For Mr. Lyons, as is the case with many gentlemen of his persuasion, did not confine his energies to the exercise of one calling, but dabbled in a great many. To some men he was known as a jeweller and diamond-merchant; to others as an importer of French clocks, whistling bullfinches, and German mustard; to some he was known in connection with the discounting of stamped paper; to others as a picture-dealer, a cigar-merchant, a vendor of objets d'art of a very peculiar kind. He had no residence--that is to say, he had a great many, but none particularly tangible or satisfactory. He would write to you dating from a number in Clement's Inn; and when you called there, you would find the name of Mr. Glubb over the door, with a painted square of tin by the letter-slit announcing that Mr. Glubb had removed to Great Decorum Street, and that letters for him were to be left with the porter; and lower still you would find a dirty scrap of paper, with "M. Lyons" faintly traced upon it; and on the door being opened, you would find M. Lyons in a room with one chair, one table, a blotting-pad, pen and ink, and a cheque-book. He was in the habit of making appointments at coffee-houses and taverns; and when he sent the clocks or the bullfinches, the cigars or the objets d'art, to their purchasers, they arrived at night, being left at the door by mysterious boys, to whom they had been given, with the address and twopence, by a man whom they had never seen before, but who was just round the corner. There was, it was said, one permanent address which Mr. Lyons had kept up for a great number of years; but this was known only to those with whom in their relation with Mr. Lyons a melting-pot was associated, and these were very few in number.
Mr. Griffiths was getting desperate, for the last half-crown out of the ten pounds lay in his pocket, and his principal Mr. Effingham had already spoken to him rather sharply on the matter. He had been to all Mr. Lyons's known haunts; he had spoken to a dozen people who were known to be of his intimates; but he could obtain no tidings of him. Some thought he might be at Amsterdam, where the diamond-sale was going on; others had heard him mention his intention of visiting Frankfort about that period; some laughed, and wondered whether old Malachi had heard of the plate-robbery, "thalvers ath big round ath a cart-veel, and thpoonth, all new, not a bit rubbed!" which had lately taken place. But no one could give any precise information. And time was going on, and Mr. Effingham's patience and Mr. Griffiths's stock of ready-money were rapidly becoming exhausted.
One night, going into "Johnson's" as usual, Mr. Griffiths saw his principal seated at one of the tables, and not caring to confront him just then, was about quietly withdrawing as much of his tall hat as he had already protruded through the swing-door, when he was espied and called to by Mr. Effingham.
"Come in, there; don't think I didn't see you, because I did. What a slimy cove you are, Griffiths!--that's what I complain of; nothing fair and above-board in you."
"Who's to be fair and above-board," growled Mr. Griffiths, "if they're to be everlastingly growled at and badgered? What I come here for is to be quiet and 'ave a little peace, not to be worritted and downed upon. D'rectly I see you sittin' here, I knowed it'd be, 'Well, and wot's up?' and 'Ain't you got no news?' and 'Wot a feller you are, not to 'ave learned somethink!' so, as I didn't seem to care about that, I was goin' away agen."
"Poor feller," said Mr. Effingham with great contempt, "don't like being worried or having to work for your livin', don't you? I wonder you didn't get yourself a government berth, where pokin' the fire and whistlin' tunes is what they do when they're there, which is only the three winter months of the year. So you've brought no news?"
"Not a stiver, not a ha'porth, not a blessed word. There, you may as well take it all at once!" said Griffiths in desperation.
"And you've been everywhere likely?"
"Everywhere,--in every gaff and crib where there was the least chance of hearin' of the old boy; but not a word."
"Now you see what a thing luck is," said Mr. Effingham sententiously; "I believe that old City cove who said he couldn't afford to know an unlucky man was right after all; and I'm not at all sure I'm right, Master Griffiths, in not dropping your acquaintance, for certingly you're an unlucky buffer, if ever there was one."
"Well, p'raps I am, D'Ossay," said Griffiths, who began to see how the land lay; "perhaps I am in some things; but it ain't only luck,--I'm as lucky as most of 'em; but it's the talent as does it--the talent; and there's none of us has got that like you, D'Ossay, my boy."
"Well, luck or talent, or whatever it is," said Effingham, pulling the bell, "it helps me on.--Bring some brandy and hot water here.--I come in here to have a mouthful o' bread and cheese and a glass o' ale about two this afternoon, and Pollock was in here; Jack Pollock they call him,--the fellow that writes the plays, you know."
Mr. Griffiths, over his first gulp of brandy-and-water, nodded his head in acquiescence.
"Things is going on rather bad at the Garden," continued Mr. Effingham; "I don't know whether you've heard. Their pantomime's been a reg'lar failure this year, and Wuff's paper's beginning to fly again. I suppose old Lyons is in that swim, for Pollock says to me, 'Didn't I hear you askin' after Mr. Lyons?' he says. 'I did,' I says. 'I thought so,' he says; 'and I told him so when I saw him just now in Wuff's room at the Garden. And he says, "I've just come back from abroad, and I don't reckleckt Mr. Effingham's name," he says; "but if he's one of the right sort, he'll find me among the lemons on Sunday morning."' So I thanked Pollock, and winked my eye, and nodded my head, and made believe as though I knew all about it; but I don't."
"You don't?"
"Not a bit of it; I'm as far off as ever, save for knowing that the old man's in England."
"You ain't fly to what's meant by 'among the lemons,' eh?"
"Not a bit of it, I tell you. What are you grinning and chuckling away at there, Griffiths? That's one of your disgustin' ways,--crowin' over me because you know something which I don't."
"Don't be riled, D'Ossay; don't be riled, old feller. It's so seldom that I get a chance of findin' anything that you don't know, young though you are, that I make the most of it, I confess."
"Well, there, all right. Now do you know what he meant by 'among the lemons'?"
"Of course I do."
"And what does it mean?"
"'Among the lemons' is magsman's patter for 'Houndsditch.' There's a reg'lar gatherin' of sheenies there every Sunday mornin', where they have a kind of fair, and sellin' all sorts of things,--clothes, and books, and pictures, and so on."
"Well, but old Lyons is a cut above all that sort of thing."
"I should think he was."
"He wouldn't be found there."
"Well, not sellin' anything; but he might be on the lookout for some magsmen as work for him, and who may have had the office to be about there. But if he's not there, I'd know where to lay hands on him, I'd take my oath."
"Where's that?"
"At the Net of Lemons, a public where sheenies of all kinds--diamond-merchants, fences, all sorts--meet on the Sunday."
"Do you know the place?"
"Know it! I should think so, and Mr. Eliason as keeps it; as respectable an old gent as walks."
"They'd let you in?"
"Ah, and you too, if I squared it for you."
"Very well, then; we'll hunt up old Lyons on Sunday morning."
Mr. Effingham was so pleased with his chance of success, that Mr. Griffiths thought he might borrow half-a-sovereign; and what is more, he got it.
On the following Sunday morning Mr. Effingham found himself by appointment opposite Bishopgate Church as the clock struck ten, and Mr. Griffiths there waiting for him. As he approached, Mr. Effingham took stock of his friend's personal appearance, and mentally congratulated himself that it was at the East and not at the West end of London that they were to be seen in company together; for those mysterious means by which Mr. Griffiths went through "the fever called living" had not been very productive of late, and his wardrobe was decidedly seedy. The tall hat shone so as to give one the idea that its owner had forgotten to remove it when he applied the morning macassar to his hair, and the suit of once-black clothes looked as if they had been bees-waxed. Mr. Effingham must have allowed his thoughts to be mirrored in his expressive countenance, for Mr. Griffiths said as he joined him:
"Looking at my togs, D'Ossay? Well, they ain't as nobby as yours; but you see, I don't go in to be a 'eavy swell. They'll do well enough for the caper we're on to-day, though; better perhaps than your gridironed kickseys."
At another time Mr. Effingham might have shown annoyance at thus having his check trousers sneeringly spoken of; but something which Griffiths had said had rather dashed him, and it was with a little hesitation that he asked:
"They--they ain't a very rough lot that we're going amongst, are they?"
"Well, there's more rough nor smooth hair among 'em; but they won't do you no harm; I'll look after you, D'Ossay. Shovin you won't mind, nor elbers in every part of your body at once. Oh, and I say, don't leave any-think in your 'ind-pockets, and put your fogle in your 'at. Like this, look. I carry most things in my 'at."
And Mr. Griffiths whipped off the tall hat, and showed in it a handkerchief, a greasy parcel suspiciously like a ham sandwich, a pocket comb, and a paper book with the title "The Olio of Oddities, or the Warbling Wagoner's Wallet of Wit and Wisdom."
Mr. Effingham took his friend's advice, and transferred all his portable property from the tail-pockets of his coat to other less patent recesses, and the pair started on their excursion.
Crossing Bishopgate, and turning short round to the right up a street called Sandy's Row, past a huge black block of buildings belonging to the East India Company, and used as a store-house for costly silks, round which seethed and bubbled a dirty, pushing, striving, fighting, higgling, chaffering, vociferating, laughing mob, filling up the narrow street, the small strips of pavement on either side, and what ought to have been the carriage-way between them. It was Sunday, and may have been observed "as such" elsewhere, but certainly not in Sandy's Row or Cutler's Row. There were shops of all kinds, and all at work: tool-shops,--files, saws, adzes, knives, chisels, hammers, and tool-baskets displayed in the open windows, whence the sashes had been removed for the better furtherance of trade; hatters', hosiers', tailors', bootmakers' shops, the proprietors of which had left the calm asylum of their counters and stood at the doors, importuning the passers-by with familiar blandishments; for in the carriage-way through which Effingham and Griffiths slowly forced a passage, were peripatetic vendors of hats, hosiery, clothes, and boots,--hook-nosed oleaginous gentry with ten pairs of trousers over one arm, and five coats over the other, with enormous boots, a few hats, and a number of cloth caps. Mr. Effingham soon learned the value of his friend's advice, for there were thieves of all kinds in the motley crowd; big burly roughs, with sunken eyes and massive jaws, sulkily elbowing their way through the mass, and "gonophs" or pickpockets of fourteen or fifteen, with their collarless tightly-tied neckerchief, their greasy caps, and "aggerawater" curls. Delicate attention was paid to Mr. Effingham before he had been five minutes amongst them. The hind-pockets of his coat were turned inside out, and he was "sounded" all over by a pair of lightly-touching hands. Whether Mr. Griffiths was known, or whether his personal appearance was unattractive and promised no hope of adequate reward, is uncertain; but no attempt was made on him.
While Mr. Effingham was vaguely gaping about him, staring at everything and thoroughly impressed with the novelty of his situation, Griffiths had been taking stock of the crowd, and keeping a strict lookout for Mr. Lyons. Jews were there in shoals, and of all kinds: the grand old Jewish type, dignified and bearded, than which, when good, there is nothing better; handsome sensual-looking men, with bright eyes, and hook-noses, and scarlet lips; red frizzy-headed Jews, with red eyelids, and shambling gait, and nasal intonation; big flat-headed, stupid-looking men, with thick lips, and tongues too large for their mouths, and visibly protruding therefrom;--all kinds of Jews, but Mr. Lyons not among them.
So they pushed on, uncaring for the chaff of the mob, which was very facetious on the subject of Mr. Effingham's attire, saluting him as a "collared bloke," in delicate compliment to his wearing a clean shirt; asking whether he was a "Rooshan;" whether he were not "Prince Halbut's brother," and other delicate compliments,--pushed on until they arrived at the Clothes-Exchange, a roofed building filled round every side and in the centre with old-clothes stalls. Here, piled up in wondrous confusion, lay hats, coats, boots, hob-nailed shoes, satin ball-shoes, driving-coats, satin dresses, hoops, brocaded gowns, flannel jackets, fans, shirts, stockings with clocks, stockings with torn and darned feet, feathers, parasols, black-silk mantles, blue-kid boots, belcher neckerchiefs, and lace ruffles. More Jews here; salesmen shrieking out laudations of their wares, and frantically imploring passers-by to come in and be fitted: "Here'th a coat! plue Vitney; trai this plue Vitney, ma tear." "Here'th a vethkit for you, thir!" shouted one man to Effingham; "thuch a vethkit! a thplendid vethkit, covered all over with blue-and-thilver thpright." Mr. Effingham cast a longing eye at this gorgeous garment, but passed on.
No Lyons here, either among sharp-eyed vendors or leering buyers. Mr. Griffiths was getting nonplussed, and Mr. Effingham growing anxious. "We must find him, Griffiths," he said; "we must not throw away this chance that he's given us; he may be off to the Continent, Lord knows where, to-morrow. Why the devil don't you find him?"
Mr. Griffiths intimated that so far as eye-straining could be gone through, he had done his best; and suggested that if the man they sought were not there, all the energy in the world would not discover him. "But there's the Net of Lemons yet," he said; "that's, after all, the safest draw, and we're more likely to hit upon him there than anywhere else."
So they pushed their way through the steaming, seething, struggling crowd, and found themselves in a quiet dull little square. Across this, and merely glancing at several groups of men dotted here and there in its midst, loudly talking and gesticulating with energy which smacked more of the Hamburg B?rsenhalle or the Frankfort Zeil than the stolid reticence of England, Mr. Griffiths led his companion until they stopped before the closed door of a public house, aloft from which swung the sign of "The Net of Lemons." At the door Mr. Griffiths gave three mystic raps, at the third of which the door opened for about a couple of inches, and a thick voice said, "Who is it?"
"All right, Mr. Eliason. Griffiths, whom you know. Take a squint, and judge for yourself."
Mr. Eliason probably followed this advice, and finding the inspection satisfactory, opened the door to its extent, and admitted the pair; but raising his bushy brows in doubt as to Mr. Effingham, Griffiths said, "A friend of mine--come on partickler business, and by appointment with Mr. Lyons. Is he here?"
The reference was apparently satisfactory, for Mr. Eliason, a fat good-looking big man in a soft wideawake hat, said, "You'll find him inside;" and shut the door behind them.
Mr. Effingham walking through, and following his conductor, found himself in a low-roofed, square-built, comfortable room, round three sides of which were ranged tables, and on these tables were placed large open trays of jewelry. There they lay in clusters, thick gold chains curled round and round like snares; long limp silver chains such as are worn by respectable mechanics over black-satin waistcoats on Sundays; great carbuncle pins glowing out of green-velvet cases; diamond rings and pins and brooches and necklaces. The best emeralds in quaint old-fashioned gold settings nestled by the side of lovely pale opals; big finger-rings made up after the antique with cut cornelian centrepieces; long old-fashioned earrings; little heaps of rubies, emeralds, and turquoises set aside in the corners of the trays; big gold and silver cups and goblets and trays and tazzas; here and there a clumsy old epergne; finger-rings by the bushel, pins by the gross; watches of all kinds, from delicate gold Genevas to the thick turnipy silver "ticker" of the schoolboy; and shoals of watchworks without cases. On this Tom Tidler's ground were crowds of customers, smoking strong cigars, walking about without let or hindrance, and examining--ay, and handling--the jewels without creating the least consternation in the breasts of their vendors.
There was a slight movement among the company at the entrance of the new-comers; but Griffiths seemed to be known to a few, with whom he exchanged salutations, and the appearance of Mr. Eliason with them settled any wandering doubts which might have arisen in the minds of the others. As for Mr. Effingham, he began to think he was in the cave into which Aladdin descended to get the lamp at the bidding of the magician; and he went moving round, gazing first on one side, then on the other, lost in wonder. But Mr. Griffiths, to whom the scene was tolerably familiar, went at once to business, scrutinizing with keen glance the buyers and sellers, poking his nose into the groups of domino-players in the corners, hunting about with admirable patience and forbearance, but for a long time with no result.
At last he stopped before a group of three. One of these was an old Jewish gentleman, with strongly-marked features, overhanging bushy eyebrows, hooked nose, and long white beard. He held in his hand a blue paper, such as generally contains seidlitz-powders, but its contents were diamonds. These were being carefully inspected by the other two men, each of whom had a bright steel pair of pincers, with which he selected a specimen from the glittering heap, breathed upon it, watched it carefully, and in most instances finally laid it on one side for purchase. When this transaction had been gone through and was at an end, the old gentleman folded up his paper with such diamonds as remained in it, placed it in his waistcoat-pocket, and was calmly walking away, when Griffiths touched him on the arm, saying interrogatively, "Mr. Lyons?"
The old man turned in an instant, and threw a sharp look of inquiry over his interlocutor, as he said: "Yes, ma tear sir, that's mai name; not ashamed to own it any veres. Vot might you vant with me?" As he spoke he had covered his waistcoat-pocket with his hand, and stood prim and spry.
"This gentleman--Mr. Effingham--has been looking for you some little time. You told a friend of his--Mr. Pollock--that you would be here to-day, and we've come on purpose to meet you."
"Effingham! Pollock!" said the old man, musing. "O yes, Pollock, who writes those funny burlesques for my friend Wuff; O yes--Effingham," he said. "How do you do, ma tear? Now vot is it? A leetle advance, or something you've got that you don't know how to get rid of, and think I might fancy it, eh?"
"Well, it ain't either, Mr. Lyons," said Effingham. "Its a little information you're in possession of that you might be inclined to give us, and--"
"You're not traps?" asked Mr. Lyons, turning pale.
"Not a bit of it, Mr. Lyons," said Griffiths, striking into the conversation. "Quite different from that. You and I have done business before. I was with--" and here he whispered into Lyons's ear.
"Ah, I reckleckt," said the old gentleman. "That vos a very good plant, and bothers them all in Scotland Yard to this day. Ha, ha! I reckleckt. Now vot did your friend say? Information? Veil, you know, I never give information."
"No, no, of course not," said Griffiths, winking at Effingham.
"O no, sir," said that worthy. "I'm prepared to pay, of course, anything reasonable for what I require."
"Vell, vell, ma tear, let's know vot it is."
"You were great pals with my brother, I believe?"
"No. Effingham? No;--never heard the name."
"No, no; not Effingham. That's merely--you understand?"
"O ah! O yes! I qvite understand; but vot is the name?"
"Butler! You knew Tony Butler well?"
"Knew him vell; I should rather think I did. A good fellow; a clever fellow; oh, a very clever fellow, ma tear."
"Yes; well, I'm his brother."
"Not like him," said Mr. Lyons. "More dressy, and not so business-like. A rare fellow for business, Tony."
"That may or may not be," said Effingham, slightly offended. "Now, when he died, you cleared off his traps."
"Only a few sticks; very poor sticks. Ah, ma tear, vot I lost by that transaction! Vy, there vosn't enough to clear me in a sixth part of vot I'd advanced to Tony."
"Well, I'm not here to enter into that--that was your lookout. But amongst what you took away there was a desk."
"Vos there? 'Pon my soul I can't reckleckt; not that I'm goin' to gainsay you. Vos there a desk, now?"
"And in it," continued Effingham, not seeming to heed him, "there was an over-due bill for twenty-five pounds accepted by Walter Burgess."
"Lord now! Vos there indeed?"
"Look here, Mr. Lyons. If you don't know anything, all right. We won't waste our time or our money, but we'll go to those who can help us."
"Vot a headstrong boy it is! Who said I couldn't help you? Go on now,--a bill accepted by Walter Burgess?"
"Exactly. Now that bill's no use to any one, and we want you to give it to us."
"Ha, ha! clever boys, clever boys! Vot large-hearted fellows too, to want to buy a bill that ain't of any use to any vun! O, vot generous boys!"
"It's no use, Griffiths," said Effingham angrily; "he either don't know or won't say anything about it."
"Steady," said Griffiths. "Come, Mr. Lyons, say you've got the stiff, and name your price."
"Accepted by Walter Burgess, eh?" said the old gentleman; "yes, I reckleckt that bill; O yes, I reckleckt him."
"Well now, bring your recklecktion into something practical, and I'll give you this for that bill," said Mr. Effingham, producing a five-pound note.
The old Jew's eyes glistened at the sight of the money; and then his face fell, and he looked horribly disappointed.
"You should have it for that," said he; "you should have it for that, and velcome; only there's vun little reason vy I can't make it over to you."
"What's that?" cried Effingham.
"Vell, it's a strong reason, as you'll allow ven I tell it to you. I can't let you have the bill, because--because I haven't got it myself."
Mr. Effingham swore a sharp oath, and even Mr. Griffiths looked disconcerted.
"Come along," said the former,--"we've wasted time enough with the pottering old fool, who's only selling us, and--"
"Vait a minute," said Mr. Lyons, laying his hand on the other's arm,--"vait a minute, ma tear. Though I haven't got the leetle bill myself, perhaps I know who has."
"That's likely enough," said Griffiths, "well, who has?"
"Ah, that's tellings, ma tear. I shall vant--just a leetle something to say."
"I'll give this," said Effingham, producing a sovereign.
"Vell, it ain't enough; but you're such headstrong fellows. There!" said Mr. Lyons, slipping it into his pocket; "now do either of you know a gal who was under Tony Butler's thumb at vun time, but who hated him mortal, and vos very sveet on vun of Tony's friends?"
"I do!" cried Griffiths; "Lizzie Ponsford."
"That's the same; a fine gal too, a reg'lar fine gal. Vell, I'd no sooner got Tony's traps over at my place than that gal comes to me, and she says, 'You've got a desk that b'longed to Tony Butler,' she says. And ven I says 'yes,' she offered me a pound for it. It vosn't vuth five shillings; so I knew there vos something in it she vanted, though I'd hunted it through and found nothin' but old diaries and memorandums and such-like. 'I von't sell it,' I says. 'May I look at it?' she says. 'You may,' I says; and vith that I fetched it down; and ven she see it, she touched a spring, and out flew a secret drawer vith this bill in it. 'Hands off,' I says, for she vos going to clutch it at vunce. 'Let me have it,' she says; 'I'll pay for it.' So I looked at it, and saw it had been overdue eighteen months, and reckleckted hearin' it was all wrong; so I says, 'Vot'll you give?' 'A sovereign,' she says. 'Make it two, and it's yours,' I says. So, after a little, she give me two skivs, and she took the bill and valked away vith it."
Mr. Effingham looked at Griffiths, and the latter returned the glance.
"It would be almost worth another crown to know if these are lies you are telling us, old gentleman," said the former; "but it sounds something like truth. Now one question more. Where is Lizzie Ponsford?"
"Ah, that beats me. A reg'lar clever gal; nice-looking and reg'lar clever. I'd have given something to find out myself; but it vos all of no use. She vent avay from all the old haunts, and hasn't been heard of for a long time. I've all sorts of people about, and they'd tell me, bless you, if she'd ever show'd up. But she's gone, and no vun can find her."
"Very good," said Effingham; "now you take this commission from me. If you hear of her within the next month, and can let me know where she is, find out Griffiths at Johnson's, and it'll be a fiver in your pocket. You understand?"
Mr. Lyons made no verbal reply, but struck his forefinger against his nose and looked preternaturally sagacious.
"All right! now goodbye;" they shook hands and parted.
When they got into the street again Mr. Effingham said, "So Lizzie Ponsford has the bill. What the deuce made her want it? unless some day to revenge herself on Mitford. But she's not likely to have heard of his having turned up such trumps. Now, Mr. Griffiths, our pursuit begins again. Lizzie Ponsford has that bill. Your business and mine is to find out Lizzie Ponsford, and by some means or other--no matter what--get that bill from her."