Sentence Deferred

"Sentence Deferred" by W. W. Jacobs is a humorous short story that revolves around a witty and suspenseful plot involving mistaken identities and legal entanglements. The narrative follows the character of a man who finds himself embroiled in a comedic situation after receiving a letter that suggests he might be connected to a crime. With Jacobs' signature blend of humor and irony, the story unfolds with clever twists, highlighting the absurdities of bureaucratic processes and the quirks of human nature. It's a delightful read that showcases Jacobs' talent for storytelling and his keen observational humor.

• Humour
• Short story

								
'An Elderly Man With a Wooden Leg, Who Joined The Indignant Officer in
the Pursuit.'

Fortunately for Captain Bligh, there were but few people about, and the
only person who saw him trip Police-Sergeant Pilbeam was an elderly man
with a wooden leg, who joined the indignant officer in the pursuit. The
captain had youth on his side, and, diving into the narrow alley-ways
that constitute the older portion of Woodhatch, he moderated his pace
and listened acutely. The sounds of pursuit died away in the distance,
and he had already dropped into a walk when the hurried tap of the
wooden leg sounded from one corner and a chorus of hurried voices from
the other. It was clear that the number of hunters had increased.

He paused a second, irresolute. The next, he pushed open a door
that stood ajar in an old flint wall and peeped in. He saw a small,
brick-paved yard, in which trim myrtles and flowering plants stood about
in freshly ochred pots, and, opening the door a little wider, he slipped
in and closed it behind him.

“Well?” said a voice, sharply. “What do you want?”

Captain Bligh turned, and saw a girl standing in a hostile attitude in
the doorway of the house. “H'sh!” he said, holding up his finger.

The girl's cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled.

“What are you doing in our yard?” she demanded.

The captain's face relaxed as the sound of voices died away. He gave his
moustache a twist, and eyed her with frank admiration.

“Escaping,” he said, briefly. “They nearly had me, though.”

“You had no business to escape into our yard,” said the girl. “What have
you been escaping from?”

“Fat policeman,” said the skipper, jauntily, twisting his moustache.

Miss Pilbeam, only daughter of Sergeant Pilbeam, caught her breath
sharply.

“What have you been doing?” she inquired, as soon as she could control
her voice.

“Nothing,” said the skipper, airily, “nothing. I was kicking a stone
along the path and he told me to stop it.”

“Well?” said Miss Pilbeam, impatiently.

“We had words,” said the skipper. “I don't like policemen—fat
policemen—and while we were talking he happened to lose his balance and
go over into some mud that was swept up at the side of the road.”

“Lost his balance?” gasped the horrified Miss Pilbeam.

The skipper was flattered at her concern. “You would have laughed if you
had seen him,” he said, smiling. “Don't look so frightened; he hasn't
got me yet.”

“No,” said the girl, slowly. “Not yet.”

She gazed at him with such a world of longing in her eyes that the
skipper, despite a somewhat large share of self-esteem, was almost
startled.

“And he shan't have me,” he said, returning her gaze with interest.

Miss Pilbeam stood in silent thought. She was a strong, well-grown girl,
but she realized fully that she was no match for the villain who stood
before her, twisting his moustache and adjusting his neck-tie. And her
father would not be off duty until nine.

“I suppose you would like to wait here until it is dark?” she said at
last.

“I would sooner wait here than anywhere,” said the skipper, with
respectful ardor.

“Perhaps you would like to come in and sit down?” said the girl.

Captain Bligh thanked her, and removing his cap followed her into a
small parlor in the front of the house.

“Father is out,” she said, as she motioned him to an easy-chair, “but
I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you when he comes in.”

“And I shall be pleased to see him,” said the innocent skipper.

Miss Pilbeam kept her doubts to herself and sat in a brown study,
wondering how the capture was to be effected. She had a strong
presentiment that the appearance of her father at the front door would
be the signal for her visitor's departure at the back. For a time there
was an awkward silence.

“Lucky thing for me I upset that policeman,” said the skipper, at last.

“Why?” inquired the girl.

“Else I shouldn't have come into your yard,” was the reply. “It's the
first time we have ever put into Woodhatch, and I might have sailed
away and never seen you. Where should we have been but for that fat
policeman?”

Miss Pilbeam—as soon as she could get her breath—said, “Ah, where
indeed!” and for the first time in her life began to feel the need of a
chaperon.

“Funny to think of him hunting for me high and low while I am sitting
here,” said the skipper.

Miss Pilbeam agreed with him, and began to laugh—to laugh so heartily
that he was fain at last to draw his chair close to hers and pat her
somewhat anxiously on the back. The treatment sobered her at once, and
she drew apart and eyed him coldly.

“I was afraid you would lose your breath,” explained the skipper,
awkwardly. “You are not angry, are you?”

He was so genuinely relieved when she said, “No,” that Miss Pilbeam,
despite her father's wrongs, began to soften a little. The upsetter
of policemen was certainly good-looking; and his manner towards her so
nicely balanced between boldness and timidity that a slight feeling of
sadness at his lack of moral character began to assail her.

“Suppose you are caught after all?” she said, presently. “You will go to
prison.”

The skipper shrugged his shoulders. “I don't suppose I shall be,” he
replied.

“Aren't you sorry?” persisted Miss Pilbeam, in a vibrant voice.

“Certainly not,” said the skipper. “Why, I shouldn't have seen you if I
hadn't done it.”

Miss Pilbeam looked at the clock and pondered. It wanted but five
minutes to nine. Five minutes in which to make up a mind that was in a
state of strong unrest.

“I suppose it is time for me to go,” said the skipper, watching her.
Miss Pilbeam rose. “No, don't go,” she said, hastily. “Do be quiet. I
want to think.”

Captain Bligh waited in respectful silence, heedless of the fateful
seconds ticking from the mantelpiece. At the sound of a slow, measured
footfall on the cobblestone path outside Miss Pilbeam caught his arm and
drew him towards the door.

“Go!” she breathed. “No, stop!”

She stood trying in vain to make up her mind. “Upstairs,” she said.
“Quick!” and, leading the way, entered her father's bedroom, and, after
a moment's thought, opened the door of a cupboard in the corner.

“Get in there,” she whispered.

“But—” objected the astonished Bligh.

The front door was heard to open.

“Police!” said Miss Pilbeam, in a thrilling whisper. The skipper stepped
into the cupboard without further parley, and the girl, turning the key,
slipped it into her pocket and sped downstairs.

Sergeant Pilbeam was in the easy-chair, with his belt unfastened, when
she entered the parlor, and, with a hungry reference to supper, sat
watching her as she lit the lamp and drew down the blind. With a
lifelong knowledge of the requirements of the Force, she drew a jug of
beer and placed it by his side while she set the table.

“Ah! I wanted that,” said the sergeant. “I've been running.”

Miss Pilbeam raised her eyebrows.

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