# Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist/Chapter 16

CHAPTER XVI.
TOB AND HIS WOBAD.
About two hours after the delivery of that remarkable sentence with which the preceding chapter concludes, Policeman D 99, an extremely intelligent and raw-boned person, whose acuteness in looking after cooks with money sufficient to take a public-house, surpassed that of any other member of the force—saw something—he could not at first see distinctly what it was, it being some distance from him, but he knew that he saw something—running along the parapet of the houses on his right.
Of course the trump of duty called him instantly to the spot, and having obeyed the call, he stationed himself opposite, from which point he clearly beheld the figure of a man, with nothing apparently on him but his shirt.
​Conceiving that robbery was contemplated, and knowing that promotion sprang not from prevention but cure, he was silent, and moved cautiously into the shade of a doorway to watch the proceedings above.
He had not, however, been long in this position when his serjeant approached.
"Hist!" said Ninety-nine, as the serjeant was passing.
"Who are you?"
"Ninety-nine."
"What are you up to?"
"Here!"
The serjeant joined him in the shade.
"Do you see that fellow there?" continued Ninety-nine.
"Good God!" exclaimed the serjeant. "Is it possible! Why, the slightest slip—a single moment's dizziness—would bring him to the ground, and dash his brains out."
"A robbery, safe," said Ninety-nine.
"A robbery: nonsense," returned the serjeant, who panted with apprehension. "He'll fall!—he'll fall presently—certain to fall!"
"Not a bit of it," coolly observed Ninety-nine. "He's as safe as the bank. He's been running about in that way for a long time."
"I never saw a man in so perilous a position. What can he be up to?"
"He appears to me to be moving goods from one house to another."
"But I can see nothing in his hands."
"Nor can I," said Ninety-nine; "but he keeps on running backwards and forwards, stooping here and stooping there, as if he had. But there's more than him in it. He beckoned just now to his pals."
"Did you see them?"
"No, I couldn't see 'em. They keep in the background, but I know they're somewhere there."
"There he goes again!" cried the serjeant. "My life! what a devil. He's surely not after the cats?"
"Cat's!" said Ninety-nine. "What man on the top of a house can catch cats?"
"He may snare them!"
"Snare 'em, he may. But I see no cats! he's after no cats.
"Did you see where he came from?"
"Not exactly; but I think, from one of those houses down there."
"Here he comes," said the serjeant; "now watch him. He appears to have done his work. See how cool he is!—see how deliberately—how firmly he walks.—Now! He has stopped! Do you see him looking in at that window? It's opened for him. He enters. He's in. Now my boy, if plunder be your object, you're booked."
"That's safe to be his object," said Ninety-nine.
"I don't know," said the serjeant. "I think he's after one of the ​ The entrée of the Police.
​maids. At all events, you go off at once for another man. You'll find one at the corner. I'll remain here."
Ninety-nine started off, and soon returned with Ninety-six.
"Now, then," said the serjeant to Ninety-six, "you stand here; and keep your eyes upon that window."
"What, that?"
"No, that."
"What, that there one?"
"Yes. And if any one should come out of it, watch where he goes."
"All right," said Ninety-six.
"Now, then," said the serjeant, addressing Ninety-nine, "we'll go over." And marking the house to which the window belonged, they went to the door of Dr. Delolme.
When the serjeant had rang the bell two or three times gently—conceiving it to be inexpedient to make too much noise—the doctor appeared at one of the windows, and called out "Who's there?"
"Policemen," replied Ninety-nine. "There are theives in the house, sir."
"How do you know?"
"We saw one of them just now steal in at the top window."
" Bless my life!" said the doctor. "I'll be down in one moment." And having hastily slipped on his trowsers, he took a brace of loaded pistols from a case which he constantly kept in his room, and descended with one in each hand.
"What had better be done?" said he, on opening the door.
"We had better go up and secure them," replied the serjeant, as he opened his bull's-eye lantern. "I've stationed a man outside to keep a sharp look out above. Perhaps I may as well have one of those?" he added, pointing to the pistols.
The doctor gave him one on the instant, and when the door had been locked and the key taken out, they proceeded up stairs—Ninety-nine going first.
As they proceeded, they took the precaution to lock every door which was not locked inside, until they arrived at the door of Tom's study; when the doctor said, "Now, this is the room at the window of which you saw him enter; therefore prepare."
The serjeant cocked his pistol, and Ninety-nine opened the door, but he no sooner brought his brilliant bull's-eye to bear upon the skeletons, than uttering an exclamation of horror, he shrunk back appalled. The serjeant rushed forward in the twinkling of an eye, and perceiving indistinctly two figures on his right, shot one of them, as he imagined, through the heart, and produced on the instant a most tremendous rattling of bones, for the skeleton of Tom's female fell all to pieces.
"No, no!" cried the doctor, rushing in. "Don't touch them! they're merely skeletons!—Bless my life," he added, on perceiving the male in a pugilistic attitude, "what's the meaning of all this?"
​"Hollo!" shouted Tom, who had been aroused from his slumber by the rattling of the bones; "What are you up to?—Who's there?"
"Come up, Tom, come up!" cried the doctor; and Tom, without stopping to put on a thing, rushed up stairs.
"What's the batter—what's the batter—what the devil's the batter?"
Ninety-nine trembled, and the serjeant looked pale, as the doctor replied, "There are thieves in the house."
"Thieves!" cried Tom. "Well, but I say, what's all this?—where's by wobad?"
"I shot it by mistake," said the serjeant.
"Shot it by bistake, you fool! What do you bead by shootidg it by bistake? you've dud a huddred poudds worth of dabage."
"I can't help it," said the serjeant; "you should keep such things as these covered over."
"Well, they were covered over. What did you pull the bags off for?—what the devil right had you to beddle with 'eb at all?"
"I didn't meddle with them!—I pulled no bags off."
"Who did, thed? Sobebody bust have pulled theb off."
"They were not covered up," said Ninety-nine, "when I entered. That there one stood as it stands now, and that t'other one was pointing at me—so."
"No, no, Tom," said the doctor, "they were not covered up."
"I tell you, I covered theb up byself, just before I wedt to bed!—I'll take by oath of it."
"Then those fellows must have uncovered them," said the serjeant.
"Where are they?" cried Tom. "If I catch 'eb, I'll break their blessed decks!—where are they?"
They looked round the room, but no soul could be seen. The serjeant went to the window and called to Ninety-six, but Ninety-six had seen no one get out.
"Then," said the serjeant, "that one at least must be in the house still."
They now commenced a diligent search, with the view of going from the top of the house to the bottom, prying into every conceivable corner, and holding themselves in readiness for an attack.
"Archibald! Archibald! What is the matter?" cried Mrs. Delolme, as they passed her room.
"Nothing, dear—nothing—don't be alarmed," said the doctor, on opening the door.
"But why are these men here?—pray tell me," she exclaimed, coming forward in a wrapper—"pray tell me what it is."
They fancied they saw some one enter the house."
"Good gracious! what, this house?—And were they mistaken?"
A thought struck Ninety-nine!
"Have you, ma'am," said he, "any maid which is any way unsteady?"
Mrs. Delolme was shocked at the thought.
​"Because, ma'am," continued Ninety-nine," the man which entered the window above hasn't been seen to get out again, ma'am."
"Give me a candle," said Mrs. Delolme. "Archibald, you come with me." And, going direct to her servants' rooms, demanded immediate admittance, and obtained it; but found nothing to confirm the suspicion of Ninety-nine.
"You are mistaken in your conjecture," she observed, on her return, and Ninety-nine said it was merely a thought. "Thank heaven!" she added, "my servants, I believe, are all strictly virtuous."
"Well, I know he's somewhere about," said Ninety-nine; and when Ninety-nine had given expression to this conviction, they continued the search. They went into the drawing-rooms, but found no one there: they went into the parlours: the result was the same.
"Strange," observed the doctor, "very strange."
"If he be in the house," said the serjeant, "we'll find him."
"Are you perfectly certain," said Mrs. Delolme—are you sure—quite sure—that you saw a man enter this house?"
"Oh, quite, ma'am—quite," returned the serjeant. "We saw him cutting his capers on the parapet, for more than twenty minutes before we rang the bell."
"On the parapet! heaven preserve us!"
"How he did it I can't imagine. I know it made me tremble even to look at him. I expected every moment to see him fall and dash his brains out."
Another thought struck Ninety-nine!
"I don't think," said he, suddenly, making a dead stand as they were about to proceed to the kitchen—"I don't think we need go on with this here search. It strikes me," he continued, placing his hands upon his hips, and assuming an air of infinite importance—"I say, it strikes me, and that very forcibly too, that the person, the man, the individual, which was playing off his pranks upon that there parapet, and which we saw afterwards bolt into that there top window, aint very far off."
"What do you mean?" demanded the serjeant.
"Why, I mean as this," promptly replied Ninety-nine, cocking his head on one side, and looking at Tom with unexampled acuteness—"I mean to say that the man which we saw up there, now stands very near me. He had nothing but his shirt on!—very well, then!—Is there no one in this room with nothing but his shirt on?"
"Why, you igdoradt raw-bode wretch!" exclaimed Tom, with indignation, "if you bead to say that I ab the bad—"
"Tom! dear Tom!"—exclaimed Mrs. Delolme,—"pray, pray do not go on so: for my sake, dear Tom; for the sake of your own soul."
"I can pretty nigh swear to the shirt," said Ninety-nine to the doctor.
"Swear to the shirt!" cried Tom. "You adibal!—you doe-dothidg idcobprehedsible dodkey!"
"Don't be impetuous, Tom," said the doctor.
"Ibpetuous! Isd't edough to bake ady bad ibpetuous to hear such ​ad ugly abortiod as that, with a head like a lubp of dothidg stuck upod dowhere, talk of swearidg to a shirt which he saw od a bad about half a bile off id the dark?"
"Half a mile," said Ninety-nine. "It was not a hundred yards."
"I dod't care if it were dot a huddred feet," returned Tom. "It wod't bake you a whit the less a fool."
"Don't call me a fool, if you please," said Ninety-nine, who didn't like it. "If I've done anything wrong, here's my number—Ninety-nine."
"Didety-dide!" cried Tom. "You ought to have didety-dide every bordidg before breakfast, to give you ad appetite for swearidg to a shirt."
"That is not the shirt which we saw," said the serjeant, addressing Ninety-nine, confidentially. "The one which we saw was much shorter than that. You see that comes down below the calves."
"He might have pulled it up, mightn't he, while he was running?"
"So he might," replied the serjeant. "He certainly might have done that."
"Besides," said Tom, who, during this colloquy, saw that neither his mother nor his father was satisfied, "is it codceivable that I could ever be so sedseless ad ass as to risk by deck upod that parapet! Why the copidg isd't bore thad a foot wide. He was ruddidg—ruddidg backwards add forwards, didd't you say?"
"Yes," replied the serjeant.
"I dod't believe a word of it. Doe bad could do it!—there's dot a bad lividg that would eved attebpt it! Look at the width of the stode and the height of the house! I'll bet a thousadd guideas, do bad cad be foudd to rud as you say you saw that bad rud alodg there. Take all St. Giles's—take all Wappidg—bridg all the sailors add bricklayers' labourers you like—take all the world—add you'll dot fidd a bad so lost—so utterly lost—to every sedse of dadger to do it."
"Certainly," said the serjeant, "I never could have believed it possible, if I had not myself seen it."
"You dever did see it," cried Tom. "Doe bad ever saw it. I see it dow clearly edough. I see the object which idduced you to say that you saw it."
"To what object do you allude," inquired the serjeant.
"Buddy," replied Tom; "Buddy! You thought as a batter of course that the goverdor would stadd sobethidg haddsome."
"I despise the insinuation," retorted the serjeant. "I say again, and am prepared to take my oath, that I saw a man running upon the coping of that parapet and enter the window above."
"Add do you bead to say, like your friedd Didety-dide there—the adibal!—that I was that bad."
"That," replied the serjeant, "I must leave."
"And don't call me an animal again," said Ninety-nine. "I'll not be called an animal by you or any other man."
​"What will you be called thed?—a vegetable? I tell you agaid that you are ad adibal, add ad out-ad-out ugly adibal to."
"Recrimination," said the doctor, "will never solve this mystery. I have not the slightest doubt," he continued, addressing the serjeant, "that that which you have stated is substantially correct, and that if the man entered the window above he is in the house now. The only question therefore is, 'Where is that man?' We have searched the house down to this parlour in vain; but I shall not—I cannot—feel satisfied, until we have completed the search."
"Then let us proceed," said the serjeant, "at once."
"It's no use," said Ninety-nine. "We shall find nothing."
"How is it possible for you to know that?" said the doctor.
"Kdow it," said Tom, "why he'd swear it. A fellow who'd swear to the shape of a shirt, would swear ady thidg."
"Let us have no more recrimination," said the doctor. "We have had enough of that."
It is certain that as they proceeded to the kitchen, Tom did not expect that any man would be found, for he utterly disbelieved the tale of the policemen, conceiving it to be impossible for any man to run on that coping in the manner described—but at the same time equally certain is it that he hoped that some man might be found, inasmuch as—independently of the pleasure it would have given him to thrash the prime cause of his skeleton's fall—he perceived that both his father and his mother had inspired the conviction expressed by Ninety-nine.
"Well," said the doctor, when the kitchens had been searched, "it is perfectly clear that no stranger is in the house. I shall, therefore, return to my chamber with the full assurance of security. I thank you for your vigilance," he added, on reaching the hall, "but should it ever occur again, you will oblige me by ringing the bell at once, that we may go up and see what madman it is."
"We certainly will do so," said the serjeant. "I should have come over before, in this instance, but of course I knew not which house to come to, until I saw the maniac—for a maniac he must be to place himself in a position of so much peril—enter the window."
"We shall catch you yet," said Ninety-nine, addressing Tom, who—enraged at the fact of being accused of that of which of course he knew that he was innocent, and galled more especially by the knowledge of Ninety-nine having induced his father and mother to believe that in reality he was that "maniac"—rushed at him on the instant, and struck him to the ground.
Ninety-nine drew his truncheon, but Tom, who could have crushed him, wrenched it in an instant from his hand, when the doctor rushed between them, and angrily cried "Tom! are you my son, or a madman broke loose?"
"Your son!" replied Tom, pronouncing the n well, "and I should be udworthy of being your son, if I allowed byself to be idsulted with ibpudity by a wretch like that!"
"Here, give me this thing—give me this thing," said the doctor, ​evidently not at all displeased with Tom's reply; and having possessed himself of the truncheon, gave it to the serjeant, and begged of him to take Ninety-nine out of the house. "Call upon me to-morrow, and I'll speak to you," he added; and on opening the door, Ninety-nine vanished without venturing to say another word.
"Good morning," said the serjeant, as he withdrew. "Good morning."
"Now," said the doctor, having locked the door, and felt it to be his duty to assume an expression of anger—"Now, sir, having created the whole of this disturbance, perhaps you will deem it expedient to go to bed."
"Dot udtil I'b satisfied," replied Tom, fiercely. "Father, I dever to my kdowledge disobeyed you: to by kdowledge I dever told you a deliberate falsehood: willidg as you are to believe ady bad—eved that codtebptible adibal—in preferedce to be, I would dot id ady baterial poidt deceive you."
"I am not, sir, willing to believe any man in preference to you."
"Well, thed, let be tell you this—it is for you to believe or disbelieve be: over your faith, I have, of course, do codtroul; but, father, I declare to you, upod by hodour, I kdow dothidg of this."
"Do you," said the doctor, "declare this upon your honour?—do you declare, upon your honour, that it was not you whom they saw upon the parapet?"
"I do," replied Tom.
"Tom," said the doctor, taking his hand, "I am satisfied, perfectly satisfied, Tom—good night."
The doctor now believed him, but Mrs. Delolme did not. Religious enthusiasm breeds no charity, being in its essence intolerant.
"Well," said Tom privately, on getting into bed again—"this is what I call a go! It's a cobfort to be fortudate; but it's a blessidg to be a victib; add that I have beed victibized id this affair, doe bad id Edgladd, save Didety-dide, cad doubt. That Didety-dide! Well! He's a poor fool. But look at the bischief he has caused. Here ab I, after havidg by wobad destroyed, or so shattered that it will take half a cedtury to put her together agaid—accused of goidg out at dight, add cuttidg by capers upod that appallidg parapet, whed I kdow that I'b as iddocedt as a kid id ebbryo."
Tom did think this hard—very hard; and, while deeply reflecting upon the hardship, dropped off again to sleep.
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