CHAPTER III.
THE MURDER OF FARMER BERTRAM—THE LEGLESS BODY—SUDDEN APPEARANCE OF THE SKELETON CREW.
THE MURDER OF FARMER BERTRAM—THE LEGLESS BODY—SUDDEN APPEARANCE OF THE SKELETON CREW.
“Black-hearted scoundrel!” said a voice, not far off. “Black-hearted scoundrel! I knew by the wicked twinkle of his eye that he meant me ill. Cunning as he was I have outwitted him. He is dead! He came here to rob and murder me! I will go and get a light, and view the body. Heaven knows, I did it in self-defence. What could an old man like I do with such a villain as that lying dead on the stairs, if he had once got into my chamber and found me in bed? Oh! Bolton, you lie a cold and bloody helpless carcase now, and you deserved it. The story of my son was a cruel trick, but you have paid dearly for it. I will go and get a light; I saw him in the orchard, and watched him.”
So saying, the old man walked across the landing into a chamber near his own where the lamp was.
At that instant Bolton rose quickly and bolt upright.
He was untouched!
The shot had in both instances missed him, for he had lain flat on the staircase.
He had groaned, it is true.
But this was in order to deceive old Bertram.
In a second he ascended the stairs, looked to his pistols, and, with Bob’s bludgeon in hand, stood beside the farmer’s chamber door.
He peeped in.
Bertram stood with his back towards the door trimming a lamp.
Bolton creeped up behind him.
In a moment the heavy bludgeon was raised, and descended with frightful force on the old man’s head!
A fearful crash it was.
In a second afterwards Farmer Bertram lay groaning on the floor.
“Murderer! my footsteps shall follow you wherever you go. When least you expect me I will appear to you! on land or sea; in your gay moments, in your sad moments; when alone, or when surrounded by friends; sleeping or waking,I, Bertram, your murdered victim, will stand by your side in the most horrid form, and follow you wherever you go!”
While thus cursing, Bertram rose, and, in his death grasp, took hold of Bolton’s throat, but Bolton, with a loud shriek, dashed the murdered man from him, and hurried into the next chamber to search for his gold.
He found several bags of money in an old oak chest.
The sight of the glittering coin ravished his eyes, dancing as they were with fiendish triumph.
“’Tis well,” said Bolton, “the old man is richer than I thought. Now for the notes; he has them concealed in the lining of his boots.”
Emptying the gold into his many large capacious pockets he unsheathed his dirk.
“I will cut his boots open, and secure the notes,” said he.
Lantern in hand, he re-entered the room where the lifeless body lay.
His eyes almost darted from their sockets at the sight he then saw.
Each hair on his head stood on end; he trembled in every limb.
His very marrow was frozen at the awful spectacle before him.
The body was legless!
Each leg had been disjointed just above the knee!
The limbs were gone!
“How could this happen?” mused the guilty man, trembling from head to foot.
Just at that moment he heard loud laughter outside in the garden—laughter not like that of men, but of demons.
He rushed to the window, and saw below the hideous forms of a dozen skeleton men, dancing and shouting in wild delight.
“Some of the Skeleton Crew!” he gasped, placing his hands before his face to shut out the horrid sight.
On the instant they vanished in the darkness, with loud shouts of mockery, like things of air!
Almost struck dumb with astonishment, he stood there, as if transfixed to the spot.
A gust of wind blew out his lamp.
In the dreadful darkness he heard the heavy footfalls of a man descending the stairs with slow and solemn step, while a voice, exactly like FarmerBertram’s, was heard repeating in sepulchral tones in the hall below—
“My footsteps shall follow you, Phillip Redgill, for ever!”
“Phillip Redgill,” gasped the murderer, “that ismyname! Oh, God! it is the farmer’s voice, and yet he is here, lifeless and legless! Hark, what steps are those I hear? who could have limbed him thus?”
While Bolton (or Phillip Redgill, as the spirit voice now properly called him) stood trembling thus, the ghostly voice said loudly again—
“Phillip Redgill, beware! my footsteps shall follow you for ever!”
Dropping the blood-stained bludgeon beside the body, Phillip Redgill rushed from the room, dashed down stairs, opened the back door, and ran towards the orchard.
He mounted his horse, and was about to start off at a furious gallop, when he gave a sharp, horror-stricken shout at something he saw.
The gory legs of the farmer stood bolt upright in the snow beside him!
“Phillip Redgill, I follow you.”
The murderer plunged spurs into his steed, and dashed from the spot with the swiftness of the wind.
He perceived Bob Bertram at some distance, who was approaching his father’s house.
It was as much as he could do to control his feelings; but he said to Bob,
“I have soon returned, you see.”
“Yes, ye haven’t been long.”
“No, and I have been so successful that I wish to be generous to all I meet to-night, and, if you are not too proud, I’ll begin with you.”
“How so, sir?” said Bob.
“You complained when last we spoke that you wanted good clothes in order to make a respectable appearance?”
“I did. What of that?”
“Why, I am a rich man and you poor. I’ll exchange clothes with you, and give you a purse full of money to start you a-fresh in life. What say you? I have taken a particular fancy to you, and like you.”
“I have not any objections,” said Bob, much amused at the horseman’s strange freak. “But where can we change?”
“Oh, this old barn will do, but we must be quick,” said the stranger, dismounting.
Bob soon exchanged clothes with the horseman; but he couldn’t help but remark that his companion had a very large amount of gold coin about him.
The stranger told him he had been out collecting for a very large London firm.
“There,” said Phillip, surveying Bob, “those clothes will make a man of you.”
“Mine alteryourlooks very much,” said Bob, laughing.
“Never mind that, my boy. I can afford to play such queer pranks, for I am rich. It will take my father quite by surprise to see me dressed in this manner.”
“And so it will mine when I go again.”
“Why not go to-night? Come, cheer up; put this purse in your pocket, and have a pull at my brandy flask; it will cheer you up. Go to him at once; he can’t be always angry with you.”
The stranger’s words were so kind and encouraging that, after he had galloped off, Bob determined to go boldly to his father’s house, and demand a lodging for the night.
The stranger’s brandy had aroused him, and made him feel rather flattered with his altered and gentlemanly appearance.
Thinking thus, he walked across the fields towards Four Ash Farm; but as he approached the dwelling he felt a sense of deep depression from some unknown cause—a feeling of chilliness and fear took possession of him.
He walked boldly up to the back door, however, and found it wide open.
Instead of the dogs joyfully yelping when he approached them, they rushed at him to the full length of their chains, howling most dismally.
He entered the house.
All was unearthly quiet.
“I will not disturb any one,” thought the prodigal son, “but creep into the parlour, and sleep on the sofa until morning.”
This he did on tiptoe, for fear of being heard, and was soon fast asleep.
In less than half-an-hour Betty returned, and with her two village constables.
They went upstairs to the farmer’s bed-room, conducted by old Betty.
She knocked at her master’s bed-room door three times.
There was no answer.
No light was burning.
She opened the door, and peeped in.
No one was there.
She next looked into Master Robert’s old bed-room.
Next moment she screamed aloud, and fell staggering to the floor.
“Murdered! murdered!” she cried.
The two officers went in, and turned deadly pale, as they beheld the lifeless body lying ghastly and gory before them.
“Murdered! murdered!” screamed the servant, again and again, in piercing tones.
The dreadful sounds aroused Robert.
He leaped from the sofa, and rushed upstairs.
“Oh, here is Mr. Bolton; kind good gentleman; oh, tell us who did this?” said Betty, weeping.
“It isnotMr. Bolton,” said one of the officers; “it is Bob Bertram.”
“What means this?” gasped Bob, pushing by the officers into his own old bed-room. “What means all this screaming when my father lies sick in bed?”
“It meansmurder, Bob,” said one of the men.
“What! murder?”
“Yes; and you did it,” said the other, “if I’m not much mistaken.”
“Me?”
“Aye you, Bob; look at your fine clothes stained with blood!”
And so they were. They had been wiped, but the stains were there upon them still.
“Oh! heavens! have mercy on me!” said Bob, turning white as a sheet, and fell into an arm chair, stricken to the heart with surprise and sorrow.
“We did not think you would do such a horrid thing as this is, Bob,” said the officers; “but we were warned of your threats, and your coming here to rob your father, and came to prevent it.”
“Me? Rob my father? Come here to murder? Warned of it beforehand?” gasped Bob, with staring eyes, “What means this? Is it all a terrible, horrible dream, or what?”
“No; it is an awful reality, and we must take you in custody, on the charge of murder.”
In an instant the two officers handcuffed him.
He did not utter a word or move a muscle.
He was pale, and looked wildly about him as if in a dream.
“Poor Nance!” he sighed, thinking of his pretty persecuted sweetheart and intended wife. “Poor Nance, this news will break thy young heart!”
Bob hung his head.
The constables were sorrowful and silent.
Betty looked like a crazy woman, as she sat on the floor, sobbing.
Not a word was spoken.
All was still.
The silence was at last broken by the slow, measured tread of some one coming upstairs.
The footsteps crossed the landing.
All turned anxiously towards the door.
Judge of their looks and shouts of fright and horror!
The bodiless legs walked slowly into the room!