"Why, do you mean to say," said Barnabas, staring at the mild-faced
man, "do you want me to believe that it was the sight of you that
sent them running?"
"Vell, there veren't nobody else to, as I could see, sir," said the
man, with a gentle smile and shake of the head. "Volks ain't partial
to me in these yere parts, and as to them three, they're a bad lot,
they are, but Vistlin' Dick's the vorst--mark my vords, 'e'll come to
be topped yet."
"What do you mean by 'topped'?"
"V'y, I means scragged, sir," answered the man, his roving eye
glancing continually up and down the alley, "I means 'anged, sir,--Lord love you, it's in 'is face--never see a
more promising mug, consequent, I 've got Vistlin' Dick down in my
little book 'ere, along vith a lot of other promising vuns."
"But why in your book?"
"Veil, d' ye see, I keeps a record of all the likely coves, Capital
Coves as you might call 'em--" Here the mild man jerked his head
convulsively to one side, rolled up his eyes, and protruded his
tongue, all in hideous pantomime, and was immediately his placid
self again.
"Ah! you mean--hanged?" said Barnabas.
"As ever vas, sir, capital punishment. And I goes round reg'lar jest
to keep an eye on my capital coves. Lord! I vatches over 'em
all--like a feyther. Theer's some volks as collects books, an' some
volks as collects picters an' old coins, but I collects capital
coves,--names and faces. The faces I keeps 'ere," and he tapped his
placid forehead, "the names I keeps 'ere," and he tapped the little
book. "It's my trade d' ye see, and though there's better trades,
still there's trades as is vorse, an' that's summat, ain't it?"
"And what might your trade be?" inquired Barnabas, as they walked on
together along the narrow alley.
"Veil, sir, I'm vot they calls a bashaw of the pigs--but I'm more
than that."
"Pray," said Barnabas, "what do you mean?" For answer the man smiled,
and half drew from his pocket a short staff surmounted by a crown.
"Ah!" said Barnabas, "a Bow Street Runner?"
"And my name is Shrig, sir, Jasper Shrig. You'll have heard it afore,
o'course."
"No!" said Barnabas. Mr. Shrig seemed placidly surprised, and vented
a gentle sigh.
"It's pretty vell known, in London, sir, though it ain't a pretty
name, I'll allow. Ye-es, I've 'eard prettier, but then it's better
than a good many, and that's sum-mat, ain't it? And then, as I said
afore, it's pretty vell known."
"How so?"
"Vell, sir, there be some as 'as a leanin' to one branch o' the
profession, and some to another,--now mine's murders."
"Murders?" said Barnabas, staring.
"Vith a werry big M., sir. V'y, Lord love you, there's been more
murderers took and topped through me than any o' the other traps in
London, it's a nat'ral gift vith me. Ye see, I collects 'em--afore
the fact, as ye might say. I can smell 'em out, feel 'em out, taste
'em out, it's jest a nat'ral gift."