THE MAN WITH THE WATCHES
There are many who will still bear in mind the singular circumstanceswhich, under the heading of the Rugby Mystery, filled many columns ofthe daily Press in the spring of the year 1892. Coming as it did at aperiod of exceptional dulness, it attracted perhaps rather moreattention than it deserved, but it offered to the public that mixture ofthe whimsical and the tragic which is most stimulating to the popularimagination. Interest drooped, however, when, after weeks of fruitlessinvestigation, it was found that no final explanation of the facts wasforthcoming, and the tragedy seemed from that time to the present tohave finally taken its place in the dark catalogue of inexplicable andunexpiated crimes. A recent communication (the authenticity of whichappears to be above question) has, however, thrown some new and clearlight upon the matter. Before laying it before the public it would be aswell, perhaps, that I should refresh their memories as to the singularfacts upon which this commentary is founded. These facts were briefly asfollows:—
At five o’clock on the evening of the 18th of March in the year alreadymentioned a train left Euston Station for Manchester. It was a rainy,squally day, which grew wilder as it progressed, so it was by no meansthe weather in which any one would travel who was not driven to do so bynecessity. The train, however, is a favourite one among Manchesterbusiness men who are returning from town, for it does the journey infour hours and twenty minutes, with only three stoppages upon the way.In spite of the inclement evening it was, therefore, fairly well filledupon the occasion of which I speak. The guard of the train was a triedservant of the company—a man who had worked for twenty-two years withoutblemish or complaint. His name was John Palmer.
The station clock was upon the stroke of five, and the guard was aboutto give the customary signal to the engine-driver when he observed twobelated passengers hurrying down the platform. The one was anexceptionally tall man, dressed in a long black overcoat with Astrakhancollar and cuffs. I have already said that the evening was an inclementone, and the tall traveller had the high, warm collar turned up toprotect his throat against the bitter March wind. He appeared, as far asthe guard could judge by so hurried an inspection, to be a man betweenfifty and sixty years of age, who had retained a good deal of the vigourand activity of his youth. In one hand he carried a brown leatherGladstone bag. His companion was a lady, tall and erect, walking with avigorous step which outpaced the gentleman beside her. She wore a long,fawn-coloured dust-cloak, a black, close-fitting toque, and a dark veilwhich concealed the greater part of her face. The two might very wellhave passed as father and daughter. They walked swiftly down the line ofcarriages, glancing in at the windows, until the guard, John Palmer,overtook them.
“Now, then, sir, look sharp, the train is going,” said he.
“First-class,” the man answered.
The guard turned the handle of the nearest door. In the carriage, whichhe had opened, there sat a small man with a cigar in his mouth. Hisappearance seems to have impressed itself upon the guard’s memory, forhe was prepared, afterwards, to describe or to identify him. He was aman of thirty-four or thirty-five years of age, dressed in some greymaterial, sharp-nosed, alert, with a ruddy, weather-beaten face, and asmall, closely cropped black beard. He glanced up as the door wasopened. The tall man paused with his foot upon the step.
“This is a smoking compartment. The lady dislikes smoke,” said he,looking round at the guard.
“All right! Here you are, sir!” said John Palmer. He slammed the door ofthe smoking carriage, opened that of the next one, which was empty, andthrust the two travellers in. At the same moment he sounded his whistleand the wheels of the train began to move. The man with the cigar was atthe window of his carriage, and said something to the guard as he rolledpast him, but the words were lost in the bustle of the departure. Palmerstepped into the guard’s van, as it came up to him, and thought no moreof the incident.
Twelve minutes after its departure the train reached Willesden Junction,where it stopped for a very short interval. An examination of thetickets has made it certain that no one either joined or left it at thistime, and no passenger was seen to alight upon the platform. At 5.14 thejourney to Manchester was resumed, and Rugby was reached at 6.50, theexpress being five minutes late.
At Rugby the attention of the station officials was drawn to the factthat the door of one of the first-class carriages was open. Anexamination of that compartment, and of its neighbour, disclosed aremarkable state of affairs.
The smoking carriage in which the short, red-faced man with the blackbeard had been seen was now empty. Save for a half-smoked cigar, therewas no trace whatever of its recent occupant. The door of this carriagewas fastened. In the next compartment, to which attention had beenoriginally drawn, there was no sign either of the gentleman with theAstrakhan collar or of the young lady who accompanied him. All threepassengers had disappeared. On the other hand, there was found upon thefloor of this carriage—the one in which the tall traveller and the ladyhad been—a young man, fashionably dressed and of elegant appearance. Helay with his knees drawn up, and his head resting against the furtherdoor, an elbow upon either seat. A bullet had penetrated his heart andhis death must have been instantaneous. No one had seen such a man enterthe train, and no railway ticket was found in his pocket, neither werethere any markings upon his linen, nor papers nor personal propertywhich might help to identify him. Who he was, whence he had come, andhow he had met his end were each as great a mystery as what had occurredto the three people who had started an hour and a half before fromWillesden in those two compartments.
I have said that there was no personal property which might help toidentify him, but it is true that there was one peculiarity about thisunknown young man which was much commented upon at the time. In hispockets were found no fewer than six valuable gold watches, three in thevarious pockets of his waistcoat, one in his ticket-pocket, one in hisbreast-pocket, and one small one set in a leather strap and fastenedround his left wrist. The obvious explanation that the man was apickpocket, and that this was his plunder, was discounted by the factthat all six were of American make, and of a type which is rare inEngland. Three of them bore the mark of the Rochester WatchmakingCompany; one was by Mason, of Elmira; one was unmarked; and the smallone, which was highly jewelled and ornamented, was from Tiffany, of NewYork. The other contents of his pocket consisted of an ivory knife witha corkscrew by Rodgers, of Sheffield; a small circular mirror, one inchin diameter; a re-admission slip to the Lyceum theatre; a silver boxfull of vesta matches, and a brown leather cigar-case containing twocheroots—also two pounds fourteen shillings in money. It was clear,then, that whatever motives may have led to his death, robbery was notamong them. As already mentioned, there were no markings upon the man’slinen, which appeared to be new, and no tailor’s name upon his coat. Inappearance he was young, short, smooth-cheeked, and delicately featured.One of his front teeth was conspicuously stopped with gold.
On the discovery of the tragedy an examination was instantly made of thetickets of all passengers, and the number of the passengers themselveswas counted. It was found that only three tickets were unaccounted for,corresponding to the three travellers who were missing. The express wasthen allowed to proceed, but a new guard was sent with it, and JohnPalmer was detained as a witness at Rugby. The carriage which includedthe two compartments in question was uncoupled and side-tracked. Then,on the arrival of Inspector Vane, of Scotland Yard, and of Mr.Henderson, a detective in the service of the railway company, anexhaustive inquiry was made into all the circumstances.
That crime had been committed was certain. The bullet, which appeared tohave come from a small pistol or revolver, had been fired from somelittle distance, as there was no scorching of the clothes. No weapon wasfound in the compartment (which finally disposed of the theory ofsuicide), nor was there any sign of the brown leather bag which theguard had seen in the hand of the tall gentleman. A lady’s parasol wasfound upon the rack, but no other trace was to be seen of the travellersin
either of the sections. Apart from the crime, the question of how orwhy three passengers (one of them a lady) could get out of the train,and one other get in during the unbroken run between Willesden andRugby, was one which excited the utmost curiosity among the generalpublic, and gave rise to much speculation in the London Press.
John Palmer, the guard, was able at the inquest to give some evidencewhich threw a little light upon the matter. There was a spot betweenTring and Cheddington, according to his statement, where, on account ofsome repairs to the line, the train had for a few minutes slowed down toa pace not exceeding eight or ten miles an hour. At that place it mightbe possible for a man, or even for an exceptionally active woman, tohave left the train without serious injury. It was true that a gang ofplatelayers was there, and that they had seen nothing, but it was theircustom to stand in the middle between the metals, and the open carriagedoor was upon the far side, so that it was conceivable that someonemight have alighted unseen, as the darkness would by that time bedrawing in. A steep embankment would instantly screen anyone who sprangout from the observation of the navvies.
The guard also deposed that there was a good deal of movement upon theplatform at Willesden Junction, and that though it was certain that noone had either joined or left the train there, it was still quitepossible that some of the passengers might have changed unseen from onecompartment to another. It was by no means uncommon for a gentleman tofinish his cigar in a smoking carriage and then to change to a cleareratmosphere. Supposing that the man with the black beard had done so atWillesden (and the half-smoked cigar upon the floor seemed to favour thesupposition), he would naturally go into the nearest section, whichwould bring him into the company of the two other actors in this drama.Thus the first stage of the affair might be surmised without any greatbreach of probability. But what the second stage had been, or how thefinal one had been arrived at, neither the guard nor the experienceddetective officers could suggest.
A careful examination of the line between Willesden and Rugby resultedin one discovery which might or might not have a bearing upon thetragedy. Near Tring, at the very place where the train slowed down,there was found at the bottom of the embankment a small pocketTestament, very shabby and worn. It was printed by the Bible Society ofLondon, and bore an inscription: “From John to Alice. Jan. 13th, 1856,”upon the fly-leaf. Underneath was written: “James, July 4th, 1859,” andbeneath that again: “Edward. Nov. 1st, 1869,” all the entries being inthe same handwriting. This was the only clue, if it could be called aclue, which the police obtained, and the coroner’s verdict of “Murder bya person or persons unknown” was the unsatisfactory ending of a singularcase. Advertisement, rewards, and inquiries proved equally fruitless,and nothing could be found which was solid enough to form the basis fora profitable investigation.
It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that no theories wereformed to account for the facts. On the contrary, the Press, both inEngland and in America, teemed with suggestions and suppositions, mostof which were obviously absurd. The fact that the watches were ofAmerican make, and some peculiarities in connection with the goldstopping of his front tooth, appeared to indicate that the deceased wasa citizen of the United States, though his linen, clothes, and bootswere undoubtedly of British manufacture. It was surmised, by some, thathe was concealed under the seat, and that, being discovered, he was forsome reason, possibly because he had overheard their guilty secrets, putto death by his fellow-passengers. When coupled with generalities as tothe ferocity and cunning of anarchical and other secret societies, thistheory sounded as plausible as any.
The fact that he should be without a ticket would be consistent withthe idea of concealment, and it was well known that women played aprominent part in the Nihilistic propaganda. On the other hand, it wasclear, from the guard’s statement, that the man must have been hiddenthere _before_ the others arrived, and how unlikely the coincidence thatconspirators should stray exactly into the very compartment in which aspy was already concealed! Besides, this explanation ignored the man inthe smoking carriage, and gave no reason at all for his simultaneousdisappearance. The police had little difficulty in showing that such atheory would not cover the facts, but they were unprepared in theabsence of evidence to advance any alternative explanation.
There was a letter in the _Daily Gazette_, over the signature of awell-known criminal investigator, which gave rise to considerablediscussion at the time. He had formed a hypothesis which had at leastingenuity to recommend it, and I cannot do better than append it in hisown words.
“Whatever may be the truth,” said he, “it must depend upon somebizarre and rare combination of events, so we need have no hesitation inpostulating such events in our explanation. In the absence of data wemust abandon the analytic or scientific method of investigation, andmust approach it in the synthetic fashion. In a word, instead of takingknown events and deducing from them what has occurred, we must build upa fanciful explanation if it will only be consistent with known events.We can then test this explanation by any fresh facts which may arise. Ifthey all fit into their places, the probability is that we are upon theright track, and with each fresh fact this probability increases in ageometrical progression until the evidence becomes final and convincing.
“Now, there is one most remarkable and suggestive fact which has notmet with the attention which it deserves. There is a local train runningthrough Harrow and King’s Langley, which is timed in such a way that theexpress must have overtaken it at or about the period when it eased downits speed to eight miles an hour on account of the repairs of the line.The two trains would at that time be travelling in the same direction ata similar rate of speed and upon parallel lines. It is within everyone’sexperience how, under such circumstances, the occupant of each carriagecan see very plainly the passengers in the other carriages opposite tohim. The lamps of the express had been lit at Willesden, so that eachcompartment was brightly illuminated, and most visible to an observerfrom outside.
“Now, the sequence of events as I reconstruct them would be after thisfashion. This young man with the abnormal number of watches was alone inthe carriage of the slow train. His ticket, with his papers and glovesand other things, was, we will suppose, on the seat beside him. He wasprobably an American, and also probably a man of weak intellect. Theexcessive wearing of jewellery is an early symptom in some forms ofmania.
“As he sat watching the carriages of the express which were (onaccount of the state of the line) going at the same pace as himself, hesuddenly saw some people in it whom he knew. We will suppose for thesake of our theory that these people were a woman whom he loved and aman whom he hated—and who in return hated him. The young man wasexcitable and impulsive. He opened the door of his carriage, steppedfrom the footboard of the local train to the footboard of the express,opened the other door, and made his way into the presence of these twopeople. The feat (on the supposition that the trains were going at thesame pace) is by no means so perilous as it might appear.
“Having now got our young man without his ticket into the carriage inwhich the elder man and the young woman are travelling, it is notdifficult to imagine that a violent scene ensued. It is possible thatthe pair were also Americans, which is the more probable as the mancarried a weapon—an unusual thing in England. If our supposition ofincipient mania is correct, the young man is likely to have assaultedthe other. As the upshot of the quarrel the elder man shot the intruder,and then made his escape from the carriage, taking the young lady withhim. We will suppose that all this happened very rapidly, and that thetrain was still going at so slow a pace that it was not difficult forthem to leave it. A woman might leave a train going at eight miles anhour. As a matter of fact, we know that this woman _did_ do so.
“And now we have to fit in the man in the smoking carriage. Presumingthat we have, up to this point, reconstructed the tragedy correctly, weshall find nothing in this other man to cause us to reconsider ourconclusions. According to my theory, this man saw the young fello
w crossfrom one train to the other, saw him open the door, heard thepistol-shot, saw the two fugitives spring out on to the line, realizedthat murder had been done, and sprang out himself in pursuit. Why he hasnever been heard of since—whether he met his own death in the pursuit,or whether, as is more likely, he was made to realize that it was not acase for his interference—is a detail which we have at present no meansof explaining. I acknowledge that there are some difficulties in theway. At first sight, it might seem improbable that at such a moment amurderer would burden himself in his flight with a brown leather bag. Myanswer is that he was well aware that if the bag were found his identitywould be established. It was absolutely necessary for him to take itwith him. My theory stands or falls upon one point, and I call upon therailway company to make strict inquiry as to whether a ticket was foundunclaimed in the local train through Harrow and King’s Langley upon the18th of March. If such a ticket were found my case is proved. If not, mytheory may still be the correct one, for it is conceivable either thathe travelled without a ticket or that his ticket was lost.”
To this elaborate and plausible hypothesis the answer of the policeand of the company was, first, that no such ticket was found; secondly,that the slow train would never run parallel to the express; and,thirdly, that the local train had been stationary in King’s LangleyStation when the express, going at fifty miles an hour, had flashed pastit. So perished the only satisfying explanation, and five years haveelapsed without supplying a new one. Now, at last, there comes astatement which covers all the facts, and which must be regarded asauthentic. It took the shape of a letter dated from New York, andaddressed to the same criminal investigator whose theory I have quoted.It is given here in extenso, with the exception of the two openingparagraphs, which are personal in their nature:—
“You’ll excuse me if I’m not very free with names. There’s less reasonnow than there was five years ago when mother was still living. But forall that, I had rather cover up our tracks all I can. But I owe you anexplanation, for if your idea of it was wrong, it was a mighty ingeniousone all the same. I’ll have to go back a little so as you may understandall about it.
“My people came from Bucks, England, and emigrated to the States inthe early fifties. They settled in Rochester, in the State of New York,where my father ran a large dry goods store. There were only two sons:myself, James, and my brother, Edward. I was ten years older than mybrother, and after my father died I sort of took the place of a fatherto him, as an elder brother would. He was a bright, spirited boy, andjust one of the most beautiful creatures that ever lived. But there wasalways a soft spot in him, and it was like mould in cheese, for itspread and spread, and nothing that you could do would stop it. Mothersaw it just as clearly as I did, but she went on spoiling him all thesame, for he had such a way with him that you could refuse him nothing.I did all I could to hold him in, and he hated me for my pains.
“At last he fairly got his head, and nothing that we could do wouldstop him. He got off into New York, and went rapidly from bad to worse.At first he was only fast, and then he was criminal; and then, at theend of a year or two, he was one of the most notorious young crooks inthe city. He had formed a friendship with Sparrow MacCoy, who was at thehead of his profession as a bunco-steerer, green goods-man, and generalrascal. They took to card-sharping, and frequented some of the besthotels in New York. My brother was an excellent actor (he might havemade an honest name for himself if he had chosen), and he would take theparts of a young Englishman of title, of a simple lad from the West, orof a college undergraduate, whichever suited Sparrow MacCoy’s purpose.And then one day he dressed himself as a girl, and he carried it off sowell, and made himself such a valuable decoy, that it was theirfavourite game afterwards. They had made it right with Tammany and withthe police, so it seemed as if nothing could ever stop them, for thosewere in the days before the Lexow Commission, and if you only had apull, you could do pretty nearly everything you wanted.
“And nothing would have stopped them if they had only stuck to cardsand New York, but they must needs come up Rochester way, and forge aname upon a check. It was my brother that did it, though everyone knewthat it was under the influence of Sparrow MacCoy. I bought up thatcheck, and a pretty sum it cost me. Then I went to my brother, laid itbefore him on the table, and swore to him that I would prosecute if hedid not clear out of the country. At first he simply laughed. I couldnot prosecute, he said, without breaking our mother’s heart, and he knewthat I would not do that. I made him understand, however, that ourmother’s heart was being broken in any case, and that I had set firm onthe point that I would rather see him in a Rochester gaol than in a NewYork hotel. So at last he gave in, and he made me a solemn promise thathe would see Sparrow MacCoy no more, that he would go to Europe, andthat he would turn his hand to any honest trade that I helped him toget. I took him down right away to an old family friend, Joe Willson,who is an exporter of American watches and clocks, and I got him to giveEdward an agency in London, with a small salary and a 15 per cent.commission on all business. His manner and appearance were so good thathe won the old man over at once, and within a week he was sent off toLondon with a case full of samples.
“It seemed to me that this business of the check had really given mybrother a fright, and that there was some chance of his settling downinto an honest line of life. My mother had spoken with him, and what shesaid had touched him, for she had always been the best of mothers tohim, and he had been the great sorrow of her life. But I knew that thisman Sparrow MacCoy had a great influence over Edward, and my chance ofkeeping the lad straight lay in breaking the connection between them. Ihad a friend in the New York detective force, and through him I kept awatch upon MacCoy. When within a fortnight of my brother’s sailing Iheard that MacCoy had taken a berth in the _Etruria_, I was as certainas if he had told me that he was going over to England for the purposeof coaxing Edward back again into the ways that he had left. In aninstant I had resolved to go also, and to put my influence againstMacCoy’s. I knew it was a losing fight, but I thought, and my motherthought, that it was my duty. We passed the last night together inprayer for my success, and she gave me her own Testament that my fatherhad given her on the day of their marriage in the Old Country, so that Imight always wear it next my heart.
“I was a fellow-traveller, on the steamship, with Sparrow MacCoy, andat least I had the satisfaction of spoiling his little game for thevoyage. The very first night I went into the smoking-room, and found himat the head of a card table, with half-a-dozen young fellows who werecarrying their full purses and their empty skulls over to Europe. He wassettling down for his harvest, and a rich one it would have been. But Isoon changed all that.
“‘Gentlemen,’ said I, ‘are you aware whom you are playing with?’
“‘What’s that to you? You mind your own business!’ said he, with anoath.
“‘Who is it, anyway?’ asked one of the dudes.
“‘He’s Sparrow MacCoy, the most notorious cardsharper in the States.’
“Up he jumped with a bottle in his hand, but he remembered that he wasunder the flag of the effete Old Country, where law and order run, andTammany has no pull. Gaol and the gallows wait for violence and murder,and there’s no slipping out by the back door on board an ocean liner.
“‘Prove your words, you——!’ said he.
“‘I will!’ said I. ‘If you will turn up your right shirt-sleeve to theshoulder, I will either prove my words or I will eat them.’
“He turned white and said not a word. You see, I knew something of hisways, and I was aware that part of the mechanism which he and all suchsharpers use consists of an elastic down the arm with a clip just abovethe wrist. It is by means of this clip that they withdraw from theirhands the cards which they do not want, while they substitute othercards from another hiding-place. I reckoned on it being there, and itwas. He cursed me, slunk out of the saloon, and was hardly seen againduring the voyage. For once, at any rate, I got level with MisterSpa
rrow MacCoy.
“But he soon had his revenge upon me, for when it came to influencingmy brother he outweighed me every time. Edward had kept himself straightin London for the first few weeks, and had done some business with hisAmerican watches, until this villain came across his path once more. Idid my best, but the best was little enough. The next thing I heardthere had been a scandal at one of the Northumberland Avenue hotels: atraveller had been fleeced of a large sum by two confederatecard-sharpers, and the matter was in the hands of Scotland Yard. Thefirst I learned of it was in the evening paper, and I was at oncecertain that my brother and MacCoy were back at their old games. Ihurried at once to Edward’s lodgings. They told me that he and a tallgentleman (whom I recognized as MacCoy) had gone off together, and thathe had left the lodgings and taken his things with him. The landlady hadheard them give several directions to the cabman, ending with EustonStation, and she had accidentally overheard the tall gentleman sayingsomething about Manchester. She believed that that was theirdestination.
“A glance at the time-table showed me that the most likely train was atfive, though there was another at 4.35 which they might have caught. Ihad only time to get the later one, but found no sign of them either atthe depôt or in the train. They must have gone on by the earlier one, soI determined to follow them to Manchester and search for them in thehotels there. One last appeal to my brother by all that he owed to mymother might even now be the salvation of him. My nerves wereoverstrung, and I lit a cigar to steady them. At that moment, just asthe train was moving off, the door of my compartment was flung open, andthere were MacCoy and my brother on the platform.
“They were both disguised, and with good reason, for they knew that theLondon police were after them. MacCoy had a great Astrakhan collar drawnup, so that only his eyes and nose were showing. My brother was dressedlike a woman, with a black veil half down his face, but of course it didnot deceive me for an instant, nor would it have done so even if I hadnot known that he had often used such a dress before. I started up, andas I did so MacCoy recognized me. He said something, the conductorslammed the door, and they were shown into the next compartment. I triedto stop the train so as to follow them, but the wheels were alreadymoving, and it was too late.
“When we stopped at Willesden, I instantly changed my carriage. Itappears that I was not seen to do so, which is not surprising, as thestation was crowded with people. MacCoy, of course, was expecting me,and he had spent the time between Euston and Willesden in saying all hecould to harden my brother’s heart and set him against me. That is whatI fancy, for I had never found him so impossible to soften or to move. Itried this way and I tried that; I pictured his future in an Englishgaol; I described the sorrow of his mother when I came back with thenews; I said everything to touch his heart, but all to no purpose. Hesat there with a fixed sneer upon his handsome face, while every now andthen Sparrow MacCoy would throw in a taunt at me, or some word ofencouragement to hold my brother to his resolutions.
“‘Why don’t you run a Sunday-school?’ he would say to me, and then, inthe same breath: ‘He thinks you have no will of your own. He thinks youare just the baby brother and that he can lead you where he likes. He’sonly just finding out that you are a man as well as he.’
“It was those words of his which set me talking bitterly. We had leftWillesden, you understand, for all this took some time. My temper gotthe better of me, and for the first time in my life I let my brother seethe rough side of me. Perhaps it would have been better had I done soearlier and more often.
“‘A man!’ said I. ‘Well, I’m glad to have your friend’s assurance of it,for no one would suspect it to see you like a boarding-school missy. Idon’t suppose in all this country there is a more contemptible-lookingcreature than you are as you sit there with that Dolly pinafore uponyou.’ He coloured up at that, for he was a vain man, and he winced fromridicule.
“‘It’s only a dust-cloak,’ said he, and he slipped it off. ‘One has tothrow the coppers off one’s scent, and I had no other way to do it.’ Hetook his toque off with the veil attached, and he put both it and thecloak into his brown bag. ‘Anyway, I don’t need to wear it until theconductor comes round,’ said he.
“‘Nor then, either,’ said I, and taking the bag I slung it with all myforce out of the window. ‘Now,’ said I, ‘you’ll never make a Mary Janeof yourself while I can help it. If nothing but that disguise standsbetween you and a gaol, then to gaol you shall go.’
“That was the way to manage him. I felt my advantage at once. His supplenature was one which yielded to roughness far more readily than toentreaty. He flushed with shame, and his eyes filled with tears. ButMacCoy saw my advantage also, and was determined that I should notpursue it.
“‘He’s my pard, and you shall not bully him,’ he cried.
“‘He’s my brother, and you shall not ruin him,’ said I. ‘I believe aspell of prison is the very best way of keeping you apart, and you shallhave it, or it will be no fault of mine.’
“‘Oh, you would squeal, would you?’ he cried, and in an instant hewhipped out his revolver. I sprang for his hand, but saw that I was toolate, and jumped aside. At the same instant he fired, and the bulletwhich would have struck me passed through the heart of my unfortunatebrother.
“He dropped without a groan upon the floor of the compartment, andMacCoy and I, equally horrified, knelt at each side of him, trying tobring back some signs of life. MacCoy still held the loaded revolver inhis hand, but his anger against me and my resentment towards him hadboth for the moment been swallowed up in this sudden tragedy. It was hewho first realized the situation. The train was for some reason goingvery slowly at the moment, and he saw his opportunity for escape. In aninstant he had the door open, but I was as quick as he, and jumping uponhim the two of us fell off the footboard and rolled in each other’s armsdown a steep embankment. At the bottom I struck my head against a stone,and I remembered nothing more. When I came to myself I was lying amongsome low bushes, not far from the railroad track, and somebody wasbathing my head with a wet handkerchief. It was Sparrow MacCoy.
“‘I guess I couldn’t leave you,’ said he. ‘I didn’t want to have theblood of two of you on my hands in one day. You loved your brother, I’veno doubt; but you didn’t love him a cent more than I loved him, thoughyou’ll say that I took a queer way to show it. Anyhow, it seems a mightyempty world now that he is gone, and I don’t care a continental whetheryou give me over to the hangman or not.’
“He had turned his ankle in the fall, and there we sat, he with hisuseless foot, and I with my throbbing head, and we talked and talkeduntil gradually my bitterness began to soften and to turn into somethinglike sympathy. What was the use of revenging his death upon a man whowas as much stricken by that death as I was? And then, as my witsgradually returned, I began to realize also that I could do nothingagainst MacCoy which would not recoil upon my mother and myself. Howcould we convict him without a full account of my brother’s career beingmade public—the very thing which of all others we wished to avoid? Itwas really as much our interest as his to cover the matter up, and frombeing an avenger of crime I found myself changed to a conspiratoragainst Justice. The place in which we found ourselves was one of thosepheasant preserves which are so common in the Old Country, and as wegroped our way through it I found myself consulting the slayer of mybrother as to how far it would be possible to hush it up.
“I soon realized from what he said that unless there were some papers ofwhich we knew nothing in my brother’s pockets, there was really nopossible means by which the police could identify him or learn how hehad got there. His ticket was in MacCoy’s pocket, and so was the ticketfor some baggage which they had left at the depôt. Like most Americans,he had found it cheaper and easier to buy an outfit in London than tobring one from New York, so that all his linen and clothes were new andunmarked. The bag, containing the dust cloak, which I had thrown out ofthe window, may have fallen among some bramble patch where it is stillco
ncealed, or may have been carried off by some tramp, or may have comeinto the possession of the police, who kept the incident to themselves.Anyhow, I have seen nothing about it in the London papers. As to thewatches, they were a selection from those which had been intrusted tohim for business purposes. It may have been for the same businesspurposes that he was taking them to Manchester, but—well, it’s too lateto enter into that.
“I don’t blame the police for being at fault. I don’t see how it couldhave been otherwise. There was just one little clew that they might havefollowed up, but it was a small one. I mean that small circular mirrorwhich was found in my brother’s pocket. It isn’t a very common thing fora young man to carry about with him, is it? But a gambler might havetold you what such a mirror may mean to a cardsharper. If you sit back alittle from the table, and lay the mirror, face upwards, upon your lap,you can see, as you deal, every card that you give to your adversary. Itis not hard to say whether you see a man or raise him when you know hiscards as well as your own. It was as much a part of a sharper’s outfitas the elastic clip upon Sparrow MacCoy’s arm. Taking that, inconnection with the recent frauds at the hotels, the police might havegot hold of one end of the string.
“I don’t think there is much more for me to explain. We got to a villagecalled Amersham that night in the character of two gentlemen upon awalking tour, and afterwards we made our way quietly to London, whenceMacCoy went on to Cairo and I returned to New York. My mother died sixmonths afterwards, and I am glad to say that to the day of her death shenever knew what happened. She was always under the delusion that Edwardwas earning an honest living in London, and I never had the heart totell her the truth. He never wrote; but, then, he never did write at anytime, so that made no difference. His name was the last upon her lips.
“There’s just one other thing that I have to ask you, sir, and I shouldtake it as a kind return for all this explanation, if you could do itfor me. You remember that Testament that was picked up. I always carriedit in my inside pocket, and it must have come out in my fall. I value itvery highly, for it was the family book with my birth and my brother’smarked by my father in the beginning of it. I wish you would apply atthe proper place and have it sent to me. It can be of no possible valueto any one else. If you address it to X, Bassano’s Library, Broadway,New York, it is sure to come to hand.”
Round the Fire Stories Page 4
