"Who is there?" Brittles asked, opening the door just a few inches with the safety chain still on. He shielded the candle with his hand and peered out into the darkness.
"Open the door," a man’s voice replied from outside. "It’s the officers from Bow Street, who were sent for today."
Greatly comforted by this news, Brittles opened the door wide and found himself facing a heavyset man in a thick overcoat. The man walked in without saying another word and wiped his shoes on the mat as calmly as if he lived there.
"Send someone out to help my partner, will you, young man?" the officer said. "He’s in the carriage, minding the horse. Do you have a coach house where we could put the carriage for ten minutes?"
When Brittles replied that they did and pointed toward the building, the man stepped back to the garden gate to help his companion. Brittles lit the way, watching them with great admiration. Once they had finished, they returned to the house and were shown into a parlour. They took off their hats and coats, revealing their true appearances.
The man who had knocked was stout and of middle height, roughly fifty years old. He had shiny black hair, closely cropped, along with short whiskers, a round face, and sharp, observant eyes. His companion was a red-haired, bony man wearing tall boots; he had a rather unpleasant face and a sinister-looking, upturned nose.
"Tell your master that Blathers and Duff have arrived," said the stouter man, smoothing his hair and placing a pair of handcuffs on the table. "Oh, good evening, sir. Could I have a word with you in private?"
He was speaking to Mr. Losberne, who had just entered the room. The doctor gestured for Brittles to leave, brought in the two ladies, and shut the door.
"This is the lady of the house," Mr. Losberne said, indicating Mrs. Maylie.
Mr. Blathers bowed. Being invited to sit, he placed his hat on the floor and took a chair, gesturing for Duff to do the same. Duff, who seemed less accustomed to polite society and felt somewhat out of place, sat down awkwardly after several nervous movements of his limbs.
"Now, regarding this robbery, sir," Blathers began. "What exactly happened?"
Mr. Losberne, who seemed eager to delay the investigation, described the events at great length, using many unnecessary words. Meanwhile, Blathers and Duff looked very knowledgeable, occasionally nodding to each other.
"I can't say for certain until I see the work itself, of course," Blathers remarked. "But my immediate opinion—and I don't mind saying so—is that this wasn't done by an amateur. What do you think, Duff?"
"Certainly not," Duff agreed.
"In other words," Mr. Losberne said with a slight smile, "you mean to say that this attempt was not made by someone from the local countryside?"
"That’s it exactly, sir," Blathers replied. "Is that everything about the robbery?"
"Everything," the doctor replied.
"Now, what’s this I hear about a boy that the servants are talking about?" Blathers asked.
"Nothing at all," the doctor answered quickly. "One of the terrified servants imagined that a boy had something to do with the break-in, but it’s nonsense—completely absurd."
"If that's the case, it will be very easy to dismiss," Duff remarked.
"Exactly," Blathers added, nodding and playing carelessly with the handcuffs as if they were a musical instrument. "Who is the boy? What is his story? Where did he come from? He didn’t just fall from the sky, did he?"
"Of course not," the doctor replied, glancing nervously at the ladies. "I know his whole history, but we can discuss that later. I assume you would like to see where the thieves tried to enter first?"
"Certainly," Mr. Blathers said. "It is better to inspect the premises first and examine the servants afterward. That is the standard way of doing business."
Lights were brought, and Blathers and Duff—followed by the local constable, Brittles, Giles, and everyone else—went to the small room at the end of the passage. They looked out of the window, then went onto the lawn to look back in. They used candles to inspect the shutters, lanterns to search for footprints, and even a pitchfork to poke the bushes. When this was finished, to the intense interest of everyone watching, they went back inside.
Giles and Brittles were then made to perform a dramatic re-enactment of their actions the previous night. They did this about six times, contradicting each other only once at first, but by the last time, their stories differed in a dozen ways. After this, Blathers and Duff cleared the room to hold a private meeting.
Meanwhile, the doctor paced the next room in an uneasy state, while Mrs. Maylie and Rose watched him with anxious faces.
"Upon my word," he said, stopping after several rapid turns across the floor, "I hardly know what to do."
"Surely," Rose said, "if you repeat the poor child’s story truthfully to these men, it will be enough to clear his name."
"I doubt it, my dear," the doctor said, shaking his head. "I don't think it would satisfy them or any higher legal officials. What is he, after all? A runaway. If judged by worldly standards, his story sounds very suspicious."
"But you believe it, don't you?" Rose interrupted.
"I believe it, as strange as it is," the doctor replied. "Perhaps I am an old fool for doing so, but it is not exactly the kind of tale a practical police officer would accept."
"Why not?" Rose demanded.
"Because, my dear," the doctor explained, "from their perspective, there are many problematic points. He can only prove the parts of his story that look bad, and none of the parts that look good. These men want proof and reasons; they take nothing for granted. By his own admission, he has been the companion of thieves. He has been taken to a police station for pickpocketing. He was forcibly taken from a gentleman's house to a place he cannot identify. He is brought here by men who forced him to participate in a robbery. And then, just as he was about to warn the household—the one thing that would prove his innocence—a blundering butler rushes out and shoots him! It looks as if it were done on purpose to prevent him from helping himself. Can’t you see how that looks?"
"I see it, of course," Rose replied, smiling at the doctor’s energy. "But I still don't see anything that proves the poor child is a criminal."
"Naturally you don't!" the doctor cried. "Women never see more than one side of a question—the side that first appeals to their hearts."
Having shared this observation, the doctor put his hands in his pockets and paced even faster than before.
"The more I think about it," he said, "the more I realize that telling these men the boy’s real story will cause endless trouble. I am certain they won’t believe it. Even if they can’t punish him in the end, the publicity and the doubts cast upon his character would ruin our plan to rescue him from misery."
"Oh, what should we do?" Rose cried. "Why were these people ever sent for?"
"Why, indeed!" Mrs. Maylie added. "I wouldn't have had them here for anything."
"All I know," Mr. Losberne said finally, sitting down with desperate calmness, "is that we must try to act with confidence. Our goal is a good one, and that must be our excuse. The boy is feverish and in no condition to be questioned; that is one comfort. We must make the best of it. Come in!"
"Well, sir," Blathers said as he entered the room with Duff. He locked the door before continuing. "This wasn't a 'put-up' job."
"And what on earth is a 'put-up' job?" the doctor asked impatiently.
"We call it a 'put-up' robbery, ladies," Blathers explained, looking with pity at their ignorance, "when the servants are involved."
"Nobody suspected them in this case," Mrs. Maylie said.
"Very likely not, ma'am," Blathers replied. "But they might have been involved regardless."
"We believe it was a professional from the city," Blathers continued, "because the quality of the work is excellent."
"Very neat indeed," Duff whispered.
"There were two of them," Blathers added, "and they had a boy with them; that's clear from the size of the window. That’s all we can say for now. We would like to see the lad you have upstairs immediately."
"Perhaps they would like something to drink first, Mrs. Maylie?" the doctor suggested, his face brightening as a new idea occurred to him.
"Oh, certainly!" Rose exclaimed. "I will bring it at once."
"Thank you, miss!" Blathers said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "This kind of duty is dry work. Anything will do, miss; don't go to any trouble on our account."
"What shall it be?" the doctor asked, following Rose to the sideboard.
"A little drop of spirits, sir, if it’s all the same," Blathers replied. "It’s a cold ride from London, and spirits are always warming."
While the drinks were being prepared, the doctor quietly slipped out of the room.
"Ah," said Mr. Blathers, holding his glass firmly. "I have seen many cases like this in my time, ladies."
"Like that robbery in Edmonton, Blathers," Duff reminded him.
"That was similar, wasn't it?" Blathers agreed. "That was done by Conkey Chickweed."
"You always blamed him," Duff replied. "But it was the 'Family Pet,' I tell you. Chickweed had nothing to do with it."
"Nonsense!" Blathers retorted. "I know better. Do you remember when Chickweed was supposedly robbed of his money? What a story that was! Better than any novel!"
"What happened?" Rose asked, hoping to keep the visitors in a good mood.
"It was a robbery, miss, that almost everyone fell for," Blathers began. "This man, Chickweed—we called him Conkey because of his nose—ran a pub. One night, he claimed he was robbed of over three hundred guineas. He said a tall man with a black patch over one eye had hidden under his bed and then jumped out the window. Chickweed even fired a gun at him and told everyone he had hit the robber, because there were bloodstains leading away from the house. He acted so devastated that people actually raised money to help him.
One day, he went to the police and claimed he had seen the robber again. An officer named Jem Spyers was sent to help him. Spyers waited in the pub for the man to appear. Suddenly, Chickweed started screaming, 'There he is! Stop thief!' They both ran down the street, and a crowd joined in, but they 'lost' the man. This happened several times until some neighbors thought the devil was playing tricks, and others thought Chickweed had gone mad with grief."
"What did Jem Spyers say?" asked the doctor, who had returned to the room.
"For a long time, Spyers said nothing," Blathers continued. "He just listened. But one morning, he walked into the bar and said, 'Chickweed, I’ve found the thief.' Chickweed cried out, 'Where is he? Let me have my revenge!' Spyers just smiled and said, 'Stop the act. You did it yourself.' And he had! He had made a lot of money from the donations, and nobody would have known if he hadn't been so desperate to look like a victim!" Blathers laughed, clinking his handcuffs together.
"Very curious indeed," the doctor remarked. "Now, if you please, we can go upstairs."
Following Mr. Losberne, the two officers went to Oliver’s room, with Giles leading the way with a candle. Oliver had been dozing, but he looked even more feverish now. With the doctor's help, he sat up for a moment and looked at the strangers without understanding what was happening.
"This," Mr. Losberne said softly but firmly, "is the boy who was accidentally wounded by a trap-gun while trespassing on a neighbor's property. He came here for help this morning and was immediately seized and mistreated by this gentleman with the candle, who has put the boy's life in danger."
Blathers and Duff looked at Mr. Giles. The confused butler looked from the officers to Oliver, and then to the doctor, with a ridiculous expression of fear and confusion.
"You don't mean to deny that, I suppose?" the doctor said, laying Oliver back down.
"It was all done for the best, sir," Giles stammered. "I truly thought it was the boy, or I wouldn't have touched him. I am not a cruel man, sir."
"Thought it was what boy?" the senior officer asked.
"The burglar's boy, sir!" Giles replied. "They certainly had a boy with them."
"Well? Do you think so now?" Blathers asked.
"I... I really don't know," Giles said miserably. "I couldn't swear to it."
"What is your opinion?" Blathers pushed.
"I don't think it is the boy," poor Giles replied. "In fact, I'm almost certain it isn't. It couldn't be."
"Has this man been drinking, sir?" Blathers asked the doctor.
"You are a very confused fellow!" Duff said to Giles with contempt.
The doctor, who had been feeling Oliver’s pulse, suggested that if the officers had any doubts, they should speak to Brittles in the next room. Brittles was called in and proceeded to involve himself and Giles in such a web of contradictions that nothing was clear—except for the fact that he was completely confused. He admitted he wouldn't recognize the real boy if he saw him and that he had only assumed Oliver was the thief because Mr. Giles had said so.
Furthermore, a question was raised as to whether Giles had actually hit anyone at all. When they examined the other pistol, it was found to contain nothing but gunpowder and paper. This discovery relieved everyone, especially Giles, who had been terrified that he had killed someone. He quickly accepted this new version of events.
Finally, the officers decided not to worry much more about Oliver. They left the local constable at the house and went to stay in town for the night, promising to return the next day.
The following morning, a rumor arrived that two men and a boy had been arrested in Kingston under suspicious circumstances. Blathers and Duff went to investigate, but it turned out the "suspicious circumstances" were merely that the group had been found sleeping under a haystack. Since there was no evidence connecting them to the burglary, the officers returned no wiser than before.
In short, after more discussion, a local magistrate was persuaded to allow Mrs. Maylie and Mr. Losberne to pay bail for Oliver’s appearance in court, should he ever be called. Blathers and Duff, rewarded with a few guineas, returned to London.
Meanwhile, Oliver gradually improved under the care of Mrs. Maylie, Rose, and the kind doctor. If sincere prayers from grateful hearts are heard in heaven, the blessings that the orphan child asked for them surely brought them lasting peace and happiness.