rofflash swaggered out and as he made his way to the bridge he pondered

deeply over the mystery of woman. Here was Sally Salisbury, a "flaunting

extravagant quean," always over head and ears in debt, refusing a chance

to put money in her purse just because she had a fancy for a man who

maybe was as poor as a church mouse. Yet, as regarded men generally,

Sally was a daughter of the horseleech!

"Humph," muttered Rofflash, "so much the better. The end on't is I

pocket Dorrimore's gold and no sharing out. If Sally likes to be a fool

'tis her affair and not mine. I've only got to keep my eye on her. What

a woman like her wants she'll get, even if it costs her her life. Sooner

or later, madam, you'll find your way to the fellow's lodgings, and

it'll go hard if I'm not on the spot too."

By the time Rofflash was at the bridge the obstructing waggon had been

got out of the way. Dorrimore's coach was drawn to one side and

Dorrimore himself was striding impatiently up and down, occasionally

refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff and indulging in oaths more or

less elegant.

"Where the devil have you been, Rofflash?" he cried, testily. "And where

the devil's the girl?"

"She'll be safe in your hands shortly, Mr. Archibald, never fear."

"What, have you got her?"

"Not quite, but almost as good. The spark whose arms she jumped into is

her gallant, you may lay your life, and----"

"By thunder, if that's so I'll--I'll run him through, I will, by God!"

"Softly--softly. All in good time. By a bit of luck I came across a

friend who knows him and has engaged to run him to earth. It only means

a few guineas and I made free to promise him a purse. Within a week

you'll be face to face with your rival and you'll have your revenge."

"To the devil with my revenge. It's the girl I want, you blundering

idiot."

"And it's the girl you shall have, by gad. Can't you see, my good sir,

that when you clap your hands on the fellow you clap your hands on the

girl too?"

"S'life! Do you mean to say she's with him?"

"I'd go to a thousand deaths on that."

"I'll not believe it. The girl's a pretty fool or I shouldn't have made

her sweet on me with so little trouble, but she's not that sort."

"If she isn't, all I can say is that St. Giles and Drury Lane are the

places where innocent and unsuspecting maids are to be found. Ask Sally

Salisbury."

"Damn Sally Salisbury," cried the fine gentleman in a fury. "D'ye think

I don't know gold from dross? I'll take my oath no man had touched the

lips of that coy little wench before mine did."

"By all means keep to that belief, sir. It won't do you no harm. Now if

you'll take my advice you'll let me drive you to Moll King's and you'll

finish the night like a man of mettle and a gentleman."

Dorrimore was in a morose and sullen mood. He wanted bracing up and he

adopted Rofflash's suggestion. The coach rattled to Mrs. King's

notorious tavern in Covent Garden, where thieves and scoundrels, the

very dregs of London, mingled with their betters; and amid a bestial

uproar, with the assistance of claret and Burgundy, to say nothing of

port "laced" with brandy on the one hand, and gin and porter on the

other, all differences in stations were forgotten and gentlemen and

footpads were on a level--dead drunk.