by Tom Gallon
CHAPTER XV.
I BID THE DOCTOR FAREWELL.
I did my best to calm the man Capper. I feared that in his excitement hemight betray his purpose to someone else, and someone not so welldisposed towards him. I soothed him as well as I could, and presentlygot him by the arm and walked him away. For a long way we went insilence, until at last, having climbed to Hampstead Heath, I led himinto a by-path there, and presently sat beside him on a seat, preparedto listen to his story. He was calmer by this time; the only evidence ofthe passions, so long suppressed and now working in him, was shown when,every now and then, he ground his right fist into the palm of his otherhand, as though in that action he ground the face of his enemy.
"I want you to tell me, if you will, sir," he said at last, "where theman has gone. I was a fool when I lost him; I have not done my workwell."
"I will tell you presently, when I have heard your story," I said. "Youhave made a threat of murder. I don't think it would be quite wise on mypart to let you loose on anyone in your present frame of mind."
"Then hear me, and judge for yourself, sir," he answered solemnly.
"What I know is this," I said. "I know that Mr. Gregory Pennington wentto the doctor's house on one particular night, and that he hangedhimself in a room there. I, who found him hanging, found you in theroom, apparently dazed."
"I have to think back a long way," said Capper, leaning forward on theseat, and resting his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands."It's all so much like a dream, and yet all so clear. Let me try to tellyou, sir, what happened that night."
He sat for a long time in that attitude, as though striving to piecetogether all his recollections of that time; as though even yet hefeared that his memory might play him false.
"I don't need to say anything about myself, sir, except just this: thatMr. Pennington picked me out of the gutter, and made a man of me. Ifever one man worshipped another on this earth, I worshipped him; I wouldhave died for him. He made me his servant, and yet his friend. He knewthat I had been something better in the days before he found me; he mademe something better again. He was quite alone in the world, and hisincome was administered by a trustee, a lawyer. That's all you need knowabout it. We wandered about all over the world. He thought nothing ofstarting off for the other side of the world, taking me with him always,at a moment's notice--which, perhaps, accounts for the fact that no onehas made any enquiries about him.'"
I did not answer that; perhaps the time was coming when I should have totell him the sequel to what he was now telling me.
"Then he met the young lady--Miss Debora Matchwick--and he used often togo and see her. One night he came home raging, and told me that Dr. Justhad turned him out of the house, and had told him he was not to go thereagain. He was very much in love with the young lady, and the affairupset him a lot. But he told me that he had made up his mind to go thereas often as he thought fit; he meant to defy the doctor."
He paused so long again that I was almost minded to speak to him; heseemed to be brooding. All at once he sat upright, and folded his arms,and went on again. His voice had taken on a new sternness.
"I took to going with him--or rather following him without hisknowledge," he said slowly. "I didn't like the look of the doctor; Iknew that he meant mischief. Night after night, when Mr. Pennington wentto the house, I hid myself in the grounds, and waited and watched; thenI followed him home again. You see, sir, he was everything to me, all Ihad in the world; it drove me mad almost to think that anything mighthappen to him. So the time went on, until at last that night arrivedwhen, as it seemed, I fell asleep and forgot everything. But I rememberthat night now perfectly."
In his rising excitement he got up, and began to pace about, stoppingevery now and then to clap his hands together softly, and to nod hishead as some point in the story recurred to his memory. At last he cameback to me, and sat down, and faced me.
"He had told me before he went out that he intended to see the doctorthat night. 'I'll have a turn-up with him,' he said to me, and laughed.I dreaded that; I made up my mind that I would be very near to him,indeed, that night. It was difficult, because if once he had discoveredthat I was following him, and watching him like that, he might have beenangry, and might have ordered me to remain at home. So, you see, I hadto be discreet. I went ahead of him on that occasion, and I concealedmyself in the grounds quite near to the house. There I waited, andwaited so long that I came almost to think that he had changed his mind,and would not come at all."
"Did you see no one else in the grounds?" I asked, thinking of my ownunceremonious coming on that wonderful night.
He stared at me, and shook his head. "No one," he said. "Presently Mr.Pennington arrived, and the young lady crept out of the house to meethim; I saw them talking together for a long time. Then I saw Mr.Pennington go towards the house, and enter it."
I remembered how I had lain in the grass that night, and had seen thesame scene he now described, although from a different point of view. Iknew that Capper must have been between them and the house, whilst I,for my part, had been on the other side of them, so that they werebetween me and this man.
"Now, I will tell you, as well as I can recollect, exactly whathappened," he said, speaking slowly, and ticking off his points one byone on his fingers. "I was so nervous that night--nervous for him, Imean--that I thought, sir, I would go into the house, so as to see thatall was well with him. Everything was very silent, except that I couldhear the murmur of voices--of men talking. You will understand, sir,that I did not know what the house was like, nor my way about it; but Ifound a door unfastened at the back, and I went in. I went towards wherethe voices were sounding, and I recognised Mr. Pennington's voice, andthen the doctor's. Both the voices were loud and angry; I guessed thatthey were quarrelling."
"And what did you do then?" I asked him quickly.
"God help me!" he cried, wringing his hands. "I could not find the room.The place was in darkness, and I was afraid to make a noise, lest Ishould disturb some of the servants, and perhaps be turned out. I gropedmy way about among the passages, opening first one door and thenanother, and hearing the voices now near to me, and now further away; itwas as though I had been in a maze. And then the voices ceased suddenly,and I heard the sound of a blow."
"What sort of blow?" I asked him breathlessly.
"It was like the sound of a weapon striking a man's head. It wasfollowed by a sort of quick cry; and then there was silence. In myagitation I must have turned away from the spot; and I had now nothingto guide me, as the voices had guided me before. I could only standthere, waiting, and hoping to hear something. It was all so horrible,and I so helpless, that I wonder I did not go mad then. I was near to itwhen presently I heard a sound as though someone were dragging a heavybody across a room. I began again to move in the direction of thatsound, and presently came to a door, and after listening to anothersound I did not understand, opened it, and went in. I must be quick nowto tell you what I saw, for it is at this point that the darkness fallsupon me, and I seem to sink down and down into the depths that swallowedme up for so long a time."
I was really afraid that he might, indeed, forget before he could tellme; I watched him eagerly. After but a little pause he went on again,and now the horror was growing in his face, and stamping it, so that Icould not take my eyes from him.
"As I opened the door of the room the doctor had his back to me, and hewas hauling on something. I did not understand at first, until I sawthat he was pulling on a rope that ran over a hook in the ceiling. Thatwhich he pulled was hidden from me by himself; I could not see what itwas. It all happened in a second, because as I opened the door he swungaway from me, still clinging to the rope--and then, dear God!--I sawwhat it was. Only for a flash did I see up there before me the deadface of my master--the master I loved, and for whom I would have givenmy life; then, as I put up my hand to hide the sight, everything wentfrom me; and I seemed to fall, as I have said, into some greatblackness, with all my life blotted
out! That," he said, with a little,quick, helpless gesture of the hands--"that is all."
I felt my blood run cold at the horror of his tale; the whole sceneseemed to be enacted before me, as though I had myself been present."And did you really forget everything until a little time ago?" I asked.
"Everything, sir," he assured me solemnly. "I was like one groping inthe dark. People I had known I knew again--as with Miss Debora; but Icould not remember anything else. I had a vague idea that I had lost mymaster somewhere about that house; that made me cling to it. The restwas a blank. And then one day, when I saw the doctor raise his stick tostrike a man down, it was as though something had been passed across mybrain, and I remembered. If I can make myself clear, sir," went onCapper eagerly, "it was as though I had gone back to that night; thatwas why I sprang at the doctor, and wanted to kill him."
"And you tried again in the train," I reminded him. "But why on eachoccasion did you sham madness?--why did you pretend you were still thesimple creature everyone supposed you to be?"
"Because I knew that if once Dr. Just guessed that I remembered theevents of that night, he would take means to have me shut up; I mighthave been taken for a lunatic, and disposed of for the rest of my life.I knew that if I could once deceive him into believing that my mind wasgone, he would not be suspicious of me. Unfortunately for my plan, Igave the game away when I tried to throw him out of that train."
"How was that?" I asked.
"I had managed things very well up to that point," he said. "I knewpretty well how the trains ran, and I knew that if I could throw him outon the line at a certain spot between the stations it would look like anaccident, and the train on the other line would cut him to pieces. I wasso sure of success that I threw off that disguise I had worn so long,and I cried out to him that I remembered he had killed my master, andthat I meant to kill him. I dare say you remember, sir, that you askedhim what I had said, and he would not tell you."
I remembered it distinctly, and I remembered how the doctor had watchedthat little drooping figure in the corner of the railway carriage, andhow he had refused to tell me what the man had said before attackinghim.
"After that, you see, there was no more chance of doing the thingsecretly," went on Capper, speaking of the appalling business in themost easy and natural fashion. "He shut me out of the house; he wouldnot let me come near him. Twice I followed him, and the second time Ilost him. Now, sir,"--he clasped his hands, and looked at me with anagony of entreaty in his eyes--"now, sir, will you let me know where Ican find him?"
"Answer me one question first," I said, looking into his eager eyes. "Ifyou kill this man, what will become of you?"
He spread out his hands, and smiled the strangest smile I have everseen. "What does that matter?" he asked simply. "If I am found out theymay say that I am a madman; they may shut me away for life. They mayeven hang me. It will not matter--my life finished when the man whosaved me from myself died."
I did not hesitate any further; I told Capper that Dr. Bardolph Just wasliving down at a place called Green Barn, near Comerford, in Essex. Hethanked me in the strangest fashion, with the tears in his eyes; heasked if he might shake hands with me. I had a weird feeling that hefelt he might be going to his own death as I gripped his hand and lethim go. I watched him for a long time while he went across the heath; hewalked quickly, and without once looking to right or left, or evenlooking back at me. And I wondered what manner of death was preparingfor Dr. Just.
Let it be understood clearly that I was so amazed by the whole businessthat for some time I could not decide what to do. There was no thoughtin my mind of saving Bardolph Just, or of warning him; I felt that inthis grim business I had no right to interfere. The man who had metedout death to another man, and had striven so hard to kill an innocentgirl, was no subject for pity. If I had desired to do anything to stopthe business, it would have been on account of the man Capper; and sofar as he was concerned, I knew that I might as well try to turn somestrong river from its course as hold him back.
But I thought now of Debora. Strange as it may appear, in my own mind Iregarded the death of Dr. Just as something inevitable--somethingarranged and settled. Capper had given away his secret to me; I knewthat in some fashion Dr. Just would meet his death at Green Barn, unlessby a miracle it happened that he had already gone away. And even thenCapper was capable of following him, in that deadly hunt, to the otherside of the world. I determined that I must go to Green Barn--not withany intention of standing between Capper and his intended victim, butin the hope to be of service to Debora. Debora would be alone withBardolph Just, and Bardolph Just was marked for death!
I hurried back to my lodging, in the hope to find Andrew Ferkoe, and tolet him know what I was doing; but I found that he had not yet returnedto the house, and the landlady had no knowledge of his movements. Therewas nothing for it but for me to leave a message, saying that I wascalled away into the country, and hoped to be back within a day or so. Isaid nothing more definite than that.
I got out at Comerford Station in a heavy fall of summer rain. I had noknowledge of whether Capper was in front of me, or behind me in London;whether he had yet come face to face with the doctor, or whether thatwas still to happen. I was passing rapidly through the littlebooking-hall when I saw a big man lounging on a seat there, with hisarms folded and his legs stretched out before him. It was HarveyScoffold, and half involuntarily I stopped.
He looked up at me with a scowl, which changed the next moment to agrin. "Hullo!" he said, with an attempt at joviality, "what brings youdown here?"
"You should be able to guess," I reminded him.
"There's no welcome for you--nor for anyone else," he said sourly. "Lookat me, my boy; I'm turned out. Simply given my marching orders, if youplease, and sent packing."
"Have you been to Green Barn?" I asked him.
He nodded. "Went down in the friendliest fashion, to see a man I've beendevilish useful to--and what do I get? A meal, of course; then I'mcalmly told that the doctor is in retirement, and is not receivingguests. More than that, I'll tell you something else that may not be toyour liking."
He leaned forward, thrusting his heavy face towards me, and dropping ahand on each knee. I had always disliked the man; I could have struckhim full in his smiling face now for the look it wore.
"I don't suppose it'll be a bit to your liking, Mr. John New, orwhatever your confounded name is," he said. "But the doctor has senteveryone away--servants and all--sent 'em packing to-day. He's a bitmad, I think, over that girl--or else he really means to kill her. Butthere they are--just the pair of 'em--alone together in that house. Ifyou ask me," he added with a leer, "I wouldn't mind changing places withhim, and I should say----"
I waited for no more; I left the man, and almost ran out of the stationin my excitement. I heard him call after me, but could not know what thewords were; nor did I greatly care. One picture, and one only, possessedmy mind, to the exclusion of everything else. The figure of Capper wasblotted out by that more tragic figure of Debora, at the mercy ofBardolph Just, in that lonely Essex house. More than all else, Irealised that my hands would be in a sense tied by Debora, because shewould believe that my liberty would be endangered if she left thedoctor.
I found that to be true enough. So confident was the man of his powerover her that he had given her a certain amount of liberty; so that, tomy surprise and my delight, I suddenly came face to face with her withinan hour of my reaching Green Barn--and that, too, near to the little hutat the edge of the abandoned chalk pit.
The meeting was so surprising to both of us that for a time we couldonly hold hands, and talk incoherently, each in a great relief atfinding the other safe and well. But at last we came down to moreprosaic things, and she told me something of what was happening.
Bardolph Just had sworn to carry his threat into execution if she saw meagain, or had anything further to do with me; he had determined to riskeverything, and to give me up to the authorities. I tried to show herthat the man
would never dare proceed to that extremity, because of thedanger in which he would place himself by so doing. And then I told herabout Capper, and about Capper's threat.
"Capper is here!" she exclaimed, startlingly enough.
"Have you seen him?" I demanded.
She nodded quickly. "I was walking in the grounds a little while ago,and I saw him. He came up to me, and said how glad he was to see me, andasked about the doctor--all quite innocently and simply, I thought."
"There is no innocence and no simplicity about him," I said. "He meansmurder. I don't think anything will turn him from it. That's why I wantyou to leave all this behind and to go away."
"With you?" she asked.
"No, not with me," I said, reluctantly enough. I could not tell her thenall that was in my mind; I might have broken down in the telling. "Imust remain here until I know what Capper means to do. I must, ifpossible, dissuade him from that, if only for his own sake. Tell me, mydear girl," I went on earnestly, "is there no one to whom you could go,and who would befriend you? Set the doctor out of your mind altogether;I have a presentiment that, whatever happens, he will not trouble youagain. Is there no one to whom you could turn?"
"No one but you in all the world," she said, looking at me curiously.
"Your father must have had some lawyer--some friend," I suggested.
"The same lawyer that Dr. Just employs," she said. "He looks after mymoney, as well as that of the doctor."
"I want you to promise, Debora, that if anything happens to me you willgo to that man, and will see to it that he makes proper provision foryou out of your money, and provides you with a settled home. He will dothat for his own sake."
"But what should happen to you?" she whispered, clinging to me. "And inany case how will anyone help me if the doctor is here to interfere?"
"I am only asking you to promise something, in case somethingelse--something quite impossible, if you like--should happen," I assuredher lightly.
"Very well then, I promise," she answered.
It was a more difficult matter to persuade her to run away, andespecially to run away and leave me in that place. For I could not tellher my reasons, and I saw that she did not think it possible that thatweak little creature Capper could carry out his threat against thestronger man Bardolph Just; the thing was a sheer impossibility.Nevertheless, I so worked upon her terrors of the house, and of the manwho had her prisoner there, that at last she consented to go. I pressedwhat money I had upon her, and arranged that she should go back toLondon that night, and should make her way to the little quiet hotelnear the Charterhouse where she was known; there she could await aletter from me. I was to keep out of the way until she was gone, that Imight not seem to be connected with her flight. The rest was a matter onmy part of vague promises as to the future.
And then it was that I held her in my arms as I had never held herbefore, and as though I could never let her go. For I had made up mymind that I would not see her again; it was my purpose to keep awayfrom her, and to take myself out of her life from that hour. It seemedto me then as though all the strange business that had brought ustogether was closing, and I felt now, as I had not clearly felt before,that mine was no life to link with hers. She was rich, and she wasyoung, and she was fair; any love she might have felt for me was more amatter of gratitude than anything else. I had been able to stand herfriend when no other friend was near, but I was that creature without aname, who might some day by chance be sent back to his prison. I mustnot link my name with hers.
However, I would not let her suspect that this was the parting of theways. I made her repeat her promise to me to go to this lawyer, anelderly man, as I understood, and one who had dealt honestly with herfather; and with that we parted. I knew that she would slip out of thehouse, and would go off to London. From some other place I would writeto her, and would tell her of my decision. I felt also that I might havenews to tell of Dr. Bardolph Just.
And now I come to that strangest happening of all--the death of thatcelebrated physician and scientist, Dr. Bardolph Just. Of all that waswritten about it at the time, and the many eulogies that were printedconcerning the man, you will doubtless have heard; but the true story ofit is given here for the first time, and it is only given now becausethe man who killed him is dead also, and is beyond the reach ofeveryone.
The thing is presented to me in a series of scenes, so strange and weirdin their character that it is almost as though I had dreamt them, whennow, after years, I strive to recollect them. The gaunt old house,standing surrounded by its grounds; the solitary man shut up alone init, not dreaming that Debora had gone, and that I was so near at hand;and above all and before all, that strange figure of William Capper. Ifind myself shuddering now when I remember all the elements of thestory, and how that story ended.
I was a mere spectator of the business--something outside it--and Ilooked on helplessly through the amazing scenes, with always thatfeeling that I was in a dream. Long after Debora had stolen away fromthe house that night, I wandered restlessly about the place, wondering alittle at the silence, and remembering always that somewhere among theshadows lurked Capper, watching this man he had come to kill. Iremembered also that in the strangest fashion Bardolph Just had preparedthe way for him by actually sending everyone who might have protectedhim out of the house.
Exactly how Capper got into the place I was never able to discover.Whether Bardolph Just had grown careless, and did not think it likelythat the man would discover where he was, or whether Capper, withcunning, forced an entrance somewhere, I never knew. But it was aftermidnight when I heard a cry in the house, and knew that what I dreadedhad begun to happen. A minute or two afterwards the door opened, andBardolph Just came out, staggering down the steps, and looking back intothe lighted house. He seemed frightened, and I guessed what hadfrightened him.
He stopped still at a little distance from the house, and then turnedslowly, and retraced his steps. Capper stood framed in the lighteddoorway, looking out at him, but I saw that he appeared to have noweapon. In the dead silence all about us I heard Bardolph Just's wordsclearly.
"Where the devil did you come from?" he asked in a shrill voice.
"From my dead master!" came Capper's answer, clear and strong.
"Get out of my house, you madman!" exclaimed the doctor, taking a steptowards him; but the other did not move. "What do you want with me?"
"I want to remain near you; I never mean to leave you again on this sideof the grave," said Capper.
"Are you going to kill me?" asked the other. "Do you mean murder?"
"I don't mean to kill you--yet," replied the other. In the strangestfashion he seated himself on the top step, and folded his arms andwaited.
Bardolph Just walked away a little, and then came back. I could seethat, apart from his dread of the other man, he did not know what to do,nor how to meet this amazing situation. He took out a cigar from hiscase and lighted it, and strolled up and down there, alternatelywatching the little man seated above him, and studying the ground asthough seeking for a solution of the difficulty. At last he decided todrop threatening, and to try if he might not win the man over.
"Look here, my good Capper," he said, "I've no reason to love you, but Ithink you're merely a poor, half-witted creature, who should be morepitied than blamed. I don't want to have any trouble with you, but mostdecidedly I don't want to be subjected to your violence. I want to comeinto my house.'"
"Come in by all means," said the little man, getting to his feet; "and Iwill not use violence."
Seeing that the doctor still hesitated, I thought I might at least showmyself. I was, above all things, anxious to see the end of the business.My concern was with Capper chiefly. I could not see for the life of mewhat he would do in trying conclusions with a man of the physique ofBardolph Just. Above all things, I did not want it to happen that thedoctor should gain a victory.
"You're not afraid of the man?" was my somewhat contemptuous greeting ofhim.
"What are _y
ou_ doing here?" he demanded. "Are you in the plot?"
"I've done with plots," I said. "I am merely a spectator."
He said nothing about Debora, and I rightly guessed that he had not yetdiscovered her absence, but had merely concluded that she had retiredfor the night. After looking at me for a moment or two doubtfully, hetook a step or two in my direction, and lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Look here," he said, with a nervous glance towards the man in thedoorway, "I'm all alone in this house except for a weak girl, and I'mafraid of this fellow. What shall I do?"
"He's smaller than you are," I reminded him. "Turn him out!"
"I'm half afraid to go near him," he said. "You've seen him fly at me ontwo occasions; he can be like a wild beast when he likes."
"He has said that he will offer you no violence," I replied. "I don'tknow what he's got in his mind, but it seems to me, if you're afraid toturn him out, you've got to put up with him. He seems very fond of you,"I added caustically.
He shot a glance at me, as though wondering what I meant; then turnedand walked towards the house. I saw Capper retreat before him, so as togive him free entry to the place. On the door-step he turned, and calledout into the darkness to me.
"You, at any rate, can stop outside; one madman is bad enough." Then thedoor was shut, and I was left to wonder what was going on inside.
I was not to be left long in doubt. In something less than half an hour,while I was hesitating whether to go, or whether to stay, the door waspulled open again, and a voice so querulous and nervous that I scarcelyrecognised it for that of the doctor called out into the darkness,
"John New! John New, are you there?"
I showed myself at once, and he ran down the steps to me. I saw that hewas shaking from head to foot; the hand with which he gripped me, whilehe stared over his shoulder back into the house, was a hand of ice.
"For the love of God," he whispered, "come into the house with me! Ishall go mad if this goes on. I can't shake him off."
"Lock yourself in your room, and go to bed," I said disdainfully.
"I can't; he's taken every key of every lock in the house and hiddenthem. I can't shut a door against him anywhere; upstairs and downstairs,wherever I go he is there, just behind me. Will you come in?"
I went in; the sheer fascination of the thing was growing on me. Cappertook not the faintest notice of me; he was waiting just inside the door,and he followed us into a room. There he seated himself, with his handson his knees, and waited. The doctor made a pretence of drinking, andeven of lighting a cigar, but he set the glass down almost untasted, andallowed the cigar to go out. No words were exchanged between us, andstill Capper kept up that relentless watch.
At last Bardolph Just sank down into a chair, and closed his eyes. "Ifhe won't let me go to bed, I'll sleep here," he murmured.
But in a moment Capper had sprung up, and had gone to the man and shakenhim roughly by the shoulder. "Wake up!" he ordered. "You'll sleep nomore until you sleep at the last until the Judgment Day."
I saw then with horror what his purpose was. I knew not what the end wasto be, but I saw that his immediate purpose was to wear the other mandown until he could do what he liked with him. I thought he was a foolnot to understand that in striving to break down the strength of theother he was breaking himself down too; but that never seemed to occurto him. For the whole of that night he kept Bardolph Just awake,followed him from room to room in that house where no door would lock,and where he gave his victim no time to barricade himself in; he neverleft him for a moment. More than once Bardolph Just turned on him, andthen the eyes of Capper flashed, and he drew back as if about to spring;and the doctor waited. He threw himself on his bed once, in sheerexhaustion, and Capper made such a din in the room by overturning tablesand smashing things that the wretched man got up and fled downstairs,and out into the grounds. But Capper fled with him.
For my part, I slept at intervals, dropping on to a couch, or into adeep chair, and closing my eyes from sheer weariness. I found myselfmurmuring in my sleep sometimes, incoherently begging Capper to give thegame up, and to let the man alone; but he took no notice of me, and Imight indeed have been a shadow in the house, so little did he seem tobe aware of my presence. When I could, after waking from a fitful sleep,I would stumble about the house in a search for them, and even out intothe grounds; and always there was the man striving for rest, and theother man keeping him awake.
Once Bardolph Just armed himself with a stick, and ran out of the house;Capper snatched up another, and ran after him. I thought that this wasthe end; I ran out too, crying to Capper to beware what he did. When Igot to them--and this was the noon of the following day--Bardolph Justhad flung aside his stick, and stood there in a dejected attitude,looking at his persecutor.
"It's no good," he said hoarsely, "I give in. Do what you will with me;ask what you will; this is the end."
"Not yet," said Capper, leaning upon the stick and watching him. "Notyet."
That strange hunt went on for the whole of that day, and during the nextnight. I only saw part of it all, because, of course, I fell asleep, andslept longer than I had done at first. But I saw once the wretched manfall upon his knees before Capper, and beg for mercy; saw him strugglewith Capper with his uninjured arm, so that the two of them swayedabout, dazed with want of sleep; saw him fall to the ground, and try tosleep, and the other kick him viciously into a wakeful state again. Andat last came the end, when the doctor went swaying and stumbling up thestairs towards his bedroom, muttering that the other man could do hisworst, but that he must sleep. So utterly worn out was he that he got nofurther than the landing; there he fell, and lay as one dead.
The sun was streaming in through a high window; it fell upon theexhausted man, and upon Capper standing beside him. Capper was swaying alittle, but otherwise seemed alert enough.
"This will serve," he muttered as if to himself. "This is the end."
He went away, and after a little time came back with a rope and ahatchet. In my horror at what he might be going to do, I would havetaken the hatchet from him; but now he threatened me with it, with asnarl like that of a wild beast; and I drew away from him, and watched.He proceeded to hack away the rails of the landing, leaving only thebroad balustrade; he cut away six rails, and tossed them aside. Then hemade a running noose in the rope, and fastened the other end of itsecurely to the balustrade. There was thus left a space under where therope was fastened, and sheer down from that a drop into the hall below.He knelt down beside the unconscious man, and lifted his head, and putthe noose about his neck. He tightened it viciously, but the sleepingman never even murmured.
Then I saw him begin to push the sleeping man slowly and with efforttowards the gap he had made in the staircase rail.
* * * * *
When I could look (and it was a long time before I could make up my mindto do so), the body of Bardolph Just swung high above me, suspended bythe neck. On the landing, prone upon the floor, lay William Capper,sleeping soundly.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE BOY WITH THE LONG CURLS.
The suicide of that brilliant and cultured man, Dr. Bardolph Just,caused, as you will remember, a very great sensation at the time, andthere was much wonder expressed as to why the man had hanged himself atall. But there was no doubt about the question of suicide, because thewhole thing had been so deliberately and carefully planned.
He had taken care to send everyone away from him--even an old andtrusted friend like Mr. Harvey Scoffold--and had left himself absolutelyalone in that great house. Various theories were put forward as to howhe had managed to tie the knot so successfully, in making that runningnoose for his neck; but it was universally agreed that that had been amatter of teeth and his one uninjured hand. Shuddering accounts, whollyimaginary, were given of what the man's last hours must have been, andin what determined fashion he must have hacked away the rails, in orderto make a space through which he could push his way. Everyone seemed tobe
perfectly agreed on that matter, and there it ended.
For the rest, let me say that I waited in that house until, in duecourse, William Capper woke up. He went about what he had to do afterthat in the most methodical way, restoring all the keys to the doors,and putting in order such things as had been disturbed during thoselong, weary hours when he had followed the other man round the house. Hesaid but little to me, and at last we came out of the place, and stoodtogether, with the doors of the house closed upon us. Only when we hadgone through the grounds, and had come out upon the high road did hespeak again, and then without looking at me.
"This is where we part, sir," he said quietly. "You will be making forLondon, and I----"
"Where will you go?" I asked him as he hesitated.
"I don't know, and it doesn't matter," he replied, looking out over thelandscape that stretched before him. "I'm an old man, and there may notbe many years for me. It does not matter much where or how I spend them.If," he added whimsically, "I could be sure that they would send me tothat prison from which you came"--for I had told him that part of thestory--"I would do something that would cause me to be sent there; butit might be another prison, and that wouldn't do. I should like to benear him."
I stretched out my hand to him, on an impulse, in farewell, but he shookhis head. "You might not like to think afterwards that you took my hand,after what I have done," he said quietly. Then, with a quick nod, thissingular creature turned away and walked off down the road. I lost himat a turn of it, and I saw him no more.
I went back to London that night, and at my old lodging found AndrewFerkoe awaiting me. I had the task before me of writing to Debora, andthat task, as you may suppose, was not an easy one. Nevertheless Icontrived to put my case before her clearly and without brutality.
I told her that I should love her all my life; I blessed her for all shehad unconsciously done for me; I told her I was grateful for the sweetmemory of herself that she had left with me. But I reminded her that Ihad no name, and no position, and no hopes, and if by any unfortunatechance my real name was thrust upon me in the future, it would only beto bring shame and degradation upon me and upon any one with whom I wasassociated. And I added that she would have news very soon concerningthe doctor, and I thought it improbable that he would ever trouble heragain.
I sealed the letter and directed it, and gave it to Andrew Ferkoe. "Runout and post that," I said. "And never speak to me about the matteragain. You and I are alone together in the world, Andrew, and we shallhave to be sufficient for each other."
The lad weighed the letter in his hand, studying the address, andlooking from it to me and back again. "I know what you've done," hesaid; "you've had a row with the young lady--that's what you've done."
"You simpleton!" I laughed; "what do you know about such matters? I'vehad no row with the young lady, as you express it. I'm only trying to dothe right thing."
"Isn't she fond of you?" he asked wistfully.
"I believe she's very fond of me," I replied. "Only there are suchthings in this world as honour, and justice, and truth, and it iswritten among the laws that men should obey, but do not, that youmustn't take advantage of a woman's fondness for you. In other words,Andrew, you must play the game. So that it happens that, as I'm a rankoutsider and a bad lot, and as I have the stain of the prison on me,I've got to steer clear of a young girl who is as high above me as thestars. In a little time she will come to think of me with friendlyfeelings, but no more than that. So off with you, my boy, and post thatimportant letter."
Andrew hesitated a moment or two longer, and shook his head, but at lasthe sallied forth on his errand. I had lighted a cigar, and was on thepoint of sitting down to enjoy it, and to ruminate luxuriously over mymiseries, when there came a knock at the door, and my landlady put herhead in to announce that a gentleman had come to see me. I was rapidlyrunning over the names of the extremely few people who even knew of mywhereabouts as the man entered, and disclosed himself as an utterstranger. He was a little man, dressed in black, and of a precise mannerof speech and action. The landlady withdrew, and the visitor stoodlooking at me, as though taking stock of me generally, while he removedhis gloves.
"Haven't you made a mistake, sir?" I asked.
"I think not," he replied. "You are Mr. John New, are you not?"
I told him that I was, and I began to have an unpleasant sensation thathe must be connected with the police in some way. However, he smiledwith satisfaction at this proof that he was right, and took from hisbreast pocket a little bundle of papers.
"You were, I believe, a friend of the late Mr. Zabdiel Blowfield, whowas brutally murdered a short time ago?" he asked, looking up at me.
"Yes," I said, in some amazement. "I knew him slightly."
"As you are doubtless aware, Mr. New, the old gentleman was veryeccentric, and took very sudden likes and dislikes. He had no one in theworld belonging to him, his one nephew, after a somewhat disgracefulcareer, having died shamefully. It seems, however, that, slight as youracquaintance with him was, he took a decided liking for you."
"He never displayed it in life," I said grimly.
"Then he has made up for any lack in that respect now," said the man."Perhaps I should introduce myself, Mr. New. My name is Tipping--JamesTipping--and I was Mr. Blowfield's solicitor for many years. I shouldlike, Mr. New, to congratulate you; your poor old friend has left youeverything he possessed in the world."
For a moment or two I gaped at him, not understanding. I tried to framewords in which to answer, tried to get some grasp of his meaning. WhileI stood there, staring stupidly, he smiled indulgently, and went onspeaking.
"The will in which he left everything to you, and which was dulywitnessed at my office, was prepared only a few days--a few hoursalmost--before his death. It was prepared under curious circumstances.He seemed to have an idea that he had not treated his dead nephew verywell, and he wanted to make amends in some way. He told me that was thereason that he wanted to leave the money to you, a young man, with hisway to make in the world."
I own I felt bitterly ashamed. I seemed to see this strange old mandoing what he thought was some tardy act of justice at the very end, anddoing it in such a fashion that my identity should not be revealed.True, I remembered that in sheer panic he had tried to destroy meafterwards, but he had not revoked the will.
"How much is it?" I contrived to ask.
"Considerably over eighty thousand pounds," said Mr. Tipping unctuously."Mr. Blowfield lived very simply, as you are aware, and was extremelysuccessful in his investments generally. I congratulate you, Mr. New,with all my heart; I regret if I have been somewhat abrupt, and so havestartled you."
"It is a little staggering, certainly," I said weakly.
The man made an appointment for me to see him at his office on thefollowing day, but meanwhile left a substantial sum in my hands. WhenAndrew Ferkoe came back, as he did presently, I told him the great news.
"Now, look here, Andrew," I said solemnly, "I regard this money asbelonging almost as much to you as it does to me. There's not theslightest doubt that my Uncle Zabdiel made your father poor, and youknow well enough that he ground you pretty hard afterwards. You toiled,just as I toiled before you; and now we've got our great reward. Youshall join forces with me; we'll start life together, in a betterfashion than any we have yet enjoyed. Come down with me to see thelawyer to-morrow, and I'll settle a certain amount on you, and tie it uptight, so that you can get at it only in instalments; because money's adreadful temptation. After that we'll decide what we shall do with ourlives."
"I wish my poor father had been alive to know you," said the boytearfully.
I slept but little that night; my brain was awhirl with many thoughts.Now, more than ever, there entered into me the temptation to rememberonly that I was a rich man, and by that right, at least, I mightapproach Debora. I weighed that aspect of the case carefully through thelong hours of the night--almost making up my mind at times that I wouldthrow everything else to the wind
s, and would go to the girl and beg hernow to start life with me in a newer and a better fashion than any sheor I had known. But with the cold light of the dawn hard facts assertedthemselves; and I knew that the brand of my prison was on me, and couldnot well be washed out. I rose from my bed, determined that for thefuture love or thoughts of love was not for me.
In due course we called upon Mr. James Tipping, and I listened withwhat patience I might to a lecture from that gentleman on the sin ofmistaken generosity. In the end, of course, I had my way, and AndrewFerkoe found himself with an income, and with Mr. James Tipping as hislegal guardian. I will not tell you the amount, lest you should regardme either as too generous or not generous enough; suffice it that Andrewcould look forward to the prospect of passing his days in comfort, nomatter what might happen to me.
A few days of splendid idleness supervened on that, and I saw Londonunder a new aspect, and with a heart almost at peace--almost, because itwas utterly impossible for me to shut out of my mind what might havebeen and what never could be. So difficult was it, indeed, that at lastmy resolution broke down; and one evening I drove straight to the littlehotel near the Charterhouse where I had left Debora. I rehearsedspeeches as I went along, telling myself that she should understandclearly what the position was, and what she risked, and all the rest ofit; I was very full of the matter by the time the cab stopped outsidethe hotel.
But she was gone. So little had I expected that, that I stared in blankamazement at the porter, and asked him if he was quite sure. Yes, he wasquite sure; the lady had left two days before, and had not stated whereshe was going.
That was a knock-down blow, and one from which I found it difficult torecover. My pride was hurt, inconsistently enough; I had never expectedthat she would take the matter like that, and so readily adopt the veryforcible arguments I had brought to bear upon the situation in my letterto her. I had pictured her as resenting the idea fiercely; I hadpictured her broken down, and longing to see me, and to put her own verydifferent view of the matter before me. This calm acceptance of myideas was not what in my heart I had really anticipated.
Foolishly enough, I went back again and again to the hotel; but therewas no news of her. I did not even know the name of the lawyer to whom Ihad recommended her to go, in the event of anything happening to me orto the doctor. I began to see with bitterness that this young ladyregarded me merely as an episode--merely as a highly undesirable escapedconvict, who had forced his way into her life, and who was now donewith.
For my part, I had done with London, and I had done with England. I madeup my mind that I would go abroad, and would start again in a newcountry, and would endeavour to make something of my miserableexistence. So set was I upon the idea that in a matter of days I haddecided everything, and was buying my outfit. I put the matter beforeAndrew Ferkoe; I expected that he would raise objections to our parting.
He seemed a little upset, but said nothing that bore greatly on thequestion. He had great hopes, he told me, of being a doctor, and wasalready making arrangements to enter himself at a hospital, with a viewto training. I applauded the idea, for I had not liked to think that thelad might settle down to doing nothing save the spending of his income.
Judge of my surprise, therefore, when on the very next day he walkedinto my sitting-room in the comfortable hotel in which we had taken upour quarters, and announced quite another decision. He announced itfirmly, too, and with more daring than I should have given him creditfor.
"I'm coming with you," he said.
"You're making a great mistake if you think of doing that," I assuredhim. "Here in London you can settle down, and become a great and cleverman; with me you'll probably lead a useless, wandering sort ofexistence, and accomplish nothing. Be wise, and stay where you are."
"I'm coming with you," said Andrew obstinately. "You've been awfullygood to me, and I should be a beast to let you go on alone, to knockabout the world. I've been selfish even to think of it."
Nor could I shake his determination. I had booked my passage, and I nowhad to take another for him. He was nervous of going, he told me, andwould greatly prefer to have a cabin to himself, if that could besecured. As there were not many passengers by that particular boat, Iwas able to arrange that he should be alone in a small cabin. I settledthe matter then and there, and paid his passage money. And so we came tothe last night we were to spend in England.
"I want to have a run round to-morrow," he said, as we were about toretire to our rooms. "It'll be the last time I shall see London, Iexpect, and I want to make the most of every hour. The vessel doesn'tsail until quite late, and I shall go on board and turn in at once. I'mdreadfully afraid I shall be ill, and I don't want to wake up until I'mmiles away from the shore; then perhaps I can face it better."
Having settled that point, the boy prepared to go to bed. When he got tothe door of the room, however, he turned back, and slowly retraced hissteps to where I stood. He seemed bashful and nervous; he did not lookinto my eyes.
"There's never been anyone in the world that's behaved as well to me asyou have," he said. "I shall never be able to thank you enough."
"Shut up, Andrew, and go to bed!" I broke in.
"I don't intend to speak about it again, but I must, just this lasttime. God bless you, Jack"--I had taught him to call me that--"and mayyou be the happiest man in the world, wherever you are."
Before I could prevent him he had caught my hand in both of his, and hadkissed it passionately; then, with a sound suspiciously like a sob, heturned and bolted from the room. I had known him always for an odd,strange creature, but I confess I was moved more strongly then thanperhaps I had ever been moved before.
Evidently he had made up his mind to make the most of the day; he wasgone from the hotel when I came down in the morning. I took my last lookat London on my own account, feeling not too cheerful at the prospect ofgoing so far away. Then, towards the hour for sailing, I started for theship. My luggage had gone on, and I had nothing to do but to put myselfon board.
"The young gentleman came on board, and turned in about half an hourago, sir," the steward told me. "Dreadful afraid of being seasick, sir;said he wasn't to be disturbed on any account."
"Let him alone by all means," I said laughing. I felt relieved to knowthat Andrew had got safely out of his adventures of the day. I turnedin, and slept until the morning, by which time we were well out to sea.
Andrew did not put in an appearance all that day. He sent messages to meby the steward, to say that he was very ill, and did not want to seeanyone; a little later, that he was getting better. It was quite late inthe evening when I put the steward aside and insisted on seeing the boy.I was anxious about him.
The cabin was not particularly well lighted as I stumbled into it. I sawthe boy sitting on the side of his bunk, with his face partly turnedfrom me. Curiously enough, he was wearing his hat, a soft felt I hadnoticed him with the day before we left London.
"Well, Andrew," I said cheerily, "I'm sorry to see you like this. Muchbetter for you to put a good face on it, and come on deck."
"Won't this face do?"
I started, and stared at the figure of the boy.
In a moment the boy rose to his feet and tossed aside the felt hat; agreat mass of curls came tumbling down on to his shoulders. I uttered acry of amazement.
It was Debora!
"Andrew knew all about it all the time," she whispered to me, whenpresently we were coherent, and when she had blushingly apologised forher boy's dress. "He came to me after he had posted the letter you sentme; then, when I knew that you were going to sail, I made up my mind tocome with you. You foolish fellow! you would only have run away from meagain if I had tried to meet you in any other way; and I wanted tofollow you all over the world."
"All my world is here!" I whispered, as I kissed her.
THE END.
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED, LONDON.
s book with friends
