The Cabmans Story | Page 4

"'On the charge of forging Bank of England notes,' says the 'bobby'."
"'Oh, then the game is up!' he cries, and with that he pulls off his
spectacles, and his wig and whiskers, and there he was, as smart a
young fellow as you'd wish to see.
"'Good-bye, cabby,' he cried, as they led him off, and that was the last I
saw of him, marching along between two of them, and another behind
with the bag."
"And why did he take a cab?" I asked, much interested.
"Well, you see, he had all his plant for making the notes in that bag. If
he were to lock himself up in his lodging several hours a day it would
soon set people wondering, to say nothing of the chance of eyes at the
window or key-hole. Again, you see, if he took a house all on his own
hook, without servant nor anyone, it would look queer. So he made up
his mind as the best way of working it was to carry it on in a closed cab,
and I don't know that he wasn't right. He was known to the police
however, and that was how they spotted him. Drat that van! It was as
near as a touch to my off-wheel.
"Bless you, if I was to tell you all the thieves and burglars, and even
murderers, as have been in my growler one time or another, you'd think
I'd given the whole Newgate Calendar a lift, though to be sure this
young chap as I spoke of was the only one as ever reg'lar set up in
business there. There was one though as I reckon to be worse than all
the others put together, if he was what I think him to be. It's often laid
heavy on my mind that I didn't have that chap collared before it was too
late, for I might have saved some mischief. It was about ten years
ago--I never was a good hand for dates--that I picked up a stout-built

sailor-sort of fellow, with a reddish moustache, who wanted to be taken
down to the docks. After this chap as I told you of had taken such
liberties with the premises I'd had a little bit of a glass slit let in in front
here--the same that your little boy's flattening his nose against at this
moment--so as I could prevent any such games in the future, and have
an idea, whenever I wished, of what was going on inside. Well,
something or another about this sailor fellow made me suspicious of
him, and I took a look at what he was after. He was sitting on the seat,
sir, with a big lump o' coal in his lap, and was a looking at it most
attentive. Now this seemed to me rather a rum start, so I kept on
watching of him, for as you'll see, my window's not a very large one,
and it's easier to see through it than to be seen. Well, he pulls a spring
or something, and out jumps one of the sides of this bit of coal, and
then I saw it was really a hollow box, painted, you see, and made rough
so as to look like the other. I couldn't make head or tail of it anyhow,
and indeed I'd pretty near forgot all about it when there came news of
the explosion at Bemerhaven, and people began to talk about coal
torpedoes. Then I knew as in all probability I'd carried the man who
managed the business, and I gave word to the police, but they could
make anything of it. You know what a coal torpedo is, don't you? Well,
you see, a cove insures his ship for more than its value, and then off he
goes and makes a box like a bit o'coal, and fills it chock full with
dynamite, or some other cowardly stuff of sort. He drops this box
among the other coals on the quay when the vessel is filling her
bunkers, and then in course of time box is shoveled on to the furnaces,
when of course the whole us blown sky high. They say there's many a
good ship gone to bottom like that."
"You've certainly had some queer experiences," I said.
"Why bless you!" remarked the driver, "I've hardly got fairly started yet,
and here we are at the 'Alexandry.' I could tell you fly another story as
strange as these--and true, mind ye, true as Gospel. If ever your missus
looks in need of a breath of fresh air you send round for me--Copper
Street, number ninety-four--and I'll give her a turn into the country, and
if you'll come up beside me on the box, I'll tell you a