CHAPTERXCVIII.THE WOUNDED MAN AND HIS BETTER HALF.In the course of a day or two Doctor Bourne was sufficiently recovered to sally forth and attend to his professional duties. He was in no very amiable frame of mind, and his temper was not improved when he learnt from Mr. Wrench that Rawton had not been arrested. He offered a handsome reward for his apprehension, albeit he was in no way concerned in the charge of horse stealing, but he was furious when he thought of his assailant, whom he hated with no common hate. Rawton had deceived him. He had done more than this, he had insulted him, and committed a violent assault. All this was bad enough, but a number of other circumstances conspired to irritate the doctor, which filled his bitter cup to overflowing.Mrs. Bourne had, of course, a fine time of it. She saw as little as possible of her selfish and overbearing partner.He was morose and snarlish; answering her in short sentences, and treating her with the utmost contempt. At length, however, after a few days had passed over, he became more outspoken.“And so, madam,” he said one afternoon, “you and your worthless infamous champion and protector have done your worst. You have chosen a thief and a ruffian of the very worst type for your companion. It is a pity you did not take yourself off with him. I should then be rid of a pest and a nuisance.”“I am perfectly well aware, sir,” said Mrs. Bourne, indignantly, “that my presence here is obnoxious to you. I would gladly go, and would be thankful to be released from this odious thraldom.”“Then why the devil don’t you go? Nobody wants you to stop. I am sure I don’t,” he added, sarcastically.“You wish to be rid of me, and have done so for a long time past. Do not for a moment imagine, sir, that I do not know the reason. If you were an honourable man, which you are not, you would at once agree to a separation.”“Agree! ’gad it would be the most desirable thing that could happen. Agree, indeed!”“You had five thousand pounds settled on you on the day I became your wife. Resign that, or a portion of it, and the tie which binds us can be dissolved. You are then a free man, and will be at liberty to marry the rich lady upon whom you have an eye. Upon that condition I will resign all claim to you.”“I am much obliged, very much obliged, I am sure;No.52.but does it not occur to you that I can obtain a release without acceding to any such condition?”Illustration: MR. BOURNE--DOCTOR“MR. BOURNE—DOCTOR!” EJACULATED WRENCH, WHO SUDDENLY ENTERED THE ROOM.“I know your mercenary, grasping nature; you would not willingly part with a shilling of the money.”“No, I don’t intend to do so. Certainly not to such a shameless, abandoned woman as you are. I was a fool—worse than a fool—to be cozened into marrying a common harlot.”“Mr. Bourne, your language is intolerable. What were you at the time? What are you now? I will proclaim you to all the world as a brute and a ruffian, for such you are. If you had one spark of manhood in your coarse, callous nature you would blush at such observations.”“Thank you, madam, for your good opinion. We know each other pretty well, I believe, and there’s no very great love lost between us. I shall find the means of proving your marriage with William Rawton, notwithstanding the assertion made by that wretch as to its being an illegal one. When I am in a position to prove it—which I soon shall be—out of this house you go.”“I am in danger of my life while I remain here,” exclaimed his wife.“What do mean, madam?” he returned sharply.“Oh, you know what I mean.”“Liar and adultress!” he exclaimed, in a violent fury. “I demand to know what you mean. You know well enough that I am not a man to be trifled with. Explain yourself.”“I say, I believe my life to be in danger—that is my answer.”“Who cares what you believe? Your life—it doesn’t much matter how soon it comes to an end—certainly, not as far as I am concerned. You are an adept at dealing in inuendoes—I deal with facts. I wish to be rid of you.”“I am well aware of that. My life has been for a long time almost insupportable, and it would indeed be a joyful hour when I could feel assured that I was about to part from you, so that I might never see you more.”“The feeling is quite reciprocal, madam,” said Bourne. “I hope the hour is at hand, for both our sakes. You have passed through many grades in the social scale; you can now return to the arms of your admirer and protector—your ruffianly husband—who is a thief, and for aught I know may be a murderer as well.”“You base, infamous man,” cried Mrs. Bourne, in a perfect frenzy, “you have not one spark of honour in your whole composition.”Upon the impulse of the moment she caught hold of a scent bottle, which stood on the table, and hurled it at her husband. It struck him a sharp blow on the left cheek.He sprang forward and struck his wife with his clenched fist. Then he wound his fingers around her throat, and pinned her to the wall.“You common harlot,” he exclaimed, “I’ll make an end of you at once, and take all consequences.”He pressed the unfortunate woman’s throat with such force that she was half strangled. She made a desperate struggle to release herself, and called out for assistance, being under the impression at the time that he would carry his threat into execution; but her cries were soon stifled by her brutal husband.Fortunately for her the street-door had been opened by the maid in answer to a gentle rap, and Mr. Wrench, hearing a noise in the front parlour, entered without any ceremony.The detective was awe-struck at beholding Mrs. Bourne purple in the face, and her husband grasping her remorselessly by the throat.“Mr. Bourne—doctor!” ejaculated Wrench, dragging at the same time the man he was addressing from his wife, and thrusting him forcibly into one corner of the room.When this had been done, he said, “How is this, sir? You are sadly forgetting yourself, it would seem.”“Leave me alone. Don’t you interfere between man and wife,” exclaimed Bourne. “I know what I am about.”“Do you? Well, and so do I.”“There is good reason for all this. You don’t know the provocation I have had.”“I have nothing to do with that. I will not allow an assault of this nature to take place in my presence without interfering. I know my duty, Mr. Bourne, and am surprised at you.”“You would not be if you knew all.”“I know a great deal more than you imagine,” said Wrench, with admirable coolness.“A parcel of lies she has been telling you, I presume.”“No such thing. This lady has never spoken to me about your disagreements. You are mistaken.”“She would not scruple to malign me to you, or anyone else.”“I say I am very much shocked at your conduct during the scene I have just witnessed. I sympathise with you, madam,” said the detective in continuation, and turning towards Mrs. Bourne.“God knows I need sympathy; I am weary of life,” cried the lady.“Silence! hold your tongue, woman!” exclaimed her husband.“Mr. Bourne, do let me endeavour to prevail upon you to be a little more temperate, and conduct yourself in a more becoming manner.”“I’m not to be lectured or dictated to by you, sir,” was the reply.“I have no desire to dictate to anyone, but in a case of this description I am of necessity constrained to be outspoken.”“Oh, go on, sir, pray go on. I am not master in my own house, it would appear.”“I hope you are. I should say, judging from appearances, that you are very much the master.”“I’ll get a warrant,” said Mrs. Bourne, “and swear that I am in danger of my life. I can do that, I suppose?”“You can do it, of course,” returned Wrench. “But it would be a very great exposure for a gentleman in your husband’s position.”“I don’t care if it is.”“She does not care for anything, and has no regard for my interests. She is a worthless woman, Wrench. I am very sorry to be obliged to say so, but it is a fact.”“You don’t believe him, I hope,” observed Mrs. Bourne, quietly.“He does not mean what he says, madam—I am sure of that.”“I do,” ejaculated the doctor. “I say she is a worthless, infamous woman.”“I am sure you don’t expect me to believe you.”“Indeed, but I do.”“Well, we will not discuss that question, Mr. Bourne. You are out of temper, and say a great deal more than you mean; but let that pass. I hope and trust there will be no recurrence of this scene of violence.”“I want to have nothing to say to her. I hope and trust to be in a position before many days are over my head to get rid of this abusive woman.”Mrs. Bourne made no further observation, but quietly left the apartment.“Well,” said her husband, after she had retired, “have you any good news for me? Is that scoundrel still at large?”“We have not as yet been able to meet with him, but hope to do so before long.”“Hang it! but that’s most unfortunate. I concluded, when I saw you, that business had brought you hither.”“Well, so it has. It is partly business matters that I have come upon.”“Ah, indeed, just so. And what is the nature of the matters you speak of?”“Upon my word, doctor, I don’t know that I am in position to tell you precisely. I have come hither for the purpose of inquiring what time it will be convenient for you to see Mr. Shearman?”“Mr. Shearman? What!—that detective from America?”“Yes.”“What can he possibly want with me?”“That you had better hear from his own lips.”Doctor Bourne looked puzzled, or, it might be said, a little disconcerted.“From his own lips?” he iterated.“If you please. That, I think, would be the best course.”“Upon my word, Wrench, you are monstrously mysterious. What has the man to tell me?”“I am not able to say.”“Ah, very well, I will see the gentleman. I hope he will bring me good news. Perhaps a rich relative has died abroad, and left me some thousands—eh?”“I don’t think so,” observed Wrench, quietly.“Or it may be that I am the owner of some unclaimed property. Such things have taken place before now.”“They have, I admit; but I would not buoy myself up with any such fallacious expectations.”“Oh, you don’t appear to be at all hopeful or sanguine, but at any rate I trust this active and intelligent Yankee will bring me good news of some kind.”“You will learn all when you see him,” observed Wrench. “The case is in his hands—not mine.”“Case! What do you mean? What case has he in hand that can possibly concern me? I never saw the man before in my life that I am aware of. Not till you brought him here.”“That is likely enough.”“And has he ever seen me before?”“I believe not.”“Hang it, Wrench, you are most confoundedly mysterious. I wish you would be a little more communicative.”“When will it be convenient for you to see Mr. Shearman?” said the detective, not appearing to take any notice of the doctor’s query.“When? Oh, any time that may be most convenient to the gentleman.”“Any time is no time, Dr. Bourne. You had better state the day and the hour.”“Certainly. Will to-morrow evening suit?”“Very well, I should imagine. And at what hour?”“Let me see. I am rather busy, it is true; but will eight o’clock do, or between that and nine?”“It will suit Shearman, if it does you.”“So be it, then; I will be in then, and shall be glad to receive your friend between eight and nine o’clock.”“Agreed, doctor; I will make a point of being here. I am quite sure of that.”“Shall I have the pleasure of seeing you as well?”“I cannot promise; besides, it would be perhaps advisable for him to confer with you without the presence of a third party. The case has been entrusted to him to conduct.”“Oh, indeed,” cried Bourne, in a tone of mistrust. “But here—you must not go, my dear friend, without a glass of wine or some refreshment. What will you take?”“I would rather not have anything just now, if you’ll excuse me.”“Umph! I see how it is; you are a little out of sorts just now. Probably this may be attributable to the scene you have just witnessed: but permit me, in justice to myself, to assure you that there was a strong reason for my being so moved to anger. It is not possible to make you acquainted with the nature of the provocation I have received from that woman.”“I do not desire to inquire into your domestic troubles—for such I suppose them to be,” said Wrench, rising; “I hope there will be no further violence displayed on either side.”“There shall not be as far as I am concerned. I pledge my word as to that, Wrench. I lost my temper, I admit; but it is all over now. I shall be more guarded for the future. Thank you for your good advice.”“I wish you a good evening, sir,” said the detective, with something like dignity in his tone and manner. “My friend, Mr. Shearman, will be here at the time specified. Good evening.”“Good evening. But I say—one word before you go.”“Yes, what is it?”“There is no occasion for you to mention the outbreak—the fracas—you have been witness of. Do you see?”“Yes, I will not mention it to any one.”“You pass your word as to that?”“I do. Once more, good-night.”
In the course of a day or two Doctor Bourne was sufficiently recovered to sally forth and attend to his professional duties. He was in no very amiable frame of mind, and his temper was not improved when he learnt from Mr. Wrench that Rawton had not been arrested. He offered a handsome reward for his apprehension, albeit he was in no way concerned in the charge of horse stealing, but he was furious when he thought of his assailant, whom he hated with no common hate. Rawton had deceived him. He had done more than this, he had insulted him, and committed a violent assault. All this was bad enough, but a number of other circumstances conspired to irritate the doctor, which filled his bitter cup to overflowing.
Mrs. Bourne had, of course, a fine time of it. She saw as little as possible of her selfish and overbearing partner.
He was morose and snarlish; answering her in short sentences, and treating her with the utmost contempt. At length, however, after a few days had passed over, he became more outspoken.
“And so, madam,” he said one afternoon, “you and your worthless infamous champion and protector have done your worst. You have chosen a thief and a ruffian of the very worst type for your companion. It is a pity you did not take yourself off with him. I should then be rid of a pest and a nuisance.”
“I am perfectly well aware, sir,” said Mrs. Bourne, indignantly, “that my presence here is obnoxious to you. I would gladly go, and would be thankful to be released from this odious thraldom.”
“Then why the devil don’t you go? Nobody wants you to stop. I am sure I don’t,” he added, sarcastically.
“You wish to be rid of me, and have done so for a long time past. Do not for a moment imagine, sir, that I do not know the reason. If you were an honourable man, which you are not, you would at once agree to a separation.”
“Agree! ’gad it would be the most desirable thing that could happen. Agree, indeed!”
“You had five thousand pounds settled on you on the day I became your wife. Resign that, or a portion of it, and the tie which binds us can be dissolved. You are then a free man, and will be at liberty to marry the rich lady upon whom you have an eye. Upon that condition I will resign all claim to you.”
“I am much obliged, very much obliged, I am sure;No.52.but does it not occur to you that I can obtain a release without acceding to any such condition?”
Illustration: MR. BOURNE--DOCTOR“MR. BOURNE—DOCTOR!” EJACULATED WRENCH, WHO SUDDENLY ENTERED THE ROOM.
“MR. BOURNE—DOCTOR!” EJACULATED WRENCH, WHO SUDDENLY ENTERED THE ROOM.
“I know your mercenary, grasping nature; you would not willingly part with a shilling of the money.”
“No, I don’t intend to do so. Certainly not to such a shameless, abandoned woman as you are. I was a fool—worse than a fool—to be cozened into marrying a common harlot.”
“Mr. Bourne, your language is intolerable. What were you at the time? What are you now? I will proclaim you to all the world as a brute and a ruffian, for such you are. If you had one spark of manhood in your coarse, callous nature you would blush at such observations.”
“Thank you, madam, for your good opinion. We know each other pretty well, I believe, and there’s no very great love lost between us. I shall find the means of proving your marriage with William Rawton, notwithstanding the assertion made by that wretch as to its being an illegal one. When I am in a position to prove it—which I soon shall be—out of this house you go.”
“I am in danger of my life while I remain here,” exclaimed his wife.
“What do mean, madam?” he returned sharply.
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Liar and adultress!” he exclaimed, in a violent fury. “I demand to know what you mean. You know well enough that I am not a man to be trifled with. Explain yourself.”
“I say, I believe my life to be in danger—that is my answer.”
“Who cares what you believe? Your life—it doesn’t much matter how soon it comes to an end—certainly, not as far as I am concerned. You are an adept at dealing in inuendoes—I deal with facts. I wish to be rid of you.”
“I am well aware of that. My life has been for a long time almost insupportable, and it would indeed be a joyful hour when I could feel assured that I was about to part from you, so that I might never see you more.”
“The feeling is quite reciprocal, madam,” said Bourne. “I hope the hour is at hand, for both our sakes. You have passed through many grades in the social scale; you can now return to the arms of your admirer and protector—your ruffianly husband—who is a thief, and for aught I know may be a murderer as well.”
“You base, infamous man,” cried Mrs. Bourne, in a perfect frenzy, “you have not one spark of honour in your whole composition.”
Upon the impulse of the moment she caught hold of a scent bottle, which stood on the table, and hurled it at her husband. It struck him a sharp blow on the left cheek.
He sprang forward and struck his wife with his clenched fist. Then he wound his fingers around her throat, and pinned her to the wall.
“You common harlot,” he exclaimed, “I’ll make an end of you at once, and take all consequences.”
He pressed the unfortunate woman’s throat with such force that she was half strangled. She made a desperate struggle to release herself, and called out for assistance, being under the impression at the time that he would carry his threat into execution; but her cries were soon stifled by her brutal husband.
Fortunately for her the street-door had been opened by the maid in answer to a gentle rap, and Mr. Wrench, hearing a noise in the front parlour, entered without any ceremony.
The detective was awe-struck at beholding Mrs. Bourne purple in the face, and her husband grasping her remorselessly by the throat.
“Mr. Bourne—doctor!” ejaculated Wrench, dragging at the same time the man he was addressing from his wife, and thrusting him forcibly into one corner of the room.
When this had been done, he said, “How is this, sir? You are sadly forgetting yourself, it would seem.”
“Leave me alone. Don’t you interfere between man and wife,” exclaimed Bourne. “I know what I am about.”
“Do you? Well, and so do I.”
“There is good reason for all this. You don’t know the provocation I have had.”
“I have nothing to do with that. I will not allow an assault of this nature to take place in my presence without interfering. I know my duty, Mr. Bourne, and am surprised at you.”
“You would not be if you knew all.”
“I know a great deal more than you imagine,” said Wrench, with admirable coolness.
“A parcel of lies she has been telling you, I presume.”
“No such thing. This lady has never spoken to me about your disagreements. You are mistaken.”
“She would not scruple to malign me to you, or anyone else.”
“I say I am very much shocked at your conduct during the scene I have just witnessed. I sympathise with you, madam,” said the detective in continuation, and turning towards Mrs. Bourne.
“God knows I need sympathy; I am weary of life,” cried the lady.
“Silence! hold your tongue, woman!” exclaimed her husband.
“Mr. Bourne, do let me endeavour to prevail upon you to be a little more temperate, and conduct yourself in a more becoming manner.”
“I’m not to be lectured or dictated to by you, sir,” was the reply.
“I have no desire to dictate to anyone, but in a case of this description I am of necessity constrained to be outspoken.”
“Oh, go on, sir, pray go on. I am not master in my own house, it would appear.”
“I hope you are. I should say, judging from appearances, that you are very much the master.”
“I’ll get a warrant,” said Mrs. Bourne, “and swear that I am in danger of my life. I can do that, I suppose?”
“You can do it, of course,” returned Wrench. “But it would be a very great exposure for a gentleman in your husband’s position.”
“I don’t care if it is.”
“She does not care for anything, and has no regard for my interests. She is a worthless woman, Wrench. I am very sorry to be obliged to say so, but it is a fact.”
“You don’t believe him, I hope,” observed Mrs. Bourne, quietly.
“He does not mean what he says, madam—I am sure of that.”
“I do,” ejaculated the doctor. “I say she is a worthless, infamous woman.”
“I am sure you don’t expect me to believe you.”
“Indeed, but I do.”
“Well, we will not discuss that question, Mr. Bourne. You are out of temper, and say a great deal more than you mean; but let that pass. I hope and trust there will be no recurrence of this scene of violence.”
“I want to have nothing to say to her. I hope and trust to be in a position before many days are over my head to get rid of this abusive woman.”
Mrs. Bourne made no further observation, but quietly left the apartment.
“Well,” said her husband, after she had retired, “have you any good news for me? Is that scoundrel still at large?”
“We have not as yet been able to meet with him, but hope to do so before long.”
“Hang it! but that’s most unfortunate. I concluded, when I saw you, that business had brought you hither.”
“Well, so it has. It is partly business matters that I have come upon.”
“Ah, indeed, just so. And what is the nature of the matters you speak of?”
“Upon my word, doctor, I don’t know that I am in position to tell you precisely. I have come hither for the purpose of inquiring what time it will be convenient for you to see Mr. Shearman?”
“Mr. Shearman? What!—that detective from America?”
“Yes.”
“What can he possibly want with me?”
“That you had better hear from his own lips.”
Doctor Bourne looked puzzled, or, it might be said, a little disconcerted.
“From his own lips?” he iterated.
“If you please. That, I think, would be the best course.”
“Upon my word, Wrench, you are monstrously mysterious. What has the man to tell me?”
“I am not able to say.”
“Ah, very well, I will see the gentleman. I hope he will bring me good news. Perhaps a rich relative has died abroad, and left me some thousands—eh?”
“I don’t think so,” observed Wrench, quietly.
“Or it may be that I am the owner of some unclaimed property. Such things have taken place before now.”
“They have, I admit; but I would not buoy myself up with any such fallacious expectations.”
“Oh, you don’t appear to be at all hopeful or sanguine, but at any rate I trust this active and intelligent Yankee will bring me good news of some kind.”
“You will learn all when you see him,” observed Wrench. “The case is in his hands—not mine.”
“Case! What do you mean? What case has he in hand that can possibly concern me? I never saw the man before in my life that I am aware of. Not till you brought him here.”
“That is likely enough.”
“And has he ever seen me before?”
“I believe not.”
“Hang it, Wrench, you are most confoundedly mysterious. I wish you would be a little more communicative.”
“When will it be convenient for you to see Mr. Shearman?” said the detective, not appearing to take any notice of the doctor’s query.
“When? Oh, any time that may be most convenient to the gentleman.”
“Any time is no time, Dr. Bourne. You had better state the day and the hour.”
“Certainly. Will to-morrow evening suit?”
“Very well, I should imagine. And at what hour?”
“Let me see. I am rather busy, it is true; but will eight o’clock do, or between that and nine?”
“It will suit Shearman, if it does you.”
“So be it, then; I will be in then, and shall be glad to receive your friend between eight and nine o’clock.”
“Agreed, doctor; I will make a point of being here. I am quite sure of that.”
“Shall I have the pleasure of seeing you as well?”
“I cannot promise; besides, it would be perhaps advisable for him to confer with you without the presence of a third party. The case has been entrusted to him to conduct.”
“Oh, indeed,” cried Bourne, in a tone of mistrust. “But here—you must not go, my dear friend, without a glass of wine or some refreshment. What will you take?”
“I would rather not have anything just now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Umph! I see how it is; you are a little out of sorts just now. Probably this may be attributable to the scene you have just witnessed: but permit me, in justice to myself, to assure you that there was a strong reason for my being so moved to anger. It is not possible to make you acquainted with the nature of the provocation I have received from that woman.”
“I do not desire to inquire into your domestic troubles—for such I suppose them to be,” said Wrench, rising; “I hope there will be no further violence displayed on either side.”
“There shall not be as far as I am concerned. I pledge my word as to that, Wrench. I lost my temper, I admit; but it is all over now. I shall be more guarded for the future. Thank you for your good advice.”
“I wish you a good evening, sir,” said the detective, with something like dignity in his tone and manner. “My friend, Mr. Shearman, will be here at the time specified. Good evening.”
“Good evening. But I say—one word before you go.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“There is no occasion for you to mention the outbreak—the fracas—you have been witness of. Do you see?”
“Yes, I will not mention it to any one.”
“You pass your word as to that?”
“I do. Once more, good-night.”