Guilty by Lance Bilton

Author:Lance Bilton [Bilton, Lance]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Toronto Press
Published: 1973-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XXIV.

SCALEY JOCK VS. L. R. PRATT.

Shortly before eight o’clock, Thursday morning, May 29th, 18—, Mr. L. R. Pratt could be seen making his way down the main street of L——. Still puffing and perspiring, he rounded too in front of the lower entrance to lawyer Cainsford’s office, which he found locked. Then an ominous frown appeared on his round red face.

As he looked about him he noticed a group of men and boys talking mysteriously, and pointing up at Cainsford’s windows.

“Anybody know where the young lawyer feller is?” shouted Mr. Pratt, in his shrill voice.

The crowd turned on him a pitying glance, and one said:

“Hard to tell exactly. We’ve just heerd that he went clean crazy early this morning, stole Jim Sampson’s sorel horse, run into the lightning express, and him and horse is smashed to smithers.”

“Rats!” murmured L. R. Pratt. “Can’t cod this here chicken. No, sir.”

Then he rushed away on his dog trot, and did not slacken speed until he found himself in the midst of another small crowd in front of Greggson’s office.

“Is he here yit?” asked Mr. Pratt, as he pointed towards the office door. Again he received a mysterious stare, and a coarse voice grumbled:

“No— and won’t be for a while, I guess.”

“Why?—Why?—how’s that,” squeaked Mr. Pratt.

“Well, we just heard that Greggson was murdered this A.M, He was found with his face smashed, lyin’ in a pool of blood, and still grippin’ a revolver he’d fired off at the feller what killed him, and they think they know the man. He’s a big giant of a chap, and was seen with Gregg yesterday.”

“Well, I’ll be dog-gond! Has everybody in this blessed town gone clean crazy?” and Mr. Pratt with lowered head and swinging arms, steamed back up the street. As he turned the corner he was brought up standing, for he came full tilt against a round fat man, whose coat flew open, and hat flew off from the violence of the shock.

“By the livin’ jehosaphat,” gasped Pratt.

“O sufferin’ eels,” grunted Jock, (for it was he).

Then as they stood glaring and striving for breath, Mr. Pratt noticed that the man he had run into was short, dark, hairy, and also that he wore no shirt.

“I say, Mr.——— Mr. Tare-the wind, have ye time to tell me where’s the Central Hotel?” inquired Jock. “I’m hungrier than a horney-day.”

“‘Spec’ you—’spec’ you be,” snapped Mr. Pratt, “and so be I. The Central is on up street, but if you’re a goin’ there to feed, I be goin’ somewheres else.”

And again he was underway heading for the Royal Exchange, as he murmured:

“I’ll be durned if I’ll eat grub with a hairy cuss like that, without no shirt. No, by jinks, never.”

He reached the hotel entrance out of breath, as usual, and was about to open the door, when biff! Bang! a huge form burst through it, closely followed by two policemen. Mr. Pratt was sent spinning, clear out into the street, where he sat down flop. When he had sufficient breath, he squeaked: “Jee—hos—a—phat.

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