DANGEROUS DILEMMAS:

STARTLING BUT TRUE.

BY JAMES PEDDIE,

AUTHOR OF "SECRETS OF A PRIVATE ENQUIRY OFFICE," ETC., ETC., ETC.

LONDON: CHARLES H. CLARKE, 11 RED LION COURT, FLEET-STREET.

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Perth:

S. COWAN AND CO., STRATHMORE PRINTING WORKS.

CHAPTER I. THE ORIGIN OF "DANGEROUS DILEMMAS."

The gambling tables at Spa— Compulsory mud bath—Saving one's life by exchanging an overcoat—A fortunate shipwreck.

"You are in a vein of luck and yet cease to play," said the Dutch banker Oppenheim to me over my shoulder at the roulette table at Spa.

Since that bright autumn day both Germany and Belgium have seen the evil results attending public gambling when practised by weak-minded individuals, and have banished the too fascinating game to Monaco, to the great delight of the prince of the smallest kingdom in Europe.

Man, being a speculative animal by nature, finding trente et quarante and roulette forbidden by a paternal government, has had recourse to écarté and baccarat, and instead of playing at the kursaal in the sight of everybody he now stakes his money in the seclusion of a club. The facilities for gambling are more numerous than of yore, but you cannot always depend upon the fairness of your opponents' game, nor on realising your winnings. At the public tables there could be no cheating, and when you won you could rely on getting your money.

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The bankruptcies and suicides accruing from the gambling mania have not diminished, but they are now attributed to other causes. A man does not care to bespatter the Turkey carpet of the club house with his brains, and a severe loss or a grand coup made at a club is not usually the subject of a newspaper paragraph. When a Garcia broke the bank at Baden Baden the fact was commented on by the whole European press. A public gambling table is to some people's thinking an outlet for the over speculative and a check against folly, but what is the use of discussing the question, has not the fatal decree gone forth, and the clink of the ivory ball and the "faites le jeu" of the impassable croupier are no longer to be heard in the richly decorated halls of the kursaal at Spa. But at the time the above remark was made roulette and trente et quarante were in the heyday of their dangerous career.

"You are in a vein of luck and yet cease to play," the Baron repeated.

"I don't care to waste my mornings at the tables," I replied.

"Superior attractions elsewhere?"

"No, not what you mean; the bright sunshine lures me out of doors for one thing, and you know I never play long in the morning."

"Why?"

"Because it would be making a toil of a pleasure. I enjoy my days in the open air and speculate in earnest in the evening."

"Perhaps you are wise. At my time of life men are only too willing to profit by the smiles of the fickle goddess, come they at any hour of the day or night; they have had too much occasion to fear her frowns."

"They are no doubt right, and I am wrong to neglect my chance, but in the morning I only venture a little to test the fallacy of the last new system, and if possible to win enough money to cover the day's expenses."

"Praiseworthy objects both, and if you are satisfied, what say you to get our horses and have dejeuner at the restaurant in the wood. We will find ortolans there, and the trout are quite equal to those of your Loch Leven."

"Delighted," was my answer, and in a few minutes we were cantering gaily along the heights above Spa.

Before reaching the charmingly situated restaurant we met with an accident which nearly cost my companion his life.

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When least expected how often in our progress through life do we suddenly come face to face with a grave difficulty which the most acute of intellects would have failed to foresee. Here's an illustration of what I mean. To shorten our journey by about half a mile the Baron and I left the main road and struck into the forest. The shade from the trees was fully appreciated after the heat and dust. There were numerous glades of surpassing loveliness, and we had but little difficulty in finding a path for our horses. We had enjoyed the agreeable change for some time when the question arose whether we had not lost our way. It turned out that neither of us knew anything about the intricate windings of the forest. The scenery was certainly very pretty, but the wealth of the variegated foliage only gladdened the eye, and the trout in the streams wanted catching and cooking; we were two hungry men in search of something to eat. Our watches told us that we had been nearly an hour endeavouring to reach our destination, which by the longest route

would not have occupied more than half the time. We had undoubtedly lost our reckoning, and were making for some unknown region. A philosopher, partial to offering words of advice in season would write here, "beware of short cuts."

We altered our course and rode to the left instead of the right, and coming to a large open space we set our horses going to make up for the mistake. The open space was beautiful to look at, but proved as treacherous as a lovely but deceitful woman. This simile is not mine—the fair sex has no more devoted champion than myself—it was suggested to me by Wormald, who has just returned from India to go through the Divorce Court. Before we had ridden many yards we found ourselves in the middle of a morass, and—pleasant sensations—horses and riders felt themselves gradually sinking out of sight. Shouting for help seemed useless in such a solitude, and our escape evidently depended on our own exertions.

The Baron was a heavy man and weighed quite sixteen stone in the saddle. He was mounted on a stout black cob about fifteen hands, which was making extraordinary exertions to get out of the mire, but the horses' floundering only made matters worse. My steed, a light-made thoroughbred mare, standing 15—2, having only to carry about ten stone, did not sink so deeply as the Baron's cob, and after a desperate scramble we managed to retrace our steps and regain sound ground. My trouble over, I fastened my muddy horse to a tree and hastened to see what I could do for my companion. His position had become very serious. The cob was lying on his side and had got the Baron under him.

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"I cannot move," he called out; "this brute will be the death of me," and from all appearances what he said was not unlikely to happen.

I could see nothing of him except his head, and only the back and head of his horse were visible. I tried to enter the morass at a more favourable place, but I could not advance any distance before I sank up to the middle in nasty sticky slime. It was terribly annoying not to be able to render any assistance to the drowning man. At the critical moment when the Baron's head was disappearing from my sight I shouted as hard as I could "If you don't make a tremendous effort, Baron, you are a lost man; get free from your horse somehow; kick him."

My advice was not given a moment too soon. An opportune blow separated horse and rider, and benefited both.

The Baron waded with difficulty to a tree growing in the middle of the bog, and some friendly charcoal burners arriving on the scene we got a supply of ropes and soon pulled the Baron and his cob out of the quagmire. Having washed and dried our clothes the best way we could, we did not look quite so presentable as when we started, but felt none the worse, and guided by a native we were not long in reaching the welcome shelter of the restaurant, where we found that our appetites had not suffered from our compulsory mud bath.

"That was a novel experience," remarked the Baron as we sipped our Moulin à Vent? on the verandah of the restaurant.

"More novel than agreeable," I replied, "it looked all up with you, and I began to think of your heirs."

"Ah, they little imagine how near they were to handling my money. Do you know that my senses were fast leaving me?"

"Really, and did the dark deeds of your life pass in gloomy procession before you?"

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"No, it was rather pleasant than otherwise, I felt like going to sleep; your shout woke me up to my great danger. If I had been alone I would have certainly been a dead man."

"A nice predicament I would have been in if I had returned to Spa by myself; they might have thought that I was interested in your death, and put me on trial for murder."

"You would have been considerably inconvenienced, and if not arrested, you would have found yourself under police surveillance."

"Whatever the result of the trial, my enemies would have maintained to the end of my days that I had done for you, and I might have had to leave England and change my name."

"You are exaggerating now," replied the Baron smiling. "Let us rejoice that we both escaped and are free from these undesirable complications. Only twice in my life have I been so near death."

"Indeed! Are the particulars interesting? If not of a private nature, I should like to hear them."

"There is no reason now, whatever there may have been, why I should not satisfy your curiosity. The narration will not occupy much time."

"Early in life I was sent to Java to look after the branch of our Rotterdam banking house. On one occasion it was my duty to visit a gentleman who resided a short distance from town, for the purpose of collecting a large sum of money. Whether this fact got abroad I know not, but one thing is certain, that I was followed to my friend's plantation by two sinister-looking individuals, who seemed to be very much interested in my movements. When I saw the men dogging my steps I regretted that I had chosen to walk. The planter would have gladly lent me a horse, but I could frame no valid excuse for asking the favour. I did not feel inclined to be thought a coward. At the plantation I met an acquaintance who was engaged to one of the proprietor's daughters, and I made sure he would return to town with me, and that consequently my money would be quite safe. Contrary to my expectations, the lover was not ready to join me when I started, and I went back alone. It was getting dark and I kept a good look out, but I reached my house without molestation,

and I came to the conclusion that my suspicions had been groundless. Early next day, however, I was horrified to hear that the acquaintance I had left at the planter's, making love to his sweetheart, had, on returning to town later in the evening been brutally stabbed to death, and robbed of everything of value. Before leaving the plantation I had taken the precaution, without saying a word to anybody, to change my light overcoat for a dark one hanging close beside it. It seems that the murdered man had been unfortunate enough to put on my coat. The exchange of garments no doubt saved my life."

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"It was a lucky thought," I said; "they meant robbing you."

"Yes, and the idea only entered my mind at the moment of departure, when I saw the two coats together."

"Fate was kind to you, but it was a near thing; you mentioned that you were in deadly peril on another occasion."

"That was on the return journey to Europe. You have heard I daresay that the voyage is both long and dangerous. On board with me I had the head of our firm and his eldest daughter, but as I was only a cashier at the time they kept me at a distance. In the midst of a terrific storm our ship got out of her course and was driven on to some rocks close to an uninhabited island. The captain told us that the vessel was doomed, that nothing could save her, and that we must shift for ourselves. The boats that were not smashed when we struck were seized by the sailors. I was a good swimmer and saw that I would not have much difficulty in reaching the shore, but what was to become of the feeble old banker and his helpless daughter? In the hour of trial they looked for me to do something for them. But what was I to do? I could save one of them, I thought, but which? There was no time for deliberation. Scarcely half an hour elapsed before the vessel broke in two and we were thrown into the water. The poor banker made a heartrending appeal to me to save him. 'Oh, haste, I am drowning,' he cried,

and on seeing me hesitate between him and his struggling daughter he added, 'Come to me, I have another daughter.' I put a piece of the wreck in the young lady's hands and assured her I would soon return. The banker was much exhausted when I reached him, and in the strong surf we were as nearly as possible drowned, but after repeated efforts I at last managed to drag him up to a place of safety."

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"And the daughter you saved; she became your wife?"

"Not so, alas! When I went back for her she had disappeared."

"Is that all, Baron?"

"Not quite. The banker was grateful; I was made a partner in the firm and received the other daughter in marriage."

"You do come out of difficulties with flying colours. It would I suppose have made a great difference to you if you had saved the young lady instead of her father?"

"Immense; that was the turning point of my life; the poor girl who perished was betrothed to her cousin, so you see she could not have rewarded me with her hand."

"Lucky Baron!"

"It is true fortune has not been unkind to me, but I believe some such accidents occur to everyone and that they make or mar the future."

These striking narratives made a lasting impression on me, and first put into my head the thought that a collection of such dilemmas would not be uninteresting. Much experience of men and cities has forced me to the same conclusion as the Baron—viz., that at various periods of his life man holds his destiny, so to speak, in the hollow of his hand, and by his conduct at these critical moments his future prosperity or adversity is assured. The proofs of this theory are now before you. When my last witness has spoken I hope you—the jury—will at least admit that I have not been negligent in hunting up my evidence.

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CHAPTER II. THE CHRISTMAS WINE-HAMPER FRAUD.

Advertising pays— giving a Dinner with an object—obtaining the confidence of the public—an extraordinary bargain—a great swindle.

The tricks of "the trade" in London never fail to amuse me. When a fraud is thoroughly exploded and no longer pays, it is dropped until it is forgotten, and then revived. Solomon was quite right in saying there was nothing new. Akin to the fashions, these combinations to deceive the ever-confiding public have their apogee, their decline and fall. Like the gourd, they spring up in a single night, and never fail to secure their victims. Am I not acting the part of a public benefactor in dealing with such matters? And will not some complaisant clergyman, of the Pennington stamp, think it his duty to draw attention to the benefits to be derived from reading them? Opprobrium will be heaped on me by a certain class for speaking the truth, but I am quite prepared to figure as a martyr.

It is a melancholy fact, and I have no doubt about it, that if every one had, say £5,000 a year, crime would be banished from the land. But the millennium is not here yet, and we must take the world as we find it. It is the monetary difficulty which occasions men to whet their wits to get by fair means or foul a necessary supply of the circulating medium.

It is not everyone who can, like a certain racing nobleman, fall back on a horse to pull him through. When it got into the middle of the racing week, and Lord W—— found the bookmakers had had the best of him, he used to telegraph to his training-stable, "Send Indian Star," and that trustworthy animal almost invariably won some little race on which his lordship would plunge.

A man in the City (surely that is vague enough), not having a horse to relieve him from his monetary dilemma, was got out of the difficulty through a Christmas wine-hamper.

If what I am told be correct, his Christmas wine-hamper business was quite as legitimate as the concern known in these days as the "American Singing Bird." Not having heard the following conversation myself, you must take it as it was given to me. The scene took place in a novelty store, between the proprietor and his shopman:—

Proprietor (to shopman)—Much business this morning?

Shopman—Quiet; very quiet.

Proprietor—What! No demand for nose machines?

Shopman—None.

Proprietor—Nor cork legs?

Shopman—Not any.

Proprietor—Very sad! Something must be done. Of course you've got rid of a number of home knitters?

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Shopman—No!

Proprietor—Not sold even a baby?

Shopman—There has only been one man here this morning, and he wanted a glass eye of a green colour; but I think it was only his fun.

Proprietor—Tut, tut! This is dreadful! Heavy expenses and no returns! Out with the Canary!

The canary, when wound up, can really sing not only for a minute or two, but, by a secret contrivance, its melodious voice goes on without a break for hours! So my informant tells me. It always attracts large and admiring crowds, many of whom become purchasers, not only of the bird, but machines for hatching chickens, feeding them, pulling off their feathers, roasting them, and many other wonderful contrivances! The only thing wanted to make these shops perfect is a market for wives and an assortment of coffins. The ingenious plan of keeping the canary in full tune so long as considered desirable is simple. It consists of a flexible tube attached to the bird, at the end of which is a whistle. This is put into a basin of water and blown through. It is not a horse this time, but a mechanical bird, that brings grist to the mill.

I will now proceed to show you how much money was made by advertising a Christmas wine-hamper. The wine trade has always been popular with men who could not succeed in any other profession or business. Everyone fancies he can drive a mail-phaeton, edit a paper, and is a judge of wine, the belief being that there is nothing wonderful to learn. If he has a connection of friends and acquaintances in London, especially at the West-End, so much the better. The method usually adopted to ensure success is to give recherche dinners, and mention incidentally the quality and price of each wine as it is produced on the table.

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He can say, "Yes," as if in an answer to some one, "it is a first class Amontillado! Only a few dozen left! Cheap at 60s.!" Again, "I hope you like that Chateau Margaux! A rare vintage! There is not much better in Her Majesty's cellar! Increases in value every year! Did you ask had I any to spare? Not quite sure. It is giving it away at 100s.! "If this delicate way of putting it does not attain the desired end, a conversation about the various vintages and the recent ravages amongst wines can be started; and, on seeing your friends off, you can say, "You had better let me send you the remainder of that sherry—just a small parcel of six dozen!" Then, again, you can observe, "If you really are so pleased with that claret, I will see what there is left, and will try to oblige you!" These and similar remarks generally prove more or loss effectual.