There are few things in life so troublesome or so tedious as the turnings back which one is often obliged to make, as one journeys along over the surface of the world; the more especially because these turnings back happen, in an infinite proportion, oftener to the hasty and the impatient than to other men; and that, too, on account of their very haste and impatience, which makes them cast a shoe here, or drop their whip there, or ride off and forget their spurs at the other place. But yet it is not an unpleasant sight, to see some sedate old hound, when a whole pack of reckless young dogs have overrun the scent in their eagerness, get them all gently back again, under the sage direction of the huntsman and his whips, and with upturned nose, and tongue like a church bell, announce the recovery.
Know then, dear readers, that in our eagerness to get at the scene just depicted, we have somewhat overrun the scent, and must return, however unwillingly, to the time and circumstances, under which Henry Beauchamp left Mr. Tims of Ryebury, on the preceding night. It was, as may be remembered, fine, clear, autumn weather. The night, indeed, would have been dark, but for the moon, which poured a grand flood of light through the valleys, and over the plains; and Mr. Tims, who loved the light--not so much because his own ways were peculiarly good, as because it is known to be a great scarer of those whose ways are more evil still--remarked with satisfaction, as he ushered his guest to the door, that it was as clear as day.
"Sally, Sally!" he exclaimed, as soon as Mr. Beauchamp was gone, "are all the doors and windows shut?"
"Lord bless me, yes!" answered the dirty maid, shouting in return from the kitchen, like Achilles from the trenches. "As fast shut as hands can make them."
"What is that noise, then?" demanded the miser, suspiciously.
"Only me putting in the lower bolt of the back-door," answered the maid.
"Oh, Sally, Sally! you never will do things at the time you are bid!" cried the reproachful usurer. "I told you always to shut up at dusk. But come here, and put on your bonnet. I want you to run down to the town for a stamp."
Sally grumbled something about going out so late, and meeting impudent men in the lanes; but after a lapse of time, which the miser thought somewhat extraordinary in length, she appeared equipped for the walk, and received her master's written directions as to the stamp, or rather stamps, he wanted, and where they were to be found in Emberton. The miser then saw her to the door, locked, bolted, and barred it after her departure, and returning to the parlor, lifted the dim and long-wicked candle, bearing on its pale and sickly sides the evidence of many a dirty thumb and finger; and then with slow, and somewhat feeble steps, climbed, one by one, the stairs, and retired to a high apartment at the back of the house, for which he seemed to entertain a deep and reverential affection.
Well, indeed, might he love it; for it was the temple of his divinity, the place in which his riches and his heart reposed, and which contained his every feeling. There, shrined in a safe of iron, let into the wall, were the Lares and Penates of his house, bearing either the goodly forms of golden disks--with the face of the fourth George pre-eminent on one side, and of his namesake saint all saddleless and naked, on the other--or otherwise, the forms of paper parallelograms, inscribed with cabalistic characters, implying promises to pay. Here Mr. Tims sat down, after having closed the door, and placed the candle on a table; and, throwing one leg, clothed in its black worsted stockings, over the other, he sat in a sort of rapt and reverential trance, worshiping Mammon devoutly, in the appropriate forms of vulgar and decimal fractions, interest, simple and compound.
Scarcely had he gone up-stairs, however, when a change of scene came over the lower part of his house. A door, which communicated with the steps that led down to the kitchen, moved slowly upon its hinges, and the moonlight streaming through the grated fan window, above the outer door, fell upon the form of a man, emerging, with a careful and noiseless step, from the lower story into the passage. The beams, which were strong enough to have displayed the features of any one where this very suspicious visitor stood, now fell upon nothing like the human face divine, the countenance of the stranger being completely covered and concealed by a broad black crape, tied tightly behind his head. As soon as he had gained the passage, and stood firm in the moonlight, another form appeared, issuing from the mouth of the same narrow and somewhat steep staircase, with a face equally well concealed. A momentary conversation was then carried on in a whisper between the two, and the first apparition, looking sharply at the chinks of the several doors around, seemingly to discover whether there was any light within, replied to some question from the other, "No, no! He is gone upstairs, to hide it in the room where she told us he kept it. Go down and tell Wat to come up, and keep guard here; and make haste!"
The injunction was soon complied with; and a third person being added to the party, was placed, with a pistol in his hand, between the outer door and the top of the stairs. Before he suffered his two companions to depart, however, on the errand on which they were bent, he seemed to ask two or three questions somewhat anxiously, to which the former speaker replied, "Hurt him! Oh, no! do not be afraid! Only tie him, man! I told you before that we would not. There is never any use of doing more than utility requires. He will cry when he is tied, of course; but do not you budge."
"Very well!" answered the other, in the same low tone, and his two comrades began to ascend the stairs. Before they had taken three steps, however, the first returned again to warn their sentinel not to use his pistol but in the last necessity; observing, that a pistol was a bad weapon, for it made too much noise. He then resumed his way, and in a moment after was hid from his companion. The whole topography of the house seemed well known to the leader of these nocturnal visitants; for, gliding on as noiselessly as possible, he proceeded direct toward the room where the miser sat.
Mr. Tims, little misdoubting that such gentry were already in possession of his house, had remained quietly musing over his gains, somewhat uneasy, indeed, at the absence of Sally, but not much more apprehensive than the continual thoughts of his wealth caused him always to be.
He had indeed once become so incautious, in the eagerness of his contemplations, as to draw forth his large key, and open the strong iron door which covered the receptacle of his golden happiness. But immediately reflecting that Sally was not in the house to give the alarm, if any cause of apprehension arose below, he relocked the chest, and was returning to the table, when a sudden creak of the stairs, as if one of the steps had yielded a little beneath a heavy but cautious foot, roused all his fears. His cheeks and his lips grew pale; his knees trembled; and, with a shaking hand, he raised the candle from the table, and advanced toward the door.
It was opened but too soon; and, ere the unhappy miser reached it, the light fell upon a figure which left him no doubt of the purport of the visit. It was not for his life the old man feared half so much as for his treasure, in the defense of which he would have fought an universe of thieves. A blunderbuss hung over the mantelpiece, and the pulley of an alarum-bell by the window, and the miser's mind vibrated for a single moment between the two. Dropping the candle almost at once, however, he sprang toward the bell, while one of the men shouted to the other near whom he passed, "Stop him! Stop him from the bell! By G--, he will have the whole country upon us!"
Both sprang forward. The candle, which had blazed a moment on the floor, was trampled out, and complete darkness succeeded. Then followed a fearful noise of eager running here and there--the overthrowing of chairs and tables--the dodging round every thing that could be interposed between people animated with the active spirit of flight and pursuit--but not a word was spoken. At length there was a stumble over something--then a heavy fall, and then a sound of struggling, as of two people rolling together where they lay. Another rushed forward, and seemed to grope about in the darkness. "D-- it, you have cut me, Stephen!" cried a low, deep voice.
"Murder! Murder! Murder!" screamed another. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" and all was silent.
Two men had fallen, and another had bent down over them; but only one of those who had rolled on the floor rose up, beside the other who had been kneeling. Both remained quite still, with nothing but the monosyllable, "Hush!" uttered by either.
After a pause of several minutes, the one observed, in a low voice, "You have done him, Stephen!"
"He would have it," replied the other. "Run down and get a light, and do not let the youngster know how it has turned out."
"But I am all bloody!" said the other. "He will see it in a minute. Besides, you have cut my hand to the bone."
"Well, you stay, and I will go down," replied the first.
"Not I!" was the answer, "I'll not stay here in the dark with him."
"Then go down, and do not waste more time," said the first, somewhat sharply. "Tell the boy, if he ask, that the old man cut your hand while you were tying him; but, at all events, make haste."
The other obeyed, and, after a long and silent interval, returned with the light. It flashed upon a ghastly spectacle. There, on the floor, at a short distance from the bell-rope, which he had been endeavoring to reach, lay the figure of the unhappy miser, in the midst of a pool of gore, which was still flowing slowly from two deep gashes in his throat. His mouth was open, and seemed in the very act of gasping. His eyes were unclosed, and turned up, with a cold, dull, meaningless stare; and his gray hair, long, lank, and untrimmed, lay upon his ashy cheeks, dabbled with his own blood. By his side, exactly on the very spot where he had stood when the other left him, appeared the murderer. His features could not be seen, for they were still concealed by the crape over his face; but the attitude of his head and whole person evinced that his eyes were fixed, through the black covering, upon the spot where his victim lay, now first made visible to his sight by the entrance of the light. In his hand was a long clasp-knife, hanging laxly, with the point toward the ground, and a drop or two of blood had dripped from it upon the floor. The disarrayed chamber, the overturned furniture, and a small stream of blood that was winding its way amidst the inequalities of an old-fashioned floor, toward the doorway, where the beams had sunk a little, made up the rest of the scene--and a fearful scene it was.
"Is he quite dead!" demanded the man who entered, after a momentary pause.
"As dead as Adam!" replied the other; "and, as the business is done, there is no use of thinking more about it!" But the very words he used might seem to imply that he had already been thinking more of what had passed than was very pleasing. "Such obstinate fools will have their own way--I never intended to kill him, I am sure; but he would have it; and he is quiet enough now!"
The other approached, and though, perhaps, the less resolute ruffian of the two, he now gazed upon the corpse, and spoke of it with that degree of vulgar jocularity which is often affected to conceal more tremor and agitation then the actors in any horrid scenes may think becoming. Perhaps it was the same feelings that attempted to mask themselves in the overdone gayety which Cromwell displayed on the trial and death of Charles Stuart.
"The old covey is quiet enough now, as you say!" remarked the inferior ruffian, drawing near with the light. "His tongue will never put you or I into the stone pitcher, Stephen."
"His blood may," replied the other, "if we do not make haste. She said the key of the chest was always upon him. There it is in his hand, as I live! We must make you let go your hold, sir; but you grasp it as tight in death as you did in life."
With some difficulty the fingers of the dead man were unclosed, and the large key of the iron safe wrenched from his grasp. The freshly stimulated thirst of plunder did away, for the moment, all feelings of remorse and awe; and the two ruffians hastened to unlock the iron door in the wall, the one wielding the key, while the other held the light, and gazed eagerly over his shoulder. The first drawer they opened caused them both to draw a long, deep breath of self-gratulation, so splendid was the sight of the golden rows of new sovereigns and old guineas it displayed. A bag was instantly produced, and the whole contents emptied in uncounted. The hand of the principal plunderer was upon the second drawer, when a loud ring at the house-bell startled them in their proceedings.
"He will not open the door, surely?" cried the one.
"No, no; I told him not," answered the other. "But let us go down, to make sure."
Setting the light on the floor, they both glided down the stairs, and arrived just in time to prevent their comrade, whom they had left upon guard below, from making an answer, as he was imprudently about to do. The bell was again rung violently, and after a third application of the same kind, some heavy blows of a stick were added. Again and again the bell was rung; and as the visitor seemed determined not to go away without effecting an entrance, the man who seemed to have led throughout the terrible work of that night, put his hand slowly into his pocket, and, drawing forth a pistol, laid his hand upon the lock of the door.
"He will ring there till Sally comes up," observed the other, in a whisper, "and then we shall be all blown."
Just as the click of cocking the pistol announced that the determination of the first ruffian was taken, a receding step was heard, and, calmly replacing the weapon, he said, "He is gone! now let us back to our work quick, Tony!"
"All is very silent up-stairs," said the young man who had been keeping watch, in a low and anxious tone.
"Oh, the old man is tied and gagged sufficiently. Do not be afraid, Wat," replied the other. "Only you keep quite quiet--if any one comes, make no answer; but if they try to force a way in by the back door, which is on the latch, give them a shot. You have good moonlight to take aim;" and mounting the stairs with the same quiet steps, he once more entered the chamber of the miser.
The young man who remained below listened attentively; and though the footfalls of his two comrades were as light as they well could be, yet he heard them distinctly enter the room where they had left the candle. As their steps receded, however, and no other sound followed, he suffered the hand which held the pistol to drop heavily by his side.
"They have killed the old man!" he muttered. "He would never lie still like a lubber, and see them pillage his chests, without making some noise, if he were not dead! I thought that cold-blooded rascal would do it, if it suited his cursed utility. I wish to God I had never--"
But the vain wish was interrupted by the sound of a door, gently opened below; and, in a moment after, the form of Sally, the miser's maid, appeared gliding up with a sort of noiseless step, which showed her not unconscious of all that was proceeding within her master's, dwelling. A low and hasty conversation now took place between her and the man upon watch, who told her his suspicions of the extent to which his companions had pushed their crime, notwithstanding a promise which they had made, it seems, to abstain from hurting their victim. Somewhat to his surprise and disgust, however, he found, that though the woman was trembling in every limb, from personal agitation and fear of discovery, yet she felt little of the horror which he himself experienced, when he reflected on the murder of the poor defenseless old man. She replied in a low, but flippant tone, that dead men tell no tales; and added, that she dared to say Mr. Harding would not have done it, if the old fool had not resisted.
At that moment the light from above began to glimmer upon the stairs, and the two murderers soon after appeared, the one carrying a candle, and the other a heavy bag, with which they at once proceeded into the little parlor, where the old man had so lately sat with Mr. Beauchamp. The other two followed, and the one who had remained below immediately taxed the principal personage in the tragedy, whom we may now call Harding, with the act he had just committed.
"Hush, hush!" cried Harding, in a stern tone, but one, the sternness of which was that of remorse. "Hush, hush, boy! I would not have done it, if I could have helped it. But there," he added, putting the heavy bag upon the table; "there is enough to make your mother easy for the rest of her days."
"And shall I be ever easy again for the rest of mine?" demanded the youth.
"I hope so," answered his companion, drily. "But come, we must not lose time. This is too heavy for one of us to carry; and yet we have not found a quarter of what we expected. Sally, my love, fetch us some cloths, or handkerchiefs, or something. We may as well divide the money now, and each man carry his own."
So saying, he poured the mingled heap of gold and silver on the table; and as soon as some cloths were procured to wrap it in, he proceeded to divide it with his hand into four parts, saying, "Share and share alike!"
Some opposition was made to this by the man who had accompanied him in the more active part of the night's work, and who declared that he did not think that the person who only kept watch, or the woman either, deserved to be put on the same footing with themselves, who had encountered the whole danger. He was at once, however, sternly overruled by Harding whose character seemed to have undergone a strange change amidst the fiery, though brief period of intense passions through which he had just passed. The softer metal had been tempered into hard steel; but when for a moment he removed the crape from his face, to give himself more air, it was pale, anxious, and haggard; and had a look of sickened disgust withal, that was not in harmony with his tone.
Carefully though rapidly, he rendered the several lots as nearly equal as the mere measurement of the eye would permit, bade his comrades each take that which he liked, and contented himself with the one they left. The necessity of haste, or rather the apprehensiveness of guilt, made them all eager to abridge every proceeding; and the money being tied up, and a large sum in notes divided, they prepared to depart.
"Had we better go out by the back door or the front?" demanded Harding, turning to the woman.
"Oh, la! by the front, to be sure!" she replied. "The hind who lives in the cottage on the lea opposite, might see us if we went out by the back. Nobody can see us come out in the lane, unless some one be wandering about."
"We must take our chance of that!" replied Harding and putting out the light, he led the way to the door.
"And now, my dear William," said Sir Sidney Delaware, as soon as Mr. Tims had departed, and the rolling wheels of his post-chaise were no longer heard grating down the western avenue--"and now, my dear William, lay your angry spirit. Depend upon it, that man carries with him a sufficient punishment in the disappointment he has suffered. He is one of that class of rogues for whom the old Athenians, finding no appropriate corporeal infliction, decreed the punishment of the Stela; or, in other words, ordered their names and infamy to be engraved upon a pillar, and thus held them up to shame forever."
"As our law has no such just award," replied Captain Delaware, "I should certainly have had great pleasure in writing his shame on his back with a horsewhip instead; but of course as you did not like it, I forbore."
"NO, no, my dear boy!" said his father; "you would have degraded yourself, gratified him, and had to pay a large sum for a small. satisfaction. But now all that is past; explain to us the rest of the business. How happened the money to arrive so apropos, and without the accompaniment of the miser of Ryebury! Was Mr. Tims, senior, unwilling to meet Mr. Tims, junior on a business, in regard to which it was evident that the lawyer both wished and anticipated a different result?"
"Strange enough to say, my dear sir," replied Captain Delaware, "you are asking me questions which I can not at all answer. There is Blanche smiling," he added, "because I told her the same, before I came down, and she chose to be incredulous; though she knows that there never was sailor or landsman yet so little given to romancing as I am."
"But you can tell me when it was you received the money?" said Sir Sidney, in some degree of surprise.
"Oh, certainly, sir!" answered his son. "It was this morning, not long before Blanche came up to my room."
"Why, they told me you had not been out this morning," said his father.
"Neither have I, my dear sir," replied Captain Delaware.
"In short, papa, he makes a mystery of the whole affair," said Blanche "and will not say how or where he got it."
"You are wrong, my dear sister," rejoined her brother. "I am perfectly willing to say how and where I got it; and in fact I told you before."
"Oh, but, William!" exclaimed his sister, "I saw very well that you were only jesting. You did not, I am sure, intend me to give credence to that story!"
"Well for you that you are not a man, my pretty Blanche," answered Captain Delaware, shaking his hand at her, good-humoredly. "I will repeat the same, word for word, to my father; and if he do not believe me, I will swear to it, if he likes."
"Not I--not I, William!" said Sir Sidney. "Anything that you assert in so solemn a manner, I will believe without any swearing, however improbable it may be."
"Well, then, my dear sir," replied Captain Delaware, "the fact is this: when I rose this morning, in looking about for something on my dressing-table, I found a paper parcel with my name written upon it; and, on opening it, saw the notes which I just now gave to that blackguard. There was no one thing in or about the parcel that could lead me to divine from whom or whence it came; but as it contained the precise sum required, and was addressed to myself, I could not doubt the purpose for which it was intended. I have a vague recollection, indeed, of seeing it lying there last night; but I was out of humor, and somewhat sick at heart, and took but little notice, of any thing. However, it must have been there when I went to bed, for no one could have come into my room without my hearing them."
"Hum!" said Sir Sidney Delaware, with a smile. "Hum!" and, notwithstanding his promise of full faith in his son's account, it was evident he did not give credit to a word of it. "Well, well, William," he said, "we will not press you hard; though your grave face almost deserves that one should believe you."
"On my word, sir! On my honor!" reiterated Captain Delaware. "Every word that I tell you is true. This is very hard indeed that I am not to be believed, even when I pledge my honor."
"Nay, nay!" said Sir Sidney. "If you bring your honor into the scrape, my dear boy, I suppose we must believe you. But you will not, I dare say, deny that you have some shrewd guess at how the money came there, or who sent it!"
"In regard to the person who sent it," answered Captain Delaware, a good deal mortified at doubts which he felt he did not deserve, "I have certainly a very strong suspicion, though I do not feel justified in naming the friend to whom my mind turns; but, as to how it came there, I am fully as ignorant as yourself or Blanche."
"Well, all I can say is, that the whole business is very extraordinary," replied Sir Sidney Delaware, more gravely than he had hitherto spoken. "Indeed, I know not which would seem the most strange, that such a large sum should be left in your room without your privity or knowledge; or that my son should so strongly assert, even in jest, what is not strictly true."
"Sir, you are doing me injustice!" said Captain Delaware, with a burning cheek and a quivering lip; "and, as it is so, I will soon investigate, and, if possible, discover how it was that this took place;" and, striding across the room, he rang the hell with a degree of violence, which showed the pain it cost him to brook respectfully, even from his father, the doubt that Sir Sidney's last words insinuated. Blanche gently glided across the room; and, laying her hand upon his arm, raised her beautiful eyes to his with a look half imploring, half reproachful. Captain Delaware did not reply, but turned away; and, walking to the window, looked out into the park till the servant appeared.
"Who left a paper parcel on my dressing-table last night?" he demanded abruptly, and somewhat sharply too, as the man entered.
The first reply was a stare of astonishment at the unwonted tone of one usually so mild and kindly in his whole deportment. "I am sure I do not know, sir!" answered the man, as soon as he had recovered. "I did not!"
"William, you are heated," said Sir Sidney Delaware, interrupting his son, as he was about to put another question to the servant. "I perceive now, perhaps too plainly, that the matter is not a jest; and therefore, of course, believe what you have said. The business, however, must be investigated; as we can not lie under so great an obligation to any one, without due acknowledgment and repayment. Did you see any stranger about the house or near it during the course of yesterday evening!" he continued, turning to the servant.
"No one, sir," replied the man. "That is to say, no one near the house. In the lanes, at the back of the park, I met Harding, Mr. Burrel's valet, loitering about with another young man toward dusk; and now, I recollect, the housemaid declaring that she saw some one just passing by the terrace at about eight or nine o'clock."
"Send the housemaid here!" said Sir Sidney; "and desire Mrs. Williams"--the name of the old housekeeper--"and desire Mrs. Williams to come with her."
The commands of Sir Sidney were immediately obeyed, and the examination of the housemaid began in form. The footman, however, had already told nearly as much as she could tell herself. When going along one of the corridors, during the previous evening, to shut the windows which looked out upon the western part of the park, she had seen a gentleman, she said, walking along just below the terrace, toward the wood. She could not tell who he was, for she only saw him for a moment; and, as he was partly concealed by the raised terrace on which the house stood, she only caught a sight of his head and shoulders.
Here ended all information. The old housekeeper had seen no one, and the housemaid declared that she neither could tell how tall the gentleman was, nor could vouchsafe any other particulars in regard to his personal appearance, except that he was a gentleman, she was sure; for he walked like a gentleman. Sir Sidney would fain have forced her into a definition of the walk of a gentleman; but the housemaid was not to be caught, and took refuge in stupidity, as usual in such cases.
By the time this was over, William Delaware's heat had evaporated, and it was with a smile he asked his father, "Well, sir, who do you think our _dear unknown friend is?_"
"Why, of course, William, I can not say who it positively is," replied Sir Sidney; "but it would not surprise me, were I to find that it was your admirable friend Burrel."
"Nor I either!" answered William Delaware. "What do you think, Blanche!"
But Blanche was looking out of the window, with a very red tip to the fair finely-turned ear that rested on the smooth glossy waves of her rich brown hair. Perhaps she did not hear the question, but certainly she did not answer it; and her brother, though he would fain have said a word or two of kind malice, could he have known how far he might venture without inflicting real pain, would not run the risk.
"I wish, William," said his father, "that you would go down to Emberton, and see Mr. Burrel. The circumstances of the proposed arrangement with Lord Ashborough were mentioned more than once in his presence, and if he have heard by any chance of there being a delay on the part of Mr. Tims, he may certainly have taken means to remedy that inconvenience. In fact, I know of no other person at all likely to perform such an act of liberality in this somewhat romantic manner."
Blanche glided out of the room, and her father went on. "Mrs. Darlington, though a very good woman, and not without feeling, does not perform such acts as this. Otherwise, as she came to Emberton, I hear, yesterday, to meet Dr. Wilton and another magistrate about this burning of her house, we might have supposed that she was the lender of the money. Good Dr. Wilton himself could not, I know, command so large a sum. I wish, therefore, you would go and visit Mr. Burrel, and tell him that, while we accept the loan as an obligation, and appreciate his conduct as it should be appreciated, we are desirous of giving him a mortgage upon the property which he has released from so great a burden."
"I will go down almost immediately, sir," replied Captain Delaware; "but, in all the confusion of this morning, I have lost my breakfast, for it seems that the surprise and wonderment of finding the packet detained me till you and Blanche had finished."
The bell was rung, breakfast was again made, and Captain Delaware proceeded somewhat quickly in the task of dispatching it, reflecting, in the intervals of a broken conversation with his father, upon all that he would have to say to Burrel--how he might best and most delicately thank him for the kindness and promptitude of the service he had rendered--how he might arrive-at the facts of his situation in regard to Blanche; and whether he would be justified in communicating at once to Sir Sidney his cousin's real name, without consulting Beauchamp himself. In the mean while, the baronet walked backward and forward--now looked out of the window--now talked with his son, feeling that degree of pleasant perturbation, that sort of long swell, which remains after some moment of peculiar agitation is happily over, and the mind is settling down slowly into a calm.
Before his son had finished his breakfast, however, Sir Sidney remarked that there seemed a great many people in the park. "I suppose," he said, "the worthy lawyer has informed the good folks of the town that we are rather more than a thousand a year richer than we were in the morning; and therefore we may now expect the respectful congratulations of all those who treated us with the greatest degree of contempt while we were poor."
"I will go and kick them out, sir, directly," said Captain Delaware, "if you will allow me to finish this piece of toast."
"I hope you may finish a great many, William," replied his father, "before you begin kicking at all. But there really seems something extraordinary here. There is a whole posse, and here is a chariot driving up the avenue--Dr. Wilton's, I think."
Captain Delaware rose for a moment, looked out of the window, declared the carriage to be certainly Dr. Wilton's, and the personages on foot to be a set of blackguards, who had no business there; and then sat down to his breakfast again, with the intention, as soon as he had concluded, of going forth and sending the gentry, who had now approached close to the house, back to the town without any very flattering expression of regard. He was just depositing his coffee-cup in the saucer, when Dr. Wilton entered the room unannounced, accompanied by another magistrate, and followed by Mr. Peter Tims, with two or three other persons, whose appearance in that place greatly surprised both Sir Sidney and his son.
The baronet advanced, however, and shook his reverend friend by the hand; and Captain Delaware exclaimed, laughing, "Why, my dear Doctor Wilton, I never thought to see you with such a crew, headed by such a rascally boatswain as that behind you. Why, you have got all the constables of Emberton at your back! What is the matter?"
"I am sorry to say, my dear William, that I am come upon a very serious business," replied Doctor Wilton; "Although, indeed, the part that regards you, both our good friend here, Mr. Egerton, and myself, look upon as quite ridiculous. Yet the matter is of so very horrible a nature, that it does not admit of a jest; and this person--this gentleman, urges a charge against you, so seriously and plausibly, that we are forced to examine into the matter, though we doubt not that you can clear yourself at once."
"The scoundrel does not pretend to say that I struck him!" cried Captain Delaware, his cheek burning with anger; "I threatened, indeed, and I wish I had put my threat--"
"The charge is a much more serious one than that," said Dr. Wilton, interrupting him; and then, turning to his brother magistrate, he said, in a low tone--"Remark his demeanor! I told you it was ridiculous."
"Yon had better, however, have the warrant executed," replied the other, in the same low tone. "We can hold the examination here; and if it turn out as you expect, discharge it as soon as the business is over."
"What is the matter, gentlemen?" asked Sir Sidney Delaware. "All this seems very strange! Will you be kind enough to explain?"
"Captain Delaware," said Mr. Egerton, "we are here upon an unpleasant duty. You are charged by this person, who is, I am told, Mr. Tims, a lawyer of Clement's Inn, with a very serious crime; and although, from your character and station, Dr. Wilton and myself do not for a moment believe the accusation to originate in any thing but error, and are willing to do all to spare your feelings; yet, in pursuit of the ends of justice, we are bound to act toward you as we would toward any other person in the same situation. A charge against you, then, having been made before us, upon oath, we were bound to grant a warrant against you, which must now be executed. The examination, however, can as well take place here as elsewhere; and as this gentleman has declared that he is ready to go into it immediately, we will instantly proceed, not at all doubting that you can clear yourself at once."
Captain Delaware had listened at first with surprise and indignation; but gradually, as the importance of the whole business became strongly impressed upon his mind, he assumed a more serious aspect, and bowing low in reply to Mr. Egerton's address, he said, gravely, but frankly,--"Although I can not divine what charge that person is about to bring--or rather has brought--against me, yet I thank you, sir, for the courtesy with which you are inclined to treat me, and of course surrender myself at once. Do not look so shocked, my dear father," he added, turning toward Sir Sidney; "be assured that your son never did an act that he was ashamed to acknowledge in the face of the whole world., But I think you had better leave us, for this business seems likely to be too painful for you."
"Never, never, my dear boy!" replied Sir Sidney. "Never! I am a magistrate also, and should know something of these affairs; and though, of course, I can not act in your case, I will not leave you while I have life."
A tear rose in Doctor Wilton's eye; but Mr. Egerton beckoned forward the officer charged with the warrant against Captain Delaware, to whom the young gentleman surrendered immediately, merely requiring to be informed of the nature of the crime with which he was charged. "I object, I object!" cried Mr. Peter Tims. "I will not have the prisoner put upon his guard!"
"You seem strangely ignorant of the fundamental principles of English law, sir, for a person who follows it as a profession," replied Mr. Egerton. "Captain Delaware, you are charged with the murder of a person of the name of Tims, residing at Ryebury, in this neighborhood."
"Good God!" exclaimed Captain Delaware, with unfeigned horror; "then, that is the reason the poor fellow did not bring the money last night."
"Put down that observation, clerk!" said Doctor Wilton to a young man who had followed into the room with the constables, and two or three other persons.
"Let us carry on the matter a little more formally, my dear sir," said Mr. Egerton.--"Sir Sidney, with your permission, we will take our seats here. Clerk, place yourself there. Constable, put a chair for Captain Delaware at the bottom of the table--stand back yourself, and keep those other persons back.--Captain Delaware, it is customary to warn persons in your present situation against saying any thing that may commit themselves. To you I have only to remark, that your examination will of course be taken down, and may hereafter be brought against you."
"You will understand, however," added Doctor Wilton, "that the present investigation is merely instituted by us to ascertain whether this person can bring forward sufficient evidence in support of the accusation, to oblige us to remand you for further examination."
"I shall bring forward sufficient evidence to compel you to commit him," cried Mr. Tims, "however prejudiced you may be in his favor."
"Do not be insolent, sir," said Mr. Egerton, "or I may find it necessary to punish you in the first instance. Your charge is already made, and we shall proceed with the examination as we judge most expedient ourselves. Remember, Captain Delaware, you are warned against committing yourself."
"I have nothing to conceal, sir, and therefore have no reason to fear saying any thing that is true!" replied the young officer. "Pray, proceed."
"Well, then, let me ask," said Mr. Egerton, "when and where you happened to see Mr. Tims--generally known by the name of the miser of Ryebury--for the last time?"
"It was yesterday morning," replied Captain Delaware. "I met him first in the lanes leading to his own house; accompanied him home, and left him there."
"Pray, did any high words pass between you and him on that occasion?" demanded the magistrate; "and if so, what was the subject of dispute? You are not compelled to answer, unless you like."
"I am sorry to say," replied Captain Delaware, "that there were high words passed between myself and the poor old man. The cause of them was simply that he had agreed to furnish a certain sum of money to pay off an annuity which was pressing heavily upon this estate; and that he failed to perform his promise at the time agreed upon."
"And to obtain which, whether he would or not, you murdered him!" cried Mr. Peter Tims.
Captain Delaware started up, with the fire flashing from his eyes, but instantly resumed his seat, saying, "Am I to be thus insulted, gentlemen?"
"Mr. Peter Tims," Said Mr. Egerton, sternly, "if you again interrupt the proceedings, I will have you removed from the room; and if you are insolent," he added, seeing the other about to reply, "I shall equally know how to deal with you."
The lawyer was silent, and Doctor Wilton demanded, "Will you state; Captain Delaware, whether, on your last meeting with the unhappy man, Mr. Tims, you threatened to strike him, or used any violent menaces toward him?"
William Delaware reddened, but he replied at once, "Sorry I am to say, my dear sir, that I did threaten to horsewhip him; but it was upon severe provocation, from the cool insolence with which he informed me that he was not able to keep the promise he had made--the performance of which was of infinite consequence to my family."
"And are you certain, Captain Delaware," demanded Mr. Egerton, "that that was the last time you ever saw this unhappy man?"
"Perfectly certain!" replied the young officer; and then added, after a momentary pause, "I went to his house last night, in order to ascertain whether the money had arrived, but could not obtain admittance. I rang several times without effect."
Dr. Wilton and Mr. Egerton looked at each other, and the latter then demanded--"Then, pray, Captain Delaware, where did you obtain the money which you paid to Mr. Tims, here present, this morning?"
"I suppose, sir," replied Captain Delaware, with some degree of haughtiness, "that, as the question is evidently intended to entangle me, I might, according to the principle you have yourself laid down, refuse to answer; but it is indeed unnecessary to do so; and if the simple truth do not clear me, I can hope for nothing else." He then circumstantially recapitulated the same story which he had that morning related to his father, concerning the receipt of the money.
Mr. Tims laughed scornfully, and Mr. Egerton looked to Dr. Wilton, who, in return, whispered something to him, which seemed to make an immediate impression. "Captain Delaware," he said, "it is fit that I should inform you, that a strong case is made out against you. In the first place, there has been evidence on oath given before us, at the house of this unfortunate man, Mr. Tims, that you were heard to threaten him violently yesterday morning--clerk, hand me the minute of Farmer Ritson's evidence--yes, those are the words. In the next place, you were seen going toward his house last night, after sunset, and two or three other persons unknown were observed proceeding in the same direction. About that period, the deceased was evidently still alive, as his servant, it appears, was sent to Emberton for bill-stamps, the written description of which is before us, in his own hand. The man has been found murdered, in the very room where he kept his money, as if he had been killed in the act of taking out certain sums from his iron chest. The body of the woman has not been discovered, but a long track of blood down the stairs has pointed the direction in which it was carried, and doubtless it will be found ere long."
Captain Delaware had listened attentively, but not without impatience; for perfect innocence made him feel the charge utterly absurd, and at length he broke forth--"And do you, sir!" he exclaimed, "call it a strong case, that I was heard to threaten an old knavish miser with a horsewhipping, and was seen somewhere in the neighborhood of his house on the night that he was killed, without any other evidence whatever?"
"Not without any other evidence whatever, Captain Delaware," replied Mr. Egerton, some what sharply; "but on a train of circumstantial evidence, sir, very painful for as to contemplate. You mistake the matter, Captain Delaware," he added, in a more kindly tone. "Your previous high character induces us to put the most liberal construction upon every thing, and to extend to your case the most calm--nay, the most friendly--consideration that justice will admit, before we even remand you to await the result of the coroner's inquest. Besides the circumstances I have stated, you must remember that you, yourself acknowledge that, up to a late hour last night, you were not possessed of the sum required. By half-past nine this morning, that sum is in your possession. One of the notes before me bears the mark of a forefinger stained with blood; and in the bed-room of the deceased a paper has been found, dated yesterday morning, in which the dates and numbers of some of the notes paid by you this morning, are marked as having been received by post that day. Your account of the manner in which the money came into your hands is somewhat extraordinary--nay, so much so, as to be highly improbable; and I fear, that unless you can in some way explain these circumstances, we shall be bound to commit you at once."
Sir Sidney Delaware hid his face in his handkerchief, and wept. Mr. Tims rubbed his hands with a degree of glee, not at all diminished by the loss of his uncle, and Captain Delaware gazed upon the two magistrates, stupefied at finding himself suddenly placed in circumstances so suspicious. There was innocence, however, in the whole expression of his countenance; in the surprise, in the horror, in the bewilderment it betrayed and Mr. Egerton, who was a shrewd and observing, without being an unfeeling man, saw that such conduct could not be affected, and believed that it could only proceed from a heart devoid of guilt.
"Bethink yourself, my dear sir!" he said, after a short pause, during which he awaited in vain Captain Delaware's answer. "However improbable, I will not believe any thing that you have said to be untrue."
"If you did, sir, I could pardon you," replied the young officer, with a glowing cheek; "for long ere you appeared, I could scarcely prevail upon my own family to believe the tale. How much more, then, might it be doubted by a person who is nearly a stranger to me?"
"Well, but, my dear sir!" said Mr. Egerton, more convinced of the prisoner's innocence, by this outbreak of feeling, than he had been before, "can you not account for the fact of the money being so placed in your bed-room?"
Captain Delaware related what had passed in the morning, and the servants being called, recapitulated their tale; the footman declaring that he had seen no one but Mr. Burrel's man, Harding, in the lanes at the back of the park, and the housemaid swearing that she had seen a stranger on the terrace just after nightfall. Dr. Wilton, at the first sound of Burrel's name, sent off a messenger to his lodging at Emberton, with orders to bring up the landlady, with Harding, and the groom, if the two latter were still there; and, in the mean while, Mr. Egerton continued the examination, evidently more with a view of giving the prisoner every chance of explaining the suspicious circumstances, than with a wish to find him guilty.
"Now, Captain Delaware," he said, "I am about to put a question to you, which the circumstances I believe, fully justify. Do you, or do you not, know any one who was likely to perform so extraordinary, and, I must say, foolish an act as that of placing so large a sum in your chamber, without giving you any notice of his so doing?--I say, have you any suspicion as to who was the person who did so?"
"I certainly have, sir!" replied William Delaware. "And he was not a man to do a foolish act. Circumstances unknown to you, sir, might induce him to do, in the present instance, what he would not have done upon any other motives."
"And pray, sir, who may he be?" demanded the magistrate.
Captain Delaware paused; but replied, after an instant's thought--"my present situation, of course, compels me to be more explicit upon such a subject than I otherwise should be. The person I suspect of having placed the money in my room, is a gentleman who has lately been residing at Emberton, under the name of Burrel, but who may now be named as my cousin, Henry Beauchamp."
Sir Sidney Delaware started up off his chair, but immediately resumed his seat again: and another look of intelligence passed between Mr. Egerton and Dr. Wilton.
"I appeal to Dr. Wilton," added Captain Delaware, "if such a thing be not probable."
"Most probable in his case," replied Dr. Wilton. "Indeed, more than probable!"
"Pray, sir, are you now acting as a magistrate or as a witness?" demanded Mr. Tims. "If as the latter, I would ask you, whether Mr. Beauchamp did not pass the day at your house yesterday, which I hear in the village that he did, beyond all doubt?"
"Then you have heard, sir, what was not the case!" replied Dr. Wilton.
"Pray, at what hour did he leave your house sir?" demanded Mr. Tims, taking care to preserve so respectful a tone as to afford no excuse for refusing an answer to his question.
"I should not hold myself bound to reply to you sir," said the clergyman; "but a sense of justice must of course supersede every other consideration, whether indignation at impudence, or contempt for low cunning; and therefore I reply, that he left my house, I should suppose, about three o'clock."
"I will presume to ask one question more, if I am permitted," said the unruffled Mr. Peter Tims, bowing to Mr. Egerton, who was evidently listening with interest. "At Mr. Beauchamp's departure, Dr. Wilton did he tell you whither he was about to turn his steps?"
Dr. Wilton fidgeted on his seat; but truth was paramount, and he answered, "He certainly implied that he was going to London."
"Did he take the road which leads in that direction?" asked Mr. Tims.
"He did!" replied the clergyman, and the interrogatory dropped by a low bow on the part of the lawyer to both the magistrates.
The examination now paused for several minutes, till good Mrs. Wilson who had been Beauchamp's landlady at Emberton was brought into the room. Although the questions which were asked her were few, and of the simplest kind, the poor woman gave her evidence in as wild and confused a manner as if she had been charged with the murder herself. The result, however, was, that she swore Mr. Burrel had left her house early in the forenoon of the preceeding day, as she understood, for London; that his groom, with the greater part of his luggage, had gone by the coach that very morning, and that his gentleman, Mr. Harding, had followed his master the night before. She could not say exactly at what hour; but swore that it was between eight and ten.
This evidence was all that could be adduced at the time; and Mr. Tims, upon the strength of the case he had made out, resumed a degree of his former insolence, and demanded loudly, that Captain Delaware should be committed.
A long conversation, which was carried on in so low a tone as to be inaudible to any one but the two magistrates and the clerk, then ensued between Dr. Wilton and Mr. Egerton; the latter of whom at length said, to the surprise even of Captain Delaware himself, "I do not think, Mr. Tims, that, all things considered, we should be justified in committing the prisoner till after the coroner's jury have sat upon the body. We have determined, sir, to remand him."
Mr. Tims stormed and raved, slapped the table with all the unction of forensic eloquence, and demanded where the magistrates intended to confine the prisoner in the mean time. There was no place of security nearer than the county town, except the cage at Emberton; and he doubted not--he added, with a sneer--that the friendship which the worthy magistrates entertained for the prisoner would prevent him from occupying that lodging.
"Our sense of decency and humanity will do so, at least," replied Mr. Egerton, coolly. "In a word, sir, we do not think that there is sufficient direct evidence before us to commit the accused till the coroner's inquest has sat. The coroner has been already sent for, and the inquest can be held immediately. The jury may themselves like to examine the prisoner; and, therefore, it will be useless to send him to the county town. In order to spare his feelings as much as possible, which of course we wish to do, we have determined, if two of our most active constables can find a room in this house which they judge undoubtedly secure, to leave him here, under their custody. If not, he must be removed to Emberton, and placed in the justice-room, though the security of it is doubtful."
In vain the lawyer argued. The justices were determined; and the officers, after spending some time in examining the house, returned, declaring that no room in a prison could be more secure than the prisoner's own bed-room, which was so high above the terrace, that no escape could be effected from the window; and which had but one door opening into an ante-room, where they could keep watch. Mr. Tims himself was permitted to examine the room; and could not but acknowledge that he was satisfied. The constables received every injunction to be cautious, and Captain Delaware, having been asked whether he had any thing farther to say, replied that he had not.
"Then you may remove the prisoner!" said Mr. Egerton. Sir Sidney Delaware staggered up, and caught him in his arms. Captain Delaware pressed his father for a moment to his heart; and saying, in a low but firm voice, "Do not be afraid--I am as innocent as a child of the charge they bring against me!" tore himself away, and quitted the room.