Роберт Льюис Стивенсон - The Plays of W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson стр 5.

Lawson. Thatll be the highwayman?

Hunt. That same, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal. The Captains given me a hard hunt of it this time. I dropped on his marks first at Huntingdon, but he was away North, and I had to up and after him. I heard of him all along the York road, for hes a light hand on the pad, has Jemmy, and leaves his mark. [I missed him at York by four-and-twenty hours, and lost him for as much more. Then I picked him up again at Carlisle, and we made a race of it for the Border; but hed a better nag, and was best up in the road; so I had to wait till I ran him to earth in Edinburgh here and could get a new warrant.] So here I am, sir. They told me you were an active sort of gentleman, and Im an active man myself. And Sir John Fielding, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, hes an active gentleman, likewise, though hes blind as a himage, and he desired his compliments to you, [sir, and said that between us he thought wed do the trick].

Lawson. Ay, hell be a fine man, Sir John. Hand me owre your papers, Hunt, and youll have your new warrant quam primum. And see here, Hunt, yell aiblins have a while to yoursel, and an active man, as ye say ye are, should aye be grinding grist. Were sair forfeuchen wi our burglaries. Non constat de personâ. We canna get a grip o the delinquents. Here is the Hue and Cry. Ye see there is a guid two hundred pounds for ye.

Hunt. Well, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal [I aint a rich man, and two hundreds two hundred. Thereby, sir], I dont mind telling you Ive had a bit of a worry at it already. You see, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, I had to look into a ken to-night about the Captain, and an old cock always likes to be sure of his walk; so I got one of your Scotch officers him as was so polite as to show me round to Mr. Brodies to give me full particulars about the ouse, and the flash companions that use it. In his list I drop on the names of two old lambs of my own; and I put it to you, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, as a genleman as knows the world, if whats a black sheep in London is likely or not to be keeping school in Edinburgh?

Lawson. Coelum non animum. A just observe.

Hunt. Ill give it a thought, sir, and see if I cant kill two birds with one stone. Talking of which, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, Id like to have a bit of a confab with that nice young woman as came to pay her rent.

Lawson. Hunt, thats a very decent woman.

Hunt. And a very decent woman may have mighty queer pals, Mr. Procurator-Fiscal. Lord love you, sir, I dont know what the profession would do without em!

Lawson. Yere vera richt, Hunt. An active and a watchful officer. Ill send her in till ye.

Two hundred pounds reward. Curious thing. One burglary after another, and these Scotch blockheads without a man to show for it. Jock runs east, and Sawney cuts west; everythings at a deadlock; and they go on calling themselves thief-catchers! [By jingo, Ill show them how we do it down South! Well, Ive worn out a good deal of saddle leather over Jemmy Rivers; but heres for new breeches if you like.] Lets have another queer at the list. (Reads.) Humphrey Moore, otherwise Badger; aged forty, thick-set, dark, close-cropped; has been a prize-fighter; no apparent occupation. Badgers an old friend of mine, George Smith, otherwise the Dook, otherwise Jingling Geordie; red-haired and curly, slight, flash; an old thimble-rig; has been a stroller; suspected of smuggling; an associate of loose women. G. S., Esquire, is another of my flock. Andrew Ainslie, otherwise Slink Ainslie; aged thirty-five; thin, white-faced, lank-haired; no occupation; has been in trouble for reset of theft and subornation of youth; might be useful as kings evidence. Thats an acquaintance to make. Jock Hamilton, otherwise Sweepie, and so on. [Willie MGlashan, hum yes, and so on, and so on.] Ha! heres the man I want. William Brodie, Deacon of the Wrights, about thirty; tall, slim, dark; wears his own hair; is often at Clarkes, but seemingly for purposes of amusement only; [is nephew to the Procurator-Fiscal; is commercially sound, but has of late (it is supposed) been short of cash; has lost much at cock-fighting;] is proud, clever, of good repute, but is fond of adventures and secrecy, and keeps low company. Now, heres what I ask myself: heres this list of the family party that drop into Mother Clarkes; its been in the hands of these nincompoops for weeks, and Im the first to cry Queer Street! Two well-known cracksmen, Badger and the Dook! why, theres Jack in the Orchard at once. This here topsawyer work they talk about, of course thats a chalk above Badger and the Dook. But how about our Mohock-tradesman? Purposes of amusement! What next? Deacon of the Wrights? and wright in their damned lingo means a kind of carpenter, I fancy? Why, damme, its the mans trade! Ill look you up, Mr. William Brodie, Deacon of the Wrights. As sure as my names Jerry Hunt, I wouldnt take one-ninety-nine in gold for my chance of that ere two hundred!

Hunt; to him Jean

Hunt. Well, my dear, and how about your gentleman friend now? How about Deacon Brodie?

Jean. I dinna ken your name, sir, nor yet whae ye are; but this is a very poor employ for ony gentleman it sets ill wi ony gentleman to cast my shame in my teeth.

Hunt. Lord love you, my dear, that aint my line of country. Suppose youre not married and churched a hundred thousand times, what odds to Jerry Hunt? Jerry, my Pamela Prue, is a cove as might be your parent; a cove renowned for the ladies friend [and hes dead certain to be on your side]. What I cant get over is this: heres this Mr. Deacon Brodie doing the genteel at home, and leaving a nice young oman like you as a cove may say to take it out on cold potatoes. Thats what I cant get over, Mrs. Watt. Im a family man myself; and I cant get over it.

Jean. And whae said that to ye? They leed whatever. I get naething but guid by him; and I had nae richt to gang to his house; and O, I just ken Ive been the ruin of him!

Hunt. Dont you take on, Mrs. Watt. Why, now I hear you piping up for him, I begin to think a lot of him myself. I like a cove to be open-handed and free.

Jean. Weel, sir, and hes a that.

Hunt. Well, that shows what a wicked world this is. Why, they told me . Well, well, heres the open and and the appy art. And how much, my dear speaking as a family man now, how much might your gentleman friend stand you in the course of a year?

Jean. Whats your wull?

Hunt. Thats a mighty fancy shawl, Mrs. Watt. [I should like to take its next-door neighbour to Mrs. Hunt in King Street, Common Garden.] Whats about the figure?

Jean. Its paid for. Ye can sweir to that.

Hunt. Yes, my dear, and so is King Georges crown; but I dont know what it cost, and I dont know where the blunt came from to pay for it.

Jean. Im thinking yell be a vera clever gentleman.

Hunt. So I am, my dear; and I like you none the worse for being artful yourself. But between friends now, and speaking as a family man

Jean. Ill be wishin ye a fine nicht. (Curtsies and goes out.)

Hunt. Ah! thats it, is it? My fancy mans my ole delight, as we say in Bow Street. But which is the fancy man? George the Dock, or William the Deacon? One or both? (He winks solemnly.) Well, Jerry, my boy, heres your work cut out for you; but if you took one-nine-five for that ere little two hundred youd be a disgrace to the profession.