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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-14 23:39:36 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-14 23:39:36 -0800 |
| commit | d0a92b45554fbc5d47ca5444e360ebde55491a79 (patch) | |
| tree | b202d7d9b0d17972e0ccdc66cbebfdf88ea5d42b /73711-h | |
| parent | 0c27ecdf1c20b84d530bd1f1e5158716efb56855 (diff) | |
As captured January 15, 2025
Diffstat (limited to '73711-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 73711-h/73711-h.htm | 15286 |
1 files changed, 7643 insertions, 7643 deletions
diff --git a/73711-h/73711-h.htm b/73711-h/73711-h.htm index cfad8f9..fb3fd12 100644 --- a/73711-h/73711-h.htm +++ b/73711-h/73711-h.htm @@ -1,7643 +1,7643 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html>
-<html lang="en">
-<head>
-<meta charset="utf-8">
-<title>Tracks in the Snow</title>
-<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
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- text-align: center;
- text-indent: 0;
- text-transform: uppercase;
-}
-div.chapter { page-break-before: always; }
-div.section { page-break-before: always; }
-</style>
-</head>
-<body>
-<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73711 ***</div>
-
-<figure>
- <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover">
-</figure>
-
-<div class="section" id="titlepage">
-
-<h1>Tracks in the Snow</h1>
-<p class="subtitle0">Being</p>
-<p class="subtitle1">the History of a Crime</p>
-<p class="subtitle2">Edited from the MS. of the Rev. Robert Driver, B.D.</p>
-<p class="authorprefix">by</p>
-<p class="author">Godfrey R. Benson</p>
-
-<p class="publisher1">Longmans, Green, and Co.</p>
-<p class="publisher">39 Paternoster Row, London</p>
-<p class="publisher">New York and Bombay</p>
-<p class="publisher">1906</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="section" id="contents">
-
-<h2>Contents</h2>
-
-<ul class="chapterlist">
-<li><a href="#ch01">Chapter I</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch02">Chapter II</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch03">Chapter III</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch04">Chapter IV</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch05">Chapter V</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch06">Chapter VI</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch07">Chapter VII</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch08">Chapter VIII</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch09">Chapter IX</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch10">Chapter X</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch11">Chapter XI</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch12">Chapter XII</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch13">Chapter XIII</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch14">Chapter XIV</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch15">Chapter XV</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch16">Chapter XVI</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch17">Chapter XVII</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch18">Chapter XVIII</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch19">Chapter XIX</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch20">Chapter XX</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch21">Chapter XXI</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch22">Chapter XXII</a></li>
-<li><a href="#ch23">Chapter XXIII</a></li>
-</ul>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="section" id="dedication">
-
-<p class="dedicationprefix">Ad</p>
-<p class="dedication">Dorotheam</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch01">
-
-<h2>Chapter I</h2>
-
-<p>On the morning of the 29th of January, 1896,
-Eustace Peters was found murdered in his bed
-at his house, Grenvile Combe, in the parish of
-Long Wilton, of which I was then rector.</p>
-
-<p>Much mystery attached to the circumstances
-of his death. It was into my hands that chance
-threw the clue to this mystery, and it is for me,
-if for any one, to relate the facts.</p>
-
-<p>To the main fact of all, the death of my own
-friend on the eve, as I sometimes fancy, of a
-fuller blossoming of his powers, my writing
-cannot give the tragic import due to it, for
-it touched my own life too nearly. I had
-come—I speak of myself, for they tell me a
-narrator must not thrust himself quite into the
-background—I had come to Long Wilton,
-three years before, from a college tutorship at
-Oxford, to occupy the rectory till, as happened
-not long after, the son of the patron became
-qualified to hold it. Country-bred, fond of
-country people and of country pastimes, I had
-not imagined, when I came, either the
-difficulties of a country parson’s task or the false
-air of sordidness which those difficulties would
-at first wear to me; still less was I prepared
-for the loneliness which at first befell me in a
-place where, though many of my neighbours
-were wise men and good men, none ever
-showed intellectual interests or talked with
-any readiness of high things. The comradeship
-of Peters, who settled there a few months
-after me, did more than to put an end to my
-loneliness; by shrewd, casual remarks, which
-were always blunt and unexpected but never
-seemed intrusive or even bore the semblance
-of advice, he had, without dreaming of it—for
-he cared very little about the things of the
-Church—shown me the core of most of my
-parish difficulties and therewith the way to deal
-with them. So it was that with my growing
-affection for the man there was mingled an
-excessive feeling of mental dependence upon him.
-So it was that upon that January morning
-a great blank entered into my life. Matters
-full of interest, in my pursuits of the weeks and
-months that went before, are gone from my
-memory like dreams. My whole sojourn at
-Long Wilton, important as it was to me, is a
-thing dimly remembered, like a page of some
-other man’s biography. Even as I call to
-mind that actual morning I cannot think of
-the immediate horror, only of the blank that
-succeeded and remains. I believe that no one,
-upon whom any like loss has come suddenly,
-will wonder if I take up my tale in a dry-eyed
-fashion. I can use no other art in telling it
-but that of letting the facts become known as
-strictly as may be in the order in which they
-became known to me.</p>
-
-<p>Eustace Peters, then, was a retired official
-of the Consular Service, and a man of varied
-culture and experience—too much varied, I
-may say. He had been at Oxford shortly
-before my time. I gathered from the school
-prizes on his library shelves that he went there
-with considerable promise; but he left without
-taking his degree or accomplishing anything
-definite except rowing in his college Eight (a
-distinction of which I knew not from his lips
-but from his rather curious wardrobe). He
-had learnt, I should say, unusually little from
-Oxford, except its distinctive shyness, and had,
-characteristically, begun the studies of his later
-years in surroundings less conducive to study.
-He left Oxford upon getting some appointment
-in the East. Whether this first appointment
-was in a business house or in the Consular
-Service, where exactly it had been and what
-were the later stages of his career, I cannot
-tell, for he talked very little of himself.
-Evidently, however, his Eastern life had been full
-of interest for him, and he had found unusual
-enjoyment in mingling with and observing the
-strange types of European character which he
-met among his fellow-exiles, if I may so call
-them. He had ultimately left the Consular
-Service through illness or some disappointment,
-or both. About that time an aunt of his died
-and left him the house, Grenvile Combe, at
-Long Wilton, in which a good deal of his
-boyhood had been spent. He came there, as
-I have said, soon after my own arrival, and
-stayed on, not, as it seemed to me, from any
-settled plan. There he passed much of his
-time in long country rambles (he had been, I
-believe, a keen sportsman, and had now become
-a keen naturalist), much of it in various studies,
-chiefly philosophic or psychological. He was
-writing a book on certain questions of
-psychology, or, perhaps I should say, preparing to
-write it, for the book did not seem to me to
-progress. My wife and I were convinced that
-he had a love story, but we gathered no hint
-of what it may have been. He was forty-three
-when he died.</p>
-
-<p>This is, I think, all that I need now set down
-as to the personality of the murdered man.
-But I cannot forbear to add that, while his
-interrupted career and his somewhat desultory
-pursuits appeared inadequate to the reputation
-which he had somehow gained for ability, he
-certainly gave me the impression of preserving
-an uncompromisingly high standard, a keenly if
-fitfully penetrating mind and a latent capacity
-for decisive action. As I write these words it
-occurs to me that he would be living now if this
-impression of mine had not been shared by a
-much cleverer man than I.</p>
-
-<p>On the 28th my wife was away from home,
-and I had supper at Grenvile Combe, going
-there about seven o’clock. There were three
-other guests at supper, James Callaghan,
-C.I.E., William Vane-Cartwright, and one
-Melchior Thalberg. Callaghan was an old
-school-fellow of Peters, and the two, though for
-years they must have seen each other seldom,
-appeared to have always kept up some sort of
-friendship. I knew Callaghan well by this time,
-for he had been staying three weeks at Grenvile
-Combe, and he was easy to know, or rather
-easy to get on with. I should say that I liked
-the man, but that I am seldom sure whether I
-like an Irishman, and that my wife, a far shrewder
-judge than I, could not bear him. He was a
-great, big-chested Irishman, of the fair-haired,
-fresh-coloured type, with light blue eyes. A
-weather-worn and battered countenance
-(contrasting with the youthful erectness and agility
-of his figure), close-cut whiskers and a heavy
-greyish moustache, a great scar across one
-cheek-bone and a massive jaw, gave him at
-first a formidable appearance. The next
-moment this might seem to be belied by something
-mobile about his mouth and the softness of his
-full voice; but still he bore the aspect of a man
-prone to physical violence. He was plausible;
-very friendly (was it, one asked, a peculiarly
-loyal sort of friendliness or just the reverse); a
-copious talker by fits and starts, with a great
-wealth of picturesque observation—or invention.
-Like most of my Irish acquaintance he kept one
-in doubt whether he would take an exceptionally
-high or an exceptionally low view of any matter;
-unlike, as I think, most Irishmen, he was the
-possessor of real imaginative power. He had
-(as I gathered from his abundant anecdotes)
-been at one time in the Army and later in the
-Indian Civil Service. In that service he seemed
-to have been concerned with the suppression of
-crime, and to have been lately upon the
-North-West Frontier. He was, as I then thought, at
-home on leave, but, as I have since learned, he
-had retired. Some notable exploit or escapade
-of his had procured him the decoration which
-he wore on every suitable and many unsuitable
-occasions, but it had also convinced superior
-authorities that he must on the first opportunity
-be shelved.</p>
-
-<p>Vane-Cartwright, with nothing so distinctive
-in his appearance, was obviously a more
-remarkable man. Something indescribable about him
-would, I think, if I had heard nothing of him,
-have made me pick him out as a man of much
-quiet power. He was in the City, a merchant
-(whatever that large term may mean) who
-had formerly had something to do with the far
-East, and now had considerable dealings with
-Italy. He had acquired, I knew, quickly but
-with no whisper of dishonour, very great wealth;
-and he was about, as I gathered from some
-remark of Peters, to marry a very charming
-young lady, Miss Denison, who was then
-absent on the Riviera. He had about a fortnight
-before come down to the new hotel in our
-village for golf, and had then accidentally met
-Peters who was walking with me. I understood
-that he had been a little junior to Peters at
-Oxford, and had since been acquainted with
-him somewhere in the East. Peters had asked
-him to dinner at his house, where Callaghan
-was already staying. I had heard Peters tell
-him that if he came to those parts again he
-must stay with him. I had not noted the
-answer, but was not surprised afterwards to find
-that Vane-Cartwright, who had returned to
-London the day after I first met him, had since
-come back rather suddenly, and this time to
-stay with Peters. He now struck me as a
-cultured man, very different from Peters in
-all else but resembling him in the curious
-range and variety of his knowledge, reserved
-and as a rule silent but incisive when he did
-speak.</p>
-
-<p>Thalberg, though not the most interesting of
-the company, contributed, as a matter of fact,
-the most to my enjoyment on that occasion. I
-tried hard some days later to recall my
-impressions of that evening, of which every petty
-incident should by rights have been engraven on my
-memory, but the recollection, which, so to speak,
-put all the rest out, was that of songs by
-Schubert and Schumann which Thalberg sang. I
-drew him out afterwards on the subject of music,
-on which he had much to tell me, while
-Vane-Cartwright and our host were, I think, talking
-together, and Callaghan appeared to be dozing.
-Thalberg was of course a German by family, but
-he talked English as if he had been in
-England from childhood. He belonged to that race
-of fair, square-bearded and square-foreheaded
-German business men, who look so much alike
-to us, only he was smaller and looked more
-insignificant than most of them, his eyes were
-rather near together, and he did not wear the
-spectacles of his nation. He told me that he
-was staying at the hotel, for golf he seemed to
-imply. He too was something in the City, and
-I remember having for some reason puzzled
-myself as to how Vane-Cartwright regarded
-him.</p>
-
-<p>I must at this point add some account of the
-other persons who were in or about Peters’
-house. There were two female servants in the
-house; an elderly cook and housekeeper, Mrs.
-Travers, who was sharp-visaged and
-sharp-tongued, but who made Peters very comfortable,
-and a housemaid, Edith Summers, a plain,
-strong and rather lumpish country girl, who
-was both younger and more intelligent than she
-looked. It subsequently appeared that these
-two were in the house the whole evening and
-night, and, for all that can be known, asleep all
-night in the servants’ quarters, which formed an
-annex to the house connected with it by a short
-covered way. In a cottage near the gate into
-the lane lived a far more notable person, Reuben
-Trethewy, the gardener and doer of odd jobs,
-a short, sturdy, grizzled man, of severe
-countenance, not over clean. Peters was much attached
-to him for his multifarious knowledge and skill.
-He had been a seaman at some time, had been,
-it seemed, all sorts of things in all sorts of places,
-and was emphatically a handy man. He was
-as his name implies a Cornishman, and had
-come quite recently to our neighbourhood, to
-which in the course of a roving existence he
-was attracted by the neighbourhood of his uncle,
-Silas Trethewy, a farmer who lived some three
-miles off. He was now a man of Methodistical
-professions, and most days, to do him justice, of
-Methodistical practice; but I, who was perhaps
-prejudiced against him by his hostility to the
-Church, believed him to be subject to bitter and
-sullen moods, knew that he was given to
-outbursts of drinking, and heard from his
-neighbours that drink took him in a curious way,
-affecting neither his gait, nor his head, nor his
-voice, nor his wits, but giving him a touch of
-fierceness which made men glad to keep out of
-his way. With him lived his wife and
-daughter. The wife was, I thought, a decent woman,
-who kept her house straight and who came to
-church; but I had then no decided impression
-about her, though she had for some time taught
-in my Sunday school, and had once or twice
-favoured me with a long letter giving her views
-about it. The daughter was a slight,
-childish-looking girl, whom I knew well, because she
-was about to become a pupil teacher, and who
-was a most unlikely person to play a part in a
-story of this kind.</p>
-
-<p>Our party that evening broke up when, about
-ten o’clock, I rose to go; and Thalberg, whose
-best way to the hotel lay through the village,
-accompanied me as far as the Rectory, which
-was a quarter of a mile off and was the nearest
-house in the village. We walked together
-talking of German poetry and what not, and
-I cannot forget the disagreeable sense which
-came upon me in the course of our talk, that a
-layer of stupidity or of hard materialism, or
-both, underlay the upper crust of culture which
-I had seemed to find in the man when we had
-spoken of music. However, we parted good
-friends at the Rectory gate, and I was just going
-in when I recollected some question about the
-character of a candidate for Confirmation, on
-which I had meant to have spoken to Peters
-that night. I returned to his house and found
-him still in his library. The two guests who
-were staying in the house had already gone to
-bed. I got the information and advice which
-I had wanted—it was about a wild but rather
-attractive young fellow who had once looked
-after a horse which Peters had kept, but who
-was now a groom in the largest private stables
-in the neighbourhood. As I was leaving, Peters
-took up some books, saying that he was going to
-read in bed. He stood with me for a moment
-at the front door looking at the frosty starlight.
-It was a clear but bitterly cold night. I well
-remember telling him as we stood there that he
-must expect to be disturbed by unusual noises
-that night, as a great jollification was taking
-place at the inn up the road, and my parishioners,
-who realised the prelate’s aspiration for a free
-rather than a sober England, would return past
-his house in various stages of riotous
-exhilaration. He said that he had more sympathy with
-them than he ought to have, and that in any
-case they should not disturb him. Very likely,
-he added, he would soon be asleep past rousing.</p>
-
-<p>And so, about a quarter to eleven, I parted
-from him, little dreaming that no friendly eyes
-would ever meet his again.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch02">
-
-<h2>Chapter II</h2>
-
-<p>I was up early on the 29th. Snow lay thick on
-the ground but had ceased falling, and it was
-freezing hard, when, while waiting for breakfast,
-I walked out as far as my gate on the village
-street to see what the weather was like.
-Suddenly Peters’ housemaid came running down
-to the village on her way, as it proved, to the
-police-station. Before passing she paused, and
-breathlessly told me the news. I walked quickly
-to Peters’ house. Several neighbours were
-already gathering about the gate of the drive
-but did not enter. I rang the bell, was admitted
-by the housekeeper and walked straight up to
-Peters’ bedroom. Callaghan and
-Vane-Cartwright were there already, the former
-half-dressed, unshaved and haggard-looking, the
-latter a neat figure in bedroom slippers and
-a dressing-gown. We had only exchanged a
-few words when the police-sergeant entered,
-followed a minute or two later by a tall and
-pleasant-faced young constable, who brought
-with him the village doctor, an ambitious,
-up-to-date youth who had lately come to those parts.</p>
-
-<p>I have some little difficulty in saying what
-I then observed; for indeed, though I looked
-intently enough on the dead face and figure,
-and noticed much about them that is not to my
-present purpose, I took in for myself very little
-that bore on that problem of detection which
-has since interested me so much. I cannot now
-distinguish the things which I really saw upon
-hearing the others mention them from the things
-which I imagine myself seeing because I knew
-they were mentioned then or later. In fact I
-saw chiefly with the eyes of the Sergeant, who
-set about his inquiries with a quiet promptitude
-that surprised me in one whom I knew only as
-a burly, steady, slow-speaking, heavy member
-of the force.</p>
-
-<p>There was little to note about the barely
-furnished room which showed no traces of
-disorder. On the top of some drawers on the left
-of the bed-head lay a curious, old-fashioned
-gold watch with the watchkey by it, a
-pocket-knife, a pencil, a ring of keys and a purse, the
-last containing a good deal of money. On a
-small table on the other side of the bed stood a
-candlestick, the candle burnt to the socket; by
-it lay two closed books. Under the table near
-the bed lay, as if it had fallen from the dead
-man’s hand or off his bed, a book with several
-leaves crumpled and torn, as if, in his first alarm,
-or as he died, Peters had caught them in a
-spasmodic clutch. I looked to see what it was,
-merely from the natural wish to know what had
-occupied my friend’s mind in his last hour. It
-was Borrow’s <i>Bible in Spain</i>. When I saw the
-title an indistinct recollection came to me of
-some very recent mention of the book by some
-one, and with it came a faint sense that it was
-important I should make this recollection clear.
-But either I was too much stunned as yet to
-follow out the thought, or I put it aside as a
-foolish trick of my brain, and the recollection,
-whatever it was, is gone. The position of the
-body and the arrangement of the pillows gave
-no sign of any struggle having taken place.
-They looked as if when he was murdered he
-had been sitting up in bed to read. He could
-hardly have fallen asleep so, for his head would
-have found but an uncomfortable rest on the
-iron bedstead. But I repeat, I did not observe
-this myself, and I cannot be sure that anybody
-noted it accurately at the time.</p>
-
-<p>The surgeon stepped quickly to the body,
-slightly raised the left arm, drew aside the
-already open jacket of the sleeping suit, and
-silently indicated the cause of death. This was
-a knife, a curious, long, narrow, sharp knife for
-surgical use, which the murderer had left there,
-driven home between two of his victim’s ribs.
-I say “the murderer,” for the surgeon’s first
-words were, “Not suicide”. I had no suspicion
-of suicide, but thought that he pronounced this
-judgment rather hastily, and that the Sergeant
-was right when he asked him to examine the
-posture of the body more closely. He did so,
-still, as I thought, perfunctorily, and gave certain
-reasons which did not impress either my
-judgment or my memory. I was more convinced by
-his remark that he had studied in Berlin and
-was familiar with the appearances of suicide. I
-may say at once that it appeared afterwards, at
-the inquest, that there was reason to think that
-Peters had not had such a knife, for he never
-locked up drawers or cupboards, and his servants
-knew all his few possessions well. It appeared,
-too, that the owner of the knife had taken
-precautions against being traced, by carefully
-obliterating the maker’s name and other marks on
-it with a file.</p>
-
-<p>In the midst of our observations in the room
-a vexatious interruption happened. I have
-forgotten to say that the servants had been
-sent out of the room by the police-sergeant, and
-that, almost immediately after, the constable
-who brought the doctor had been sent down to
-examine the outside of the house. For some
-reason he was slow in setting about this; it is
-possible that he stopped to talk to the servants,
-but in any case, he went out through the kitchen,
-and explored first the back of the house, where
-he thought he knew of an easy way of making
-an entrance. Meanwhile the neighbours, who
-had collected about the gate, had been drawn
-by their curiosity into the garden, and by the
-time the constable had got round to the front
-of the house several were wandering about the
-drive and the lawn which lay between it and the
-road. They had no more harmful intention
-than that of gazing and gaping at the windows,
-but it led to the very serious consequence that
-a number of tracks had now been made in the
-snow which might very possibly frustrate a
-search for the traces of the criminal. This the
-Sergeant now noticed from the window.</p>
-
-<p>As for the actual carriage-drive I was
-fortunately able to remember (and it was the only
-useful thing that I did observe for myself) that
-when I had arrived there had been no
-footmarks between the gate and the front door
-except the unmistakable print of the goloshes
-worn by the housemaid on her way to call the
-police. But the tracks on the lawns and
-elsewhere about the house might cause confusion.</p>
-
-<p>Upon seeing what was happening the
-Sergeant asked Vane-Cartwright, Callaghan and
-myself to await him in Peters’ study, while he
-went out to drive away the intruders, to make
-the constable keep others out and to pursue
-his own investigations. While we waited
-Vane-Cartwright, who had spoken little but seemed
-to watch all proceedings very attentively, made
-the sensible suggestion that we should look for
-Peters’ will, as we ought to know who were his
-executors. We consulted the housekeeper, who
-pointed out the drawer in which the few papers
-of importance were kept, and there we soon
-found a will in a sealed envelope. The first few
-lines, which were all that we read, showed me
-that, as I had expected, I was Peters’ executor
-along with an old friend of his whom I had
-never met but who, I believed, as was the fact,
-now lived in America.</p>
-
-<p>The Sergeant now rejoined us; he had
-discovered nothing outside, and, though the tracks
-of the intruders made it difficult to be certain,
-he believed that there was nothing to discover;
-he thought that the murderer had approached
-the house before the snow began to fall, and he
-found no sign that he had entered the house in
-the manner of a housebreaker. He had, I must
-say, taken a very short time about his search.
-He wished now that the servants should be
-summoned, as of course it was necessary to
-make inquiries about the movements of all
-persons connected with the house. But he was
-here delayed by Callaghan who had matters of
-importance to relate.</p>
-
-<p>He and Vane-Cartwright had been disturbed
-during the night in a notable manner. They
-had actually had an alarm of murder, and
-curiously enough a false and even ludicrous alarm.
-About 11.30 o’clock they had been roused by
-loud shouting outside the house, amid which
-Callaghan declared that he had distinguished a
-cry of murder. He had come tumbling out of
-his room, calling Vane-Cartwright, who slept in
-the next room, and who immediately joined him
-in the passage. Without waiting to call Peters,
-whose room was some distance from theirs and
-from the staircase by which they descended
-(for there were two staircases in the main part
-of the house), they went to the front door and
-opened it. The flash of a bull’s-eye lantern in
-the road, the policeman’s voice quietly telling
-some revellers to go home and the immediate
-cessation of the noise, showed them that they had
-been roused by nothing more serious than the
-drunken uproar which I had predicted to Peters
-would disturb him. The two men had returned
-to their rooms after locking the front door again;
-they had noticed that the library door was open
-and the lights out in that room; they had noticed
-also as they went upstairs (this time by the
-other staircase) light shining through the chink
-under Peters’ bedroom door; and they had
-heard him knock out the ashes of a pipe against
-the mantelpiece. The pipe now lay on the
-mantelpiece; and, of course, that particular noise
-is unmistakable. They concluded that, though
-he was awake and probably reading, he had not
-thought the noise outside worth noticing.
-Callaghan added that he himself had lain awake
-some time, and that for half an hour afterwards
-there had been occasionally sounds of talking
-or shouting in the lane, once even a renewal of
-something like the first uproar.</p>
-
-<p>The report subsequently received from the
-constable who had been on duty along the road
-that night confirmed the above, and a little
-reflexion made it appear that the disturbance
-outside had nothing to do with the murder.
-In fact the only thing connected with this
-incident which much impressed me at the time was
-Callaghan’s manner in relating it. He had up
-to now been very silent, he now began to talk
-with furious eagerness. He readily saw and
-indeed suggested that the disturbance which he
-related was of little consequence. But having
-to tell of it he did so with a vividness which
-was characteristic of him, so that one saw
-the scene as he described it, saw indeed more
-than there was to see, for he spoke of the ground
-already white and the snow falling in thick
-flakes, when he was pulled up by the Sergeant
-who said that the snow had not begun to fall till
-three o’clock that morning. Callaghan began
-angrily persisting, and the Sergeant appealed
-to Vane-Cartwright, who up till now had said
-little, merely confirming Callaghan’s narrative
-at various points with a single syllable or with
-a nod of his head, but who now said that
-Callaghan was wrong about the snow. He added
-the benevolent explanation that Callaghan, who
-was really much excited, had combined the
-impressions of their false alarm over night with
-those of their all too real alarm in the morning.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch03">
-
-<h2>Chapter III</h2>
-
-<p>Hereupon Callaghan, who had a more
-important matter to relate, changed the subject
-abruptly by saying, “Sergeant, have your eye
-on that man Trethewy”. He told us that, ten
-days before, Trethewy had quarrelled with his
-master. Peters, he said, had met Trethewy in
-the drive, at a point which he indicated, and,
-noticing a smell of spirits, had firmly but quietly
-taken him to task, telling him that his occasional
-drinking was becoming a serious matter.
-Callaghan had come up at the moment and had
-heard Trethewy, who was by his account
-dangerous with drink at the time, answer with surly
-insolence, making some malicious counter-insinuation
-against his master’s own habits, exploding
-for a moment into wild anger, in which he seemed
-about to strike his master, but to refrain upon
-catching sight of Callaghan’s powerful frame
-beside him, then subsiding again into surliness
-and finally withdrawing to his own cottage with
-muttered curses and a savage threat. This was
-the substance of Callaghan’s statement. But
-there was a great deal in it besides substance;
-the whole of the conversation, from the moment
-at which Callaghan came up, was professedly
-repeated word for word with a slight but
-dramatic touch of mimicry, and the tone and temper
-of master and man were vividly rendered. I
-can never myself remember the words of any
-conversation, and for that reason I am unable
-now to set out Callaghan’s narrative, and was
-unable at the time to put faith in its accuracy.
-Here and there a phrase was presumably truly
-given because it was given in Trethewy’s own
-dialect, but once at least the unhappy Trethewy
-was made responsible for a remark which he
-surely never made, for it was pure Irish, and
-indeed I think it was the very threat of
-picturesque vengeance which I had myself heard
-Callaghan address to a big boy in the street
-who was on the point of thrashing a little boy.
-One detail of the description was a manifest
-mistake. Callaghan indicated (truly, I have
-some reason to think) the spot in the drive
-where such altercation as did happen took place,
-but he added that Peters stood watching
-Trethewy with his hand upon a young tree. Now
-Peters had planted that tree with Trethewy
-several days later, just before the frost set in;
-and other details in the story seemed equally
-incredible. “Ever since then,” concluded
-Callaghan, “I have seen murder in that fellow’s
-eye. Mind you, I have had to do with murderers
-in India. Three times have I marked that look
-in a man’s eye, and each time the event has
-proved me right, though in one case it was long
-after. I tell you this man Trethewy——” But
-here Vane-Cartwright stopped him. He had
-already disconcerted Callaghan a little by
-pointing out the Hibernicisms that adorned the
-alleged remarks of Trethewy; and now he quelled
-him with the just, but, as I thought, unseasonably
-expressed, sarcasm, that if he had seen murder
-portended in Trethewy’s glance it would have
-been a kind attention to have given his host
-warning of the impending doom. He went on
-to insist warmly on the totally different
-impression he had himself gathered from Trethewy’s
-demeanour to his master. He was not apt to
-say more than was needed, but this time he ran
-on, setting forth his own favourable view of
-Trethewy, till he in turn was stopped by the
-Sergeant who said, “Really, sir, I do not think
-I ought to listen now to what any gentleman
-thinks of a man’s manner of speaking, not if it is
-nothing more than that”.</p>
-
-<p>The Sergeant then sent for Trethewy. I
-had wondered that we had not seen him before,
-the explanation was that he had been away at
-night, had returned home very late, and so had
-come late to the house in the morning and
-was still doing the pumping when the Sergeant
-sent for him. However, he seemed at last to
-have slept off the effect of whatever his
-nocturnal potion had been, and he gave a clear
-account of his movements without hesitation
-and with a curiously impressive gravity. He
-had suddenly made up his mind at dusk on the
-previous evening to go to his uncle’s house,
-where there was a gathering of friends and
-kinsfolk, which he had at first intended to
-avoid. They had made a night of it. He
-had started home, as several, whom he named,
-could testify, at four o’clock in the morning
-(the church clock near his uncle’s was then
-striking), and the violence of the snowstorm
-was abating. He had come across the moor
-by a track of which he knew the bearings well.
-This track struck into the grass lane which
-passed near the back of the house at the other
-side of the pasture, and which curved round into
-the road joining it close by Trethewy’s cottage.
-As he came along the lane a man on horseback
-leading a second horse had overtaken him and
-exchanged greetings with him. He had seen
-the man before, but could not tell his name or
-dwelling or where he was going. The snow
-had done falling when he reached his cottage.
-Once home, he had turned in and slept sound
-till he was roused soon after eight by his wife
-with the news of the murder. He had seen
-nothing, heard nothing, guessed nothing which
-could throw light on the dreadful deed of the
-night. Trethewy was dismissed with a
-request from the Sergeant to keep in his house,
-where he could instantly be found if
-information was wanted from him. This he did.</p>
-
-<p>The two servants were now summoned, and
-the Sergeant had a number of questions to ask
-them. The housekeeper in particular had a
-good deal to say about her master’s ways,
-the household arrangements and so forth, and
-seemed to find satisfaction in saying it at
-length. So a lot of trivial details came forth,
-which I, who was by this time becoming
-exhausted, had little patience to follow. Was the
-candle which was found burnt out a new candle
-the evening before, or a candle-end, or what?
-The question was asked of the housekeeper, but
-the housemaid answered with promptitude that
-it was a full new candle which she had herself
-put there last evening, shortly before the master
-went to bed. We learnt also that Peters was
-very irregular about going to bed; sometimes
-he would take a fit of sitting up, working or
-reading, night after night, and sometimes he
-would go to bed early, but always he had a
-book with him and lay awake for a while
-(often for hours and hours, as he had confessed
-to her) reading it after he went to bed.
-Sometimes it would be a story book, but more often
-one of those dull books of his; and much more
-on the same subject would have been
-forthcoming if the housekeeper had not at last been
-stopped, without, as I thought, having told us
-anything of importance.</p>
-
-<p>At last I went home, to find the churchwarden
-irate at my lateness for an appointed
-interview about the accounts of the dole
-charities, and to have a forgotten but
-much-needed breakfast pressed upon me. I would
-rather have been alone, but Callaghan gave me
-his company as far as my house, and expounded
-his view about Trethewy all the way. He left
-me at my door to go in search of Thalberg,
-whom up to that moment we had all forgotten.</p>
-
-<p>In about three-quarters of an hour Callaghan
-burst in on me. Where he had breakfasted,
-if at all, I neglected to ascertain, but he had
-contrived to get shaved at the village barber’s,
-and he now looked fresh and seemed keen.
-He was this time in a state of great
-indignation against Thalberg. He had been unable
-to see him, but had ascertained that he was
-still at the hotel, and that he had heard the
-news of Peters’ murder, but had seemed little
-interested in it, and had rejected the landlady’s
-suggestion that he might like to go up to the
-house to learn the last news of his unhappy
-friend. It appeared that Thalberg had shut
-himself up in his room ever since, but had
-ordered a fly to drive him to the afternoon
-train at the station five miles off. The landlady
-and Callaghan seemed to have agreed that there
-was something peculiarly heartless in his
-omission to call at Peters’ or to make any inquiries.</p>
-
-<p>Callaghan soon left me, returning, as I thought,
-to Grenvile Combe, while I endeavoured to
-settle myself to prepare my sermon for the next
-day, Sunday, with a mind hardly indeed awake
-as yet to the horror of the morning or to the
-loss I had sustained, much less able in any
-connected way to think over the meaning of
-our observations, but mechanically asking over
-and over again whether it was reasonable that
-my now confirmed aversion from Thalberg was
-somehow associated in my mind with the object
-of our investigations.</p>
-
-<p>I say “our” investigations; as a matter of
-fact I had no intention whatever at that time
-of busying myself with investigation at all. In
-the first place I was quite aware that I had no
-aptitude for such work, and in the second, and
-far more important place, I, who hold it most
-undesirable that a clergyman should be a
-magistrate, could not but feel it still less fitting that
-he should be a detective in his own parish.
-But I could not escape altogether. About
-2.45 I received a visit from the Sergeant, a
-much-embarrassed man now, for he brought
-with him the Superintendent, who had driven
-over in hot haste to take charge of the inquiry.
-The Sergeant had zealously endeavoured to rise
-to the occasion, and to my unpractised judgment
-seemed to have shown much sense. Perhaps
-his zeal did not endear him the more to the
-keen, and as I guessed, ambitious gentleman
-who now took over the inquiry, but any way
-he had been guilty of real negligence in
-allowing the snow round the house to be trampled
-over by trespassers, and at this the
-Superintendent, who had rapidly gathered nearly all
-that the Sergeant had to tell, seemed greatly
-exasperated; moreover, the Superintendent had
-noticed, if the reader has not, that the
-public-house had been open very late the previous
-night. His present errand was to ask me to
-come to the house, not because I was the
-deceased man’s legal personal representative,
-but because he foresaw possible explorations
-in which my topographical knowledge of my
-large and scattered parish might be of use.</p>
-
-<p>We returned to Grenvile Combe, and the
-Superintendent went straight to the
-death-chamber where he remained some minutes with
-the Sergeant and me, taking note with much
-minuteness and astonishing rapidity of all the
-details which I have already mentioned.
-Suddenly he opened the door and called up the
-housemaid; she arrived at length, the housekeeper, who
-fetched her, being refused admittance. “Why,”
-said the Superintendent pointing to the window,
-“is that window latch unfastened and the other
-fastened?” The housemaid said shyly but quite
-decidedly that she did not know, but this she
-did know, that both had been fastened by her
-last night, that one of the few matters in which
-her master showed any fussiness was insisting
-that a window should be latched whenever it
-was shut, and that he never neglected this
-himself. Why had the Sergeant not noticed this in
-the morning? Poor Sergeant Speke, already
-crestfallen, had no answer; at least he made
-none. Our stay in the room was short. The
-Superintendent, I believe, returned there that
-evening and spent an hour or two in searching
-microscopically for traces of the criminal; but
-now he was in haste to search the garden. “I
-shall begin,” he said, “at the point under that
-window. It is past three already. Come on,
-there is not a minute of daylight to be lost.” At
-the point under the unlatched window he made
-a startling discovery, startling in that it had not
-been made before.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch04">
-
-<h2>Chapter IV</h2>
-
-<p>I am now driven to attempt the task, which I
-had hoped to escape, of a topographical
-description. To begin with what is of least importance
-for the present. The village of Long Wilton
-lies in the valley of a little stream, and two
-roads run Northwards from the village along
-the opposite sides of the valley. The road
-along the Western side leads up a steep hill
-to the church, built at some distance from the
-village for the benefit of the former owners of
-the manor house. Just beyond the church
-lies a house which was the manor house, but
-has now lost its identity in improvements and
-extensions and become a new and not very
-beautiful hotel. This hotel owes its origin
-to the South-Western Counties Development
-Company, Limited, which discovered in its
-neighbourhood promising golf links, whose
-promise may be fulfilled when the extension of
-the railway is completed. I ought to but do
-not thank the Company for a liberal
-contribution made for the reseating of the church in
-the days of my predecessor. The hotel spoils
-the view from Grenvile Combe, across the
-valley. Its upper windows command a
-prospect of the whole of Peters’ grounds. This,
-however, does not concern us yet.</p>
-
-<p>The road on the other side of the valley
-leads to some outlying hamlets which form
-part of the parish. On the right hand of it, as
-you go Northwards, the ground rises steeply
-towards a wide tract of moorland. About a
-quarter of a mile out of the village a grass lane
-diverges from the road and leads in a
-North-Westerly direction. Grenvile Combe is a little
-property of some ten acres lying between the
-grass lane and the road, and bordered on the
-North by a fir plantation which extends from
-the road to the lane. The cottage, or lodge,
-which was then Trethewy’s, stands close to the
-Southern corner of the grounds, where the
-grass lane turns off; and the gate of the drive
-is close by. The stables, which Peters had not
-used of late, stand on a detached piece of the
-property across the road. The house itself is
-near the fir plantation. The back of it looks
-out upon a steeply rising pasture field which
-lies along the grass lane. The front looks
-(across the drive, a strip of lawn and the road)
-to the stream and to the church and that ugly
-hotel on the little hill beyond. Peters’ study
-was in the front of the house at the North-East
-corner of the main block of the building, in
-other words, it was on your left as you entered
-at the front door; and his bedroom was just
-above it. A path leads from the drive under
-the North wall of the house to the kitchen
-entrance, and on the left of this path, as one
-goes towards the kitchen, stands an out-building
-in which is the pump. A shrubbery of berberis
-and box and laurel, starting near the house,
-just across the path, skirts round the blind end
-of the drive, and straggling along under the
-low brick wall, which separates the drive and
-front lawn from the fir plantation, ends at a fine
-old yew tree which stands just by the road.
-All along the front of the house there is a
-narrow “half area,” intended to give so much
-light and air, as servants were once held to
-deserve, to the now disused dungeons where
-the dinners of former owners had been cooked.</p>
-
-<p>In that area right below the unlatched window
-we saw a ladder lying, a short light ladder, but
-just long enough for an active man to have
-reached the window by it. Now the snow had
-come with a North-East wind, and any one who
-may have wrestled with my essay in topography
-will readily understand that just here was a
-narrow tract where very little snow had fallen
-and the frozen ground was mostly bare. There
-was accordingly no clear indication that the
-ladder had ever actually been reared towards
-the window, but it might have been. The path
-to the kitchen door was clear enough too, and a
-man might have picked his way just thereabouts
-and left not a footprint behind. Casting about
-like a hound, the Superintendent had found some
-footprints near, before his companions had begun
-seeking; footprints pointing both ways. He
-immediately returned to the house and got some
-bundles of chips for kindling, with which to
-mark the place of the footprints he discovered.
-Callaghan had joined us, and he and I and the
-Sergeant followed the Superintendent, keeping,
-as he bade us, carefully a little behind him. In
-a moment it was plain that some man had
-climbed the wall out of the fir plantation, not
-far from the yew tree, that he had crept along
-the edge of the lawn, planting his feet most of
-the way under the edge of the berberis shrub,
-but now and then, for no obvious cause, but
-perhaps in guilty haste, deviating on to the
-lawn where his tracks now showed in the snow.
-He had made his stealthy way, not quite stealthy
-enough for him, round the end of the drive; no
-doubt he had found the ladder somewhere up
-that side path, no doubt he had opened the
-latch in the well-known way, entered through
-the window, done the deed, slipped out and left
-his ladder where we found it; and there were
-his footprints, returning by the way he came to
-the same point in the wall.</p>
-
-<p>Here we paused for a moment. Not a word
-was said as to the inferences that we all drew
-from those few footprints, but the Superintendent
-sharply asked the Sergeant, “Why was that trail
-not found and followed to an end this
-morning?” Poor Sergeant Speke looked for an
-instant like a detected criminal, but he pulled
-himself together and made sturdy answer: “I
-think, sir, it was not there this morning”.
-“Think!” said the Superintendent, and in a
-very few minutes from the discovery of the
-first footprint, he and all of us were over the
-wall and in the fir plantation. And there we
-paused again, for the fir boughs also had kept
-out the snow, and the carpet of fir needles
-showed no distinct traces of feet. Eventually—it
-seemed a long time but it was a short
-time—we found where the fugitive had emerged
-from the fir plantation over some iron hurdles
-into Peters’ field and along a little sort of gulley
-that there ran from the plantation half-way
-along the field. “Not the best place to break
-cover, but their wits are not always about them,”
-said the Superintendent, and he pointed to a
-wedge-shaped snowless tract which, caused by
-some extra shelter from the wind, extended
-from the wall, tapering towards a clump of
-gorse bushes. Then he sped on the trail,
-making the rest of us spread out to make sure that
-there were no other tracks across the field.
-Southwards, right along the field, the trail led
-till he, and we rejoining him, scrambled out of
-the field, where our quarry must have scrambled,
-into the green lane about two hundred yards
-from Trethewy’s cottage. Thus far, but no
-farther; along the now well-trodden snow of
-the lane it was idle to look for the print of any
-particular foot. “I am thinking of the hours
-of lost daylight,” said the Superintendent, now
-depressed. “Was this a likely way for a man
-making for the moors, Rector?” “You need
-not look that far,” said Callaghan; “those
-footprints were the man Trethewy’s. Down at the
-cottage yonder,” he added for the Superintendent’s
-benefit. “They are the track of hobnailed
-boots, sir,” said the Superintendent, “that’s all
-that they are.” “Do you see that pattern?”
-said Callaghan; and there was something odd
-about the pattern of the nails in the last
-footprint just beneath our eyes. “You never saw it
-in any footprint before, but I did, and it is the
-pattern I saw in Trethewy’s footmark not a
-fortnight ago when last there was snow.” He
-was strung up again now, and he had strangely
-quick eyes when he was strung up. “That is
-the man’s footprint,” he said, “and there are the
-man’s boots.” Some way along the ditch,
-under brambles and among old kettles and
-sardine tins and worn-out boots (for plentiful
-rubbish had been dumped just here), lay quite
-a good pair of boots, old boots truly, but not
-boots that I should have thrown away, whatever
-a poorer man might do. The Superintendent
-had them instantly. “Odd they are so full of
-snow,” said Callaghan; “he did not lace them
-or they were much too big for him. But what
-possessed him to throw them away, anyhow?”
-“Oh,” said the Superintendent, “they mostly
-have plenty of half-clever ideas. It takes a
-stupid one to escape me, sir,” he interposed to
-me with a sort of chuckle, for he had lost no
-more time in appropriating the discovery than
-he had done in picking up the boots. “The
-clever idea this time,” he added, “was just
-this—the lane is trampled enough now, but in the
-morning, when fewer feet had been along it, you
-might have picked out the print of a particular
-boot by careful looking. But a fellow in his
-socks could shuffle along among the few
-footmarks and make no trace that you could swear
-to; only he would not go far like that by
-daylight when the people he passed would notice
-his feet. Of course it was madness not to hide
-the boots better, but I expect he had taken a
-good deal of liquor to screw himself up to his
-work. Is that Mr. Trethewy’s house, sir?”
-for we were by this time close to it.</p>
-
-<p>I had been keen enough, as any man would
-have been, from the moment we saw the ladder
-till now, but I hope it will be easily understood
-why I did not accompany the hunters to
-Trethewy’s cottage. I went back to the house
-to find Vane-Cartwright, who had stayed there,
-as it seemed, reading gloomily and intently
-all the afternoon, and to arrange for the
-prompt removal of him and Callaghan from
-that now cheerless house to the Rectory. The
-housekeeper, oddly enough, was quite ready
-to stay, and she kept the housemaid with
-her.</p>
-
-<p>Callaghan, who soon came back, said that
-Trethewy had come to the door of his house
-when they knocked. “Mr. Trethewy,” said the
-Superintendent, “do you know these boots?”
-He answered composedly enough, “They look
-like my boots, but I do not know where you
-found them”. Here Mrs. Trethewy came
-forward and said in a very unconvincing tone (so
-Callaghan insisted), “Why, that is the pair I
-have looked for high and low these three days.
-Do not you remember, Reuben, how angry you
-were they were lost?”</p>
-
-<p>We left the house for the Rectory soon (my
-man was to come with a barrow for the luggage),
-but before we left, one further piece of evidence
-had accidentally come to my knowledge. I
-learnt from something which the housekeeper
-was saying to the maid that the ladder was one
-which was always kept in the pump-house, that
-the pump-house was always kept locked, and
-that Trethewy kept the key.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch05">
-
-<h2>Chapter V</h2>
-
-<p>On Wednesday, the 2nd of February,
-Candlemas Day, I read the burial service over my
-friend’s body. I will not dwell upon what that
-service was to me, but like many funerals of my
-friends it is associated in my mind with the
-singing of birds. The inquest had taken place on
-the Monday and Tuesday, and while it clearly
-established the fact that the death had been
-caused by murder, not suicide, nothing was laid
-before the jury which would have justified a
-verdict against any particular person. I believe
-that some doubt had arisen as to the
-identification of the boots. The village shoemaker, whose
-expert opinion was asked, had said that though
-he never arranged hobnails in that way himself,
-he had seen the same arrangement in boots that
-had been brought to him to be repaired, by some
-man who was not Trethewy. Later on, however,
-it was ascertained, I fancy through Callaghan’s
-ingenuity, that Trethewy, who liked dabbling in
-various handicrafts, had cobbled and nailed some
-boots for a friend, that this friend was the man
-whose hobnails had been noticed by the
-shoemaker, and that he had been safe out of the way
-at the time of the murder. Moreover—perhaps
-I forgot it, perhaps I assumed that they would
-find it out for themselves and preferred that
-they should—anyhow I had not mentioned to
-the police that I heard Trethewy alone had had
-access to the ladder (they found it out later).</p>
-
-<p>Callaghan and Vane-Cartwright stayed with
-me for the funeral. A large crowd of merely
-impertinent people, as I confess I regarded them,
-collected from the neighbourhood and even from
-far away for the occasion. Two only of Peters’
-family were there, or could have been there.
-He had two nephews in the Army, but they were
-then in India. The rest of his near belongings
-were an old gentleman (a cousin of his father’s,
-whom I had heard Peters himself describe as
-a relative whom he had only met at burials,
-but whom he regarded as an essential part of
-the funeral ceremony) and a maiden aunt, his
-mother’s sister. Both of them came; both
-insisted on staying at the hotel, instead of at
-the Rectory, for the night before, but they had
-luncheon and tea at the Rectory after the funeral,
-and departed by the evening train. The old
-gentleman was, I believe, a retired stipendiary
-magistrate. Vane-Cartwright very obligingly
-devoted himself to entertaining him and took
-him for a walk after luncheon, while Callaghan
-roamed about, observing the people who had
-come for the funeral, expecting, as he told me,
-that there might be something to discover by
-watching them. I was thus left alone for a
-while with Peters’ aunt, who, by the way,
-appeared to have known Vane-Cartwright as
-a boy.</p>
-
-<p>Having with some difficulty overcome her
-formidable reserve and shyness, I learnt from
-her much that I had not known about my friend,
-her nephew, how really remarkable had been
-the promise of his early days, though he had
-idled a little at Oxford; and how he had left
-Oxford prematurely and taken up an
-appointment abroad, because he felt that his parents
-could not well afford to keep him at the
-university until he could earn his living in a
-profession at home. Of his later life too, including
-his latest projects of study, she had much to tell
-me, for she had followed him and his pursuits
-with an affectionate interest. This contrasted
-strangely both with her evident indifference on
-her own account to books and such matters as
-delighted him, and with the strange calmness
-with which she seemed to regard his death and
-the manner of his death. I was becoming
-greatly attracted by this quiet, lonely old lady,
-when the return of the cousin and
-Vane-Cartwright and of Callaghan at the same time put
-an end to our conversation. Probably it was
-only that she did not feel equal to the company
-of such a number of gentlemen, but I
-half-fancied that some one of the number—I could
-not guess which, but I suspected it was the old
-cousin—was antipathetic to her.</p>
-
-<p>I went to London myself that night,
-returning next afternoon. I had to go and see my
-wife and children. They had gone soon after
-Christmas to stay with my wife’s father, and
-she had taken the children for a night to
-London on their way home. She was
-compelled to stop there because my daughter, who
-was delicate, caught a bad chill. It was now
-so cold for travelling that I urged her to remain
-in London yet a little longer.</p>
-
-<p>I am not sure why I am being so precise in
-recording our movements at that time. Perhaps
-it is merely from an impulse to try and live over
-again a period of my life which was one of great
-and of increasing, not diminishing, agitation.
-But having begun, I will proceed.</p>
-
-<p>I returned to my rectory the day after the
-funeral hoping to be free from any share in a
-kind of investigation which consorted ill with
-the ordinary tenour of my work. But of course
-I could not remove myself from the atmosphere
-of the crime. To begin with, I had an important
-interview with Trethewy (which I will relate
-later) the day after my return. But, besides,
-rumours of this clue or that, which had been
-discovered, came to me in the common talk of my
-parish, for every supposed step towards the
-discovery of the criminal seemed to be matter of
-general knowledge. So the crime went with
-me in my parish rounds, and in the privacy of
-my house I was still less able to escape from
-it, for Callaghan was with me, and Callaghan’s
-mind was on fire with the subject.</p>
-
-<p>I discovered very soon that Callaghan, whom
-I had asked to stay for the funeral, was bent
-upon staying in the village as long as he could.
-He conceived that, with the knowledge he
-possessed and his experience in India, he might, if
-on the spot, be able to contribute to the ends of
-justice; and he seemed to find a morbid
-satisfaction, most unlike my own feeling, in being near
-to the scene of crime and the scene of detection.
-Moreover, he exhibited an esteem and love for
-Peters and a desolate grief at his loss which,
-though I had not known that the two men were
-quite such friends, I was almost forced to think
-unaffected. So I readily invited him to stay at
-the Rectory, and he stayed there some ten days
-altogether, when he declared that he would put
-himself upon me no more and would move to
-the hotel. At the last moment he changed his
-mind, and said he had taken a fancy to stay at
-Peters’ house if he might. I was persuaded to
-acquiesce in this, and there he stayed, with
-occasional absences in London, till nearly a
-month later, shortly after the time when, as I
-shall tell, Trethewy was committed for trial at
-the Assizes.</p>
-
-<p>Vane-Cartwright, who remained quiet and
-reserved, thanked me very much the night
-after the murder for having him at the Rectory,
-saying, with a feeling that I had not quite
-expected, that either to hurry away on that day of
-agitation or to stay a night longer in Peters’
-house, would have been a trial for him. He
-added that he purposed returning to London
-immediately after the funeral, and after an
-important City meeting, for which he must stay in
-England, he was going out to meet his young
-lady on the Riviera. I suppose that without
-intending I betrayed before the funeral the fact
-that I was a little worried by my impending
-duties as executor, duties which strangely enough
-I had never had to perform before, and in which
-I was now a little embarrassed by the absence
-from England of my fellow-executor and the
-principal legatees, and by the prospect of having
-to carry out a charitable bequest which left me
-a large discretion and might possibly involve
-litigation. Vane-Cartwright very unobtrusively
-put me in the way of doing whatever was
-immediately incumbent on me. I suppose I
-appeared as grateful as I felt; anyhow, it ended
-with a delicate suggestion from Vane-Cartwright
-that he would be very glad to stay at the hotel
-for a day or two and make himself useful to me
-in any way that he could. Of course I pressed
-him to stay at the Rectory, and, in spite of an
-apparent preference for staying at the hotel, he
-after a while agreed. I was expecting that I
-might soon be leaving home for some time, as
-it might be necessary to take my little daughter
-for a month abroad in a warmer climate, and
-after that I knew I should be very busy with
-Confirmation classes and other matters, so that
-I was anxious to make immediate progress, if I
-could, with winding up Peters’ estate, and was
-very glad that Vane-Cartwright would stay, as
-he did stay, at the Rectory. On the Saturday
-however (a week after the murder) he received
-a telegram which compelled him to leave that
-afternoon. I had by this time begun to like
-him, which I confess I did not at first; men of
-his stamp, who have long relied on themselves
-alone and been justified in their reliance, often
-do not show their attractive qualities till the
-emergency occurs in which we find them useful.</p>
-
-<p>Trethewy was arrested the day that
-Vane-Cartwright left. I wondered why he was not
-arrested earlier (for there did not seem to be
-any real room for doubt that he had made those
-footmarks), but I have never ascertained, and
-can only guess that the police felt sure of
-securing him if he attempted to escape, and hoped
-that, if left alone, he might betray himself by
-such an attempt or otherwise. He never did.
-He sat in his cottage, as I gathered, constantly
-reading the Bible, but once or twice a day pacing
-thoughtfully and alone up and down the drive.
-He did the few necessary jobs for the house
-with punctuality, but he never lingered in it,
-never visited the field or the lane, and hardly
-spoke to any one, except on the day before his
-arrest, when, to my astonishment (for he was
-known to be hostile to the Church), he sent for
-me, and we had the memorable interview to
-which I have already referred.</p>
-
-<p>During the days before his arrest, as well as
-after, all sorts of enquiry, of which I knew little,
-were going on. Thalberg’s movements after the
-murder were traced. Some attempt was made,
-I believe, to find the man who, according to
-Trethewy, had passed him with two horses in
-the lane. But there seems to have been some
-bungling about this, and the man, about whom
-there was no real mystery (he was a farm
-servant who had started off early to take a horse,
-which his master had sold, to its new owner),
-was not then found. Two important discoveries
-were made about Trethewy. After his arrest
-his cottage was searched, and he was found to
-be the possessor of inconceivably miscellaneous
-articles. Among them were several weapons
-which he might naturally have picked up on
-his travels, but among them (which was more
-to the point) was a small case of surgical
-instruments. Two instruments were missing
-from that case, and the instrument used by
-the murderer might, though not very neatly,
-have fitted into one of the vacant places. The
-case was found, as Callaghan, who contrived to
-be present, told me, at the back of a shelf in
-a cupboard filled with all sorts of lumber and
-litter that had lain there who can say how
-long. Callaghan, however, professed to have
-observed, from marks on the dust of the shelf,
-that the contents of the cupboard had been
-recently disturbed, in order, he had no doubt,
-to hide the instrument case at the back of
-everything.</p>
-
-<p>The other new discovery had occurred two
-days before. Trethewy’s uncle and the guests
-who had been at his party on that ill-omened
-night were of course sought and questioned.
-They all corroborated Trethewy’s own account
-of his movements, but they added something
-more. Trethewy it seemed had been normal
-and cheerful enough as the evening began,
-but, as the night and the drinking went on,
-fell first into melancholy, then into sullenness,
-lastly and a little before he went home into
-voluble ferocity. He recurred to the topic,
-to which his uncle said he had more than once
-alluded on previous days when he had met
-him, of his quarrel with Peters, against whom
-he had conceived an irrational resentment, and
-he actually, though those who heard him did
-not take him seriously at the time, uttered
-threats against his life.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch06">
-
-<h2>Chapter VI</h2>
-
-<p>I was told of this behaviour of Trethewy’s by
-Sergeant Speke the day after the arrest. But
-it was no surprise to me, for I had come
-myself to communicate to the police something
-to the same effect. On mature reflexion I
-had thought it my duty to report the matter of
-the interview which I had had with Trethewy
-some days before. Trethewy had, unsolicited,
-made a confession to me—not a confession of
-crime, but a confession of criminal intent.</p>
-
-<p>Unchecked by a warning that I could promise
-no secrecy as to what he should say, and a
-reminder of, what he knew full well, that he was
-in a position of grave danger, he declared to
-me that he had harboured the thought of killing
-his master, and, though he had never actually
-laid hands on him, was as guilty as though he
-had done so. Starting with this declaration he
-plunged into a long and uninterrupted discourse
-of which I should find it impossible, even if I
-wished it, to give an at all adequate report.</p>
-
-<p>As for the matter of his statement: if one
-were to accept it as true, it was the tale, common
-enough two centuries ago, but so rarely told now
-that modern ears find it very hard to take it in,
-the tale of the ordinary struggle between good
-and evil in a man, taking an acute and violent
-form, so that the man feels day by day the
-alternate mastery of a religious exaltation, which
-he believes to be wholly good, and of base
-passions, which, when they come upon him,
-seem to be an evil spirit driving him as the
-steam drives an engine. From the manner of
-the statement, it was very hard to gather how
-much of it was sincere, impossible to gather
-whether or not something worse lay concealed
-behind that which was so strangely confessed.
-Self-abasement and self-righteousness, the
-genuine stuff of Puritan enthusiasm, the adulterated
-stuff of morbid religiousness, sheer cant, manly
-straightforwardness, pleasure in the opportunity
-of preaching and that to the parson,—all these
-things seemed blended together in Trethewy’s
-talk.</p>
-
-<p>On the most favourable view the story came
-to this. A few years before, Trethewy, after a
-careless life, had become suddenly impressed by
-deep religious feelings, no less than by precise
-and inflexible religious views. His conversion,
-he trusted, had not left his conduct unaffected,
-but though for a time he walked, as he said,
-happy in this new light, it had been the
-beginning, not the end, of his inward warfare. His
-natural ill-temper, that worst sort of ill-temper
-which is both sulky and passionate, began to
-come upon him again in prolonged fits of intense
-wrath, intensified, I suppose, by reaction from the
-pitch at which he often strove to live. Besides
-this, he gave way at times to a keen pleasure
-in alcohol. He was tempted by what he called
-a “carnal” pride in the strength of his head for
-liquor; and I have sometimes observed that
-drink works its worst havoc upon the very men
-who may appear to be the least affected by it,
-bringing about a slow perversion of the deeper
-motives of action, while for a long time it leaves
-the judgment unclouded upon those more trivial
-and obvious matters in which aberration is
-readily detected. Thus at the time of that
-altercation with Peters of which Callaghan had
-been a witness, Trethewy was already brooding
-perversely over some trumpery or altogether
-fancied grievance. He was deeply under the
-influence of drink at that moment, and did not
-know it, but knew he had had enough to make
-most men drunk. His very worldly pride had
-therefore been the more offended at the
-imputation which Peters threw on him. His spiritual
-pride was offended too by a rebuke from one,
-whom, though originally fond of him, he had
-come to regard as a worldling, steeped in mere
-profane philosophy. He had been enraged to
-the point of desiring Peters’ death, and the threat
-which Callaghan reported had been actually
-uttered. He had meant, it may be, nearly
-nothing by his threat when he uttered it; but,
-when once this almost insane notion, of killing
-for such a trifle a man whom normally he liked,
-had taken shape in words, it recurred to him
-every time that he was put out, or that a third
-glass of spirits went to his lips. Perhaps it
-recurred to him with all the more terrible power
-because in better moments his conscience was
-horribly alarmed at his having given in, by so
-much as one thought, to this suggestion of the
-Devil. On the morning before Peters’ death he
-had a fresh altercation with him on the occasion
-of some trifling oversight in the garden to which
-Peters had called his attention, and I was
-surprised after what Vane-Cartwright had said to
-be told that Vane-Cartwright was present on this
-occasion and had heard the insolent language in
-which he seems to have addressed Peters. All
-day and night after that the evil dream had
-been upon him, and he walked home from his
-uncle’s that night plotting murder. He awoke
-in the morning calmer, but his wrath still
-smouldered, till his wife brought him the news
-that Peters was murdered, when it gave place
-in a moment to poignant grief for Peters. He
-could not stir from the cottage; he sat, he tried
-to pray, he thought, and he saw himself as he
-was—perhaps not quite as he was, for he saw
-himself as a man guilty of blood.</p>
-
-<p>He would gladly, I think, have talked with me
-of his soul, but, with the suspicion which I had
-in my mind, I did not see how I could say much
-to him. So, having heard him out, I got away
-with some pitifully perfunctory remarks. How
-was I to take this confession? Was the mental
-history which the man gave of himself a cunning
-invention for accounting for the known quarrel
-and the known threats? Was the story true
-with this grave correction that Trethewy had
-carried out his intent? Was it the simple truth
-all through? Did it even go beyond the truth
-in this, that the man’s thoughts had never been
-so black as he made them out? For days these
-questions occurred frequently to my mind, but
-my real opinion upon them was fixed almost as
-soon as I got away from Trethewy. Contrary
-to my principles I disliked him, I felt strangely
-little sympathy for his spiritual struggles; but I
-did not doubt that they were real, and I did not
-doubt that he was innocent of the crime.</p>
-
-<p>Before Trethewy was brought before the
-magistrates, a letter arrived which excited my
-imagination unaccountably, or rather two letters
-arrived. The day before Vane-Cartwright had
-left, a letter had arrived for Peters, bearing the
-postmark of Bagdad. Vane-Cartwright
-carelessly opened it. He had, I think, at my
-request, on the day when I was away in London,
-opened some letters which arrived for Peters’
-executors. So he had a good excuse for opening
-this. “Well, that is very uninforming,” he said,
-passing the letter over to me, with an apology
-for his mistake, and laughing more than was
-usual with him. Uninforming it certainly was.
-“Dear Eustace,” it ran, “I am sorry I can tell
-you nothing about it.—Yours, C. B.” Just a
-week later, after Vane-Cartwright had left, came
-another letter from the same place, in the same
-hand, and almost, but not quite, as brief: “Dear
-Eustace, This time I will not delay my answer.
-Longhurst sailed in the <i>Eleanor</i> and she did not
-go down. To the best of my belief she still
-sails the seas. I never liked C.—Yours ever,
-Charles Bryanston.”</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch07">
-
-<h2>Chapter VII</h2>
-
-<p>After several remands, the proceedings against
-Trethewy before the magistrates came to a close
-about the end of February. There was nothing
-much to note about these proceedings, which
-ended, as I suppose they must have ended, in
-his being committed for trial. The reader
-knows by this time pretty nearly the whole case
-against him. That Peters had been murdered
-was certain. The accused had had several
-altercations with the murdered man. In one of
-them he had expressed a wish to kill him, and
-he had repeated this wish to others upon the
-fatal night. Footprints had been found which,
-as the reader knows, seemed at first sight plainly
-indicative of his guilt. Then there was the
-ladder. It was undoubtedly kept, before the
-murder, locked up in a place of which only
-Trethewy had the key. That any one could
-have had access to it between the murder and
-the discovery of the ladder was a view supported
-only by the uncorroborated statement of the
-accused that he had left the key of the
-pump-house that morning, when summoned to speak
-to the police, and had forgotten to go back for
-it until the next day. Lastly, the finding of the
-instrument case, though not very important, at
-any rate disposed of any improbability that
-Trethewy would have had such an instrument
-as the knife that was used.</p>
-
-<p>I daresay this would have been enough to
-hang a man if this was all; and against this
-there was nothing to be set, except the
-immovable persistency of Trethewy and his wife from
-the first in the tale which they told.</p>
-
-<p>Nothing, that is, till after he had been
-committed for trial. But the very evening after his
-committal, a slight but almost conclusive
-circumstance was brought to light, and entirely
-altered the aspect of the case. That evening I
-received a visit from Peters’ housemaid, Edith
-Summers. She had, she said, something on her
-mind. She had told a falsehood to the
-police-sergeant on the morning after the murder.
-She had interrupted the housekeeper to say
-that the candle by Peters’ bed had been a long
-candle the night before; she had said this
-because she had been very severely scolded by
-the housekeeper for forgetting to put fresh
-candles in the candlestick; and so she had said
-what was false, not meaning any harm, but
-thinking for the moment (as she now tried to
-explain) that it was true, and that she had done
-what she had intended. She had confessed to the
-housekeeper since, but the housekeeper had only
-said she was an impudent girl to have put in
-her word then, and had better not put it in again.
-She had gone to the court expecting to be a
-witness on some small point and determined to
-make the matter clear then; but she had not
-been called. She had spoken to a policeman,
-and had been told to speak to one of the lawyers.
-She had tried to get the attention of Trethewy’s
-lawyer, but he had been too busy to listen to
-her.</p>
-
-<p>I am ashamed to say that listening to her
-rather long explanation, I entirely failed to see
-the significance of what she told me. I said
-something quite well intentioned about the evil
-of saying what was not true, and then told the
-girl kindly, that I did not think there was any
-harm done. But she had thought about it and
-was in earnest, and she made me see it in a
-moment. There were, she explained, other
-candles in the room, but they were new candles,
-and they were not lighted that night. From
-this and what we already knew the conclusion
-was almost inevitable. Peters was murdered
-before two inches of ordinary candle, which was
-burning at 11.30 <span class="sc">P.M.</span> on the 28th of January,
-burnt down.</p>
-
-<hr>
-
-<p>Stupid as it may seem, I had for some time
-been convinced of Trethewy’s innocence, and
-yet had never really drawn the necessary inference
-from it. Of course with the two premisses
-in my mind—Peters was murdered, Trethewy
-did not murder him—I had been aware, in a
-sense, of the conclusion, but it had taken no
-hold of my attention. Now, however, I had
-evidence of Trethewy’s innocence, which was no
-longer a private intuition of my own, but was
-something of which every one must appreciate
-the force. Perhaps it was from this, perhaps it
-was from the sentimental effect of having the
-time of the crime fixed within such narrow limits;
-anyhow the thought, “Some one other than
-Trethewy murdered Peters,” came upon me
-with a sudden horror which could hardly have
-been greater if I had only that moment become
-aware of the original fact of the murder.</p>
-
-<p>I instantly went over in my mind the list of
-those few who were so placed as to lie within
-the reach of suspicion. Trethewy could no
-longer be suspected. Thalberg surely could
-not. I dismissed the two women servants from
-my mind immediately. There remained two
-men—three men—three men, of whom I was
-one. I knew how easily I could clear myself,
-for the door had been locked behind me before
-that candle was lit. But I was the last man
-known to have seen Peters, and my confused
-current of thought included me as a man to be
-suspected. I asked myself of each in turn, is
-he the guilty man? and in each case I answered
-no. As I look back now, it seems to me, that
-the answer “no” did not come to my mind with
-the same whole-hearted conviction in each case.
-But I did not in the few moments for which I
-then reflected, I did not till long after do more
-than go round in this circle: One of us three
-men murdered Peters. Was it—— each of us
-in turn? No. Could it after all be one of the
-servants? No! Was there not then in the
-vast region of possibility some way of
-accounting for Peters’ death without the guilt of any of
-us. The plainest reasons bade me answer yes,
-and yet again I answered no. And so back
-round the circle.</p>
-
-<p>But the girl was with me and I could not
-keep her waiting for ever. I arrested my
-mental circle where it began, at the thought:
-it seems Peters was murdered while two inches
-of ordinary candle, lighted before 11.30 <span class="sc">P.M.</span> on
-the 28th of January, burnt out. I started up to
-take the girl at once to see the police, but on a
-sudden idea I desisted. I wrote a note to the
-housekeeper, asking that the girl should again
-come to see me at eight in the evening, and I
-sent a message to the police-sergeant, asking
-him to come at the same time. Of course I
-had often interviewed him on parish matters,
-and having got him settled into the arm-chair in
-my study, in which I could usually put him at
-his ease, I fired upon him the question,
-“Sergeant, were those tracks, which we found, really
-there when you came to Mr. Peters’ house in
-the morning?” Now Sergeant Speke was a
-very honest man, but he was (most properly, I
-am sure) a creature of discipline, and his answer
-threw, for me, a flood of light on the problem
-how it is that the very best of the police are so
-ready to back up one another. He answered
-immediately and with conviction: “Well, you
-see, sir, it is not for me to judge”. The
-answer was on the face of it preposterous. He
-alone had searched the front of the house that
-morning, and it was for him alone, of all men,
-to say whether the tracks were there. He
-obviously did not see this at all, and I was
-wise enough to let go an opportunity for
-moralising to him. I beguiled him, with a glass of
-wine and other devices of the tempter, into
-feeling himself off duty for the while, and talking
-with me as fellow-mortal to fellow-mortal. I
-very soon discovered, first, that Sergeant Speke
-had searched carefully enough around the house
-that morning to have seen the tracks if they
-had been there, and, secondly, that the man,
-Speke, as distinct from the Sergeant, knew
-perfectly well that they were not there.</p>
-
-<p>Not till then did I summon the girl Edith
-from the servants’ hall where she was waiting.
-I made her tell her tale. I saw the Sergeant take
-a due note of it for transmission to those, to me
-mysterious, headquarters where I supposed all
-such matters were digested. I got the
-assurance that Sergeant Speke was really man
-enough to see that his own evidence, as to the
-non-existence of the tracks that morning, would
-be noted and digested too. I dismissed the
-Sergeant and Edith, and went slowly to bed.
-Did I suspect this person? No! Did I
-suspect that person? N—no. At last I determined
-that I would not let my suspicions fasten on
-any one man, while it might be just as
-reasonable that his suspicions should fasten on me.
-But my mind remained full of horror and of the
-image of a candle-end spluttering out, while the
-man, who had lighted it to read by, lay dead in
-those bloody sheets. Very, very glad I was
-that my wife was at last coming home next day.</p>
-
-<p>I suppose it was from the association of two
-female names that my dreams, when at last I
-slept, were of nothing more horrible than the
-ship <i>Eleanor</i>, which, as the reader remembers,
-probably still sailed the seas.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch08">
-
-<h2>Chapter VIII</h2>
-
-<p>With some doubt as to whether it was what I
-ought to do, but with no doubt that it was what
-I wanted to do, I sought out Callaghan next
-morning for a final talk with him before he left;
-for he was at last to tear himself away from the
-scene which he haunted. I tried on him, I do
-not know why, the effects of Edith’s disclosure
-without telling him what I now knew about the
-tracks. I could see that he accepted the truth
-of the girl’s statement, and had grasped, much
-more quickly than I had, what it imported. It
-was therefore wearisome to me, and, in my then
-state of mind, most jarring, that for some time
-he persisted in playing with the idea that
-Trethewy might still be guilty. He supported
-it, as he went on, with more and more
-far-fetched arguments, so that my patience was
-nearly at an end, when, to my amazement, I
-found my friend off at full speed again upon a
-fresh track, that of Thalberg. I listened, and
-this time seriously, to several things which he
-told me about Thalberg, which were new to
-me and threw an unpleasant light upon him.
-Then I interposed. Thalberg had left the
-house with me, and it had been made all but
-certain that he went straight to his hotel and
-never left it until many hours after the murder
-had been discovered. In any case it was not
-he who had made those tracks, for he had
-certainly kept in his hotel from early morning on
-the 29th till he left. And I then told Callaghan
-my reason for believing that those tracks were
-made in the middle of the day on the 29th.
-“My dear friend,” he exclaimed, this time with
-all the appearance of earnestness, “I no more
-really believe than you do that Thalberg
-actually did the deed. He is not man enough.
-But I have a method, I have a method. I am
-used to these things. I am off to Town now;
-I shall be there some time; you know my
-address. I mean,” he added grandiloquently,
-“to work through all the outside circumstances
-and possibilities of the case, and narrow down
-gradually to the real heart of the problem; it is
-my method.”</p>
-
-<p>Well, there may have been some method in
-his madness, for there was certainly some
-madness in his method. I took leave of him (after
-he had called, that afternoon, to renew
-acquaintance with my wife) little foreseeing what his
-two next steps would be. He stopped on his
-way to London at the county town, where he
-went to the county police office to
-communicate some information or theory about Thalberg.
-He went on to London, as he had said he
-would, but, instead of remaining there as he
-had said, he suddenly departed next day for the
-Continent, leaving no address behind.</p>
-
-<p>We have now arrived at the first week in
-March, the several events (if I may include
-under the name of events the slow emergence
-of certain thoughts in my own mind) which
-prepared the way for the eventual solution of
-our mystery, occurred at intervals, and in an
-order of which my memory is not quite distinct,
-during that and the remaining nine months of
-the year.</p>
-
-<p>The resolution at which I had arrived, not
-to occupy my mind with suspicions, or to regard
-the detection of crime as part of my business,
-was not a tenable resolution, and it was entirely
-dissipated by my wife in a talk which we had
-on the first evening after her arrival. I was
-aware that she would not be able to share with
-me in the determination not to harbour
-suspicions of any particular person, but I had
-thought she would be averse to my taking
-positive steps towards the detection of the
-crime. She, however, was indignant at the
-idea that I could let things be. “Several
-innocent men will be under a cloud all their lives,”
-she said, “unless the guilty man is found.
-There is Trethewy, I suppose they will let him
-out some day; but who is going to employ
-him? Not that uncle of his; and we cannot.
-Who do you suppose is going to see this through
-if you do not?” She was powerfully seconded
-in this by a neighbour of ours, now an old man,
-who had had much experience as a justice.
-“Mr. Driver,” he said, “you may think this is
-the business of the police, but remember who
-the police are. They do their ordinary work
-excellently, but their ordinary work is to deal
-with ordinary crime. This was not an ordinary
-crime, and it was done by no ordinary man. If
-it is ever discovered, it will be by a man whose
-education gives him a wider horizon than that
-of professional dealers with criminals.”</p>
-
-<p>I do not know how far the reader may have
-been inclined to suspect Callaghan (that
-depends, I suppose, on whether the reader has
-been able to form any idea of his character,
-and I myself had not, so far, formed any coherent
-idea of his character; there seemed little
-coherence in it), but the police certainly had begun
-to suspect him.</p>
-
-<p>On a superficial view of the matter there was
-every reason to do so. Short of bolting on the
-night of the murder, before it was discovered,
-he had done all that, theoretically, a guilty man
-should have done. He had lost no time
-whatever in attempting to put suspicion on one
-innocent man. He had striven to intermeddle
-officiously in the investigations conducted by the
-police. There was more than one apparent lie
-in the information he had given. He had
-haunted the scene of the crime as though it
-fascinated him. When the first innocent man
-was cleared, he had at once suggested another
-man, who was almost certainly innocent also,
-and he had then, after giving false accounts of
-his intentions, quitted the country without
-leaving his address. Then he was certainly in the
-house when the crime was committed. His
-movements on the following day were nearly
-accounted for, but not so fully that he could not
-have made those false tracks. After all it was
-a circumstance of deep suspicion that he had
-been so quick to recognise the peculiar print
-of Trethewy’s boot.</p>
-
-<p>Alas, even to the test <i>cui bono</i>, “that stock
-question of Cassius, ‘whom did it profit?’ ”
-Callaghan responded ill. I knew, and
-somewhat later in reply to an enquiry by the police,
-it was my duty to say, that Callaghan was in a
-certain sense a gainer by Peters’ death. He
-had been a most imprudent investor (not, I
-believe, a speculator), and had in his
-embarrassment borrowed £2,000 from Peters. Peters,
-while living, would not have been at all hard on
-him if he had been honestly unable to pay, but
-was just the man to have made Callaghan’s life
-a burden to him if he thought he was not doing
-his best to keep above water. Peters’ will
-cancelled the debt, and it was not impossible that
-Callaghan knew it. But this last point illustrates
-the real weakness of the argument against him.
-Nobody could know Callaghan a little and think
-that either this interest in the will or any other
-point in this hypothetical story of his crime,
-however much it might be like human nature, was
-in the least like him.</p>
-
-<p>Here, for want of a good description of him,
-are a few traits of his sojourn in my parish. He
-was, it is true, with difficulty dragged out of a
-furious brawl with a gentleman from the North
-of Ireland who, he said, had blasphemed against
-the Pope. The man had not so blasphemed,
-and Callaghan himself was not a Roman Catholic.
-On the other hand, he had habitually since his
-arrival lain in wait for the school children to
-give them goodies and so forth. He assaulted
-and thrashed two most formidable ruffians who
-were maltreating a horse, and then plastered
-their really horrible bruises with so much blarney
-that they forgave, not merely him, but the horse.
-He had brought for Peters, with infinite pride,
-a contraband cargo of his native potheen, a
-terrible fluid; and after Peters’ death he would
-sit up alone in that desolate house, drinking, not
-the potheen, which, in intended charity, he
-suggested that I should bestow on the poor in the
-workhouse, but Mrs. Travers’ barley water, and
-writing a rather good and entirely bright and
-innocent fairy story.</p>
-
-<p>This is emphatically not evidence, but it made
-me sure of Callaghan’s innocence. Looking at
-what I suppose was evidence, I had wondered
-whether I was not soft in this, and I brought
-the matter to the test of my wife’s judgment.
-I knew that, at least at her earlier meetings
-with Callaghan, she had disliked him, and, out of
-the facts which she knew already, I made what
-I flattered myself was a very telling case against
-him. It did not disconcert me that the lady,
-who, when told of his flight, had trusted he
-would remain out of England till she went
-abroad, said without much interest, “What
-stuff,” and then suddenly kindling, exclaimed,
-“What, Robert, are you turning against that
-poor man?” When I asked for the reasons
-why she scouted the idea of his guilt, she seemed
-to consider the request quite frivolous; but at
-last I extracted from her a sentence which
-expressed what I think was at the root of my own
-thought. “Mr. Callaghan,” she said, “is violent
-enough to commit a murder and cunning enough
-to conceal anything, but I cannot imagine his
-violence and his cunning ever working together.”</p>
-
-<p>Of course we both thought of him as sane,
-though he was just one of those people to whose
-doings one constantly applies the epithet “mad”.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch09">
-
-<h2>Chapter IX</h2>
-
-<p>The enquiry upon which I had now stirred
-myself to enter, could not be an easy one, but
-it should have seemed for the present to be
-narrowed down to a question about a single man.
-Perhaps it was from repugnance against
-consciously going about to hang a man who had
-sheltered under my roof, that I did not even
-then definitely put to myself the question of that
-man’s guilt. By some half-conscious sequence
-of thought I was led to begin my search far afield.
-It started with the two letters which had come
-for Peters from Mr. Charles Bryanston, or rather
-first with the later letter.</p>
-
-<p>I had some time before written briefly and
-formally to Mr. Bryanston to acquaint him with
-the fact of Peters’ murder, but had, for a while
-since, thought no more of him. Now I began
-to do what one very seldom does, steadily and
-methodically think. I mooned up and down
-with a pipe in my garden or in the lanes. I
-sat, with those letters in my hand, alone before
-the fire. I sat at my writing-table with paper
-before me, and made incoherent jottings with a
-pencil. I should be afraid to say how often
-and how long I did all these seemingly idle
-things. Till at last, in the time between tea
-and dinner, with the children playing in the
-room, I arrived at actually spelling the matter
-out.</p>
-
-<p>“This time I will not delay my answer.”
-“This time——” Then at other times he
-did delay his answer. That might have some
-significance when I turned to the earlier letter.
-“This time I will not delay my answer.” It
-was an answer to a question in a letter just
-received from Peters, an answer probably by
-return of post. Why not delay it this time as
-usual? Why, of course, because the question
-was one which both to Peters and to
-Bryanston seemed important, perhaps momentous.
-Simple enough so far. “Longhurst did sail
-in the <i>Eleanor</i>, and she did not go down.”
-It was clear enough that some one had thought
-that Longhurst had sailed in a ship that did
-go down. Peters had thought otherwise, and
-Peters was right. What of that? There is
-nothing momentous in that. Stop, though. It
-is not necessarily that. Some one need not
-have thought it—he may have said it to Peters,
-and Peters may have thought it was a lie. And
-what did it matter, and why did some one say
-it? Well, of course, Longhurst would be dead
-if the ship had gone down; and Longhurst was
-not really dead, and some one was interested
-in saying that he was. Perhaps Longhurst
-was the next heir to some property, and search
-ought to have been made for him; and my
-mind wandered over all the stories I had ever
-read of lost heirs, in fact or in fiction. Or
-perhaps—— Who said Longhurst and his
-ship went down? “C.” said it, whoever “C.”
-might be.</p>
-
-<p>Then I took up the earlier letter. I knew
-from the other letter that this had been sent
-late. There was nothing further to be gained
-from the words of it, but a flood of suspicion
-broke upon me as I held it in my hand. Had
-“C.” another initial to his surname, a double
-name? Did I know this “C.”? Had I not
-seen this very letter in the hands of “C.”?
-Had I not thought it rather odd that he, a
-man so decidedly “all there,” had opened and
-read it before it was given to me? Had I
-not rather wondered at the pains he had kindly
-taken to help me with several letters before?
-Did he not laugh rather strangely as he read
-it, though I never heard him laugh at
-anything amusing? Did he not go away just after
-the letter came, though he had not been
-intending to go so soon? Was it conceivable that
-he knew that Peters had asked that question,
-and thought the first letter (“very
-uninforming,” as he called it) was the answer to that
-question, and an answer which made him safe?
-After that one laugh I thought he became
-suddenly downcast. Had he really read in
-that letter that he need not have feared
-Peters, and that he had—yes, murdered him
-for nothing? Had the accident that Peters
-had written, perhaps long before, some
-unimportant question to Bryanston, and the
-accident that Bryanston had delayed his answer
-betrayed this man into leaving me alone with
-my letters a week too soon; and would this
-trifling mistake lead him to—to the gallows?
-and I remembered with a start the grim end
-which I was preparing. Yes, all this was
-conceivable. There is an old maxim that you
-should beware of going back upon your first
-instinctive impressions of liking or dislike when
-you happen to have them. There are
-qualifications to it; the repulsions that start from
-ugliness or strangeness or difference of opinion
-may not be safe guides. But broadly the maxim
-is true. It was true in this instance. No, I
-too had never liked “C.”</p>
-
-<p>It is strange that I should have received Mr.
-Bryanston’s answer the very next morning, a
-long, full, warm-hearted letter on the death of
-the friend to whose letters in life—and what
-letters Peters wrote!—he made such scrappy
-replies. In a P.S. at the end, as if the writer
-had hesitated whether to write it, were the
-words: “It is curious and may be news to you
-that Mr. Peters, at the time he was murdered,
-was unravelling the mystery of another murder,
-committed, as he suspected, many years ago”.</p>
-
-<p>So then, as I had half-guessed, Longhurst
-was dead. It was not that he was alive and
-Cartwright pretended he was dead, he was
-dead, and Cartwright had a motive for falsely
-pretending he was drowned.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch10">
-
-<h2>Chapter X</h2>
-
-<p>“Tout comprendre, c’est tout pardonner,” is,
-I do not doubt, a saying which has its truth.
-Nevertheless, I have generally noticed, when I
-have read much about murders or other great
-crimes, or about the social or political misdeeds
-which are not called crimes, that every piece
-of additional knowledge about the manner in
-which the thing was done, the inducements that
-led to it, the conduct that followed it, has, for
-me at least, set the capital act of wrong in
-a more hideous light. It is not, I think, that
-the picturesque circumstances, like the
-guttering candle whose image got on my nerves that
-night, affect me profoundly. It is, I believe,
-that, while many men, most if you like, are
-middling, the distinctly bad are really much
-worse and the distinctly good are really much
-better than the world of middling people is at
-all ready to allow. When I looked at the
-whole circumstances of the crime, as I now
-conceived them, a great hatred of
-Vane-Cartwright possessed my soul. There was a passage
-in my subsequent course with regard to him,
-when a reason personal to myself had just been
-added to the cause of my hate, upon which I
-look back sometimes with self-disgust, but I
-cannot think that the desire, which first prompted
-me to fasten myself upon Vane-Cartwright and
-try to drag him down, was an impure desire, or
-that it consorted ill with the inner meaning of
-those precepts which it was my profession to
-teach.</p>
-
-<p>Whether it was right or wrong, the strength
-of the feeling which then animated me showed
-itself in my resolve to think calmly and to act
-circumspectly. I was conscious that the
-structure of my theory was held together by no
-firm rivets of verifiable fact, but by something
-which must be called feeling. I did not distrust
-my theory on that account; but I did distrust
-myself, and I determined, in what lay before
-me, to take as few impulsive steps and to draw
-as few impulsive conclusions as I could.</p>
-
-<p>Reflecting, next morning, on what could be
-done immediately to bring my hypothesis to
-the test of fact, I looked in the <i>Postal Guide</i>
-for such information as it gave about the mails
-to and from Bagdad. I also verified my
-impression as to the date of that occasion when
-Vane-Cartwright, staying at the hotel, had spent
-the evening with Peters. From what I found
-it seemed to me that a letter to Bagdad, posted
-that night, might have been expected to bring
-an answer back by the date on which the first
-letter from Bryanston came to my hands, or
-even a few days earlier, but that the delays of
-steamers might easily bring it about that an
-answer should not arrive till a week later, that
-is, when the second letter from Bryanston came
-to me. So far then there was nothing to make
-my conclusion impossible. I may add here that
-the enquiries which I made, as soon as I saw
-how to do it, confirmed what I gathered from
-the <i>Postal Guide</i>, and showed that on this
-occasion such a delay of the mails had actually
-happened.</p>
-
-<p>But, assuming this about the mails, what a
-frail edifice my theory still remained! Upon
-most careful reconsideration, I saw, as the reader
-may see, that it fitted in easily with all the known
-facts. It was just as well founded as many
-things which are taught as established truths of
-science or history. But as for expecting the
-law to hang Vane-Cartwright upon this, I
-myself, fantastically no doubt, refrained a little later
-from black-balling him at a distinguished club,
-of which, oddly enough, I had in my ambitious
-youth become a member. In large part the
-case, so to call it, against him rested on my
-observations of his demeanour in my house, and
-especially of his conduct in regard to my business
-as executor and my letters. This was precise
-and cogent enough for me, the observer at first
-hand; but it was too much matter of general
-impression to be of use to any one but me. Then
-the attribution of that early murder to
-Vane-Cartwright seemed to me absolutely requisite
-to make his murder of Peters conceivable. But
-it was the work of my imagination. In the
-region of palpable facts, one thing alone was
-evidence against Vane-Cartwright and not
-against any other man. It will be remembered
-that, when Callaghan first denounced Trethewy,
-Vane-Cartwright said that Trethewy’s behaviour
-in his presence to Peters had been friendly and
-respectful. He knew, I now told myself, a better
-way than expressing suspicion of Trethewy, and
-while by his stealthy act he fabricated evidence
-against him, he contrived by his words to cast
-on Callaghan alone the risk of thereafter
-appearing as an innocent man’s traducer. But
-his cunning had made a slip. It was gratuitous
-in doing so to have uttered a refutable lie as to
-Trethewy’s conduct in his presence. He was
-not the man to have seen the imprudence of
-this. It would have been to him inconceivable
-that Trethewy should confess the full extent of
-his wrong conduct to me. And so, not from
-any want of coolness, he had provided me with
-the one scrap of ordinary evidence necessary to
-give firmness to that belief of mine which might
-otherwise have seemed a mere bubble.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch11">
-
-<h2>Chapter XI</h2>
-
-<p>By the time that my wife, who had been again
-obliged to be in London while I was spelling
-out this story, had returned, I had long come
-to the conclusion that my theory had enough
-in it to be worth submitting to her criticism.
-But she forestalled me with news of her own,
-and news which concerned Vane-Cartwright.
-The young lady, Miss Denison, whom he was
-to have married had suddenly broken off the
-engagement within two days of his joining
-her upon the Riviera. The girl could give
-no good reason for her conduct, and her own
-people loudly condemned it; they had been
-against the engagement, for the difference of
-age was too great; they were still more against
-the flighty breach of it; but she was obdurate.
-She and her people returned home for Easter,
-and my wife, who had already known her a
-little, now met her several times at the house
-of a common friend in London. The foolish or
-unhappy young lady had given my wife her
-confidence. Far from having any suspicion
-about the murder, she had never even heard,
-when she made her decision, that there had
-been a murder at all; for she and her mother
-did not read news of that order, and
-Vane-Cartwright, though he had said that he had
-been through a dreadful experience, of which
-he was anxious to tell her, had not yet said
-what it was. There had evidently been a
-quite unaccountable quarrel in which the
-high-tempered girl had, in all things external, begun,
-continued and ended in the wrong; and she did
-not now defend herself. Somehow, she said,
-he was changed. No, not in his manner to her;
-she had not doubted his attachment to her.
-Only she had thought she had loved him before,
-and she knew now that she did not. Something,
-which she had seen in him before but not
-disliked, now jarred upon her feelings in a new
-way. She had been very, very foolish, very,
-very wrong; she could explain nothing; she
-was very unhappy, very angry with herself; but
-this she knew, and this alone she knew, that it
-would be wrong for her to become William
-Vane-Cartwright’s wife.</p>
-
-<p>So much my wife told me. Then, with that
-precipitancy in travelling to remote conclusions
-which sometimes seems so perilous in able
-women, she said, as quietly as if it were the
-most obvious comment, “Robert, it was
-Vane-Cartwright that did the murder”. Now she
-had never even spoken to him.</p>
-
-<p>Accordingly, she received my theory of the
-murder almost with enthusiasm. None the less,
-she immediately put her finger upon the weakest
-part of it. “I wonder, all the same,” she
-exclaimed, “why he murdered Eustace?” “Why,”
-I said, “he saw in a moment that Eustace knew
-he was lying and suspected him of the murder.”
-“That would not have been enough,” she said;
-“he must be a very cool-headed man from the
-way he behaved after the murder, and he would
-never have run the risk he ran by a second
-murder, if there had not been much more than
-suspicion of the first.” “Then,” I suggested,
-“perhaps Eustace already knew it, and the lie
-he told only provoked Eustace into showing
-it.” “If,” she replied, “Eustace knew it, he
-would never have had him within his doors.”
-“Well,” I said wearily, because I could not
-immediately see how to answer, “perhaps he
-did not murder Eustace.” Then she turned on
-me with a woman’s promptitude and a woman’s
-injustice: “You can always argue me down,”
-she said, “but he did murder Eustace Peters,
-and you have got to find out all about it and
-bring him to justice. I am sure you have the
-ability to do it. You may have to wait, but, if
-you wait patiently and keep your eyes open, all
-sorts of things will turn up to help you. I shall
-be very angry with you,” she added, in a tone
-not at all suggestive of anger, “if you do not
-do it.”</p>
-
-<p>I felt, like my wife, that it was a matter of
-waiting for what would turn up. In the
-neighbourhood of the murder there was probably very
-little to turn up. The police, I felt no doubt, had
-made all manner of enquiries; and as for
-anything that I was likely to pick up, I supposed
-I had already heard all, and more than all that
-any person in the neighbourhood knew about
-the matter. I may anticipate a little and say
-that in the whole of the four months, which, as
-it proved, were all that remained to me as Rector
-of Long Wilton, no fresh information was given
-to me by my neighbours there. It soon occurred
-to me that the murder of Longhurst, far away
-and long ago, might be easier to trace than the
-recent, but perhaps more carefully veiled, crime
-committed to cover it. Peters, I reasoned, must
-have been in possession of proofs of it, and
-probably, as I searched his voluminous papers,
-something would appear to indicate the nature
-of those proofs. I began, as in any case I
-should have done, a careful reading of his
-papers. It took up no small part of my spare
-time, for I found that he had prepared little
-enough for immediate publication, but fuller
-and more valuable materials for his projected
-book of psychology than I should at all have
-expected from his manner of proceeding. But,
-of what now interested me more than my friend’s
-philosophy, I found nothing in all this mass of
-letters and notes and journals; nothing, that
-is, which threw direct light on this mystery, for
-indeed his psychological notes and my
-discussions with a friend of his, an Oxford philosophy
-tutor, to whom I eventually committed them,
-did, I think, influence me not a little in one
-important part of my enquiry later.</p>
-
-<p>In pushing enquiries further afield there was
-need for some caution. An indiscretion might
-have brought what I was doing unnecessarily
-soon to the notice of the suspected man, and
-the great ability with which I credited him
-might suggest some effective scheme for baffling
-my search. But of course I wrote early to Mr.
-Bryanston to ask if he would tell me to whom
-he alluded as “C.,” whether Longhurst was the
-man whom Peters suspected had been murdered,
-and whether I inferred rightly that “C.” was
-involved in this suspicion.</p>
-
-<p>It was my duty to put all that I knew at the
-disposal of the police, and the opportunity for
-doing so soon presented itself in the visit, which,
-as I have said, was paid to me to enquire about
-Callaghan. My visitor was an important official,
-since dead, whom I need not more clearly
-indicate. He had been a military man, and he
-struck me as, in some ways, admirably qualified
-for his post. He was, I believe, excellent in
-the discipline he maintained among his
-subordinates and in all the dispositions he made for
-meeting the common public requirements. I
-am told also that he had wonderful familiarity
-with the ways of ordinary law-breakers, but he
-did not appear to me to have much elasticity
-of mind. After answering fully his question
-about Callaghan, I thought it right to give my
-own impression of his innocence. My visitor
-answered me with a somewhat mysterious
-reference to those who really guided the conduct of
-the affair. He could not himself, he said, go
-behind their views. Then with an evident
-sympathy for my concern about Callaghan, he
-told me in confidence and still more
-mysteriously that the opinion of an eminent specialist
-had been taken.</p>
-
-<p>I then ventured to press the question of
-Trethewy’s release, and learnt that it was being
-carefully considered, but he could not be set free
-immediately. Then I told my visitor of the
-statement of Vane-Cartwright when Callaghan
-first spoke of Trethewy, and how Trethewy’s
-confession proved this to have been a deliberate
-falsehood. I showed him and gave him copies
-of the letters of Bryanston to Peters and to me.
-I informed him, and at my request he noted, that
-Vane-Cartwright had opened the first letter.
-I stated what I had myself observed of
-Vane-Cartwright’s conduct, and indicated frankly the
-conclusion which I was disposed to draw. It
-did not seem to me that I produced any
-impression. My visitor listened, if I may say so, with
-the air of a man who completely takes in the
-fact and sees that it should be put in some
-pigeon-hole, but is without either apprehension
-or wonder as to its real bearing. I gathered,
-on the whole, that the official mind was chiefly
-taken up with the theory that Callaghan was
-guilty; but that there was also thought to be
-an off-chance that something might yet turn up
-to repair the seemingly shattered case against
-Trethewy. I gathered too, and, I hope, gave
-due weight to the fact, that there was some likely
-way, of which I had before heard nothing, by
-which an unknown person might have entered
-and escaped from the house that night. One
-thing more I learnt; nothing suspicious had been
-discovered about Thalberg’s movements, but it
-appeared, and this seemed to be considered as in
-his favour, that he had a great deal to do with
-Vane-Cartwright.</p>
-
-<p>After my visitor had taken courteous leave of
-me, it dawned upon me what was meant by his
-dark sayings about Callaghan. I had wondered
-how the opinions of an eminent specialist in
-police matters could be so cogent in a case about
-which he knew nothing at first hand. Suddenly
-it occurred to me that the eminent specialist
-really was a physician well versed in the
-symptoms of insanity. The police then were not
-being guided by those superficial and so to
-speak conventional notes of guilt, of which I had
-thought, to the exclusion to all those sides of
-character which I had noted. On the contrary
-they had a view of their own on which these
-two conflicting sets of phenomena might be
-reconciled, a view which explained why Callaghan
-was to me so inexplicable. The man was not
-sane.</p>
-
-<p>I could not conceal from myself that there
-was at least something plausible in this view.
-There is a sort of marked eccentricity and, as it
-were, irresponsibility of conduct of which I had
-always thought as something not merely
-different from incipient madness but very far removed
-from it. Yet I had once before been terribly
-mistaken in thinking thus about a friend, and
-I might, I reflected, be mistaken now. The
-natural effect upon me was, or should have
-been, a keener sense of the unsubstantial nature
-of the story which I had built up about
-Vane-Cartwright. But I believed it still.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch12">
-
-<h2>Chapter XII</h2>
-
-<p>In the course of the summer my wife and I paid
-our annual visit together to London, and I had
-a few days in Oxford before the end of the
-summer term.</p>
-
-<p>I heard a good deal about Vane-Cartwright
-in London, for he had become a man of some
-mark in society, and moved in a little set, which
-was known among its members by a rather
-precious name, now forgotten though celebrated
-in the gossip of that time, and which included
-a statesman or two of either party and several
-men of eminence in letters, law or learning.
-By a strange coincidence of the sort which is
-always happening, I met at an evening party
-a friend who mentioned Longhurst, and I had
-just heard from him something of no moment
-about this man whose fate so deeply exercised
-me, when I saw Vane-Cartwright himself
-standing in another part of the throng. I took the
-opportunity of watching him, unobserved myself,
-as I supposed. I have hitherto forborne to
-describe his appearance, because such
-descriptions in books seldom convey a picture to me.
-But I must say that seen now in a room where
-there were several distinguished people, he made
-no less impression on me than before. He was,
-I should say, five foot eleven in height, thin and
-with a slight stoop, but with the wiry look
-which sometimes belongs to men who were
-unathletic and perhaps delicate when young,
-but whose physical strength has developed in
-after years. Hair which had turned rather
-grey, while the soft texture and uniformly dark
-hue of his skin still retained a certain beauty of
-youth, probably accounted for a good deal of
-his distinction of appearance, for he was not
-handsome, though his forehead, if narrow, was
-high, and his eyes which were small were
-striking—of a dark greenish-grey colour, I think.
-The expression of the mouth and of the
-clear-cut and firm-set jaw was a good deal hidden by
-a long though rather thin moustache, still black.
-I had time while he stood there to notice again
-one trick, which I already knew; he was, I
-supposed, bent upon being agreeable, so he was
-talking with animation, and when, in so talking,
-he smiled and showed his white teeth, his
-eyelashes almost completely veiled his eyes. To
-me, naturally, it gave him a hateful expression,
-yet I could see a certain fascination about it.
-Then he moved farther off—very quietly, but I
-could see as he made his way through the crowd
-that in reality every motion was extraordinarily
-quick.</p>
-
-<p>Some ten minutes after, I was about to go,
-when he suddenly came from behind and
-addressed me, asking me to choose a day for
-dinner or luncheon at his club. I declined, and
-freed myself as courteously and as quickly as I
-could, and thought, for the moment, that there
-had been nothing marked in the way in which,
-obeying irresistible impulse, I had shaken off
-the man whom I suspected on such slight
-grounds but so rootedly.</p>
-
-<p>A few days afterwards a great robbery was
-attempted at Vane-Cartwright’s house. The
-robbers were after a well-chosen and valuable
-collection of gold ornaments of early periods or
-from strange countries, which he had begun to
-make. It was reported in the papers that the
-theft had been with great presence of mind
-interrupted and prevented by the owner of the
-ill-guarded treasures. But the robbers
-themselves got away. The matter was much talked
-of, and conflicting tales were told about it, but it
-seems that Vane-Cartwright, hearing some
-unusual noise, had come downstairs and surprised
-the two men who had entered the house before
-they had succeeded in removing any of their
-spoil. As he came down he had rung up the
-police by the District Messenger Company’s
-apparatus which was in the house. Coming
-quietly upon them, and standing in the dark
-while they were in full light, he had first ordered
-them to hold up their hands, and had then made
-each of them singly turn out his pockets and
-restore the smaller stolen articles which they
-had already secreted in them. He then, it was
-said, kept them standing there to await the
-police. But, by some ruse, they distracted his
-attention for a moment, and then, suddenly
-putting out their light, made a rush past him
-and escaped. Such at any rate appears to have
-been the information which he gave to the police
-who arrived soon after. The police actually
-arrested two men, already known to them as
-suspicious characters, who had been observed
-lurking near the house together and afterwards
-slinking away separately, and they were at first
-confident that they had secured the authors of
-the attempted robbery. But Vane-Cartwright
-not only could not identify the arrested men as
-the two housebreakers, whom he had of course
-seen well; he insisted firmly that they were not
-the men whom he had seen; nor were the right
-men ever caught. The matter caused some
-surprise, and the police were freely blamed for
-their bungling. I have my own reason for
-doubting whether they were justly blamed.</p>
-
-<p>It is a mere fancy on my part that this
-incident and my meeting with Vane-Cartwright a
-few days before may have had a connexion
-with each other and with certain subsequent
-events in this history. I fear that my
-experience in that year and the next has made me
-ready to see fanciful connexions; and the
-reader, when he knows of those subsequent
-events, will see what I suspect took place upon
-the discovery of the theft, but will very likely
-think my suspicion extravagant. However that
-may be, Vane-Cartwright’s plucky adventure
-and the celebrity which it helped to give to his
-artistic collections, caused me to hear all the
-more of him during my stay in London.</p>
-
-<p>Curiously, however, it was at Oxford, where
-he had not distinguished himself, that the fame
-of Vane-Cartwright was most dinned into my
-ears. The University is apt to be much
-interested in the comparatively few of her sons whose
-road to distinction is through commerce; and,
-moreover, he had lately given to the University
-Museum a valuable collection of East Indian
-weapons, fabrics, musical instruments and what
-not, which he had got together with much
-judgment. Thus it happened that I heard
-there one or two things about him which
-were of interest to me. A friend of mine, an
-old tutor, the Bursar of the college at which
-Vane-Cartwright had been, described him as
-he was in his undergraduate days. He had,
-in his opinion, been badly brought up, had
-never gone to school, but been trained at
-home by parents who were good people with
-peculiar views, highly scientific and possibly
-highly moral views. He had not fallen into
-either of the two common classes of
-undergraduates which my old friend understood
-and approved—the sportsmanlike and boyishly
-fashionable class, or the studious class who
-studied on the ordinary lines; still less into the
-smaller, but still not small, class which
-combines the merits of the two. He had
-attainments of his own, which the old tutor did not
-value sufficiently, for he was proficient in
-several modern languages and modern
-literatures; moreover, the necessary mathematics,
-Greek and Latin grammar, formal logic, etc.,
-which he had to get up, gave him not the
-slightest trouble. Altogether he had plenty of
-cleverness of his own sort, but it was a sort
-which the Bursar thought unwholesome. He
-was quite well conducted, and ought to have
-been a gentleman, coming of the family of
-which he came, but somehow he was not quite
-a gentleman. Thus it was a great surprise to
-the possibly conventional instructor of his youth
-that he had done so well in the world.</p>
-
-<p>Then I heard of him from another man,
-justly esteemed in financial circles, who was on
-a visit to his son at Oxford, and whom I met in
-a common-room after dinner. Somebody had
-hazarded the remark that Vane-Cartwright
-must have been either a very hard worker or a
-very lucky speculator. “No,” said this
-gentleman, who was a colleague of his on the Board
-of one of the only two companies of which he
-was a director, “I should not say that a man
-like that worked hard as you would understand
-work at Oxford, or at least as a few of you would.
-His hard work was done when he was young.
-Most of his business is what one of his clerks
-could run, and probably does run, for many
-weeks together, on lines which he has planned
-very carefully and revises whenever occasion
-requires. Nor is he what most people would
-call a speculator. I fancy he very seldom takes
-any uncommon sort of risk, but he always does it
-at the right moment. He has succeeded because
-he is very quick in making his calculations and
-very bold in taking action on them. He does
-not seem to be constantly watching things, but
-when a special emergency or a special
-opportunity occurs he seems to grasp it instantly, and
-I believe he troubles himself very little, too
-little perhaps, about any affair of his when it is
-once well in train.”</p>
-
-<p>Lastly, I heard a story, the narrator of
-which could give me few precise details, of the
-pains which Vane-Cartwright had taken to
-search out the few relations of an old partner
-of his in the East who had died before their
-affairs turned out so successfully, and of the
-generosity with which he had set up these people
-in life though they had very little claim on him.
-Here at least was something which took its
-place in the story which I was weaving; the
-rest of what I had heard was little to the
-purpose, though it served to give life and colour to
-my idea of the man’s character.</p>
-
-<p>Now, however, I was really to discover
-something definite. When we returned to our home
-at Long Wilton, only a little before we finally
-left it, I completed my examination of Peters’
-papers. His various diaries and notebooks,
-notes of travel and notes of study, jottings and
-completed passages for his psychological book,
-I found to be of fascinating interest, and I
-lingered over them long, but there was not
-a hint among them all of Longhurst,
-the <i>Eleanor</i> or any kindred topic. One of the
-journals, I noticed, had had some leaves cut out.
-The last place of my search was a small wooden
-trunk which I had brought home from his
-house (now sold). On the top of it lay a sheet
-of paper with, written in his mother’s hand,
-“Some little things which I have put aside for
-Eustace. His wife or his children may care to
-see them hereafter.” It may have been from
-a false sense of pathos, but my eyes filled with
-tears, and I was indisposed to rifle callously these
-relics so lovingly put aside with natural hopes
-which now could never be fulfilled. I was about
-to make a bonfire of the box and all its
-contents, reverently but with speed, when my wife
-arrested me in amazement at my folly. “Why,”
-she said, “cannot you see? His letters to his
-mother will be in it.” “His letters from the
-East,” she added, as I still did not comprehend.
-And they were in it.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch13">
-
-<h2>Chapter XIII</h2>
-
-<p>I here set down in order of their date several
-extracts from Peters’ letters to his mother written
-from Saigon in the years 1878 to 1880.</p>
-
-<p><i>First Extract:</i> “I have a new acquaintance,
-one Willie Cartwright, a young fellow who was
-at Oxford just after me. I spend a good deal
-of time with him because of talking Oxford
-shop and because he is fond of books; at least
-he was brought up among them, and reads the
-books he thinks he ought to read. I have not
-got very much in common with him, for he is
-a narrow-shouldered, bilious-looking, unathletic
-fellow, with no instinct of sport in him; but
-he is a welcome addition to my circle, because
-he is refined—in a negative way at least—and
-most of my friends’ conversation here is—well,
-not refined, and it becomes a bore.”</p>
-
-<p><i>Second Extract:</i> “How curious that you
-should have known some of young Cartwright’s
-people, for it is W. V. Cartwright. I thought
-they must have lost their money since I heard of
-him at Oxford. Yes, I will try to ‘take care
-of him’ a little, as you say, but really, though
-he is quiet and not sociable among men, he
-is by no means a timid youth, and he has
-quite got the name of a shrewd business man
-already.”</p>
-
-<p><i>Third Extract:</i> “I am rather sorry about
-Willie Cartwright. He seems to have got into
-the hands of a fellow named Longhurst, who has
-lately turned up here, no one knows why. He,
-Longhurst, is a rough customer whom no one
-seems to know anything about, except that he
-has been in Australia. He has been a mining
-engineer, and seems to know also a lot about
-tropical forestry. He has wonderful yarns of
-the discoveries he has made in the Philippines,
-the Dutch Indies and all over the shop. I
-should not believe his yarns, but he seems to
-have made a little money somehow. Well,
-Cartwright now talks of becoming a partner
-with him in some wild-cat venture, and I am
-afraid he will get let in. He says himself he
-thinks Longhurst will try to do him. He had
-much better stick to his humdrum business
-here, which will give him a living at any rate,
-and perhaps enable him to retire comfortably
-when he is, say, forty-five, young enough to
-enjoy life, though one does age soon in this
-climate.”</p>
-
-<p><i>Fourth Extract:</i> “Cartwright and
-Longhurst have actually gone off together. Parker,
-whom Cartwright was with, is very sick about
-it. . . . By the way, I ought to confess I was
-quite wrong about Longhurst. I have seen a
-good deal of him since, and found him a very
-kind fellow, with an extraordinary simplicity
-about him in spite of all his varied experiences.
-I generally assume that when a man is spoken
-of as a rough diamond, the roughness is a too
-obvious fact, and the diamond a polite
-hypothesis, but I was wrong in Longhurst’s case.
-Also I think you may reassure C.’s aunt about
-the chances of his being swindled. In strict
-confidence I think the chances are the other
-way. MacAndrew, the lawyer here, told me a
-story he had no business to tell about the
-agreement between . . .” (Part of letter lost.)</p>
-
-<p>This was all. Peters before long was moved
-to Java; and the letters to his mother ceased
-soon after, for she died.</p>
-
-<p>Not long afterwards I got Bryanston’s answer
-to my letter of enquiry to him. He told me little
-but things of which by this time I was sure.
-“C.” was Cartwright (William V. Cartwright,
-he called him), and was, he conjectured, the man
-whom Peters connected with Longhurst’s death.
-He would be glad to tell me at any time
-anything that he could, but he was off now for a
-sea voyage which the state of his health made
-necessary (a long absence immediately before
-accounted for some delay in his answering me),
-and at present he could think of nothing to tell
-me but what I should see in Peters’ letter to
-him, of which he was keeping the original and
-now enclosed a copy.</p>
-
-<p>The important part of the letter enclosed was
-as follows: “I have a question to ask you
-which perhaps you will answer this time by
-return of post. Never mind my previous
-question about the old Assyrians. You will
-remember the time in 1882 when you were at
-Nagasaki, and you will remember Longhurst’s
-being there and his sailing. After his
-disappearance it got about naturally that he sailed in
-that unhappy ship the <i>William the Silent</i>, which
-went down in a cyclone. Now I have a distinct
-recollection that when I met you, some months
-after that, you told me that you had seen
-Longhurst with Cartwright at Nagasaki, that
-you saw them off, and that they both sailed
-together in the same ship. I have forgotten
-the name of the ship you mentioned, but it was
-a ship with some female name, and it belonged
-to your people. Will you please tell me at once
-if my recollection is right. As for my reason
-for asking, I expect I told you fully my reasons
-for believing that Longhurst died by some foul
-play. I may have told you the suspicion which
-I had as to who did it. It was a suspicion for
-which I was sorry afterwards, for I saw reason
-to think it quite unfounded. But I have just
-seen a man, whom I need not name, who must
-have known when and how Longhurst sailed
-from Nagasaki; and he astonished me by
-saying that he sailed in the <i>William the Silent</i>.
-Now one of three things: either I have got
-muddled in my recollection as to what you said,
-or, which I can hardly believe, I was mistaken
-in my identification of the body which I exhumed
-from the tomb which the chiefs showed me, or
-I was right in both points, and then a conclusion
-seems to follow which I shrink very much from
-drawing. There is one other matter of fact
-which I suspect and which I can easily verify,
-which would absolutely fix the guilt on the
-man I allude to, but I want to make quite
-sure from you that my memory is right as to
-Longhurst’s sailing. A suspicion of my man’s
-guilt came to me as I have said, long ago, but
-after making some enquiries I dismissed it
-summarily, for I have, or ought to have, a sort of
-hereditary friendship with him.”</p>
-
-<p>So then my hypothesis had been further put
-to the test of facts, and again some of the points
-which I had guessed had proved to be true. It
-was no longer only a fanciful imagination of my
-own, but a suspicion which any sane man with
-the facts before him must feel, and feel very
-strongly. There was more than enough
-evidence for any sensible historian, for a lawyer
-there was still none at all.</p>
-
-<p>In September the time came that we were to
-leave Long Wilton for good. We then moved
-to a country parish, which, though deep in the
-country, is yet very near to London (and I
-thenceforward often came to town). Naturally
-leaving one parish and getting into another, not
-to speak of the change of house, filled my whole
-time with work to be finished now or never,
-and with arrangements which must instantly be
-set on foot for future work.</p>
-
-<p>Before the close of the year 1896 (I think it
-was late in October, anyway it was some time
-after I had settled into my new parish), a further
-record of the sort for which I have been looking
-came to light. It was my business as executor
-to sell certain securities which had belonged to
-Peters, and for a long time there was a difficulty
-in finding with whom those securities were
-lodged. Eventually, however, they were found
-in the hands of the firm who had been his agents
-while he was absent in the East, and in sending
-them to me, the firm sent also a packet which
-they told me had been deposited with them for
-safe keeping in the year 1884, on the occasion of
-a brief visit home which Peters had made. The
-packet was a large envelope on which was
-written “Notes on the affair of L.” On opening
-it I found first two maps drawn by Peters.
-The one was a rough copy of a map of the
-island Sulu, in the Philippines. The other a
-map on larger scale, very carefully drawn,
-apparently from Peters’ own survey, of a small
-portion of the island. It was inscribed “Chart
-showing the spot where the tomb of a dead
-white man was shown me by the two chiefs”.
-Next I found a number of sheets taken out of
-Peters’ journal, kept in the year 1882 in the
-months of July and August. From this it
-appeared that Peters had at that time
-accompanied one Dr. Kuyper, who seemed to have
-been a naturalist, upon a cruise in the Philippines,
-and that they had come to a village upon the
-coast of the island, where the Filipinos informed
-them that a month or so before, a European,
-they thought an Englishman, had come down
-from somewhere inland, with several Malay and
-Chinese servants, and had requested assistance
-in burying the body of his companion. The
-dead man, he stated, had been killed by a fall
-from some rocks. The Filipino chiefs had told
-Peters that the servants, who had not been
-present when the fall took place, were much
-excited, and seemed suspicious about it, but that
-the manner and the answers of the European
-traveller had allayed their own suspicion.
-Something, however, seems to have aroused suspicion
-in Peters and Kuyper, for they disinterred the
-body. Peters’ journal proceeded to record certain
-facts about the body, the clothing, etc. (in
-particular the fact that a finger was missing on one
-hand), which had led Peters to identify the body
-as that of his former acquaintance, Longhurst.
-He recorded also that they had found two bullets
-from a revolver in the back of the head, and he
-made a note as to the size and pattern of revolver
-which these bullets would fit. Full enquiries
-were made by Peters and Kuyper as to the
-movements of the surviving traveller, who was
-presumably the murderer, and he appeared to
-have sailed, the day after his arrival, in a
-Chinese junk, which took him up at a point
-which was indicated on the chart. Peters had
-recorded also the description which the Filipinos
-gave of this visitor, and it was plain to me that
-there were points in the description which tallied
-with the appearance of Vane-Cartwright. It
-seemed, though the journal after this point was
-fragmentary, that Peters and Kuyper proceeded
-immediately afterwards to Manilla, very likely
-to communicate their discovery to the officers
-of justice. There was nothing more in the
-journal itself which it is worth while to repeat
-here.</p>
-
-<p>Next I found a considerable number of notes,
-which were in large part unintelligible to me
-and perhaps to any one except the man who
-made them. There were many abbreviations
-in them, and very often they were illegible.
-They included descriptions of a number of people
-with outlandish names, and particulars as to
-where and how it was supposed they were to
-be found. Unfortunately, it was just in these
-particulars that the abbreviations and illegibility
-made the difficulties of the reader most serious.
-There were also recorded the movements, or
-a great part of the movements, of a personage
-called “X.” in the months June to September
-in the year 1882.</p>
-
-<p>Further, on a separate sheet of paper, I found
-an indication of the reason why Peters had
-desisted from his pursuit of that person X. whom
-I thought myself able to identify. This sheet of
-paper was headed “Description given me of the
-convict Arkell executed at Singapore in
-November, 1882”. The description corresponded
-very well with that given in the journal of the
-presumable murderer of Longhurst, and so far
-as it went it seemed to show that the convict
-Arkell might well have been confused with the
-successful and respected financier, William
-Vane-Cartwright. At the foot of the paper was a
-note, with the dates queried, as to the time when
-Arkell had been, as he seems to have been, on
-the island of Sulu.</p>
-
-<p>There was also among these papers one which
-began, “These, so far as I can recollect them,
-are the facts told me by MacAndrew in regard
-to the agreements made in 1880 between X. and
-L.” MacAndrew’s story had apparently related
-to changes made in the draft of the
-agreement, at the instance of X., which MacAndrew
-evidently thought that L. had not understood.
-The note seemed to have been finished in haste
-and to have left out some important facts, which
-Peters no doubt carried in his memory. A
-lawyer, among my friends, tells me that without
-these facts it is impossible to be certain what
-exactly was the trick which “X.” played upon
-“L.,” and that it is even possible to suppose
-that there was no dishonesty at all in his
-proceedings.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch14">
-
-<h2>Chapter XIV</h2>
-
-<p>Towards the end of November, 1896, I again
-saw Callaghan. I had some time before
-ascertained that he had returned to London, and I
-daresay it may appear to the reader strange
-that I should not immediately upon his return
-have sought him out and again compared notes
-with him. But (not to mention that I had no
-reason, so far, to set great store upon Callaghan’s
-observations and theories) it must be
-remembered that I had received a very grave warning
-as to his possible character. It is a serious
-matter for a father of a family to enter into
-intimate relations with a gentleman who, according
-to an eminent specialist, is a homicidal lunatic.
-So I made first a few enquiries from
-acquaintances of his in regard to his character and recent
-proceedings. For a while I intended to put off
-seeing him till a time, which I was now
-unhappily compelled to foresee, when my wife and
-children would be safe out of the country. But
-in the end my enquiries and my wife’s absolute
-conviction satisfied me that the idea of his lunacy
-was really, as I had at first supposed, quite
-unfounded and foolish.</p>
-
-<p>Anyway, I at last invited Callaghan to stay
-for a couple of days in our new home. He
-accepted, but for one night only. He arrived in
-the afternoon full of his Parisian adventures
-and to a less extent of his detective researches.
-With these, or with an adorned version of them,
-he entertained me for an hour or so before dinner.
-It seems that his sudden departure for Paris
-was not altogether motiveless. He had, on his
-arrival in London, heard by some accident of a
-gentleman in Paris who was a correspondent
-and intimate of Thalberg. He had
-immediately conceived the notion of scraping
-acquaintance with this gentleman and using him as a
-means of information about Thalberg, and he
-was further drawn towards Paris by a fancy
-that he would like to study French methods of
-criminal investigation, into which, through the
-good offices of some friends of his, he thought
-he could get some insight. In the latter respect
-he was gratified. Now it seems that he had
-already begun before Peters’ death to cherish
-the ambition of getting high employment in the
-Criminal Investigation Department at Scotland
-Yard. So it came to pass that his studies in
-the science of criminal investigation generally,
-occupied more of his attention from that time
-till our present meeting than the particular
-investigation which had at first fascinated him.
-Moreover, before he had been long in Paris he
-discovered, to his huge amusement, that he was
-himself the subject of suspicion and of close
-observation, and without regard to how this might
-affect his cherished ambition of an appointment
-at Scotland Yard, he entered upon, and
-continued during three whole months, an elaborate
-scheme of mystification for the French officials
-who were observing him, and, through them, for
-that very Department in which he wished to fill
-a high place. Nevertheless, he had pursued
-ingenious enquiries in regard to the (as I still
-thought him) unfortunate Thalberg, for which
-purpose he paid several flying visits to London
-and elsewhere. The result of these enquiries
-he related to me, mingling it up with the tale of
-his other adventures in such a manner that it
-was hard for me to grasp what its importance
-might be. I was able to see that Callaghan had
-employed quite extraordinary ingenuity and
-pains in picking up the facts about Thalberg
-which he told me, but that very ingenuity struck
-me as ludicrously disproportionate to the
-importance of the facts which he had found, or was
-ever likely to find along this road. Thalberg was
-a solicitor in the City who had been in a small
-way of business, till the firm of which he was
-now the sole surviving partner began, a good
-many years before, to be employed by
-Vane-Cartwright. Vane-Cartwright got this firm
-appointed solicitors to a company which was formed
-to take over his original venture in the East, and
-he still continued to employ Thalberg from time
-to time upon private business of his own.
-Thalberg’s family were interested in Eastern
-commerce, and he had correspondence with many
-persons in various parts of the far East. Years
-before he had transacted for Vane-Cartwright
-a good deal of correspondence of a nature so
-secret as to be unknown to his clerks, and in
-the course of this very year he had again
-returned to an employment of the like kind for
-some one or other. It appeared that it might
-have been upon an errand connected with this
-secret correspondence that he had come down
-to Long Wilton. Callaghan was much excited
-about a discovery which he had made that
-Thalberg had in January of this year been in
-correspondence with a personage in Madrid,
-telegraphing to him in a cipher employed by
-the Spanish Consulate in London, of which he
-was able to make use through an official in that
-Consulate, who had since been discharged for
-misconduct and was now in Paris. There was
-more of this nature as to the mysterious
-proceedings of Thalberg, but I cannot well
-remember how much Callaghan told me on that
-occasion, and I must observe that I have set
-down what he then told me as I understand it
-now. I was not able to understand it completely
-at the time owing to the fact that throughout
-his talk that afternoon Callaghan did not once
-allude to Vane-Cartwright by his name.</p>
-
-<p>I wondered then, and I wonder now, how far
-up to this time Callaghan suspected
-Vane-Cartwright. I believe that he did not like to avow
-to himself the full suspicion that he felt, and
-that this was why he hesitated to name him to
-me. I am sure that in his heart he disliked him
-very much; he had always seemed to do so.
-But I think that, to my Irish friend,
-Vane-Cartwright appeared the embodiment of those
-characteristics of the Englishman which an
-Irishman knows he dislikes, but thinks that
-he ought to respect. So I should guess that,
-as long as he could, he had dutifully forced
-himself to believe in Vane-Cartwright as a very
-estimable person full of English rectitude.
-In any case, for all the pains he took to follow
-up his suspicion that Thalberg was somehow
-connected with the crime, I know that he had
-not fully seen the conclusion to which this was
-leading him.</p>
-
-<p>When I went up to dress for dinner, I
-reminded my wife of certain passages in Peters’
-manuscripts on psychology which we had read
-together with very great interest. Among these
-was a curious paper on “Imagination,
-Truth-telling and Lying,” in which, beginning with
-the paradox that the correct perception of fact
-depended far more on moral qualities, and
-truthfulness in ordinary speech far more on
-intellectual qualities than was generally supposed,
-he proceeded to describe with great wealth of
-illustration some of the types under which races
-and individual men fall, in respect of their power
-of getting hold of truth and of giving it out.
-Scattered through these pages were a number of
-remarks which came to my mind in this talk with
-Callaghan. With most of them I will not trouble
-the reader, but in one passage in particular
-Peters had pointed out the mistake of thinking
-that a man who commits glaring inaccuracies is
-necessarily on that account not worth listening
-to. Ludicrous inaccuracies, even glaring
-falsehoods as they may seem, spring often, he
-insisted, from the peculiar abundance and vivacity
-of the impressions which a man receives from
-what passes before his eyes. A person with
-this gift may frequently in his memory put
-something that he has truly noticed into a wrong
-connexion, or combine two scattered fragments
-of observation, true in themselves, into a single
-totally erroneous recollection of fact. But a
-man who gets things wrong in this way, is, said
-Peters, often more full of information than a
-more sober observer, because he has noticed far
-more, and after all, a very large part of what he
-has noticed is sure to be accurately retained. In
-another passage, which I am afraid I may mar
-by summarising it, Peters described how, with
-all men in some degree, but with some men in
-a wonderful degree, intellectual faculties are the
-servants of emotional interests, so that not only
-the power of inference, but even memory itself
-will do work at the bidding of pain or pleasure,
-liking or dislike, which it will not do upon a
-merely rational demand. Reminding my wife
-of this, I said I wished I knew by what test I
-could tell the true from the false in Callaghan’s
-reminiscences, and by what spell I could turn
-the flow of those reminiscences into the channel
-in which they would be useful.</p>
-
-<p>As we went down to dinner she whispered to
-me that, if Callaghan was the sort of man that
-I seemed to think, she would try to turn his
-thoughts in the useful direction; only I must
-let him alone for a little while. In the course of
-dinner, she told our guest what she had told me
-long before about Vane-Cartwright’s
-engagement, and how it had been broken off, and just
-what the young lady had said to her. Only of
-course she did not go on to tell him the rash
-inference which she had drawn as to
-Vane-Cartwright’s guilt. I could see that Callaghan
-heard her with strange emotion, but my wife
-speedily turned the conversation on to more
-commonplace topics, upon which, during the
-remainder of dinner, he responded to her brightly
-enough, but by no means with his usual
-appearance of interest.</p>
-
-<p>After dinner Callaghan and I retired to my
-study to smoke pipes. He sat for a long while
-silent, and I thought that he had gone to sleep,
-or should have thought so but for the
-contraction of his brows. Suddenly he sat upright in
-his chair. “Faith!” he exclaimed with great
-energy, and with the air of a man to whom a
-really thrilling thought has just occurred, “I
-know what became of those eyeglasses of mine.”
-“What eyeglasses?” I asked, disappointed and
-annoyed at the triviality of what came forth as
-the issue of his cogitation. “Why,” he said,
-“I once took for a short time to wearing
-eyeglasses. I was looking at the stars with a man
-one night and I found I could not count seven
-Pleiades. So I went to an oculist who said he
-would pass me for the Navy, but as I was
-paying him a fee I might take a prescription for a
-pair of double eyeglasses which I never could
-keep steady on my nose.” “Well?” I said
-sulkily. “Well,” he answered, “it is only that
-I lost them while I was staying with Peters.
-Of course they went into that big despatch-box,
-which Vane-Cartwright always kept in his room.
-My dear Mr. Driver,” he said in a more serious
-tone, “do you really suppose that
-Vane-Cartwright had not possessed himself of something
-handy for throwing suspicion upon you, if you
-had turned out to be the convenient man? I
-might easily have been the convenient man,
-and in that case, the morning after the murder,
-my eyeglasses would have been found smashed
-and lying on the floor of Peters’ bedroom, as if
-he had knocked them off in struggling with me.
-Only (fortunately for you and me, Mr. Driver),
-Trethewy was chosen as the suitable man, and
-accidents that we know of prevented the plot
-against Trethewy working as well as perhaps
-the plot against you or me might have worked.
-Well,” he continued with a smile, “I have a
-good deal more to tell you about Mr. Thalberg,
-but that will keep for a bit, and we shall
-understand it better later. I suspect there is
-something different that you wanted to ask me about
-now.”</p>
-
-<p>I asked him for anything that he remembered
-of that evening when Vane-Cartwright had first
-visited Peters at Long Wilton, while Callaghan
-was already staying in the house. He
-recounted to me and to my wife, whom we called
-in, the conversation and events of that evening
-in great detail. An indescribable change seemed
-to have come over him for a time; not only was
-the matter which he had to relate weighty, but
-the man himself gave me an impression of force
-and character which I had not previously
-suspected. I repeat only so much of his narrative
-as was of special interest for my purpose.
-“After a bit,” said Callaghan, “Peters and
-Vane-Cartwright got away on to the subject of
-their experiences in some Cannibal Islands, or
-French possessions, or I do not know where.
-I was not much interested, and I dozed a bit,
-till suddenly I was aroused and saw that there
-was something up. I do not know what
-Vane-Cartwright had said, but suddenly Peters said,
-‘Sailed in what?’ three times as quick and
-three times as loud as his usual way of
-speaking. That was what woke me up. ‘In the’—I
-don’t remember the name, I did not quite
-catch it, for Vane-Cartwright was speaking
-very quietly, though I could see that his face
-was set hard and that his eyes were bright,
-and I began to think he did not look such a
-dull fellow as I thought him at first. Peters
-said nothing but ‘Oh,’ and this time very
-quietly. Then he got up and strode slowly
-about the room with his hands clenched. He
-did not seem to notice Vane-Cartwright much,
-and Vane-Cartwright went on talking, in as
-indifferent a way as he could, about cyclones
-and things, the usual sort of travellers’ talk, only
-without the lies that I should have thrown in;
-but he was watching Peters all the time like a
-cat. After a while Peters sat down again and
-seemed quite composed, and talked again in
-quite a friendly way, but it seemed to be an
-effort. Then he went and wrote a letter at the
-other end of the room, two letters rather; one
-I noticed was addressed to Bombay, or Beirut,
-or somewhere beginning with a B. Both the
-letters had twopenny-halfpenny stamps on them.
-Soon it was bedtime; but Peters was for taking
-his letters down to the post that they might
-go early in the morning, and Vane-Cartwright
-was very anxious to take the letters for him, as
-it would be very little out of his way to go down
-to the post. Peters thanked him in that very
-polite way which he had with him when he did
-feel really obstinate. I was not going with them,
-for I thought I was in the way, but, just as he
-was leaving, Peters turned back and asked me
-rather pressingly to come too. I suppose he
-would have felt lonely in that man’s company,
-for certainly he did not want to talk to me.
-I do not think he said more than two words
-to me after we parted from Vane-Cartwright,
-who, by the way, kept with us all the way to the
-post office, which was not on his way home;
-but, just as we were getting back, Peters said
-to me suddenly, ‘Let me see, did I ask him to
-stay with me next time he came here?’ ‘I do
-not know,’ said I. ‘Well, good-night,’ said he.”</p>
-
-<p>At this point I broke in upon Callaghan’s
-story with loud regrets that Peters had written
-those letters with the murderer in the room,
-“For you know what those letters were about,”
-I added, remembering that he did not. “I
-know,” said he, “but he could not help it;
-he was an Englishman. You English always
-show your hand. Not because you are frank
-and outspoken, for you are anything but that,
-but because you are so proud. You know,” he
-went on, “that I have a devout belief in the
-English qualities that all we Irish hear so
-much about; but when I had an Englishman
-for my dearest friend, I could not help noticing
-the national defects, could I? I could not have
-acted as Peters did. I rather hope that when
-I had got scent of the fellow’s dirty
-secret—whatever it was, for I have not a notion about
-that—I would have exploded at once and had
-it out with him. I daresay I should not, but,
-if I had not, at least I should have taken the
-trouble to dissemble properly.” “If he had
-done either,” I said, “he would be alive to-day,
-and Vane-Cartwright would not be a murderer,
-or at least——” “I understand you,” said he.</p>
-
-<p>He continued his story, and related with great
-detail what was done and said day by day during
-Vane-Cartwright’s calamitous sojourn in Peters’
-house when he returned to stay there. He
-described the relations of the two men as being
-exactly the reverse of what they had been when
-he had formerly seen them together. Then
-Peters had been genial and friendly,
-Vane-Cartwright stiff and unforthcoming. Now it was
-very much the other way. Several times, it
-appeared, the conversation had got upon the
-subject of Peters’ Eastern travels. Each time
-the conversation had been led thither by
-Vane-Cartwright in a way of which I was
-afterwards to have experience. Peters was in a
-manner compelled to enter into it and
-compelled to yield information which Callaghan at
-the moment had thought utterly trivial, but
-which he now saw clearly Vane-Cartwright was
-anxious to possess. The information which was
-extracted seems to have related to all the places
-that Peters had visited in the East, and all the
-people whom he had ever met, and Callaghan
-remembered, or fancied, that several times, while
-he was being thus drawn out, Peters showed
-curious irritation. It appeared most strikingly
-from Callaghan’s recital that Vane-Cartwright
-had throughout shown the coolest readiness to
-talk about the scene of his crime, if he had
-committed one, and to take Peters’ recollection
-back to the old days of his association with
-Longhurst.</p>
-
-<p>But now I must explain that through all
-that Callaghan told me, ran the same strain of
-odd and fantastic inaccuracy to which I have
-more than once alluded. Several times, for
-example, he said that I was present at
-conversations at which I certainly was not present.
-He repeated to me remarks of my own, which,
-if I ever said anything like them, were made
-on a totally different occasion from that of
-which he spoke. One of those remarks had
-really been made within three hours of the time
-when he repeated it to me, and could not have
-been made previously. This is perhaps the
-best example that I can give of what caused
-me a most exasperating sense of
-disappointment. Disappointment because, where I could
-not check him, Callaghan seemed to be
-supplying me, in the greatest fulness and in the
-most credible manner, with just the information
-that I desired; but where I could check him,
-though he was now and then curiously accurate
-in his recollection of circumstances well known
-to me, which I had not thought he could have
-observed, it still more often happened that he
-was under some grotesque mistake.</p>
-
-<p>Worst of all, he gave me new details about
-the fatal night, which, if they could have been
-trusted, would have had greater weight than
-any other piece of evidence that had yet come
-to me, but they were just of the sort in which
-he was likely to be mistaken. Speaking of the
-moment at which he was called out from his
-room by the disturbance in the street, he
-declared that knocking immediately at
-Vane-Cartwright’s door he heard, as Vane-Cartwright
-answered from the far corner of the room, a click
-which he was certain came from the lock of the
-despatch-box which he had mentioned. He
-conjectured that among various articles which
-were there for a dark purpose, the knife which
-was the instrument of Peters’ death lay in that
-box, and that he had interrupted
-Vane-Cartwright in the act of taking it forth. This of
-course was mere conjecture, but what followed
-seemed at first evidence enough to have hanged
-the criminal. He had opened Vane-Cartwright’s
-door, and he now described to me almost every
-object that was in the room as he entered it.
-Amongst others there lay upon the chest of
-drawers George Borrow’s <i>Bible in Spain</i> in a
-binding which he described. Curiously enough
-he did not know the significance of this; he had,
-as he told me, been so much overwhelmed with
-grief when the murder was discovered that he
-had hardly begun to see or think distinctly till
-after we had all left the room of death; but as
-the reader may remember, this was the very
-book (and it was bound in the same way) which
-was found in that room dropped from the dead
-man’s hand with torn and crumpled leaves.
-Who but Vane-Cartwright could have brought
-it there?</p>
-
-<p>It was one of Peters’ oddities, well known to
-me (and perhaps Vane-Cartwright had learnt
-it long ago at Saigon), that he would have
-welcomed at any strange hour the incursion of
-a friend to talk about anything. No doubt, I
-thought, Vane-Cartwright entered his room on
-the pretext of showing him a passage which bore
-on something he had said. Probably between
-the leaves of the <i>Bible in Spain</i> he carried
-something that looked like a paper-knife. Anyway
-here was proof that after the hour at which any
-of us saw Peters alive, after Vane-Cartwright,
-by his own account, had last seen him, that man
-entered Peters’ room. “But,” I exclaimed, as
-all this ran through my mind, “you spoke just
-now of the day when I was riding at Long
-Wilton, whereas I was on a horse to-day for
-the first time for four years. Ten times at
-least I have known you put things out of time
-or out of place just like that, by way of giving
-colour to your story. How do I know that
-you have not done so now, that you did not
-really see that book in Vane-Cartwright’s room
-any one of the other times that you went there,
-that it had not been back in Peters’ library and
-been brought up again by Peters himself?”</p>
-
-<p>To my surprise Callaghan answered most
-humbly. He was quite aware, he said, of this
-evil trick of his mind; he had had it from a boy,
-and his parents ought to have flogged it out of
-him. As to the particular point on which I
-challenged him, he could not himself be quite
-sure.</p>
-
-<p>During the remainder of his stay with me I
-gave him an outline of what I had so far
-discovered, and we compared notes upon it, but
-he was not long with me, as he had an
-important engagement next evening, and our
-conference was not so full as it should have
-been. So it easily happened that neither of us
-gained the enlightenment which he might have
-gained if our talk had been fuller. But I must
-confess that I fell into the fault which he called
-English. My disclosure was more incomplete
-than it need have been; I had not quite got
-over my instinctive wish to keep him at arm’s
-length, and my pride rebelled a little at the
-discovery that this erratic Irishman was not a
-man whom I could afford to patronise.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch15">
-
-<h2>Chapter XV</h2>
-
-<p>The chapter which I am about to write may
-well prove dreary. It will be nothing but a
-record of two deaths and of much
-discouragement. Here was I with my theory (for it had
-been no more) grown into a fairly connected
-history which so appealed at many points to a
-rational judgment as to leave little room for
-doubt of its truth. And yet, as I could not
-but see, there was very little in it at present
-which could form even a part of the evidence
-necessary to convict Vane-Cartwright in a
-Court of Law. I determined all the same to
-get advice upon the matter from a lawyer, who
-was my friend, thinking that it was now time
-to put my materials in the hands of the
-authorities charged with the detection of crime, and
-that, with this to start upon, and with the skill
-and resources which they possessed, they could
-hardly fail before long to discover the evidence
-needed for a prosecution. But my lawyer friend,
-though he quite agreed with me in my
-conviction that Vane-Cartwright was guilty of two
-murders, doubted whether the facts which I had
-got together would move the authorities to take
-up the matter actively. Still he undertook,
-with my approval, to talk about the subject
-with some one in the Public Prosecutor’s
-office or in the Criminal Investigation
-Department of Scotland Yard, I do not know which.
-Nothing resulted from this, and the failure
-needs little explanation. Some want of touch
-between town and country police, some want
-of eagerness on the part of a skilled official
-who had lately incurred blame and
-disappointment through the ludicrous failure of a keen
-pursuit upon a somewhat similar trail, these
-might account for it all. But besides, Callaghan
-had been beforehand with us, and on this
-occasion had managed to raise a spirit of incredulity
-about it all. Perhaps too even hardened experts
-recoiled instinctively from associating with guilt
-one of the few great men of finance who were
-at once well known to the outside public and
-respected in the City itself.</p>
-
-<p>For me then there was nothing but to wait
-for the further things which I somehow felt
-certain would turn up. As for Callaghan it
-happened just about this time that he became
-keenly enamoured of an invention, made by an
-engineer friend of his, through which he
-persuaded himself that he could make his own and
-his friend’s fortune. Henceforward for some
-time the affair of Peters seems to have passed
-from his mind, and he was prevented from
-meeting me at the few times at which I should
-have been able to see him.</p>
-
-<p>In the course of December I had a letter
-from my old parish from a friend who was kind
-enough to keep me posted in the gossip of the
-place. He said that the police were now busy
-over a new clue as to the murder. It may be
-remembered that according to Trethewy he had,
-as he returned home on the night of the murder,
-been passed in the lane by a man riding a horse
-and leading another. Well, report said now
-that a man in a neighbouring parish, who had
-been greatly excited about the murder at the
-time, had been having dreams about it night
-after night, which impressed him with the notion
-that he was to discover the truth. Rooting
-about for all the recollections of that time which
-he could find among his neighbours, he heard
-that in the early morning after the murder a
-man with two horses had been seen between
-Peters’ house and the village, that another
-man, a stranger to the village, had come up
-from the direction of Peters’ house and had
-mounted the second horse, and that the two
-had ridden off together. Report added that the
-man whom Trethewy had seen had now been
-traced by the police, and that his answers as to
-the man who had joined him and ridden off with
-him were unsatisfactory and suspicious; and it
-added one more telling detail. The police (as
-I may have mentioned) had before I left Long
-Wilton noticed one window at the back of the
-house as in some respects the readiest way by
-which the house could have been wrongfully
-entered. It belonged to a housemaid’s closet, of
-which the door did not shut properly. It was
-very easy to climb up to it; but then the window
-itself was very small, and it was a question
-whether a man of ordinary stature could possibly
-have squeezed himself through it; now the
-strange man of this rumour was described as
-being ridiculously small and thin. There were
-many more picturesque details related, but the
-whole story professed only to consist of unsifted
-rumour. I believed little of it, but I naturally
-did accept the statement (quite mistaken) that
-the police were busy in the matter. With my
-fixed idea about Vane-Cartwright, I felt sure
-that they were upon a false scent. But I
-thought it very likely that this would for the
-present absorb their attention, and, between
-this and the great pressure of work in a new
-parish and of certain family anxieties, I made
-no further effort at this time to secure attention
-to the discovery which I believed I had made.</p>
-
-<p>Twice in the few days just before Christmas
-my hopes of making further discoveries were
-vainly aroused. I made a call of civility in my
-new parish upon a notable Nonconformist
-parishioner, and, in my rapid survey of his
-sitting-room before he came to me, I noticed several
-indications that he had been in Australia, and
-I saw on the mantelpiece a framed photograph.
-It was rather a hazy and faded photograph
-which gave me no clear impression of its
-subject, but under it was written, “Walter
-Longhurst, Melbourne, 3rd April, 1875”. Could
-that be my Longhurst, and was this one of those
-relations of his, whom, as I had heard,
-Vane-Cartwright had treated with suspicious
-generosity? Might he not, in that case, be the
-possessor of information more valuable than he
-knew? He now came in. He was a truly
-venerable man, who in spite of great age was
-still active as a lay-preacher of one of the
-Methodist Churches, and I was attracted by
-the archaic but evidently sincere piety of his
-greeting when he entered the room. But
-unfortunately, when by adjusting his gold spectacles
-he had discovered of what profession I was, a
-cloud of suspicion seemed to arise in his mind,
-and he was more anxious to testify, in all charity
-but with all plain dealing, concerning priestly
-pretensions and concerning that educational
-policy which was then beginning to gather
-strength, than to enter into any such
-conversation as I desired. I made out, nevertheless,
-that this Walter Longhurst was probably my
-Longhurst, and my expectation rose
-unreasonably. My new friend (if he will let me call him
-so) was no relation of his, but had known him
-at a time when both were in Australia.
-Longhurst was from his point of view outside the
-fold besides being a rough kind of man, or, as
-he put it, a “careless liver”; but he evidently
-flattered himself that he had exercised a good
-influence over Longhurst, and the latter had
-given money, which he could then ill afford,
-though he made a good deal of money later, to
-help religious work with which my lay-preaching
-friend was connected. Later on, when my
-informant had returned to England and was for
-some time incapacitated by an accident which
-happened on the voyage, Longhurst, to his
-surprise, had from time to time sent him presents
-of money. They came in the form of
-banknotes, sent by a mysterious agent in London,
-who gave no address to which they could be
-returned, but who wrote stating Longhurst’s
-desire that he should use them for himself, or,
-if he absolutely would not, should at least use
-them in his work. All this the old man’s
-gratitude obliged him to relate, but, when I
-pressed him for information about Longhurst’s
-relations or friends, either he knew nothing or
-his ill-defined suspicion of me returned and shut
-his mouth. I did, however, ascertain that some
-years before (after Longhurst’s death) a rich
-gentleman, whose name the old man had
-forgotten, though I thought I could supply it, had
-heard of him in some way as one of Longhurst’s
-beneficiaries, and pressed upon him a pension
-which he had refused, as he would, if he could,
-have refused Longhurst’s bounty.</p>
-
-<p>Two days later, on Christmas Eve, I was
-urgently summoned to visit Peters’ aunt, Miss
-Waterston, whom I had seen at his funeral. I
-had called upon her in the summer at her flat in
-London, but a lady who was staying with her
-remained in the room all the time, in spite, as I
-thought, of several hints that she might go, and
-Miss Waterston, when I left, said how glad she
-would be to see me again, and, she hoped, talk
-with me more fully. I took little note of this at
-the time, but I made up my mind to take my
-wife to see the old lady when I could, and
-continued thinking of it and putting it off till
-I got this summons, which told me that Miss
-Waterston was very ill and had something
-which she much wished to tell me. When I
-arrived at her flat she was dead. The lady
-who had been looking after her told me that
-she had several times shown anxiety that I
-should come soon, but had at last remarked
-that if I did not come in time she would accept
-it as a sign that what she had meant to tell me
-was best untold. She had two weeks before,
-when she was not yet ill, remarked that she
-would like to see me soon. Various straws of
-things that were told me about her suggested
-that she had lately become concerned afresh
-about her nephew’s death. She had been
-intimate with the Cartwright family, and had
-to the end seen something of a rather neglected
-widowed cousin of William Vane-Cartwright’s.
-Of course I have no ground for thinking that
-she had any grave disclosure to make to me.</p>
-
-<p>Christmas, that year, came sadly to me. We
-must in any case have been full of memories
-of the last Christmas, at which Peters had
-joined our party and added much to the
-children’s and our own delight. This Christmas
-he was dead; the hope, not perhaps consonant
-with Christmas thoughts, of avenging him had
-arisen in my mind and was dying, and I came
-home from the deathbed of the last remaining
-person of his kin who had loved him better
-than we did, and who in the little I had seen
-of her had reflected to me some indefinable
-trace of the same noble qualities as I discovered
-in him.</p>
-
-<p>I attended her funeral. So did the old
-cousin who had come with her to Peters’
-funeral. He recognised me and greeted me
-courteously, remarking what a charming person
-that Mr. Vane-Cartwright was whom he had
-met at my house. He looked to me older;
-his grey hair was turning auburn; he was as
-unattractive to me as the rest of the appanage
-of funerals, but I was grateful to him for being
-one of the very few who came to honour the
-remains of the old woman, almost a stranger
-to me, whom I yet so truly respected.</p>
-
-<p>By the time the anniversary of Peters’ death
-came round I was again alone; it had been
-necessary after Christmas that my daughter
-should go South, and my wife had taken her.
-I was busy and therefore happy enough, and
-I did not often but I did sometimes ask myself,
-would nothing more ever turn up? Yes, before
-long something did turn up; something not to
-help me on but to show me that, in thinking ever
-to unravel the dark history of Longhurst’s fate,
-I had started upon a hopeless task. Early in
-February a letter came to me re-directed to
-Peters from the dead letter office at Siena,
-where it had long lain entombed. It was a
-letter written by Peters to a certain Reverend
-James Verschoyle, D.D., addressing him as a
-person Peters well knew and had seen quite
-lately. It bore the date of Vane-Cartwright’s
-first evening at Grenvile Combe. It reminded
-him of a conversation which he had had with
-Peters, at their last meeting, about a very
-mysterious event in the Philippines, and of the great
-surprise which Peters had expressed at what
-Verschoyle then told him. “To tell the truth,”
-said Peters, “it should have revived a suspicion
-which I had long ago entertained against a man
-who was once my friend. Or rather, it should
-have done more than that, it should have
-convinced me of his guilt and given me the means
-of proving it. How I came to put it from my
-mind I hardly know. I think that my
-recollection of what you told me is precise, but I should
-be greatly obliged if you would refer to your
-journals of the months May to October, 1882,
-and perhaps you will oblige me by copying
-out for me all that has any bearing on this
-matter. I am sorry to trouble you, but I
-am convinced that the ends of justice may
-be served by your doing this for me, and I
-suspect that if they are to be served, I must
-act as quickly as I may.”</p>
-
-<p>I lost no time in tracing the Rev. James
-Verschoyle, D.D., who had about a year before
-been at Siena. He had, after a sojourn in
-Germany, come back to England. He had, I found,
-been a missionary in the East. I managed to
-trace him to his latest address, only to find that
-he had died in the previous August. I had an
-interview with some of his family, and found them
-most obligingly willing to search for the
-journals in question. It was strange that the journals
-for the years 1881 to 1883 could nowhere be
-found. I was convinced that they had contained
-those crucial facts to which Peters had referred
-in his letter to Bryanston.</p>
-
-<p>Evidently there had been information in Dr.
-Verschoyle’s possession which in Peters’ hands
-could have led to the conviction of
-Vane-Cartwright. Evidently Peters had once seen that
-information, but had disregarded it, more or less
-wilfully, in his determination to think his old
-acquaintance innocent, and to put the guilt on
-Arkell who had been hanged at Singapore.
-Evidently the full significance of Verschoyle’s
-facts came to his mind when Vane-Cartwright,
-that evening at Grenvile Combe, had revived
-his first suspicion, and he wrote at once to
-recover the precise details. But of what nature
-that information was, and how Vane-Cartwright,
-seeing Verschoyle’s name on an envelope, could
-have grasped the full extent of the danger to
-himself, I could not guess then, and I cannot
-guess now.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch16">
-
-<h2>Chapter XVI</h2>
-
-<p>So then the mystery of Longhurst’s fate was
-not for me to unravel. Peters had held the
-clue of it, and had died because he held it;
-Verschoyle perhaps had the clue and was dead
-too, probably from some other cause; neither
-had recorded his secret, or the record could not
-be found. As for the manner of Peters’ death,
-what further place was there to look to for some
-fresh discovery? I already had heard all that
-any of my old parishioners, any grown man
-or woman among them, knew, and it was less
-than I knew, and I had searched the
-neighbourhood for news, quietly, but I hoped no less
-effectively; the police, I was now ready to
-believe, had searched as zealously and more wisely.
-And so Vane-Cartwright was to go unhanged,
-and why not, after all? he was not a homicidal
-maniac but a wise criminal, rather more unlikely
-than most men to commit any further crime.
-Even his gains, however ill-gotten, were not
-likely to be more harmfully spent than those
-of many a better man. And no innocent man
-suffered under suspicion. Trethewy had been
-found a good place by some unlooked-for
-benefactor, where no memory of the crime would
-pursue him. Callaghan’s numerous enough
-friends understood him far too well to suspect
-him, and as for his numerous acquaintances who
-were not friends, if they did suspect him, the
-good man would be rather amused than
-otherwise. Let Vane-Cartwright live and adorn
-society which is adorned by men and women
-worse than he, to whom circumstances have
-never brought the opportunity of dramatic
-wrong-doing.</p>
-
-<p>Thus I tried to think, as I left England for
-a few weeks in the late spring of 1897 to join
-my wife and our daughter, who was now much
-stronger, in Italy; but, whatever I tried to
-think, I had always with me that consciousness
-of a purpose frustrated or let go, which is
-perhaps the hardest thing to bear well and the
-most enervating thing to bear ill.</p>
-
-<p>Some ten days later I was in Florence with
-my wife. The next day we were to go to
-Rome, leaving our daughter at the villa of a
-friend in Fiesole. I remember at our early
-breakfast telling my wife the facts or reports
-which I had been picking up about that strangely
-powerful secret organisation, the Mafia. I
-repeated to her what I had just heard, that not
-only prominent Italian politicians, but even
-foreigners who had large commercial dealings
-with Italy, sometimes found it convenient to be
-on good terms with that society. But she was
-little interested in political facts which did not
-connect themselves with any particular
-personality, and I thought she had hardly heard me,
-though she raised her eyes to listen from the
-volume of Senator Villari’s <i>Savonarola</i> which
-she was finishing. I little imagined that before
-another day had closed this chance remark of
-mine would have acquired the closest personal
-interest for her, and have been turned to very
-practical account.</p>
-
-<p>Later in the day she was in the Pitti Galleries,
-and I came there from Cook’s office to join her.
-She was looking with puzzled interest at a
-picture by Botticelli, when a tall man, dressed
-like an Englishman, placed himself with assumed
-unconsciousness just in front of her, in a position
-of vantage for fixing his connoisseur’s gaze upon
-it. She turned away and met me, and was
-saying, half-amused, that after all there were
-Englishmen who could be as rude as any foreigner,
-when, looking at him again as he moved away
-to leave the gallery, she started and said: “Oh,
-Robert, I know his face”. I too knew his face,
-and knew, as she did not, his name. “It is that
-dreadful man that I told you about who was at
-Crema. Do not you remember I told you how
-he would keep the only good room at the hotel
-when I arrived there with mother so terribly
-ill, the time she had that first stroke. And oh,
-I took such pains to write him the nicest note
-I could”—and very nice her notes could
-be—“and I could just see his horrid face as he
-glanced at it and said nothing but ‘tell the lady
-I cannot’ to the waiter. And oh, poor mother
-did suffer in the dreadful hot room with all the
-kitchen noises and the smells.” I did remember
-her story well, an ordinary story enough, of one
-of those neglects of courtesy which, once in
-fifty times it may be, are neglects of elementary
-mercy; but I said little, and I did not tell her
-that her rediscovered enemy was my enemy
-already, William Vane-Cartwright. I said to
-myself that I would not tell her because she
-would feel an unreasonable relenting towards
-Vane-Cartwright, if once she realised that she
-herself owed him a grudge. Really I did not
-tell her because I had promptly formed a design
-which she would have discovered and
-disapproved.</p>
-
-<p>That evening I left my wife on some pretext,
-and having discovered Vane-Cartwright’s hotel,
-I paid him a friendly call. I suppose it was
-dishonourable; at least, I have often reproached
-myself for it, but truly I do not know if it was
-really dishonourable. I do know that I was
-very foolish to dream, as I did, that I should
-ferret something out of him. He received me
-in his private sitting-room with cordiality, or,
-I should rather say, effusiveness. He sent a
-rather urgent message to his friend who was
-travelling with him, as if (I thought) he did not
-wish to be alone with me, but he was far from
-embarrassed. “Tell me, Mr. Driver,” he began,
-as soon as we were seated, “has anything
-further been heard about the murder of our
-friend Peters?” I answered that Trethewy
-had been released and had left the neighbourhood,
-having found a situation, through some
-friends unknown to me, and that to the best of
-my belief, the police had discovered no further
-clue. “I am glad about Trethewy,” he said.
-“You know I always suspected there had been
-some mistake there, and besides, I always liked
-the man. I do not think the police will discover
-a clue,” he said, “I rather think that the
-solution of the mystery will occur to some of us, his
-friends, if a solution ever is found.” I was
-silent. I could not tell whether he had a design
-to allay possible suspicions of mine, or a design
-to goad me into betraying whether I had those
-suspicions, or whether he was merely keeping
-himself in practice. I wanted to drop the
-subject if I could. “Do you know,” he persisted,
-“whether they have found any other way in
-which the house could be entered from outside
-except the window of his room, by which I
-don’t believe the murderer did enter?” I said
-there was a small window to a housemaid’s
-closet which was not fastened, and that the
-housemaid could not be quite certain that the
-door of the closet was really locked overnight,
-for it did not shut properly; but it was very
-doubtful whether a man could get through the
-window. “Who in the world,” he said, “could
-have a motive for killing Peters, dear old Eustace
-Peters?” I was beginning to lose my head,
-for I felt I was playing an unworthy part.
-“Well,” I said, with no particular purpose, “it
-seems certain that it cannot have been Mr.
-Thalberg.” “Certain, I should say,” he
-answered. “Oh, no,” he added, more
-energetically, “I know Thalberg well, and he is not the
-man. As for Callaghan, one might as well
-suspect you or me—me, I should say,” and he
-turned away to fetch a cigar, or perhaps to
-watch me for a moment in the mirror. “The
-fact is,” he said returning, “it must be far easier
-than we, who have never had occasion to give
-our wits to it, think to commit a murder and
-hide one’s tracks absolutely. But here is Mr.
-Poile, let me introduce you, and let us, for
-Heaven’s sake, talk of a more cheerful subject.”
-So we did turn to a subject which I should have
-thought had no pitfalls, the subject of Italian
-brocades, of which Vane-Cartwright was an
-amateur. He produced a large parcel of ancient
-and gorgeous stuffs which had come up on
-approval from a shop. He talked, in a way
-that really held all my interest for the time,
-about the patterns; and, starting from the more
-conventional of the designs before us, he
-proceeded to discuss the history of common patterns,
-telling me curious things about the patterns and
-the fabrics of the Eastern Archipelago and the
-Malay Peninsula. Suddenly he picked up a
-really noble piece of brocade, and turning to me,
-with a face of winning simplicity and kindliness
-which he could not have learnt to assume if it
-had not at some time been natural, he said:
-“Oh, Mr. Driver, I am so fond of picking up
-these things, and it is so hard to find any
-satisfactory use for them, it would be a real kindness
-if you would accept this as an altar-cloth for
-your church. It will be wasted in a museum
-otherwise.” It was too much for me. The
-proposition that I should accept an altar-cloth
-for my church from the man that I was seeking
-to convict of murder, sent a visible shudder
-through my frame, and all the more because I
-felt that it was illogical to recoil from this when I
-had not recoiled from affecting friendship to him.
-I said “No” quite violently, and, when I collected
-my wits to utter thanks and explanations, they
-were at once too effusive and too lame to have
-blinded a stupider man than Vane-Cartwright.</p>
-
-<p>I stayed long with him—should have
-outstayed my welcome, if I had ever been
-welcome—for I was demoralised, and had resolved in
-mere dull obstinacy both to disarm his suspicions
-somehow and to get something out of him.
-The first would have been impossible for any
-one, the second was impossible for me then, and
-at last I took leave, praying him not to come
-down with me, and descended the stairs a very
-miserable man. I had behaved stupidly, that
-was certain. I had behaved badly, that was
-possible. I had shown him that I suspected him,
-that was certain. I ought to have known
-beforehand that he would guess it, for my refusal to
-visit him in London (as I happened to have
-promised I would, before he left Long Wilton)
-had been marked enough to set him thinking.
-Had I done nothing worse than betray vague
-suspicions? Yes, in my floundering efforts I
-had recurred to his Eastern patterns, and so
-led him to Eastern travels and towards topics
-dangerous to him, only to fall into my own trap.
-He must have seen that I had somehow heard
-before, as not one Englishman in twenty
-thousand has heard, of the little island of Sulu.</p>
-
-<p>Wholly sick with myself I stood in the hall
-of the hotel, absently watching the porter set
-out the newly arrived letters in little heaps on
-a table. There was one for Vane-Cartwright.
-Had I not noticed that handwriting before?
-Yes, it was a marked hand, one so obviously
-that of a servant and yet so well-formed and
-with such an elegance. I gazed at the
-handwriting (somehow I thought of Sunday schools).
-I had just time to note the postmark before
-another letter covered it.</p>
-
-<p>The corner of my eye had half-caught a
-vision of some one coming downstairs, coming
-very quietly but very quickly. A light step
-on the rug beside me, an unpleasantly gentle
-hand taking my arm, the fingers, I half-fancied,
-seeming to take measure of the size and
-hardness of my muscle, and Vane-Cartwright’s too
-cultivated voice saying lightly, “Looking to
-see if there is any one else that you know
-coming to the hotel, Mr. Driver? I always do
-that. Well, good-night again, and so many
-thanks.” “Caught again,” I reflected, as I
-turned into the street, and nothing gained by
-spying and being caught spying. Yes,
-something gained, that letter for Vane-Cartwright
-with the postmark Crondall is in the
-handwriting of Mrs. Trethewy.</p>
-
-<hr>
-
-<p>One question alone occupied me as I walked
-back: What was the exact significance of the
-almost certain fact that the situation which the
-Trethewys had obtained was really in
-Vane-Cartwright’s service? Had I learnt that fact
-a day sooner, I might have thought that,
-murderer or not, he had done a true and
-unobtrusive kindness in secretly engaging them,
-but the little scene in the Pitti, and the trivial
-story of the best bedroom at Crema, shut
-that explanation out of my mind. I had
-not resolved this question when I got to the
-hotel and to my wife, who was now anxiously
-expecting me. I had not even thought of the
-other questions, to which it led, but I had at
-least returned in far too sensible a mood to
-think any further of disguising anything from
-her. Our talk lasted well into the night. I
-record so much of the substance of its close
-as really concerns my story. “But still I do
-not see,” I said, “why you should say I have
-spoilt our holiday.” “Because you must go
-by the first train to-morrow. Not a moment
-later. Oh, Robert, cannot you see why I have
-been so angry? I have looked forward so
-to our stay alone together at Rome, and at
-another time I should be very angry to lose
-it; but it is not that. Oh, Robert, I could find
-it in my heart to beg you not to do your duty.
-It is your duty; you would not be so full of
-passion against the man if it was not that you
-knew it was your duty; and I know it too, and
-you must follow up that clue at once before he
-makes it too late. But, oh, what am I saying,
-it is not your duty I am thinking of. I would
-beg you to let the duty be if that would save
-you. But it is too late now; it’s a race for life
-between you and him. Peters has been killed,
-and Verschoyle has been killed, and oh!”</p>
-
-<p>The thought was not in the least new to me
-except so far as it concerned Verschoyle. I had
-foreseen a time when my life would be in danger
-from Vane-Cartwright. Stupid as it may seem,
-I had not realised yet that that time was now,
-and anyway I had resolved to treat it lightly
-myself, and hoped that it might not occur to
-her. We spent a while without words. Then
-I said, in the foolish persuasion that it was a
-manly utterance: “I do not think that I am
-brave, but somehow the idea of being murdered,
-even if I put the likelihood of it far higher than
-I do, is not one which, apart from the thought
-of you, would weigh much with me”. Whatever
-I may have been going to add, I was allowed
-to go no further. I was made to see in a
-minute that the risk to my life was a real
-consideration which it was selfish and, in a
-man of normal courage, very cheap to
-overlook; but anyway, the need for haste was
-real, and, after a very short rest, I was to
-start. To get ahead of Vane-Cartwright, who
-would probably look out for my departure, I
-had resolved to take horses and carriage in
-the early morning, post to Prato, and take the
-railway there. My wife was to go with our
-daughter to our friend’s villa. So the next
-morning found me on my way to England,
-sad to go, and yet, I must confess, not a little
-exhilarated, against all reason, by the sense
-that perhaps it really was a race for life on
-which I had started, and a race with a
-formidable competitor.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch17">
-
-<h2>Chapter XVII</h2>
-
-<p>Crondall is a small market town on a chalk
-stream in a Southern county, and about two
-miles from it down the valley lies the shooting-
-and fishing-box which Vane-Cartwright, as I
-found, had lately taken, with a very
-considerable shooting in the well-wooded hills, which
-lay behind it reaching up to the chalk downs,
-and with a mile or so of fishing in the
-trout-stream which passed through the garden.
-People shoot because it is the thing to do,
-but as a rule they do not hunt or fish unless
-they like it. So it was for the shooting that
-Vane-Cartwright had taken this place, a very
-charming place for a bachelor, and within easy
-reach of town. Trethewy, however, had been
-engaged as a sort of water-bailiff and to look after
-the fishing, which he was more or less
-competent to do. I found him installed in a queer
-old thatched cottage which stood on an island,
-formed by two branches of the stream, at the
-lower end of the garden. The cottage could
-be approached by a narrow footbridge from
-a private footpath which led from Crondall.
-On the other side of the stream a public
-footpath led towards the small village and the
-once famous fishing inn, at which I took up
-my quarters for a few nights. The bridge
-just mentioned was formed by two narrow
-brick arches, and above them were hatches
-which were now raised; and just below the
-bridge the stream was spanned by one of the
-old-fashioned fish-houses which are
-occasionally found on South-country streams, under the
-floor of which were large eel traps in which
-eels migrating down stream were caught.
-Under the fish-house, which was entered from
-Trethewy’s cottage, the stream rushed in two
-pent-up channels which joined again in a
-broad, reed-fringed pool, with a deep dark
-hole immediately below the fish-house. My
-eye fastened on this pool at once as the best
-morning bath which had been offered me for
-some years.</p>
-
-<p>Why was Trethewy there? Was Trethewy
-after all an accomplice in the crime? My wife
-and I were agreed in not inclining to that
-explanation, though in some ways it looked the
-most plausible. It followed that one or more
-of the family was, to the knowledge of
-Vane-Cartwright, in possession of information which,
-if it came out, would establish Vane-Cartwright’s
-guilt. It did not follow that any of them had
-guilty knowledge; probably they were not
-aware of the significance of what they knew.
-Which of them held this dark secret, and
-how was I to elicit it?</p>
-
-<p>In the call just after their tea-time, which I
-lost no time in paying, I found that each of
-the family was for a different reason hard to
-approach on the topic on which I was so
-impatient to enter. I was welcomed respectfully
-and cordially enough, but they were evidently
-puzzled and surprised at my visit. I tried
-Trethewy first. He struck me as much
-improved by his season of adversity, by the more
-active life he now led, or by the rigid abstinence
-to which, as I soon gathered, he had brought
-himself; but he told me quite firmly he never
-spoke, never wished to speak of the question
-of Peters’ death. He had himself suffered the
-horror of being accused when he was innocent;
-he wished to run no risk of bringing the same
-on some other possibly innocent man. Besides,
-the guilt of his own thought and motives still
-weighed on him, and he had no wish to judge
-any other. Nevertheless, he said plainly, when
-I asked how he liked his new position, that he
-was ill at ease to have come and hoped soon
-to get away. From his impenetrable manner,
-I began to fancy that, contrary to what I had
-at first thought, the secret rested with him, and
-in that case the secret would be very difficult to
-extract. As for Mrs. Trethewy, from the time
-of the murder two thoughts had mainly occupied
-her mind: anxiety for her husband, and anxiety
-that her daughter, for whose upbringing she
-was so careful, should know nothing of the
-suspicion that had rested on her father, and
-hear as little as possible of the horror that
-had occurred so near her. The girl had been
-bundled away, the very day after the discovery,
-to stay with Mrs. Trethewy’s mother, who lived
-thirty miles away from their home. And to
-this day, the mother told me, the girl had no
-idea that her father had been in prison charged
-with the crime. Accordingly, Mrs. Trethewy
-was overflowing with gratitude to
-Vane-Cartwright, who had found them this new home
-far away. She told me that he had always
-seemed to take a fancy to her husband, and had
-visited their cottage several times during his
-stay with Peters; and that it was after a talk
-with him that she sent the girl away to her
-grandmother’s. That the suggestion had
-actually come from him she did not say, it was a
-mere guess of mine that he had contrived to
-put it into her head. With the girl, whom
-she sent on an errand to Crondall, I got no
-opportunity of talk that night, and I had to
-return to my inn ill-satisfied with my
-exploration so far, and puzzled how to proceed.</p>
-
-<p>I got my bathe next morning in the pool of
-which I have spoken (this is not quite so
-unimportant as it may seem). Trethewy managed
-to ensure me privacy for the purpose, and after
-that I called on the Trethewy family again. I
-have remarked already that I supposed myself
-to have heard all that any grown-up person in
-my old parish could tell in regard to the murder
-and its surrounding circumstances. It had been
-borne on my mind strongly since my meeting
-with Vane-Cartwright at Florence, that others
-besides adults have eyes and memories, that
-Trethewy’s girl had been near the house at the
-time of the murder and on the following day,
-and that I could not count on having heard
-from her parents all that she might have to say
-that might be interesting to me. When I called
-on the Trethewys again, I found it an easy
-matter to get a walk by the river-side alone
-with the girl. I had anticipated that, if I were to
-pay any decent regard to her mother’s hitherto
-successful wishes for her ignorance, I might
-have to talk long and roundabout before I could
-elicit what I wanted. I soon found that it was
-not so. Ellen Trethewy, though little taller
-than before, had mentally grown in those fifteen
-months from a shy and uninteresting
-schoolgirl to a shy but alert, quick-witted and, as it
-now struck me, rather interesting young woman.</p>
-
-<p>We had many things belonging to old times
-to talk over, but I found her anxious herself to
-talk on the very subject on which I was bent,
-and I found in a moment that her mother’s
-precautions had been absolutely vain. Knowing
-her mother’s wish, she had never alluded to
-the matter since; but her grandmother, who
-disliked Trethewy, had taken a keen pleasure
-in acquainting her with all that she herself
-knew (and a good deal more besides) about the
-course of the proceedings against him. The
-girl, not quite trusting her grandmother, had
-procured and carefully read the newspaper
-account of the trial before the magistrates. She
-had never doubted for one instant, she told
-me, that her father was innocent, and it was
-with more than common understanding that
-she studied the details in the story which might
-make his innocence clear. “Is it very wicked
-of me, Mr. Driver?” she said, “that I do not
-feel a bit, not a bit grateful to Mr. Vane-Cartwright,
-and I do not believe father does. I do
-believe he would have gone to the workhouse
-rather, if he had known it when we came here
-that he was to be under Mr. Vane-Cartwright.
-But he thought the gentleman who sent for us,
-and who was really his agent, was the master
-of the place; and, once we were here, mother
-begged him so not to go. Mother is always
-saying how good Mr. Cartwright has been to us,
-and father never answers a word; but I am sure
-he has a plan to take us away somewhere far
-off.” “Tell me,” I said, “what makes you say
-all this. Have you seen anything in Mr.
-Vane-Cartwright to make you think he had some wrong
-reason for getting your father to come here?”
-“Oh, I do not say that,” she said, “but I have
-always feared his looks. Always, I think, since
-he first came to our house to talk to father, and
-much more since I saw him at the window that
-dreadful morning when poor Mr. Peters lay
-dead.” “Why, what could you see that
-morning?” I said. “Oh, very little,” she said. “You
-see, of course we heard the news as Edith passed
-by on her way to call the police, and mother told
-me to keep within doors, and she kept in
-herself, and then she went to father and woke him,
-and she stayed there talking to him, and I was
-alone and I felt so frightened. And then the
-policeman came, and you, sir, and the doctor;
-and by-and-by some neighbours came looking
-in. One of them was Mrs. Trimmer who kept
-the baker’s shop, and I was fond of her, and I
-do not know whether it was that I was frightened
-to be alone, or just inquisitiveness, for I was a
-child then, though it is not so long ago, but,
-though I never disobeyed mother before, I did
-so that time; and I went out, and Mrs. Trimmer
-took my hand and we walked up and looked at
-the house. It was not much we saw, for all we
-stood so long staring; but the front door opened
-and we saw that Irish gentleman look out,
-looking so sad, poor man, and then he took a turn or
-two up and down in the hall, leaving the door
-open; and then we could hear voices, and the
-rest of you came downstairs and into the hall,
-but I could see Mr. Vane-Cartwright come to
-the window of Mr. Peters’ room, and he stood
-there looking out of the window with his hand
-leaning on the sash of the window, leaning
-forward, seeming to be looking out intently at the
-people below.” “Did he open the latch of the
-window?” I asked at once. “I couldn’t say
-that,” said she. “Why were you so frightened?”
-I asked. “Oh, I do not know,” said she; “he
-didn’t look anything very terrible, and I couldn’t
-see him well for there was frost on the window,
-but I knew him by his black moustache.”</p>
-
-<p>I suppose every one of my readers has been
-guilty of mislaying some little article of
-importance and looking for it everywhere but in the
-right place, which always turns out to have been
-the most obvious place of all. Perhaps I may
-be forgiven for having all these fifteen months
-been doing something analogous. I had not
-only overlooked Trethewy’s daughter; I knew
-when I spoke to Sergeant Speke about those
-tracks in the snow that there was something
-more I had meant to ask him and had forgotten;
-and often since I had been dimly conscious of
-something forgotten. That something was the
-window-latch. The girl could not tell me about
-it, but at least it might be possible to prove by
-others, who had been in the room, that none
-but Vane-Cartwright unlatched that window.</p>
-
-<p>I make this obvious reflexion now because
-I made it then, and in making it wasted a
-moment of possible talk with the girl, a trifling
-waste which was near to having momentous
-consequences. Of course it was not because
-the girl had been standing then on the lawn
-that Vane-Cartwright had taken the step, when
-every unnecessary step involved risk, of wiling
-the Trethewys away in this secret manner. He
-knew she had something more to tell; she was
-about to tell it me. “I hardly know,” she
-broke in on my silence, “whether I ought to
-think as I do, but I would like to tell you
-what——” “Well, Ellen!” said, in cheerful
-tones, a voice that was somehow not cheerful,
-“taking a walk—who is the happy?—why, it
-is Mr. Driver. I did not expect the good luck
-of meeting you again so soon.” Where was I
-staying, What good chance brought me there,
-and Really I must move my luggage instantly
-to his house, and so forth, from the last man
-in the world whose company I desired at that
-moment.</p>
-
-<p>I got off staying with him. I got off, I know
-not on what excuse, true or false, an afternoon’s
-fishing and a pressingly urged dinner. But then
-(for an idea struck me) I would, if I had finished
-the sermon I was writing for a Saint’s day
-service (not in the calendar, I fear) at a
-neighbouring church to-morrow, stroll over to
-Vane-Cartwright’s after my supper if he was in any
-case going to be in. He would in any case
-be in, and delighted to see me. He would be
-in from seven onwards. He dined at 7.30, and
-if I thought better of it would be delighted to
-see me then, and I must not dress. For the
-present, as Ellen had to go home, might he not
-show me the short way to my inn. It was not
-what I should have thought a short way, but it
-was delightfully secluded, and it led us by quite
-a curious number of places (a rather slippery
-plank over a disused lock will do as an example),
-where I fancied that an accident might have
-befallen an unwary man with a too wary
-companion. Perhaps it was only the condition of
-my nerves that day that made me a little
-proudly fancy such things, for I was not only
-highly strung, I was unusually exhilarated. It
-was a great change since our last meeting, for
-this time I felt that I had at last gained a definite
-advantage, and, little as he showed it, I thought
-I was talking with a desperate man. It is not
-safe to be dealing with a desperate man, but, if
-you happen not to pity him, it is not a
-disagreeable sensation. As we passed over a footbridge
-(I was going first, and there were stakes and big
-stones below on which a man might hurt
-himself if he fell) it was probably one of my fancies
-that the shadow of my companion, cast before
-him, made an odd, quick movement with its arm.
-Anyhow, I turned my head and said with a
-laugh what a handsome stick Mr.
-Vane-Cartwright was carrying. I asked what wood it
-was. I did not ask whether it was loaded. He
-told me what wood it was, where he bought it
-and what he gave for it. He told me what
-an interesting medallion was set in the head
-of it, but he did not show me that medallion.
-After that I had a further fancy. It was that
-my guide took less polite pains than he had
-taken to let me pass first through every narrow
-place. Let me say at once that I do not
-suppose he very seriously thought of
-attacking me there; perhaps his eyes were open for
-any very favourable spot, but perhaps it was
-all my fancy. In spite of that fancy I was
-thoroughly enjoying my walk. It was a new
-sensation, to me to be doing most of the
-conversation, and I was surprised and pleased with
-myself to think that I was doing it well. Perhaps
-I was doing it well, but I do not think it was
-my guidance of the talk which brought it back
-to the subject of Trethewy. Vane-Cartwright
-managed to tell me that he hoped no rumour
-of suspicion attached to Trethewy here, or to
-any one at all connected with him. Would I
-mind trying to find this out from the landlord
-at the inn. He was a greater gossip than any
-old woman in the place, and a shrewder one.
-“I would not,” he added, “trust everything
-he says, for he embroiders on what he has
-heard; but he hears everything, and he is
-shrewd, and I discovered a few weeks back
-that he had an acquaintance in your old parish.”</p>
-
-<p>By this time we were at the inn door, and I
-noticed the landlord’s name, which was the same
-as that of a man of doubtful character who had
-come to Long Wilton just before I left it.
-Several people were about, and they might, if
-they chose, hear every word of what he spoke,
-except when he dropped his voice. “Stop,” he
-cried, and I stood still. “I am going to be
-open with you, Mr. Driver, as open as I thought
-you would have been with me. I have been
-trying to bring myself to it all this walk, and I
-will now. I have not said what I meant” (here
-he dropped his voice) “about Trethewy. I have
-really” (this in a whisper) “begun to suspect
-him myself. Oh, yes, you laugh; I know what
-you suspect of me. Do you think I cannot
-see what interpretation you put upon every
-one of my doings that you know of, in your own
-house, at Peters’ before—long ago at the island
-of Sulu, I daresay. You think” (this time so
-loud that I thought the landlord and other
-men must hear, though, as I reflected later, the
-phrase he used was so chosen that a countryman
-would not readily take it in), “you think I am
-the assassin of Eustace Peters. Well, I am not.”
-We turned and walked away again from the
-inn. “I know,” he continued, “how things
-look. I should not wonder if I were fated to
-hang for this. I should not greatly care now,
-for I have thought it so long, but hanging for
-it and being guilty of it are different matters.”
-He kept his eyes fixed steadily on me all this
-while. “You thought things looked ugly for
-Trethewy once, did you not? But I know
-you thought him innocent when it was hard to
-think so. I do not ask you to believe me, but
-I ask you to keep the same firm, clear mind
-now. You think Trethewy did not kill Peters.
-So do I. He did not actually kill him, he no
-more did that than you did. Now I know you
-will answer me straight. You are too brave a
-man to care about playing the part you played
-at Florence. Have you found or have you not
-found any direct evidence whatever, true or
-false, that convicts any man—convicts him if
-it is true—of making those tracks, or of going
-to or coming from the place where they were
-made? Shall I repeat my question? Is it not
-clear, or are you still uncertain whether you will
-answer it?” I could do no other; I told him
-truly that I had nothing but inference to go
-upon as to who made those tracks, and I told
-him that my inference pointed to him.
-“Naturally,” he said quietly (here we turned and paced
-slowly towards the inn again). “Only, till you
-have something better than that inference,
-remember that there may be more subtle motives
-than you think of for making false tracks.
-Anyway (for it is no good my arguing with you
-further, I see that), here is one piece of advice
-that you may take or leave—honestly, you had
-better take it if you value your future peace of
-mind—keep your mind open a little longer.
-Go away from here, and visit Long Wilton again
-and hear what they say there now; or, if you
-will not do that, stay here long enough to watch
-Trethewy, and the girl, and the people that you
-may see about with them,—one man in
-particular. Well, good-bye, Mr. Driver, pardon
-my saying I respect you in spite of Florence.”
-The manner of this last remark was maddening.
-I was keenly stung. I said, “Mr.
-Vane-Cartwright, after all, Peters’ death is not the only
-mysterious death you and I know of.” “Oh,
-Longhurst,” he said, with a light laugh which
-this time really took me aback. “I will tell
-you anything you can wish to know about poor
-Longhurst. Not now, as you are not in the
-mind for it. To-night, if you think better of
-your refusal to come, or any time you may
-choose. I only wish,” he said sadly, as he finally
-turned away, “old Peters had asked me straight
-out about Longhurst.” He had puzzled me but
-he had not shaken me. Could he have imagined
-that he was likely to do so? Probably not, but
-it occurred to me, directly he was gone, that he
-now knew for certain that I was dangerous;
-knew that in some ways he could play upon
-me easily, and in some ways not at all; and
-knew that I had not yet found out what I
-came to find out from Ellen Trethewy.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch18">
-
-<h2>Chapter XVIII</h2>
-
-<p>Whether it was that my fancies pursued me
-to the inn, or that Vane-Cartwright’s words had
-unconsciously impressed me, I took and have
-retained a great dislike to the gentleman who
-was just arriving at the inn. He came, as he
-said, for dry-fly fishing, but his accent and his
-looks showed him to be native to a land where
-dry fly-fishing is, I believe, not practised. He
-was near me and about me several times in the
-course of that day, and though he molested me
-in no way, my dislike deepened. It was now
-near midday and I contemplated taking no
-further step till evening, so I had plenty of
-time for thought, and I needed it. It may be
-imagined that I was in a state of some tension.
-I had rested little since I left Vane-Cartwright’s
-hotel at Florence, and on arriving at the inn I
-had news which increased my agitation. My
-wife had telegraphed to my home saying she
-had gone for a day or two to the Hôtel de
-Brunswick, saying also, that I must pay no
-attention to any wire, purporting to be from her,
-which did not contain the word “Fidele”.
-Evidently there was some one in Florence
-whom she suspected would send false messages.
-I conjectured that Vane-Cartwright had an
-understanding with the Mafia, and had obtained
-through them the services of some villain.
-Well, here was a wire: “Regret to acquaint
-respected sir, Mrs. Driver suddenly
-unwell.—Direttore Hôtel Brunswick.”</p>
-
-<p>There is one advantage about being tired.
-It prevents the mind from wandering away on
-so many side tracks. But with all that
-advantage, whatever it may be worth, it took me a
-full half-hour to make up my mind how to
-regard this; but I came back to my first
-impulse, not on the first occasion to disregard what
-my wife herself had undoubtedly telegraphed.</p>
-
-<p>On the other main points I may acquit myself
-of having wavered, and I will not mystify the
-reader more than I mystified myself. I had not
-the faintest doubt that Vane-Cartwright’s
-suggestion about the Trethewy family, whatever its
-object might be, was a well-acted lie. However,
-I determined to follow the suggestion to some
-extent. I got hold of the landlord; he was all
-that Vane-Cartwright had said, and on a very
-slight hint he began talking of the Long
-Wilton murder and of the charge against Trethewy.
-I was disgusted to find that suspicion had
-followed the people here. It was not clearly
-to Vane-Cartwright’s interest that it should
-follow them, and I suppose it was accident. I
-found that the landlord was well posted as to
-Trethewy’s story and all the proceedings in
-regard to him. As he went on hinting
-suspicion of him, I said it was a curious thing
-about those tracks. “Ah,” said he, “little
-feet can wear big shoes;” and he looked wise.
-“About that lass now of Trethewy’s, not but
-what I like the lass,” he was continuing after a
-solemn interval, but I need not try to repeat
-his talk. The upshot of the suggestion was
-simply this, that the girl had stepped out in her
-father’s boots and made the tracks, knowing full
-well that she could ensure the detection of the
-false tracks hereafter, but for which of two
-reasons rumour was not certain. Either it
-was really to fasten false suspicion on her father
-till the guilty man, a lover of hers presumably,
-made good his escape; or her father had
-committed the crime, and she knew it, and to save
-him had fabricated against him evidence which
-he and she knew would be broken down.</p>
-
-<p>It was not a likely story to tell to me, and I
-was inclined now, not for the first time, to be
-thankful that however great a fool I might be,
-I looked a greater fool than I was. By putting
-me up to eliciting this story, Vane-Cartwright
-had merely supplied me with knowledge about
-the situation of the Trethewys which I might
-find useful in dealing with them.</p>
-
-<p>I felt that I had brought danger not only
-upon myself but also upon the Trethewys. I
-was in some doubt whether by going to them
-again that night I might not be bringing danger
-nearer them, but the impulse to be beside them
-if danger were there impelled me to go. I
-arrived about nightfall. I found Trethewy
-himself preparing to leave the house. He had
-been bidden to go and help in repairing a
-threatening breach of a mill-dam some way up
-the stream, and he evidently felt surprised and
-suspicious about the errand on which he was
-sent. Replying to a look of enquiry in my
-face, he said: “Sir, I never disobeyed my
-master’s orders yet”. “No,” he added, looking
-suddenly abashed, “I behaved badly enough
-by my old master, but I never disobeyed orders,
-and I should not like to begin doing so now.”
-I said that, if he went I should stay at his house
-till he returned. He said, “It would be a
-kindness that I should always remember, sir”. And
-so he went.</p>
-
-<p>Poor Mrs. Trethewy appeared ill-pleased at
-my presence. She seemed to guess that my
-coming was in some way to disturb their peace.
-I fancied that, in getting the mastery over his
-drinking and his wrathful ways, Trethewy had
-become very gentle and submissive to his wife.
-In her days of difficulty I had been used to
-admire her for the way in which she brought up
-her daughter. I now did not think her improved
-by finding herself more the mistress of her house
-than she was wont to be. Still she was civil
-enough, and willing, after the girl had gone to
-bed in a sort of cupboard off the parlour-kitchen,
-to entertain me with her best conversation. I
-interrupted by telling her frankly that I knew
-she wished to keep her daughter in ignorance of
-all concerning Peters’ murder, and the suspicion
-that had arisen about it, but that I feared that
-she would find it impossible, for I had learned
-that day that rumour had followed them to their
-new home. From my heart I pitied her, for she
-seemed utterly cast down as she began to realise
-that Ellen must come to hear all, if indeed she
-had not heard it already.</p>
-
-<p>Suddenly the girl burst into the room and
-threw her arms round her mother’s neck. “Oh,
-mother, mother!” she said, “I cannot keep
-on deceiving you. Dear, kind mother, who
-wanted to deceive me for my good. I would
-have given so much that you should not know
-this, but grandmother told me all.” “Go to
-bed now, dear,” said her mother; “I cannot
-bear more to-night.” The mother too went to
-bed, and I lay down under a rug upon the
-sofa.</p>
-
-<p>I had no intention of keeping awake all
-night. Gladly as in my excited state I would
-have done so, it was a necessity that I should
-get such rest as I could. I lay on a shake-down
-which Mrs. Trethewy provided for me, and I
-thought of Florence and of one whom I had
-left at Florence. Then I slept, and I dreamed,
-dreamed that she was ill and wanted me. I
-woke with a horrid start as some one in my
-dream pronounced the word “poison”. Thank
-God, it was a dream. I assured myself of that
-and slept again to dream more pleasantly.</p>
-
-<p>I dreamed I was a boy and I was swimming
-in a clear river. Cool, cool river!</p>
-
-<p>There was a fish in the river, and I was
-swimming after the fish. Cool, cool river!</p>
-
-<p>It was an ugly fish, and I was pursuing it, and
-the river was warm.</p>
-
-<p>The fish was Vane-Cartwright, and I was
-pursuing him. Warm, warm river!</p>
-
-<p>The river was gone from my dream, and I
-was pursuing Vane-Cartwright over a great
-plain. Warmer and warmer!</p>
-
-<p>I pursued him through thick woodlands.
-Sultry and stifling!</p>
-
-<p>I pursued him over a great mountain.
-Burning, burning hot!</p>
-
-<p>I leapt to my feet calling “Fire!”</p>
-
-<p>In waking fact, the thatched cottage was in a
-blaze.</p>
-
-<p>I called with all my might to Mrs. Trethewy.
-I told her to run out while I brought out her
-daughter, and she answered.</p>
-
-<p>I burst into the girl’s little room on the ground
-floor. It was full of smoke; she was suffocating
-before she could wake. I tore her from her
-bed, and bore her through the door and on to
-the footbridge. I turned my head back
-towards the house to call again to Mrs. Trethewy,
-when a hoarse cry of “Fire!” came from the
-other direction, and a man—he seemed an old
-grey-bearded rustic—ran on to the bridge
-towards the door, dashed with full force against us,
-and overturned me and my half-conscious burden.</p>
-
-<p>I do not know just how we rolled or fell, but
-we were in the water. I had managed still to
-hold Ellen Trethewy with my right arm, and
-with my left hand to catch the edge of the
-footbridge. I could not by any effort have pulled
-us both out or raised her on to the bridge, but
-it was easy to hold our heads above water, for
-we were against the pier of the bridge, in
-between the two currents that shot under the
-arches. Mrs. Trethewy would be there in a
-moment and could help us out; or—why did
-not that old rustic help us?</p>
-
-<p>They say that men in moments of extreme
-peril take in all manner of things with
-extraordinary rapidity, but I do not know whether
-I really saw all as I see it in memory now, or
-whether what I did was from accident and the
-instinct of fear.</p>
-
-<p>I glanced up, and the old rustic stood over us
-raising a mighty stick which I thought was not unlike
-that which Vane-Cartwright had carried in the
-morning. So much I did see and think.</p>
-
-<p>One good blow and I should have been
-stunned, if my brains were not out. Whether
-we got entangled in the eel grating or were
-carried right under the fish-house into the pool,
-there was little chance for either of our lives if
-that blow had fallen where it was aimed.</p>
-
-<p>I let go my hold on the bridge and threw my
-head back, and the stick crashed idly on the
-bricks of the margin. I tried to get one long
-breath before we went under, but I swallowed
-a horrible gulp of water. Good chance or my
-convulsive effort guided us into the arch for
-which I would have steered. Under one arch
-the old eel grating remained. I did not know
-its structure, and I did not know whether the
-trap-door over it was fastened down, but there
-was little hope that we should pass that way
-alive. Under the other arch, as I had found that
-morning, the grating had long been removed,
-and down that archway the strong stream was
-carrying us, safe, if it did not throttle us on the
-way. How long a passage I thought it, though
-the rush of the water seemed so headlong. I
-could feel the slimy growth on the brick
-archway above us, and my nostrils were for a moment
-above water though my mouth was pressed
-under. Then we were under the floor of the
-fish-house, and my head rose and I got a gulp
-of air, but my head struck a joist of the floor,
-and the stream swept me on, ducking
-involuntarily under another joist and another. We
-were out in the pool, sucked down in the bubble
-and swirl of the eddy. I opened my eyes and
-could see the glare of the fire through great
-green globes of water. I was on the surface; I
-was swimming with great gasps; I was under
-again; I was exhausted. My feet struck on
-pebbles: I was standing in the shallow water.
-I still held the body. Was it lifeless? Three
-strides and I should land her on the bank. No,
-my steps sank in some two feet of almost liquid
-mud. The dragging of my steps furnished just
-the little further effort needed to spend my
-remaining breath. I sank forward on the reeds
-and flags of the margin, with one last endeavour
-to push her body in front of me, and I lay,
-helpless and panting horribly, beside her, while a
-man came and jumped into the marshy fringe
-of the pool and stood over us. That dire old
-rustic, I felt no doubt, and I felt no care. No,
-it was the girl’s father.</p>
-
-<p>In the morning, shooting down that same
-dark cool avenue of sweet water, and swept
-without an effort far out into the swirling
-reed-fringed pool, I could not have imagined how
-hardly and how ill I was to pass that way again
-with a living or lifeless burden.</p>
-
-<p>She lived; the first shock of the water had
-roused her, and she had kept a shut mouth, a
-steady grasp where it least incommoded me and
-a heroic presence of mind.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch19">
-
-<h2>Chapter XIX</h2>
-
-<p>There is not much that can be done for a
-thatched cottage once well alight, and for such
-salvage as could be done there were plenty of
-ready helpers soon upon the scene. That aged
-rustic was not among them, nor did I afterwards
-see or hear of him; but among them before long
-appeared Vane-Cartwright himself, brisk and
-alert, and forward to proffer to Trethewy every
-sort of help and accommodation for his now
-homeless family. Trethewy’s response was
-characteristic—total and absolute silence.</p>
-
-<p>It seemed late but was still early morning
-when I had the Trethewys assembled for
-breakfast in my private sitting-room in my inn.
-Neighbours had readily supplied the women
-with clothes, and a cart had been forthcoming
-to carry them. Trethewy and I walked to the
-inn together, and his attitude to Vane-Cartwright
-was naturally quite altered. He told me a
-second time of the dislike, which he had felt
-from the first, of being in Vane-Cartwright’s
-service, and he told me that he had just decided
-to accept a situation which was open to him in
-Canada, and had expected to sail with his family,
-who did not yet know it, in six weeks, but
-supposed he must put it off now.</p>
-
-<p>At last I really heard what it was that Ellen
-Trethewy could tell and for knowing which she
-had been removed to Crondall, and it did not
-come up to my expectations.</p>
-
-<p>About noon after Peters’ murder, after
-Callaghan and I had gone into the village, and
-while Vane-Cartwright, by his own account,
-had stayed reading in the house, the girl had
-twice seen him as she looked out of the window
-of the cottage. She had seen him come out of
-the gate of the drive and turn to the right up
-the road away from the village. About twenty
-minutes later she had seen him turn in again at
-the gate, and this time he came down the green
-lane. To any one who knew the lie of the
-ground, the significance of this was certain.
-He could not have got round by road or by
-any public footpath in that time; either he had
-come through the plantation and the fields,
-where the tracks were made, or he must have
-made a round over ditches and hedges and
-rough ground by which a man taking a casual
-and innocent stroll was extremely unlikely to
-have gone, especially in frost and snow.</p>
-
-<p>The inference was convincing enough to me,
-but then, as I knew, I was ready to be
-convinced. Vane-Cartwright was not likely, I felt,
-to have done so much to prevent the girl
-revealing merely this. Was there nothing more?</p>
-
-<p>Yes, there was, but it was something of which
-Ellen did not feel sure. During that twenty
-minutes the sun shone out brilliantly upon the
-snow, and tempted her to stroll out a little
-way up the drive, when she stood for awhile to
-look, in spite of the horror of the time, with
-delight at the spotless covering of the lawn and
-the shining burden of the cedar branches, and
-then up at the sun. Her eyes were soon so
-dazzled that all sorts of fancied shapes danced
-before them. Turning suddenly and looking
-towards the field, she thought for an instant, but
-only an instant, that she saw between two trees
-a man up in the field, about half-way up,
-walking towards the hedge, towards a spot in the
-hedge which we already know. She covered
-her eyes with her hand and looked again with
-clearer vision. There was no one there, and
-she tried to brush aside the fancy that she had
-seen any one. But somehow she had often
-wondered since about what she had seen, and
-somehow she connected it in her fancy with the
-murder. She could not connect it with the
-making of the tracks, for she had only read of
-them in a muddled newspaper report which had
-given an entirely wrong impression as to
-whereabouts they were found. Now it was all
-obvious. Vane-Cartwright, while he made those
-very tracks, had passed before her eyes; he had
-seen her standing and looking towards him, and
-he could not entertain the hope, though it was
-true, that her eyes did not see him clear.</p>
-
-<p>This much being plain, my first thought was
-of amazement at the coolness of
-Vane-Cartwright on the evening after the murder, while
-he could not be sure that the discovery of the
-tracks had not been told to the girl and had not
-already drawn forth from her an explanation
-which, if believed, must be fatal to him. My
-second thought was of great disappointment that
-the identification of him with the maker of the
-tracks was still to so large an extent a matter
-of inference. I cannot say whether I myself,
-or Trethewy, or the girl, who, having long
-brooded over these matters without the
-necessary clue, now showed astonishing quickness in
-grasping them, was first to see the next step
-which the enquiry required. Evidence must be
-sought which would show whether
-Vane-Cartwright or some other person had undone the
-window-latch in Peters’ room. I was ready
-immediately to rush off to Long Wilton and see
-whether Sergeant Speke could recollect
-anything of importance about the movements of
-the persons who were in the room that morning.
-It was the girl who suggested to me a possible
-witness rather nearer at hand. The young
-doctor had been in the room till nearly the last,
-and, as her mother happened to have told her,
-he had very shortly after the event in question
-removed to London. Could not I see him?</p>
-
-<p>I resolved to see him, if I could, that day,
-for I thought I could gain nothing by further
-waiting near Crondall. I was anxious about
-the safety of Ellen Trethewy, but I found her
-father, who was as much persuaded as I of the
-peril which continued to hang over her, had
-formed his own plan for promptly removing
-her; he thought we should be safer separate;
-and it reassured me to see a reminiscence of
-his wild youth sparkle in his now sober
-countenance as he said that it would not be the first
-time that he had baffled a pursuit.</p>
-
-<p>Upon some calculation, prompted perhaps by
-excessive precaution and futile craft, such as
-may well be excused in excited men who have
-found themselves surrounded by unimagined
-dangers, we decided that I should not start for
-any of the stations on the branch line that
-passes Crondall, but should leave my luggage
-behind, drive, in a fast trap which the baker
-sometimes let out, to an ancient castle in the
-neighbourhood, thence, three miles, to the
-junction on the main line to London, send the trap
-back with a note to my landlord, and go to
-town by the one fast train in the day which
-there was easy time to catch. I suppose we
-thought I should get some start of
-Vane-Cartwright, and that this was worth while, as he
-was likely to stick close to me, and had shown
-already his fertility of baleful resource.</p>
-
-<p>Accordingly, I arrived at the junction just as
-the up-train came in. The train from Crondall
-had arrived a little while before, and was
-standing in a bay on the other side of my platform
-of departure. I was by this time so sleepy that
-I could hardly keep my eyes open as I walked.
-I did barely notice the screaming approach of
-a third train, which was in fact the down-train
-from London, but in which of course I felt no
-interest, and I noticed some but not quite all of
-the people on the platform or in the
-waiting-shed. I took my seat in the far corner of a
-carriage. I began instantly to doze, and the
-train, I believe, waited there awhile. I faintly
-heard shouts and whistles which heralded the
-starting of the train, but it did not start
-immediately. When the carriage door again
-opened and two other passengers got in, I did
-half-open my eyes; but I started broad awake
-when to those half-open eyes my
-fellow-passengers revealed themselves as Vane-Cartwright
-and the foreign visitor at the inn, whose looks I
-had irrationally disliked. I say broad awake—but
-not awake enough to do the proper thing to
-be done. The train was already in motion before
-they sat down, and my fellow-passengers with
-their luggage so encumbered the door that I
-could not have got back on to the platform.
-I ought, I suppose, to have pulled the
-communication cord. As it was, I merely sat up, looking
-at them as indifferently as I could, while really
-my heart sank within me, and I wished my
-muscles had not been so stiff and chilled from
-my adventure of the night before.</p>
-
-<p>The train was moving but not yet fast. It
-seemed to be slowing down again. There was
-fresh shouting and whistling on the platform;
-the stationmaster saying angrily, “Put him in
-here”; a voice that sounded somehow well
-known, but which I could not recognise,
-answering him vigorously; and just as the train began
-to go faster a big man, still shouting and very
-hot with pursuit, tumbled into the carriage. To
-my delighted surprise I found myself joined by
-Callaghan.</p>
-
-<p>The most surprising turns of good fortune, I
-have learned to think, are generally the reward
-of more than common forethought on the part
-of some one. My rescue in this case, which I
-will none the less call providential, could never
-have happened but for the zealous care of
-Callaghan himself, and of another person many
-hundred miles from the scene.</p>
-
-<p>But of all this I was soon to hear.
-Meanwhile, Callaghan, who was in the highest of
-spirits, bestowed on me a mere smile of
-recognition, and poured himself forth upon
-Vane-Cartwright with an exuberance of pleasure at
-the unexpected meeting which must have been
-maddening. It was the only time, during my
-acquaintance with Vane-Cartwright, when he
-appeared to be in the least at a loss. Hearty
-good-humour was, I should think, the only
-attitude towards him which he did not know how
-to meet. So he passed, I take it, a miserable
-journey. Nor was his mysterious companion
-left to enjoy himself. To my astonishment
-Callaghan addressed him politely by a
-strange-sounding name, which I suppress, but which
-from the start which the gentleman gave
-appeared to be his name.</p>
-
-<p>As for me, Callaghan leaving me in the
-corner which I had originally chosen had
-manœuvred Vane-Cartwright into the other
-corner of the same side of the carriage, and the
-stranger into the seat opposite him, while he
-placed himself between me and Vane-Cartwright,
-and with his back half-turned towards me
-entertained them both.</p>
-
-<p>I dozed away again and again, and I daresay
-I was asleep for a good part of the journey,
-but I endeavoured to think out in my waking
-moments what was the nature of the peril which
-had threatened me, for peril assuredly there
-was, and how it could have come about that I
-was thus rescued.</p>
-
-<p>As to the former question, I got no further
-than the reflexion, that to stick me with a knife
-and jump on the line or make a bolt at the
-London terminus (which was our first stop)
-would have been too crude for the purpose.
-As to the latter question, Callaghan, suffering
-our fellow-passengers to escape for a moment
-behind their newspapers, roused me with a
-nudge, and surreptitiously passed me what
-proved to be several pounds’ worth of
-telegraphic message from my wife at Florence to
-himself. I was hardly yet aware how thoroughly
-my wife’s original aversion for Callaghan had
-given way in the day when he had been her
-guest, and when she had passed from observing
-his weaknesses to putting up with them and
-occasionally reproving them. I learned now
-that a few hours after I had left her, my wife
-had telegraphed to Callaghan through a mutual
-friend whom she believed would have his
-address, stating the sort of errand on which I had
-gone, and the few particulars known to her
-which might determine my movements, and
-entreating him to find me, and having found
-me, never to leave me alone. But that was not
-all. The telegram stated that Vane-Cartwright
-was on his way home, having sent home one
-communication only, a telegram to a registered
-telegraphic address in London, that address
-being the word by which Callaghan had accosted
-the stranger.</p>
-
-<p>As I afterwards learned, my wife, directly I
-had departed, had removed to Vane-Cartwright’s
-hotel. Vane-Cartwright did not know her by
-sight, and, if he had discovered her, he was the
-sort of man who would probably despise the
-intelligence of any nice woman. She had taken
-the best rooms in the hotel, close to
-Vane-Cartwright’s, and had otherwise set about, for
-the first time in her life, and for a few hours,
-to throw money about in showy extravagance.
-By money and flattery she had contrived to be
-informed of the address of every letter and
-telegram that Vane-Cartwright sent before his
-departure, of the name and nationality (nothing
-more was known of him) of his only visitor that
-morning, and of the further fact that shortly
-after Vane-Cartwright’s departure that visitor
-had returned and had enquired whether she had
-moved to that hotel, but had not asked to see
-her. She learned also that Vane-Cartwright
-had been at the station when the Milan train
-started, but had returned and waited for the next
-train. The reader already knows that she had
-had the intuition that false messages might be
-sent me in her name.</p>
-
-<p>Callaghan had been away from home, and
-had not got the message till late in the evening
-before he joined me. He lost no time in going
-to my house to ascertain my address and what
-had last been heard of me. He called also at
-Vane-Cartwright’s house, where he was only
-informed that he was abroad. He left London
-by the first train in the morning armed with
-a <i>Bradshaw</i> and a map. Study of <i>Bradshaw</i> had
-led him to notice that I might possibly be
-leaving by a train which would be at the junction
-about the same time as his. So he was on the
-look out, and with his quick sight actually saw
-me in my train as he arrived. By running hard
-and shouting entreaties and promises to the
-officials, he had just managed to catch me.</p>
-
-<p>When our train arrived at Paddington,
-Callaghan shook me awake. It appeared to me
-that Vane-Cartwright, who had not been
-conversational before, had just started an interesting
-subject by which he hoped to detain Callaghan
-while our mysterious companion got away from
-the train. It was not a successful effort.
-Callaghan pushed me somewhat rudely out of the
-carriage, and jumping out after me told me to
-wait for him, and kept me, while he stood about
-on the platform till every passenger by the train
-but ourselves had gone away. At last he called
-a hansom; still he did not enter it till the driver
-of an invalid carriage which had been waiting
-in the rank of cabs appeared to give up the
-expectation that the person for whom he waited
-was coming, and drove away.</p>
-
-<p>“Do you see that invalid carriage?” said
-Callaghan to me. “It was ordered for you.”</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch20">
-
-<h2>Chapter XX</h2>
-
-<p>Here let me mention that I have fancied since
-that I recognised the ill-looking foreigner who
-was with me at the inn and in the train. I
-recognised him in a chemist’s shop in a very
-fashionable shopping street. I think it would
-be libellous to name the street. The telegraphic
-address which my wife sent to Callaghan was
-the telegraphic address of that fashionable
-chemist’s shop.</p>
-
-<p>I had intended to take leave of Callaghan for
-the time upon our arrival at the station, but I
-found that this was not to be done, for Callaghan
-was determined to obey almost to the letter my
-wife’s behest to him, not to leave me. He took
-me to luncheon at a restaurant, and then
-prevailed upon me to come with him by one of our
-fast trains to my own house, collect there all
-the papers which I possessed bearing on the
-affair of Peters, and bring them to his chambers,
-where he was resolved I should at present stay.</p>
-
-<p>When we arrived there, I was for starting at
-once to seek out the doctor who had been at
-Long Wilton, but I was practically overpowered
-and sent to bed, after handing over to Callaghan,
-amongst other papers, the notes which Peters
-had made as to the death of Longhurst.</p>
-
-<p>After some hours Callaghan entered my
-room to tell me that dinner would be ready in
-half an hour, that I might get up for it if I liked,
-or have it brought to my bedroom. He then
-turned on me reproachfully. “Why had I not
-shown him these papers long ago, when he
-came to stay with me?” I was at a loss for an
-answer, for in fact when I had told him of my
-suspicions and my reasons for them, I had done
-the thing by halves, because my want of
-confidence in him lingered.</p>
-
-<p>“Well, well,” said my good-natured friend,
-“I daresay I can guess the reason. But these
-papers explain much to me. You never told
-me it was the island of Sulu on which Peters
-discovered the body, or that he went there with
-Dr. Kuyper. I had heard the name of that
-island and the doctor before—on the last night
-of Peters’ life while you were talking music with
-Thalberg.”</p>
-
-<p>Next morning I set off early to see the doctor
-who had been at Long Wilton. Callaghan, who
-at first seemed to think it his duty to be with
-me everywhere, gave way and consented to go
-upon some business of his own about which
-he was very mysterious; but he put me in the
-charge of his servant, a man singularly fitted to
-be his servant, an Irishman and an old soldier,
-who, I discovered, had made himself very useful
-to him in his spying upon Thalberg, having
-entered into a close and I daresay bibulous
-friendship with one of Thalberg’s clerks. My
-new guardian so far relaxed his precautions as
-to allow me to be alone with the doctor in his
-consulting-room; he otherwise looked after me
-as though he thought me a child, and from
-the very look of him one could see that I was
-well protected, though indeed I hardly imagined
-then that the perils which beset me at Crondall
-would follow me through the streets of London.</p>
-
-<p>I asked the doctor kindly to give me all his
-recollections as to what occurred in Peters’
-bedroom while he was there. He told me little
-but what was of a professional nature, and he
-informed me rather dryly that he made it his
-practice on all occasions to observe only what
-concerned him professionally. I therefore put
-to him with very little hope the main question
-which I had come to ask—Had he observed
-anything about the windows. “Certainly,” he
-said, “that, as it happens, is a professional matter
-with me. I never enter a sickroom without
-glancing at the windows, and I did so from force
-of habit this time, though” (and he laughed with
-an ugly sense of humour) “it didn’t matter
-much, as no fresh air could have revived that
-patient; but the windows were shut, and (for I
-often notice that too) they were tight shut and
-latched.” “Are you certain,” I said, “that
-both of them were latched?” “Certain,” he
-answered; “they were both latched when I
-came into the room, and they were latched
-when I went out, for I happened to have looked
-again. You see that, once one has the habit
-of noticing a certain kind of thing, one always
-notices it and remembers it easily, however little
-else one may see.” I asked him then whether
-he happened to remember the order in which
-the persons who had then been in the room
-left it. About this he was not so certain, but
-he had an impression that only two persons
-were left in the room after him. These were
-the police-sergeant, who held the door open for
-a moment while Vane-Cartwright lingered, and
-who locked it when they had all left. I may
-say at once that this was afterwards confirmed
-by the police-sergeant, who added that
-Vane-Cartwright was standing somewhere not far
-from the window in question.</p>
-
-<p>I returned by appointment to Callaghan’s
-chambers some time before eleven. I was
-immediately taken out by him again upon an
-errand which he refused to explain. We
-arrived at length at an office in the City which
-from the name on the door proved to be that
-of Mr. Thalberg, Solicitor and Commissioner
-for Oaths. We were ushered into Mr.
-Thalberg’s private room, and it immediately appeared
-that Callaghan had come to give instructions
-for the making of his will. He explained my
-being there by saying there was a point in his
-will about which he desired to consult both of
-us. I was thus compelled to be present at what
-for a while struck me as a very tedious farce.
-Callaghan, after consulting Mr. Thalberg upon
-the very elementary question whether or not he
-thought it an advisable thing that a man should
-make a will, and after beating about the bush
-in various other ways, went on to detail quite
-an extraordinary number of bequests, some of
-them personal, some of a charitable kind, which
-he desired to make. There was a bequest, for
-example, of the Sèvres porcelain in his chambers
-to his cousin, Lady Belinda McConnell (there
-was no Sèvres porcelain in his chambers, and
-I have never had the curiosity to look up Lady
-Belinda McConnell in the Peerage). So he
-went on, disposing, I should think, of a great
-deal more property than he possessed, till at
-last the will appeared to be complete in outline,
-when he seemed suddenly to bethink him of the
-really difficult matter for which he had desired
-my presence. By this time, I should say, it had
-begun to dawn upon me that the pretended
-will-making was not quite so idle a performance as
-I had at first thought. Callaghan must in the
-course of it have produced on a person, who
-knew him only slightly, the impression of a
-good-natured, eccentric fellow, wholly without
-cunning and altogether unformidable. This
-was one point gained, but moreover, Mr.
-Thalberg was rapidly falling into that nervous and
-helpless condition into which a weak man of
-business can generally be thrown by the unkind
-expedient of wasting his time. It now appeared
-that the real subject on which Mr. Thalberg and
-I were to be consulted was the disposal of
-Callaghan’s papers in the event of his death.
-Callaghan explained that he would leave
-behind him if he died (and he felt, he said, that he
-might die suddenly) a great quantity of literary
-work which he should be sorry should perish.
-He would leave all his papers to the discretion
-of certain literary executors (he thought these
-would perhaps be Mr. George Meredith and
-Mr. Ruskin), but there were memoirs among
-them relating to a sad affair in which persons
-living, including Mr. Thalberg and myself,
-were in a manner concerned. He referred to
-the lamented death of Mr. Peters, the
-circumstances connected with which had been for him
-a matter of profound and he trusted not
-unprofitable study. He felt that in any directions
-he might leave in regard to these memoirs it
-was only fair that he should consult the
-gentlemen present. Mr. Thalberg by this time was
-in a great state of expectation, when Callaghan
-pulled out his watch and, observing that it was
-later than he thought, asked if there was a
-Directory in the office, that he might find the
-address of a certain person to whom he must
-telegraph to put off an appointment with him.
-A clerk brought the London Directory from an
-outside room, and was about to retire. “Stop
-a moment, Mr. Clerk, if you don’t mind,” said
-Callaghan, and he slightly edged back his chair,
-so as to block the clerk’s going out, “perhaps it
-is the Suburban Directory that I want. Let us
-just look,” and he began turning over the leaves.
-“Ferndale Avenue,” he said, “that’s not it;
-Ferndale Terrace—you see, Mr. Thalberg,” he
-said, “I would like to talk this matter out with
-you before I go—Ferndale Crescent—right side,
-No. 43, 44, No.” (all this time his finger was
-running down a column under the letter B in
-the Trades Directory) “45, 46, 47; I thought
-he was thereabouts. Here’s the name,” he said.
-“You see, Mr. Thalberg, your own movements,
-if they were not explained, would look rather
-curious—47, 49, no, that’s not it—look rather
-curious, as I was saying, in connexion with that
-murder of Peters—look ugly, you know—51
-Ferndale Crescent, that’s it. Thank you, Mr.
-Clerk,” and he shut the Directory with a bang
-and handed it back to the clerk with a bow, and
-made way for him to leave the room.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Thalberg bounded from his chair and
-collapsed into it again. “Stop, Mr. Manson,”
-he cried to the clerk, “you must be present at
-whatever else this gentleman may have to say.”
-He sat for a moment breathing hard, more I
-thought with alarm than with anger. He did
-not seem to me to have any presence of mind
-or any of the intellectual attributes, at any rate,
-of guile, and I could not help wondering as I
-watched him, whether this really was the man
-whom Vane-Cartwright chose for his agent
-in employments of much delicacy. “Do you
-come here to blackmail me, sir?” cried Mr.
-Thalberg, forcing himself to assume a voice and
-air of fury. There was never seen anything
-more innocent or more surprised and pained
-than the countenance of Callaghan as he replied.
-He was amazed that his motive could be so
-misunderstood; it was the simple fact that what
-he was forced in his memoirs to relate might
-hereafter suggest suspicions of every one who
-was in the neighbourhood of the crime, himself
-and his friend Mr. Driver in particular, and,
-though in a less degree of course, Mr. Thalberg.
-He was giving Mr. Thalberg precisely the same
-opportunity as he had given to Mr. Driver, of
-explaining those passages in his (Callaghan’s)
-record, which might seem to him to require
-explanation. Here he appealed to me (and I
-confess I backed him up) as to whether he had
-not approached me in precisely the same way.
-Mr. Thalberg appeared to pass again under the
-spell of his eccentric visitor’s childlike innocence,
-and sat patiently but with an air of increasing
-discomfort while Callaghan ran on: “You see,
-in your case, Mr. Thalberg, it’s not only your
-presence at Long Wilton, which was for golf of
-course, wasn’t it?—only you went away
-because of the snow. There is that
-correspondence with a Dutch legal gentleman at Batavia
-which occurred a little afterwards, or a little
-before was it? And there were the messages
-which I think you sent (though perhaps that
-was not you) to Bagdad. Of course I shall
-easily understand if you do not care to
-enlighten me for the purpose of my memoirs
-which no one may care to read. Pray tell me
-if it is so. I daresay it’s enough for you that
-your correspondence and movements will of
-course be fully explained at the trial.” “What
-trial?” exclaimed Thalberg, quite aghast. It
-was Callaghan’s turn to be astonished. Was it
-possible that Mr. Thalberg had not heard the
-news, which was already in two or three evening
-papers, that there was a warrant out for the
-arrest of Vane-Cartwright, and that it was
-rumoured that he had been arrested in an
-attempt to escape from the country.</p>
-
-<p>In Mr. Thalberg’s countenance increased
-anguish now struggled ludicrously with the
-suspicion, which even he could not wholly put
-aside, that he was being played upon in some
-monstrous way. He began some uncertain
-words and desisted, and looked to his clerk
-appealingly. That gentleman (not, I believe,
-the same that had fallen under the sway of
-Callaghan’s faithful servant) seemed the
-incarnation of the most solid respectability. He
-was, I should judge, of the age at which he
-might think of retiring upon a well-earned
-competence, and he gave Thalberg no help,
-desiring, I should think, to hear the fullest
-explanation of the startling and terrible hint
-which had been thrown out before him against
-his master’s character. While Thalberg sat
-irresolute, Callaghan drew a bow at a venture.
-“At least, Mr. Thalberg,” he said, “I thought
-you might like to tell me the results of your
-interview with Dr. Verschoyle when you went
-to Homburg to see him.” “Sir,” said
-Thalberg, making a final effort, “do you imagine
-that I shall tell you what passed at an interview
-to which I went upon my client’s business.”
-“Thank you, Mr. Thalberg,” said Callaghan.
-“I am interested to know that you went to
-Homburg on your client’s business (I thought
-it might have been for the gout), and that you
-did see Dr. Verschoyle, for I had not known
-that till you told me. I did know, however,
-about that correspondence with Madrid in the
-Spanish Consul’s cipher, and I knew that the
-enquiries you made through him were really
-addressed to an influential person at Manilla.”</p>
-
-<p>At this point Mr. Thalberg abruptly went
-over, with horse, foot and artillery, to the
-enemy. He assured Callaghan of his perfect
-readiness to answer fully any questions he might
-ask about his relations with Vane-Cartwright,
-and if he might he would tell him how they began.</p>
-
-<p>This is what it came to. Thalberg had been
-partner to a lawyer who was Longhurst’s
-solicitor. In the early part of 1882, when
-Longhurst had spent a month in England, he
-had consulted Thalberg’s partner about some
-matters that troubled him in regard to his
-partnership with Vane-Cartwright. Thalberg
-could not remember (so at least he said) the
-precise complaint which Longhurst had laid
-before his partner, except that it related to
-Vane-Cartwright’s having got concessions and
-acquired property for himself which Longhurst
-considered (without foundation, as Thalberg
-supposed) should have belonged to the
-partnership. Nor did Thalberg know the advice
-which had been given Longhurst. He had
-heard no more of him beyond the mere report
-that he had been drowned, till, after his death,
-Vane-Cartwright, whom Thalberg had not
-previously known, came to London and employed
-the firm to find out various members of
-Longhurst’s family who were still living, and to whom
-he now behaved with great generosity. Since
-then Thalberg had been, as we knew, solicitor of
-a company which Vane-Cartwright had founded,
-and had occasionally done for him private law
-work of a quite unexciting nature. But in the
-middle of January of last year, 1896, Thalberg
-had been instructed by Vane-Cartwright to
-make for him with the utmost privacy certain
-enquiries. One was of a person in Bagdad, as
-to the identity and previous history of a certain
-Mr. Bryanston; one concerned a certain Dr.
-Kuyper, a physician and scientist in Batavia,
-who, it was ascertained, was now dead.
-Another was, as Callaghan knew, addressed to a
-correspondent in Madrid, but Thalberg declared
-that this enquiry went no further than to ascertain
-the name and address of the person who then
-filled the office of Public Prosecutor or, I think,
-Minister of Justice in the Philippines. I ventured
-to ask the name; it was a name that I had seen
-before in those notes of Peters’. Lastly, there
-was an enquiry in regard to Dr. Verschoyle.
-Thalberg had been instructed if possible to
-obtain an interview with this gentleman before
-a certain date. The purpose of the interview,
-he declared, was to obtain from him some notes
-and journals which would be of use in the
-foundation of a new mission in the Philippines,
-under the auspices of the Society for the
-Propagation of the Gospel, a project in which
-Vane-Cartwright appeared, he said, to be
-keenly interested (and indeed it was the fact
-that he had previously patronised missionary
-societies). The object of Thalberg’s visit to
-Long Wilton was this. He had been told to
-repair there without fail by the date on which
-he actually came, and to inform
-Vane-Cartwright by word of mouth of the result, if any,
-of his enquiries. That result had been, shortly:
-that Bryanston was the man who had at one
-time been at Nagasaki; that Kuyper was dead;
-that the Minister of Justice (or whatever the
-precise office was) at Manilla was the person
-already alluded to; and that Verschoyle was
-abroad and had lately been at Siena, but had
-departed abruptly some weeks before—for
-Germany, it was thought, but he had left no
-address behind him. All this Thalberg had
-duly reported to Vane-Cartwright in Peters’
-house the afternoon before the murder occurred.
-And what all this taught Vane-Cartwright,
-though in part obscure, is in part obvious. It
-taught him that no letter from Verschoyle to
-Peters need at present be expected. It taught
-him that a letter from Bryanston, which must
-be expected, might be dangerous and must be
-intercepted. It taught him that Peters would
-remain inactive only till that letter reached his
-hands. It taught him also that if Peters were
-put to silence, Kuyper, the other European who
-had seen that body in Sulu, could tell no tales.</p>
-
-<p>After Peters’ death, Thalberg, still acting
-under instructions, had had an interview with
-Dr. Verschoyle at Homburg, to which he had
-traced him, and had taken with him a letter
-written on the paper of the S.P.G., and signed,
-as he believed, by the secretary of that society.
-(It has since appeared that the secretary had no
-knowledge of such a letter.) Dr. Verschoyle
-delivered to him some journals which he,
-Thalberg, never read, for transmission to
-Vane-Cartwright, to whom he duly delivered them.
-That, he said, was all that he knew of the
-subjects on which Callaghan sought information.
-He denied all knowledge of further
-communications made on behalf of Vane-Cartwright with
-that important official in the Philippines; but he
-appeared to me somewhat nervous in answering
-Callaghan’s questions on this matter, and anxious
-to appease him with the prospect that he might
-be able, through friends of his, to ascertain what
-communications of this nature had actually
-taken place.</p>
-
-<p>It was curious to how many questions
-suggested to us by what he had said he could give
-no answer. Indeed he informed us, with an air
-of moral self-complacency, that he thought it
-a very sound maxim for a professional man to
-know as little as possible of things which it was
-not his business to know. I guessed that
-perhaps his strict observance of this precept was
-the thing which had commended him to the
-service of Vane-Cartwright, but I really do
-believe that Mr. Thalberg knew nothing behind
-the facts which he now thought it convenient to
-himself to reveal.</p>
-
-<p>However that may be, he made no secret of
-anything which he could disclose without injury
-to himself. We had got from him, or I ought
-to say Callaghan had got from him, evidence
-which might serve to show plainly enough that
-Vane-Cartwright was aware of Peters’ suspicions
-and concerned himself greatly about them, and,
-content with this, we were preparing to go when
-Mr. Thalberg stopped us saying that there was
-one important matter of which we had not asked
-him yet, and perhaps should be surprised to know
-that he could tell us anything. I have omitted
-to say that in the course of the conversation he
-had heard something from us about the things
-which had led to Vane-Cartwright’s being
-suspected. We had told him in substance the
-story about the tracks, and were much surprised
-to find that he appeared wholly ignorant of the
-charge that had been brought against Trethewy.
-He now told us a fact which had a great bearing
-upon the history of those tracks. He asked us
-whether or not Peters’ grounds could be seen
-from the upper rooms of the hotel. I said that
-no doubt they could, for the hotel was only too
-visible from those grounds. He then stated
-that having confined himself to his bedroom
-until it was time for him to start for his train,
-he had at a certain hour noticed a man walking
-across Peters’ field (for from his description it
-was plain to me that it was Peters’ field, and
-plain further that the man was walking pretty
-much where those tracks were made). This
-man, even at that distance, he recognised as
-Vane-Cartwright; he recognised him by his fur
-coat and a cap which Ellen Trethewy had seen
-him in, and by some peculiarity about his gait
-which he knew well. The man was also
-swinging his stick in Vane-Cartwright’s own particular
-manner. The distance was considerable, but
-I knew that it would be possible for a
-clear-sighted man to recognise at that distance any
-one whom he knew very well. The hour which
-Thalberg named corresponded with what Ellen
-Trethewy had told me.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch21">
-
-<h2>Chapter XXI</h2>
-
-<p>As we left Thalberg’s office and walked down
-the narrow court which led to the street, I
-daresay our looks and voices, if not our words,
-betrayed the exultation of men who see a
-long-sought object at last within reach. As we
-turned into the street we were stopped by
-Vane-Cartwright.</p>
-
-<p>Only the day before I had been expecting to
-find him lurking for me round every corner;
-but now and here it startled me to meet him.
-When I learnt why he met us, it startled me
-still more, and looking back upon it, I still find
-it unaccountable.</p>
-
-<p>“Mr. Driver, Mr. Callaghan,” he said,
-addressing us in turn in tones as quiet as ever,
-but with a pale face and highly-strung manner,
-“I am your prisoner.” I suppose we stared
-for a moment, for he repeated, “I am your
-prisoner. I will go with you where you like;
-or you can give me in charge to the nearest
-constable. There is one. You see you have
-beaten me. You probably do not yet know it
-yourselves, but you have.”</p>
-
-<p>“Well,” he continued, “if you do not quite
-know what you are going to do, I will ask one
-thing of you. Before you give me up to justice,
-take me somewhere where I can talk with you
-two alone. I want to tell you my story. It
-will not make you alter your purpose, I know
-that; but it will make you respect me a little
-more than you do. It is odd that I should
-want that, but I do.”</p>
-
-<p>“Well, gentlemen?” he said questioningly,
-as we still hesitated, and his old self-possession
-returning for a moment, a smile of positive
-amusement came over his face.</p>
-
-<p>I confess that if I had acted on my own
-impulse I should have taken my antagonist at
-his word when he suggested that we should call
-the nearest policeman. But Callaghan had been
-taking the lead in our late movements, and I felt
-that the occasion belonged to Callaghan; and
-Callaghan was more generous.</p>
-
-<p>“If you have anything to say, sir,” he said,
-“come to my chambers and say it.
-Four-wheeler!”</p>
-
-<p>In a moment more we were in a cab—how
-slow the cab seemed—Callaghan sitting opposite
-Vane-Cartwright and watching him narrowly lest
-he should play us a trick, while I too watched
-him all through the interminable drive, very
-ill at ease as to the wisdom of our conduct, and
-wondering what could be the meaning of the
-unexpected and desperate hazard which our
-antagonist was now taking. He was evidently
-going to confess to us. But why? If the
-knowledge we already possessed was sufficient,
-as perhaps it was, to secure his conviction, yet
-he could only partly guess what that knowledge
-was; of the two most telling pieces of evidence
-against him, the fact about the window-latch
-which the surgeon had told us, and the fact
-that Thalberg had recognised him afar from
-his window in the hotel, he must have been
-quite unaware. And then what did he expect
-to gain by the interview which he had sought
-with us? What opinion had he formed of the
-mental weaknesses of the two men with whom
-he was playing? Was he relying overmuch
-upon the skill and mastery of himself and
-others which he would bring to bear in this
-strange interview? Had the fearful strain
-under which he had been living of late taken
-away the coolness and acuteness of his
-judgment? Could he rely so much upon the
-chance of enlisting our compassion that he
-could afford to give us a certainty of his
-guilt, which, for all he knew, we had not got
-before, and to throw away the hope of making
-an escape by flight, which with a man of his
-resource might easily have been successful?
-Or had he some other far more sinister hope
-than that of stirring us to unworthy pity or
-generosity? I could not resolve these
-questions, but I was inclined to an explanation
-which he was himself about to give us. If the
-cause of suspicion against him became public
-he would have lost everything for which he
-greatly cared, and he was ready to risk all
-upon any chance, however faint, of avoiding
-this. I was, as I have said, ill at ease about
-it all. I did not feel that after the conversation
-I had held with him before, Vane-Cartwright
-would get over me, but it is an experience
-which one would do much to avoid, that of
-listening obdurate to an appeal into which
-another man puts his whole heart; and more
-especially would one wish to have avoided
-consenting to hear that appeal in a manner
-which might raise false hopes. But for a
-more serious reason it had been a mistake to
-acquiesce in this interview; I had learned to
-know not only Callaghan’s goodness of heart
-but his cleverness and his promptitude, but I
-had not learned to credit him with wisdom or
-with firmness; and the sort of impulsiveness,
-which had made him at once grant the
-request for this interview, might easily have
-further and graver consequences.</p>
-
-<p>At last we were in Callaghan’s room and
-seated ourselves round a table.</p>
-
-<p>“I see,” said Vane-Cartwright, “that it
-puzzles you gentlemen why I should ask for
-this interview. You think I am an ordinary
-criminal, which perhaps I am, and you thought
-that like an ordinary criminal I should try all
-means to save a disgraced life, which I certainly
-shall not do. I know that you have not got the
-knowledge which would convict me of murder.
-I do not suppose you think you have, and in
-any case you have not. And, if you had, I
-think you know I have contrivance enough to
-take myself off and live comfortably out of
-reach of the law. But I do not care for
-escape, and I do not care for acquittal. You
-have the means to throw suspicion on me, and
-that is enough for me. I cared for honour and
-success, and I do not care for life when they
-are lost.” He was looking at each of us
-alternately with an inscrutable but quite unflinching
-gaze, but he now hid his eyes, and he added
-as if with difficulty, “Yet I did care for one
-other thing besides my position in the world,
-but that has gone from me too.</p>
-
-<p>“And now,” he resumed, “that my struggle
-is over, and that the people—more people and
-bigger people than you would think—who have
-been courting me for the last twelve months
-will think of me only with as just abhorrence
-as Thalberg himself does, I have an odd fancy,
-and it is this: I should like to stand a little
-better in the eyes of the very men who, far
-from courting me, have had the courage to
-suspect me and the tenacity to drag me down.”
-He had raised his eyes again, but this time
-fixed them on Callaghan only, for he
-doubtless saw that I was out of touch with him, and,
-seeing this, he had art enough to appear to
-recognise and acquiesce in it.</p>
-
-<p>“You know something of my story. Let
-me tell you just a little more of it, and, please,
-if it interests you enough, question me on any
-point you will. I shall not shrink from
-answering. If a man is known to have murdered two
-of his friends, there cannot be much left that
-it is worth his while to conceal. First, I would
-like to speak of my early training. If I had
-been brought up in the gutter, you could make
-some allowance for that, and give me some
-credit for any good qualities I had shown,
-however cheerfully you might see me hanged
-for my crimes. It is not usual to suppose that
-any such allowance may have to be made for
-a man brought up to luxury and to every sort
-of refinement, and yet such a man too may be
-the victim of influences which would kill the
-good in most characters even more than they
-have in mine. You may have heard a little
-about my people, and perhaps know that their
-views and ways were not quite usual; I am
-not going to say one word against them (I
-am not that sort of man, whatever I may be),
-but there were two things in my boyhood
-harder for me than the ordinary Englishman
-can well imagine. I was brought up in the
-actual enjoyment of considerable wealth and
-the expectation of really great wealth, and just
-when I was grown up the wealth and the
-expectations suddenly vanished. That has
-happened to many men who have been none the
-worse for it. But then I was brought up soft.
-You know I am not a limp man or a coward;
-but I had all the bringing up of one; cared
-for hand and foot, never doing a thing for
-myself (my good people had great ideas of
-republican simplicity, but they were only literary
-ideas). None of the games, none of the sport
-that other boys get; no rubbing shoulders with
-my equals at school; no comradeship but only
-the company of my elders, mostly invalids.
-Few people know what it is to be brought up
-soft. But there was worse than that. You”
-(he was addressing Callaghan) “were piously
-brought up. Oh, yes, you were really. I
-daresay your home was not a strict one, and you
-were not carefully taught precepts of religion
-and morality or carefully shielded from the
-sight of evil (perhaps quite the contrary, for I
-have not the pleasure of knowing much about
-you, Mr. Callaghan), but I am quite sure that
-you had about you at home or at school, or
-both, people among whom there was some
-tacit recognition of right and wrong of some
-sort as things incontrovertible, and that there
-was some influence in your childhood which
-appealed to the heart. But in my childhood
-nothing appealed to the heart, nothing was
-incontrovertible, above all, nothing was tacit.
-Everlasting discussion, reaching back to the
-first principles of the universe, and branching
-out into such questions as whether children
-should be allowed pop-guns. That was my
-moral training, and that was all my moral
-training. It was very sound in principle, I
-daresay—and I am not going to pose as an
-interesting convert to the religious way of
-looking at things, for I am not one—but it did not
-take account of practical difficulties, and it was
-very, very hard on me. Not one man in ten
-thousand has had that sort of upbringing, and
-I do not suppose you can realise in the least
-how hard that sort of thing is.</p>
-
-<p>“So,” he continued, “I found myself at
-twenty-one suddenly made poor; more accustomed than
-most lads to think life only worth living for
-refinements which are for the wealthy only; taught
-not to take traditional canons of morality for
-granted; taught to think about the real utility
-of every action; landed in a place like Saigon,
-and thrown in the society of the sort of gentry
-who, we all know, do represent European
-civilisation in such places; sent there to get a
-living; thoroughly out of sympathy with all
-the tastes and pleasures of the people round
-me, and at the same time easily able to
-discover that for all my strange upbringing I was
-by nature more of a man than any one else there.
-As a matter of fact, there was only one decent
-man there with intellectual tastes, and that was
-Peters; but Peters, who was only two or three
-years older than I, and, as I own I fancied,
-nothing like so clever, took me under his
-protection and made it his mission to correct me,
-and it did not do. You can easily imagine
-how, in the three years before Longhurst came
-on the scene, I had got to hate the prospect
-of a life of humdrum, money-grubbing among
-those people in the hope of retiring with a
-small competence some day when my liver and
-my brain were gone; you would not have
-thought any the better of me if I had become
-content with that. At any rate I did not. I
-meant to be quit of it as soon as I could, and
-I meant more. I resolved before I had been
-three weeks in the place to make money on
-a scale which would give me the position, the
-society and the pursuits for which I had been
-trained. I resolved in fact to make the sort of
-place for myself in the world which every man,
-except the three men in this room and Thalberg,
-thinks I have secured. If I had no scruples as
-to the way in which I should carry out that
-resolve, I differed from the people around me only
-in knowing that I had no scruples, and in having
-instead a set purpose which I was man enough
-to pursue through life. And I am man enough,
-I hope, not to care much for life now that that
-purpose has failed. If I pursued my end
-without scruple, I think I was carrying out to its
-logical conclusion the principles that had been
-taught me as a boy; and, as I am not going to
-seek your sympathy on false pretences, let me
-tell you I do not know to-day that there are
-any better principles—there may be; I hope
-there are.</p>
-
-<p>“I waited nearly three years, learning all I
-could about business and about the East, its trade
-and its resources, and waiting all the time for my
-opportunity which I knew would come, and which
-came. It came to me through Longhurst; but
-I must go back a little. I have said that Peters
-was my only equal in our society there. Now
-let me say, once for all, that in nothing that I
-am going to tell you do I wish to blame Peters
-more than I blame myself; but from the first
-we did not hit it off. Peters, as I have said,
-took on himself the part of my protector and
-adviser a little too obviously; he had not quite
-tact enough to do it well, and I was foolish
-enough in those days to resent what I thought
-his patronage. At first there was no harm
-done; Peters thought I should be the better if I
-entered more into such sport as there was in the
-place, for which I had very little taste, and he
-tried to make me do so by chaffing me about
-being a duffer, in his blunt way, which I thought
-rude, and that before other people. You would
-hardly imagine that I was ever shy, but I was;
-and, absurd as it seems, this added a good deal
-to my unhappiness in my new surroundings. I
-should very soon have got over that, for I soon
-found my way about the place, and my shyness
-quickly wore off; but worse than that followed.
-I was fond of arguing, and used to discuss all
-things in heaven and earth with Peters. You
-can easily suppose that his views and mine did
-not agree, and I daresay now that I pained him
-a good deal. I did not mean to do that, but I
-did mean to shock him sometimes, and so I
-often took a cynical line, by which I meant
-nothing at all, telling him the sharp things that
-I should do if I got the chance; and once or
-twice I was fool enough to pretend that all sorts
-of things of which Peters would not approve
-went on in our business. To my amazement I
-discovered after a time that Peters took all this
-nonsense seriously. I would have given
-anything to efface the impression that I had made,
-for though there are few men that I ever
-respected, Peters was one of them. But Peters
-became reserved towards me and impossible to
-get at. Then gossip came in between us. There
-is sometimes very spiteful gossip in a little
-European settlement in the East; and I am
-certain, though I cannot prove it, that a man
-there, with whom I had constant business, told
-Peters a story about a shady transaction which
-he said I was in. The transaction was real
-enough, but neither I nor my firm had any
-more to do with it than you. I know that this
-man told it to other people, for I have heard so
-from them, and I do not doubt that that was
-what finally turned Peters against me. I tried
-to tax Peters with having picked up this story,
-but he said something which sounded like
-disbelieving me, and I lost my temper and broke
-off; and from that day till we met again at
-Long Wilton we never exchanged any more
-words together, though we crossed one another’s
-path as you shall hear.</p>
-
-<p>“Mind, again, I am not saying it was his fault;
-but it is in itself doing a young man a very ill
-turn to show him that you think him dishonest
-when as yet he is not, and it did me harm.
-Upon my soul, I was honest then; in fact, in that
-regard, most of my dealings throughout life
-would stand a pretty close scrutiny. But I
-have often thought that I might have become
-a much better man if Peters would have been
-my friend instead of suspecting me unjustly;
-and I confess that it rankles to this day, and all
-the more because I always respected Peters.
-After that, however, he did me some practical
-ill turns, disastrously ill turns; rightly enough, if
-he thought as he did. I must tell you that our
-separation came a very little while before
-Longhurst came to the place. Just afterwards I had
-an opening, a splendid opening; it would not
-have made me the rich man that I am, but it
-would have given me a good position right
-away, and what it would have saved me you
-shall judge. A very eminent person came to
-Saigon; he knew something of Peters and a little
-of me. He saw a great deal of Peters at
-Saigon, and he pressed him to accept a post
-that was in his gift in the Chinese Customs
-service. Peters refused. I suppose he was at
-that time thinking of coming home. The great
-man then spoke to me about it, and had all but
-offered it to me. How I should have jumped
-at it! But suddenly it all went off and he said
-no more to me. I believed that Peters warned
-him against me; possibly, being sore against
-Peters, I was mistaken; but at any rate that was
-what I ever afterwards believed. It was partly
-in desperate annoyance about this that I plunged
-into what then seemed my wild venture with
-Longhurst.</p>
-
-<p>“And now I must tell you about Longhurst.
-He had been at some time, I suppose, a clever
-man; at least he had a wonderful store of
-practical knowledge about forests, mining and other
-matters, and he had travelled a great deal in all
-parts of that region of the world, and picked up
-many things which he wanted to turn to account.
-He had made a little money which he wished to
-increase, and he had a great scheme of
-organising and developing the trade of South-Eastern
-Asia and its islands in various valuable kinds
-of timber, spices, gum, shellac, etc., etc. He
-promised any one who could join him that in a
-few years, by exploiting certain yet undeveloped
-but most profitable sources of supply, he could
-get a monopoly of several important trades, the
-sago trade, for example. He set forth his scheme
-to the company generally at the English Club
-the first time I met him, and everybody laughed
-at him except me, who saw that if he got into
-the right hands there was something to be made
-out of his discoveries for him and other people.
-And as a matter of fact we did make something
-of them, more than I expected, but not what he
-expected. I did not make a large sum out of
-our joint venture, not much more than I could
-have made by staying where I was, but I got
-the knowledge of Eastern commerce, which has
-enabled me since to do what I have done.</p>
-
-<p>“I saw you smile just now, Mr. Callaghan,
-when I spoke of Longhurst getting into the
-right hands. Well he did; and I did not. He
-had been, as I said, a clever man, and there was
-something taking about him with his bluff,
-frank, burly air, but he was going off when I
-met him. People do go downhill if they spend
-all their lives in odd corners of the earth; and,
-though I did not know it at first, he had taken
-the surest road downhill, for he had begun to
-drink, and very soon it gained upon him like
-wildfire. When he once goes wrong no one
-can be so wrong-headed as a man like that, who
-thinks that he knows the world from having
-knocked about it a great deal doing nothing
-settled; and I should have found Longhurst
-difficult to deal with in any case. As it was,
-Longhurst dined with Peters the night before
-we left Saigon together. On the first day of
-our voyage he was very surly to me, and he
-said, ‘I heard something funny about you last
-night, Master Cartwright. I wish I had heard
-it before, that’s all.’ When I fired up and told
-him to say straight out what it was, he looked
-at me offensively, and went off into the
-smoking-room of the steamer to have another drink.
-That was not a cheerful beginning of our
-companionship, and I had my suspicion as to whom
-I ought to thank for it. I believe the same
-tale-bearer that I mentioned before had been
-telling Peters some yarn about my arrangements
-with Longhurst, which looked as if I was trying
-to swindle him, and that Peters had passed it
-on. I very soon found that Longhurst was not so
-simple as he seemed. I daresay he had meant
-honestly enough by me at first, but having
-got it into his thick head that I was a little
-too sharp, he made up his mind to be the sharper
-of the two; and the result was that if I was to
-be safe in dealing with him I must take care to
-keep the upper hand of him, and before long I
-made up my mind that my partner should go
-out of the firm. I could have made his fortune
-if he would have let me, but I meant that the
-concern should be mine and not his, and I did
-not disguise it from him. That was my great
-mistake. I do not know what story, if any, you
-have picked up about my dealings with
-Longhurst. He put about many stories when we
-had begun to quarrel—for he had begun by
-that time, if not before, to drink freely—but the
-matter that we finally quarrelled about was this.
-Of the various concessions which we started by
-obtaining (at least I started by obtaining them;
-that was to be my great contribution to the
-partnership), two only proved of very great
-importance—one was from the Spanish
-Government of the Philippines and the other from the
-Government of Anam, and these, as it happened,
-were for three and four years, renewable under
-certain conditions but also revocable earlier in
-certain events. There was no trickery about
-that, though Longhurst may have thought there
-was. I simply could not get larger concessions
-with the means of persuasion (bribery, in other
-words) at our command. Subsequently I got
-renewals and extensions of these concessions to
-myself alone. To the best of my belief then
-and now the transaction held water in law and in
-equity, but whatever a lawyer might think of
-it, the common-sense was this: Longhurst had
-become so reckless and so muddle-headed that
-nothing could any longer prosper under his
-control, if he had the control, and besides that,
-I never could have got the extended concessions
-at all if he was to be one of the concessionaires.
-There are some things which an Eastern
-Government or a Spanish Government cannot stand,
-and Longhurst’s treatment of the natives was
-one of them. But I must go back a bit. There
-were other things besides this which contributed
-to our quarrel. For one thing, odd as it may
-sound in speaking of two grown-up men,
-Longhurst bullied me—physically bullied me. He
-was a very powerful man, more so, I should
-think, even than you, Mr. Callaghan, and when,
-as often happened, we were travelling alone
-together, he used to insist on my doing as he
-liked in small arrangements, by the positive
-threat of violence. To do him justice he did
-not do it when he was sober, and though in
-those days I was a weakly and timid man
-compared to what I have become, I soon learned
-how to stop it altogether. But you can easily
-imagine that I did not love him; and a bitter
-feeling towards his chief companion is not a
-wholesome thing for a man to carry about
-through a year or two of hard work in that
-climate (for it is a climate! none of the dry
-heat and bracing winters you have in Northern
-India); still I hope I did not bear him malice
-so much for that as for other things. I have
-said I have no scruples, but I have no liking
-for ruffianism and cruelty. I hate them for the
-same reason for which I hate some pictures
-and some architecture, because they are not to
-my taste. But I had, in out-of-the-way places,
-among weak savages, where law and order
-had not come, to put up with seeing deeds
-done which people here at home would not
-believe were done by their countrymen, and
-which a man who has served his days in an
-honourable service like the Indian Civil could
-believe in least of all. He had kicked a wretched
-man to death (for I have no doubt he died of it)
-the day he died himself.</p>
-
-<p>“But why do I make all these excuses? for,
-after all, what did I do that needs so much
-excuse? I told Longhurst plainly what I had
-done about the concessions and what I proposed
-to do for him, and he seemed to fall in with it
-all, and then he went home for a month’s holiday
-in England. I suppose he saw some lawyer,
-probably Thalberg, and got it into his head that
-he could make out a case of fraud against me.
-At any rate, when he returned, he seemed surly;
-he did not have it out with me straight, but he
-began to make extravagant demands of me and
-threaten me vaguely with some exposure if I
-did not give in to them, which of course I did
-not. Then he quarrelled about it in his cups,
-for the cups were getting more and more
-frequent, and several times over he got so violent
-as to put me in actual fear of my life. And at
-last, unhappily for him, it came to a real
-encounter. We had visited the island of Sulu,
-where I had reason to think we might establish
-a branch of our business, and after two or three
-days in an inland town we were returning to the
-coast, expecting to be picked up by a Chinese
-junk which was to take us back. The evening
-before we started down he produced a packet
-of documents and brandished it at me as if it
-contained something very damaging to me, and
-I could see plainly (for I have an eye for
-handwriting) that on the top of it was an envelope
-addressed by Peters. I am not justified in
-inferring from this that Peters—who had seen
-Longhurst several times since he had seen
-me—had again been repeating to him some
-malicious falsehood with which he had been stuffed
-before he left Saigon; but can you wonder that
-I did infer it? On the march down—when we
-were alone, for we had sent on our servants
-before—Longhurst began again more savagely
-than ever, and for about an hour he heaped all
-sorts of charges and vile insinuations upon me,
-which I answered for a while as patiently as I
-could. At last, breaking off in the middle of a
-curse, he fell into silence. He strode on angrily
-ahead for a hundred yards or so. Then at a
-rocky part of the path, where I was below him,
-he turned suddenly. He hurled at me a great
-stone which narrowly missed me, and then he
-came rushing and clambering back down the
-path at me. I fired (he turned as I fired).
-That was the end. Was it murder?” He
-paused and then braced himself up as he
-answered his own question. “Yes, it was,
-because I was angry, not afraid, and because I
-could easily have run away, only for some
-reason I did not mean to.</p>
-
-<p>“But I am foolish to weary you with all this
-long preliminary story, for, after all, what do
-you care about Longhurst; it is Peters, your
-own friend, about whom you care. You think
-that he came to suspect me of murdering
-Longhurst, and I killed him for that; but as sure as I
-killed him, that was not—that was <em>not</em> what made
-me do it.”</p>
-
-<p>Vane-Cartwright sat for a long time with his
-face covered with his hands. At last he sat
-up and looked me straight in the face. “Mr.
-Driver, did you never suspect there was a
-romance in Peters’ life of which you knew
-nothing? I did know of it, and I honoured
-him for it, but I hated him for it too. Certainly
-you did not suspect that there was a romance
-in mine. It does not seem likely that a great
-passion should come to a calculating man like
-me, with the principles of conduct of which I
-have made no secret to-day. But such things
-do happen, and a great passion came late in
-life to me. And here is the cruel thing, which
-almost breaks my philosophy down, and makes
-me think that after all there is a curse upon
-crime. It ought to have enriched and ennobled
-my life, ought it not? It came at just the
-moment, in just the shape, and with all the
-attendant accidents to ruin me.</p>
-
-<p>“It began five years ago. Miss Denison and
-her parents were staying at Pau. I was in the
-same hotel and I met them. I knew nothing
-then of their position and wealth and all that, for
-I had not been long in London. I loved her,
-and a great hope came into my life. One begins
-to weary after a while of toiling just to make
-money for oneself. For a few days all seemed
-changed, the whole world was new and bright
-to me. Suddenly I got an intimation from the
-father of the lady that my calls were no longer
-acceptable. I could not imagine the reason. I
-asked for an interview to explain matters, and
-he refused it. I left at once. I did not yet
-know how hard I should find it to give her up.
-It was only as I left the hotel that I learned
-that Peters, Peters whom I had not met since
-we quarrelled at Saigon, and of whom I last
-heard of the day that Longhurst died, was in the
-hotel and had called on my friends. Now I see
-clearly that I am wrong to draw inferences, but
-again, I ask, could I help inferring what I did?</p>
-
-<p>“More than four years passed. I tried hard to
-create new interests for myself in artistic things,
-making all sorts of collections; and I developed
-an ambition to be a personage in London society.
-Then I saw Miss Denison again, and I knew
-that I had not forgotten her, and could not do so.
-I knew now what had happened, and so I
-absolutely insisted on an explanation. I had it out
-with the father. I satisfied him absolutely. In
-a few weeks’ time I was engaged. For the first
-time in my life I was happy. That was only
-a month before I came to Long Wilton. I must
-tell you that Peters had known the Denisons
-long, and that I knew Miss Denison had been
-fond of him, but we naturally did not talk of
-him much, and I did not know he was at Long
-Wilton. There, to my complete surprise, I saw
-Peters again. I would not avoid him, but I
-certainly did not wish to meet him. He,
-however, came up to me and spoke quite cordially.
-I do not know whether he had reflected and
-thought he had been hard on me, but he seemed
-to wish to make amends, and I at that time, just
-for a few short hours, had not got it in my heart
-to be other than friendly with any man.</p>
-
-<p>“That evening I spent at his house. You,
-Mr. Callaghan, were there, and you must have
-seen that something happened. I at any rate
-saw that something I said had revived all
-Peters’ suspicions of me, and this time with
-the addition of a suspicion, which was true, that
-I had murdered Longhurst.</p>
-
-<p>“Now, I ask you, if you have any lingering
-idea that that was why I killed him, how was
-it possible that he could ever prove me guilty?
-Have you any inkling of how he could have done
-it? I have not. Now what could induce me, on
-account of a mere idle suspicion on the part
-of a man who need be nothing to me, to run
-the risk amounting almost to certainty of being
-hanged for murdering him?</p>
-
-<p>“But my conscience was active then, for a
-reason which any man who has loved may guess.
-I wanted to clear up all with Peters. I could
-not get him alone that evening, and I had to
-go next day. I returned the first day I could,
-bringing certain materials for clearing up the
-early transaction about which he had first
-suspected me. I was honestly determined to make
-a clean breast to him about Longhurst. You
-can hardly wonder that I meant to feel my way
-with him in this. I tried to get to close quarters
-with him. Mr. Callaghan saw enough to know
-how unsuccessful I was. I tried all the time,
-again and again, to draw Peters into intimate
-talk about our days in the East, but he always
-seemed to push me away. I determined very
-soon to obtain a letter from a friend, whom I
-will not name now, who knew how Longhurst
-had treated me, which I could show to Peters;
-so I wrote to him. But in the meantime
-relations with Peters grew harder and harder. I
-will not spin out excuses, but all his old
-animosity to me returned, and I began while I was
-waiting for that letter to feel once again the old
-rancour I had felt. This man had hurt me by
-suspecting me falsely, when, had he shown me
-confidence, he could have made a better man of
-me; he had spoilt my best chance of a career;
-he had poisoned my relations with Longhurst,
-and so brought about the very crime of which
-he was now lying in wait to accuse me; he had
-thwarted my love for four miserable years. On
-the top of all that came this letter” (he had held
-a letter in his hand all the time he was speaking),
-“and it shall speak for itself. But first one
-question. You may remember when you first
-saw me at Long Wilton. Well, I came really as
-it happened upon an errand for Miss Denison.
-Mrs. Nicholas, in the village, you may not know,
-had been her nurse. But that does not matter.
-Between my first visit and my return, do you
-happen to remember that a Mrs. Bulteel was
-staying at the hotel, and visited Mr. Peters of
-whom she was an old friend?”</p>
-
-<p>Callaghan remembered that it was so.</p>
-
-<p>“Mrs. Bulteel is, I have always supposed,
-the lady referred to in this letter, which reached
-me (will you note?) by the five o’clock post at
-Peters’ house, seven hours before I killed him.”</p>
-
-<p>He passed the letter to me without looking
-at me. Callaghan and I read it together. It was
-in a lady’s hand, signed with the name of Lady
-Denison, the young lady’s mother. It appeared
-to be written in great agitation. Its purport was
-that the young lady had resolved, so her mother
-found, to break off her engagement with
-Vane-Cartwright. She had formerly loved another
-man, whose name the mother thought she must
-not mention, though probably Vane-Cartwright
-knew it, but had supposed that he did not care
-for her or had given up doing so. She had now
-learned from an officious lady friend, who had
-lately seen this old lover, that he cared for her
-still; that he had concealed his passion when
-he found she favoured Vane-Cartwright, but
-that having now apparently quarrelled with
-Vane-Cartwright he had authorised her to let
-this be known if she saw her opportunity. The
-mother concluded by saying that she had so far
-failed in reasoning with her daughter, who had
-wished to write and break off her engagement,
-and all she could do was to lay on her the
-absolute command not to write to Vane-Cartwright
-at all for the present.</p>
-
-<p>“There is only one comment to make on that
-letter,” said Vane-Cartwright. “You may
-wonder why I should have assumed that it was
-hopeless. Well, I knew the lady better than
-you, better than her mother did, and knew that
-if her old attachment had returned it had
-returned to stay. Besides, I read this letter with
-my rival sitting in the room (you two gentlemen
-were sitting in the room too as it happens), and
-when hard, self-contained people do come under
-these influences, they do not give way to them
-by halves.</p>
-
-<p>“Thank you,” said Vane-Cartwright, when
-we had read and returned the letter. “I am
-glad you have heard me so patiently. That all
-this makes me less of a villain than you thought
-me, I do not pretend to say; but I think you
-will understand why I wished some men whom
-I respected, as I respect you, to know my story.
-I do not suggest for a moment that it should
-influence your present action. Here I am, as
-I said to begin with, your prisoner. Of course
-you see that society is just as safe from future
-murders from me as from any man. But if
-your principles of justice demand life for life, or
-if human feeling makes you resolve to avenge
-your friend, that is just what I came here
-expecting. I am the last man in the world who
-could give an unprejudiced opinion on the ethics
-of punishment.”</p>
-
-<p>He ended with a quiet and by no means
-disagreeable smile.</p>
-
-<p>As I have often said I make no sort of
-pretence to report any talk quite correctly, and here,
-where the manner of the talk is of special
-importance, I feel more than ever my incompetence
-to report it. I can only say that the singular
-confession, of which I have striven to repeat the
-purport, was in reality delivered with a great
-deal of restrained eloquence, and with occasional
-most moving play of facial expression, all the
-more striking in a man whom I had seldom
-before seen to move a muscle of his face
-unnecessarily. It was delivered to two men of
-whom one (myself) was physically overwrought,
-while the other (Callaghan), naturally emotional,
-was at the commencement in the fullest elation
-of triumphant pursuit, in other words, ready to
-recoil violently.</p>
-
-<p>We sat, I do not know how long, each
-waiting for the other to speak. Vane-Cartwright
-sat meanwhile neither looking at us nor moving
-his countenance—only the fingers of one hand
-kept drumming gently upon his knee.</p>
-
-<p>At last I did what I think I never did but
-once before, obeyed an impulse almost physical,
-to speak words which my mouth seemed to utter
-mechanically. If they were the words of reason,
-they were not the words of my conscious thought,
-for that was busy with all, and more than all the
-scruples which had ever made this business hard
-to me.</p>
-
-<p>“Mr. Vane-Cartwright,” I said, “it is my
-painful duty to tell you at once that I do not
-believe one word you have said, except what
-I knew already.”</p>
-
-<p>He went white for a moment; then quickly
-recomposed himself and inclined his head slightly
-with a politely disdainful expression.</p>
-
-<p>“Oh, Driver,” said Callaghan, in a gentle
-tone, and he arose and paced the room. He
-was strangely moved. To begin with, though
-he had felt nothing but remorseless glee in his
-share in hunting his victim down, he would in
-any case have felt great repugnance at giving
-him the <i>coup de grâce</i>. But then he had once
-taken the step of inviting that victim into his
-own room; he had sat there for an hour and
-a half with that victim by his own fireside,
-telling his life-story and implicitly pleading for
-his life. And the pleading had been conducted
-under the flattering pretext that it was not
-pleading at all but the instinctive confidence
-of a redoubtable antagonist, in one whom he
-respected for having beaten him. As for the
-story itself, Callaghan did not exactly believe it;
-on the contrary, I found afterwards that, while
-I had not got beyond a vague sense that the
-whole story was a tissue of lies, he had noted
-with rapid acuteness each of the numerous
-points of improbability in it; but to his mind
-(Irish, if I may say publicly what I have said
-to him) the fact that the story appealed to his
-imaginative sympathy was almost as good as
-its being true, and what in respect of credibility
-was wanting to its effect was quite made good
-by Callaghan’s admiration for the intrepidity
-with which the man had carried out this
-attempt on us. And the story did appeal to
-his sympathy, he had sympathised with his
-early struggles, he had sympathised still more
-with the suggestion of passion in his final crime,
-and (Irish again) had ignored the fact that on
-the criminal’s own showing the crime conceived
-in passion had been carried through with a
-cold-blooded meanness of which Callaghan’s own
-nature had no trace. Lastly, he was genuinely
-puzzled by the problem as to the morality of
-vengeance which Vane-Cartwright had raised
-with so dexterously slight a touch.</p>
-
-<p>Whatever his motive, Callaghan was upon
-the point of resolving that, at least from his
-own room, where the criminal had come to
-appeal to his mercy, that criminal should go
-away free. And if Callaghan had so resolved
-I should have been powerless for a time; he was
-prepared and I was not as to the steps
-immediately to be taken to secure Vane-Cartwright’s
-arrest. But it seems, if for once I may use that
-phrase with so little or else so deep a meaning,
-that the luck had departed from
-Vane-Cartwright. At this crisis of his fate a device of
-his own recoiled upon him with terrible force.</p>
-
-<p>“I cannot do it! I cannot do it!” Callaghan
-was exclaiming, when the door opened and a
-telegram was brought for me. This was the
-message: “Clarissa terribly ill, symptoms
-poison, Bancroft, Fidele”. It meant that my
-wife was dying at the friend’s villa to which she
-had gone, and dying by that man’s means, and it
-was certified by the use of the password which
-my wife had told me to expect. I did not
-reflect and I did not speak; I grasped
-Callaghan’s arm and I put the telegram in his
-hand. He knew enough to understand the
-message well. He read it with an altered face.
-He passed it to Vane-Cartwright and said:
-“Read that, and take it for my answer”. I
-should doubt if Vane-Cartwright had often
-been violently angry, but he was now. He
-dashed the telegram down with a curse. “The
-fool,” he said, and he gasped with passion, “if
-he was going to try that trick, why did not he
-do it before?” Callaghan stepped up to me,
-put his big arms round me, and for a moment
-hugged me in them, with tears in his eyes.
-Then without a word he strode across the room,
-and, before I could see what was happening,
-Vane-Cartwright’s hands were tied behind his
-back with a great silk handkerchief.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch22">
-
-<h2>Chapter XXII</h2>
-
-<p>My story draws towards its close, and of mystery
-or of sudden peril it has little more to tell. Upon
-one point, the most vital to me, let me not give
-the reader a moment’s suspense. My wife
-did not die of poison, had not been poisoned,
-had not been ill, had not sent that telegram.
-What had happened was this: on one single
-occasion she had not despatched her own
-message herself; through the misunderstanding or
-too prompt courtesy of her host’s butler, the
-telegram which she had written had been taken
-by a messenger, and it had fallen into the
-hands of the enemy’s watchful emissary. It
-had revealed to him the password which my
-wife used to me; and in its place there had
-gone over the wires a message which would
-indeed have called me back at any stage of the
-pursuit, but which was fated to arrive neither
-sooner nor later than the moment when it must
-destroy Vane-Cartwright’s last hope of escape.</p>
-
-<p>I say not later, for indeed I have evidence
-strong enough for my now suspicious mind that
-Vane-Cartwright had endeavoured to prepare
-his escape in the event of his failure to persuade
-Callaghan and myself. An unoccupied flat
-immediately below Callaghan’s had the day
-before been engaged by a nameless man, who
-paid a quarter’s rent in advance, and on the day
-of his interview with us, several strange persons,
-who were never seen there again, arrived with
-every sign of belated haste; but, whatever
-accident had delayed them, they arrived a quarter
-of an hour after we had left.</p>
-
-<p>And so on the 15th of May, 1897, nearly
-sixteen months after Peters’ death, his murderer
-was handed over to the police, with information
-which, including as it did the fact of his
-confession, ensured their taking him into custody.</p>
-
-<p>Then I, in my turn, became Callaghan’s
-prisoner. I arrived at Charing Cross station in
-good time for the night train, and found my
-luggage already there and registered, and my
-ticket taken. Our tickets taken, rather, for,
-protest as I might, I was escorted by Callaghan,
-indeed nursed (and I needed it) the whole way
-to Florence, and to the villa where my wife was
-staying. One item remains untold to complete
-for the present the account of the debt which I
-owe him. We had hardly left Charing Cross
-when his quick wits arrived at precisely that
-explanation of the telegram which in happy fact
-was true; but all the way, talkative man though
-he was, he refrained from vexing my bruised
-mind with a hope which, he knew, I should not
-be able to trust.</p>
-
-<p>When he had learnt at the door that his happy
-foreboding was true, no entreaty would induce
-him to stay and break bread. He returned at
-once to England, leaving me to enter alone to that
-reunion of which I need say nothing, nor even
-tell how much two people had hungered for it.</p>
-
-<p>The reader who is curious in such matters
-might almost reconstruct for himself (in spite of
-the newspaper reports which naturally are
-misleading) the trial of William Vane-Cartwright.
-He might pick out from these pages the facts
-capable of legal proof, which, once proved and
-once marshalled into their places, could leave
-no reasonable doubt of the prisoner’s guilt.</p>
-
-<p>But, however late, the trained intelligence of
-the police had now been applied to the matter,
-and the case wore an altered aspect. No
-startling discovery had come to pass, only the
-revelation of the obvious. Some points had been
-ascertained which ought to have been
-ascertained long before; still more, facts long known
-had been digested, as, surely, it should have
-been somebody’s business to digest them from
-the first. In particular, tardy attention had
-been paid to the report of the young constable
-who, as I mentioned, followed Sergeant Speke
-into Peters’ room, and who had incurred some
-blame because his apparent slowness had allowed
-some trespassers to come and make footprints
-on the lawn (I fancy his notes had been
-overlooked when some officer in charge of the case
-had been superseded by another). The
-observed movements, just after the crime, of two
-or three people who were about the scene, had
-been set down in order. Enquiries, such as
-only authority could make, had ultimately been
-made among Vane-Cartwright’s acquaintance in
-the East, and though disappointing in the main,
-they yielded one fact of importance. Moreover,
-the researches which were made by Callaghan
-shortly after the murder, and which I had
-supposed at the time were so futile, now appeared in
-another light. Just before that suspicious flight
-to Paris, he had given to the police at Exeter
-some scrappy and ill-explained notes; and on
-a subsequent visit, which I have mentioned, to
-Scotland Yard, he had handed in a long and
-over-elaborate memorandum. These now
-received justice. I must, therefore, attempt to
-state, with dry accuracy, the case which was
-actually presented against the accused.</p>
-
-<p>Upon the fact that he had confessed his guilt,
-though indeed it reversed the surface improbability
-that a man in his position was a criminal,
-I must lay no separate emphasis. Neither judge
-nor prosecuting counsel did so. The defence
-dealt with it upon a theory which turned it to
-positive advantage. I myself can well conceive
-that a man, to whom his life was little and his
-reputation much, might have taken the risk of a
-false confession to us in the hope of binding us
-to silence.</p>
-
-<p>But, to begin, Peters was without doubt
-murdered on a certain night, and during that
-night Vane-Cartwright was one of a few who
-could easily have had access to him.</p>
-
-<p>Now years before one Longhurst had
-disappeared; a report had got abroad that he went
-down in a certain ship which had been lost;
-the report was false; but he never reappeared;
-several witnesses (traced out by the enquiry of
-the police in the East) appeared at the trial, and
-swore that Vane-Cartwright had often spoken
-of Longhurst’s sailing in that ship; yet he must,
-according to Mr. Bryanston’s evidence, have
-known that this was false; and, according to
-the same evidence, he had been in Longhurst’s
-company after the time when the rest of
-Longhurst’s neighbours last saw him. From this
-(though the other proved facts of their
-connexion amounted to little more than they were
-reputed partners) it followed that
-Vane-Cartwright was in a position in which suspicion of foul
-play towards Longhurst might easily fall on him.</p>
-
-<p>Next, Peters at the time of his death not
-merely entertained this suspicion but was taking
-steps to obtain proof of its truth; for there
-were his letters to Bryanston and to Verschoyle
-still extant, and admissible in evidence as <i>res
-gestæ</i>, the actual first steps which he had taken
-with this aim.</p>
-
-<p>Next, Vane-Cartwright knew of Peters’
-suspicion and was greatly perturbed by the
-knowledge. His whole conduct was in this regard
-most significant. Callaghan showed that on the
-first evening when he had seen the two men
-together their intercourse had at first been easy,
-but that by the end of the evening something
-had happened which completely altered their
-manners; the one became abstracted and aloof,
-the other eagerly watched him. Of the talk
-which caused this change Callaghan had only
-caught Peters’ question, “sailed in what,” but it
-was evident now to what that question referred.
-It was in itself strange that after this
-Vane-Cartwright should have availed himself of a
-general invitation given by Peters earlier, and
-have come rather suddenly to his house, putting
-off (as it was now shown) for that purpose a
-previous important engagement. It was a
-sinister fact that, before he did so, he had set
-on foot mysterious enquiries, some of which
-related to the two men to whom, in his presence,
-Peters had written letters about the affair of
-Longhurst, while the rest, though less obviously,
-appeared to be connected with the same matter.
-The first fruits of these enquiries (and they were
-telling) had been, by his arrangement, brought
-to him on the very afternoon before the murder.
-After the murder he had, it now seemed plain,
-stayed on at my house merely in the hope
-of intercepting Bryanston’s answer. By what
-means he knew that the sting of Dr. Verschoyle
-lay in his journals cannot be conjectured, but
-there was no mistaking the purpose with which,
-a little later, he obtained these journals by deceit.
-Altogether his conduct had been that of a man in
-whom Peters had aroused an anxiety so intense
-as to form a possible motive for murdering him.</p>
-
-<p>And altogether his conduct after the murder
-bore, now that it could be fully traced, the
-flagrant aspect of guilt. He had unlatched the
-window; this was now certain, though of course
-of that act by itself an innocent account might
-be given. The reader knows too the whole
-course of his action in regard to Trethewy and
-his family, beginning with the lie, which made
-him appear as screening Trethewy when in fact
-he was plotting his undoing, and ending with his
-breaking in upon my talk with Ellen Trethewy,
-who had stood where she might have seen him
-making those tracks in the snow. The making
-of the tracks,—this, of course, was the key to his
-whole conduct, the one thing, which, if quite
-certain, admitted of but one explanation. Only
-just here, when last we dealt with that matter, a
-faint haze still hung. Thalberg swore to having
-seen him in the field, where those tracks and no
-others were just afterwards found; Ellen
-Trethewy had seen him start to go there and again
-seen him returning. Yet, though the two
-corroborated each other, there might be some doubt
-of the inference to be drawn from what Ellen
-Trethewy saw (that depended on knowledge of
-the ground), and of the correctness of the
-observation made by Thalberg from afar. After
-all, was it absolutely impossible that Trethewy
-had through some strange impulse, rational or
-irrational, made those tracks himself,—perhaps,
-with his sense of guilt and in the
-over-refinement of half-drunken cunning, he had fabricated
-against himself a case which he thought he
-could break down.</p>
-
-<p>But here the late revealed evidence came in.
-It was certain, first, that those tracks did not
-exist in the morning. The constable who had
-let the trespassers come in stopped them when
-he found them, and noted carefully how far they
-had gone; he got one of them, an enterprising
-young journalist, to verify his observation, and
-it resulted in this, that the part of the lawn where
-those guilty tracks began was absolutely
-untrodden then. Next it was certain now that
-throughout the time when those tracks were
-made Trethewy had been in his house. Now,
-when the whole course of events that morning
-was considered, there could be no doubt that
-those tracks were made by some one who knew
-exactly what the situation was. Since it was
-not Trethewy, it lay between Sergeant Speke,
-myself, Callaghan and Vane-Cartwright.
-Sergeant Speke and I could easily give account of
-our time that day, but I think I mentioned that
-there had arisen some doubt as to where
-Callaghan had been just at the critical hour. It
-was explained now; Callaghan had been too far
-away; just at that time he had gone again to
-the hotel, moved by one of his restless impulses
-to try and spy upon Thalberg. It lay then
-beyond doubt that the tracks were made by
-Vane-Cartwright, and it was beyond doubt why
-he made them.</p>
-
-<p>But the case did not rest there. The front
-door of Grenvile Combe had been bolted on the
-inside that night, before Peters died.
-Presumably Peters did it; anyway Vane-Cartwright and
-Callaghan, as they had said next morning, found
-it bolted when they came down disturbed by the
-noise, and themselves bolted it again; and Peters
-was then living, for they heard him in his room.
-The other doors had been bolted in like manner
-by the servants. Every window but two had
-also been latched. The doors had remained
-bolted till the servants were about in the
-morning, when Peters must have been some hours
-dead. The fastened windows were still fastened
-when we came to the house (a window in the
-back servants’ quarters had been open for a
-short while in the morning, but the servants
-had been about all the time), for the constable,
-before he obeyed the Sergeant and began his
-search outside, had been in every room and
-noticed every fastening. The two exceptions
-were Vane-Cartwright’s own open window,
-which did not matter, and the little window at
-the back, already named as a possible means of
-entrance. Careful experiment had now been
-made (Callaghan had long ago suggested it),
-and it showed that, whoever could climb to that
-window, only an infant could pass through it.
-No one then had entered the house by night, or,
-if he had previously entered it, had escaped
-by night; and it was also certain that no one
-could have lurked there concealed in the
-morning. Therefore, Peters was murdered by an
-inmate of the house, by the housemaid, or by the
-cook, or by Vane-Cartwright, or by Callaghan.
-Now the housemaid and the cook had passed a
-wakeful night; the disturbance in the road had
-aroused them and left them agitated and alarmed;
-each was therefore able to swear that the other
-had remained all night in the bedroom which
-they shared. Therefore, Peters was murdered
-either by Vane-Cartwright or by Callaghan.</p>
-
-<p>And why not, it might be asked, by Callaghan,
-against whom at one time such good grounds
-of suspicion were to be found? The reader
-must by this time have seen that the eccentric
-and desultory proceedings of Callaghan, even
-his strange whim of staying in that
-crime-stricken house and the silly talk with which he
-had put me off about his aim, had, as he once
-boasted to me, a method, which though odd and
-over-ingenious, was rational and very acute.
-The neglected memorandum he had made for
-the police was enough in itself (without his
-frankness under cross-examination) to set his
-proceedings since the murder in a clear light.
-Callaghan, moreover, was the life-long friend of
-Peters. True it was that (as the defence scented
-out) he had owed Peters £2,000, and Peters’ will
-forgave the debt. True, but it was now proved
-no less true, that since that will was made the
-debt had been paid, and paid in a significant
-manner. Callaghan had first remitted to Peters
-£500 from India. Peters, thereupon, had sent
-Callaghan an acquittance of the whole debt.
-Callaghan’s response was an immediate payment
-of £250 more. And the balance, £1,250, had
-been paid a very few days before Peters was
-killed. This was what an ill-inspired
-cross-examination revealed, and if the guilt lay
-between Vane-Cartwright and Callaghan, there
-could be no doubt which was the criminal.</p>
-
-<p>So Callaghan and I had gone through tangled
-enquiries and at least some perilous adventures
-to solve a puzzle of which the solution lay all
-the while at our feet, and at the feet of others.</p>
-
-<p>It would be melancholy now to dwell on the
-daring and brilliance of the defence. No
-witness was called for it. It opened with a truly
-impressive treatment of Vane-Cartwright’s
-confession; and the broken state of his
-temperament, originally sensitive and now harassed by
-suspicion and persecution, was described with
-a tenderness of which the speaker might have
-seemed incapable, and which called forth for the
-hard man in the dock a transient glow of
-human sympathy. Every other part of his
-conduct, so far as it was admitted, was made
-the subject of an explanation, by itself plausible.
-But little was admitted. Every separate item
-of the evidence was made the subject of a doubt,
-by itself reasonable. If a witness had been
-called to tell some very plain matter of fact, that
-kind of plain fact under one’s eyes was
-notoriously the sort of thing about which the most
-careless mistakes were made. If a witness had
-had a longer tale to tell he had revealed some
-poisonous pre-possession. I, for example, a
-most deleterious type of cleric, had, besides a
-prejudice against unorthodox Vane-Cartwright,
-an animus to defend Trethewy, arising from
-that sickly sentiment towards Miss Trethewy
-which I betrayed when I fled to her from my
-ailing family at Florence. In Trethewy’s case
-again there had been a confession of a very
-different order; and the suggestion was
-dexterously worked that something still lay concealed
-behind Trethewy’s story. Withal the vastness
-of the region of possibility was exhibited with
-vigorous appeals to the imagination. Strong
-in every part, the defence as a whole was bound
-to be weak; the fatality which made so many
-lies and blunders work together for evil was
-beyond belief; the conduct which needed so
-much psychology to defend it was indefensible.</p>
-
-<p>So the verdict was given and the sentence
-was passed.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="chapter" id="ch23">
-
-<h2>Chapter XXIII</h2>
-
-<p>Once again I saw William Vane-Cartwright.
-At his own request I was summoned to visit
-him in the gaol. It was not the interview of
-penitent and confessor; none the less I am
-bound to silence about it, even though my
-silence may involve the suppression of
-something which tells in his favour. One thing I
-may and must say. Part of his object in
-sending for me was to make me his agent in several
-acts of kindness.</p>
-
-<p>As I look back, I often ask myself: Was
-there indeed no truth, beyond what we knew,
-in the tale that this man told to Callaghan and
-me, and which was skilfully woven to accord
-as far as possible with many things which we
-might have and had in fact discovered. In
-point of vital facts it was certainly false. I
-could now disprove every syllable of that love
-story; his acquaintance with Miss Denison was
-only a few months old; she had never known
-Peters; and the letter that he showed us was a
-forgery of course. I happen, moreover, too late
-for any useful purpose, to have met several
-people who knew Longhurst well; all agree that
-he was rough and uncompanionable, all that he
-was strictly honest and touchingly kind; all testify
-that in his later days he was a total abstainer.</p>
-
-<p>Yet, in the face of this, I believe that
-Vane-Cartwright described fairly, as well as with
-insight, the influences which in boyhood and early
-manhood told so disastrously upon him. I now
-know, as it happens, a good deal about his
-parents, for one of my present neighbours was a
-family friend of theirs. They were a gifted but
-eccentric couple, with more “principles” than
-any two heads can safely hold. Little as I like
-their beliefs, I cannot but suspect that their
-home life was governed by a conscientiousness
-and a tender affection for their child, from
-which, if he had wished to be guided right,
-some light must have fallen on his path. Yet
-without doubt their training was as bad a
-preparation as could be for what he was to
-undergo. He lost his fortune early, and was exiled
-to a settlement in the East which, by all
-accounts, was not a school of Christian chivalry.
-Almost everything in his surroundings there
-jarred upon his sensibility which on the æsthetic
-side was more than commonly keen. Dozens
-of English lads pass through just such trials
-unshaken, some even unspotted, but they have
-been far otherwise nurtured than he. Peters
-too had an influence upon his youth. I, who
-knew Peters so well, know that he cannot have
-done the spiteful things which Vane-Cartwright
-said, but I do not doubt for one moment that
-he did repel his young associate when he need
-not have done so. Peters was young too, and
-may well be forgiven, but I can imagine that
-by that chill touch he sped his comrade on the
-downward course which chanced to involve his
-own murder.</p>
-
-<p>Altogether it is easy enough to form some
-image, not merely monstrous, of the way in
-which that character formed itself out of its
-surroundings; to understand how the poor lad
-became more and more centred in himself; to
-praise him just in so far as that concentration
-was strength; to note where that strength lay,
-in the one virtue which in fact he had claimed as
-his own, in the unflinching avowal to himself of
-the motive by which he meant to live.</p>
-
-<p>That motive, a calculated resolve to be
-wealthy, to become detached in outward fact
-as he was already in feeling from the sort of
-people and the sort of surroundings amid which
-his present lot was cast, had already been
-formed when the partnership with Longhurst
-offered him his opportunity. One may well
-believe him that the three years of that
-partnership cost him much. His one companion was
-a man whom, I take it, he was incapable of
-liking, and his position at first was one of
-subjection to him. He had lied to us much about
-Longhurst, but I fancy that he had spoken
-of him with genuine, however unjust, dislike.
-What particular fraud he played upon him, or
-whether it was, strictly speaking, a fraud at all,
-I do not know. But no doubt he was by nature
-mean (though ready enough to spend money),
-and he was probably more mean when his
-strength was not full fledged and his nascent
-sense of power found its readiest enjoyment in
-tricks. Assuredly he intended from the first
-to use the partnership as much as possible for
-himself and as little as possible for his partner.
-I am told that this is in itself a perilous attitude
-from a legal point of view, and that it is, in
-many relations of life, harder than laymen think
-to keep quite out of reach of the law by any
-less painful course than that of positive honesty.
-Let us suppose that he did only the sort of
-thing which his own confession implied,
-obtaining for himself alone the renewal of concessions
-originally made to his firm. Even so, I
-understand, he may have found himself in this
-position, that Longhurst would have been entitled
-to his share (the half or perhaps much more,
-according to the terms of partnership) of
-extremely valuable assets upon which
-Vane-Cartwright had counted as his own. Moreover,
-that possibly stupid man would have had his
-voice about the vital question of how and when
-to sell this property.</p>
-
-<p>Even if this was all, it still meant that the
-hope upon which Vane-Cartwright had set
-his soul, the hope not of a competence but of
-eminent wealth, was about to slip away, and to
-slip away perhaps irretrievably. For, as I
-have lately learnt, he was then ill, could not
-remain in that climate, would not, if he fell down
-the ladder, be able to start again, with more
-money and more experience, where he had
-started three years before. In the choice
-which then arose he was not the man to set
-his personal safety in the scales against his
-ambition. And so the incredible deed was
-done, and fortune favoured the murderer with
-the report that his victim had been lost in a
-wrecked ship (possibly even he had met with
-that report before he killed him).
-Henceforward, watchful as he had to be for a while, the
-chief burden which his guilt laid upon him was
-that of bearing himself with indifference.</p>
-
-<p>Thirteen years had passed, years of
-unvarying success. The watchfulness was now seldom
-needed, and the indifference had become a pose.
-And so at last, on his first evening at Grenvile
-Combe, he fell talking in his wonted way of
-Longhurst, and gave that false account of his
-end to one of the only two living men with
-whom it behoved him to take care. Instantly
-the spectre of his crime, which he thought had
-been laid, confronted him, and confronted him,
-as some recollection warned him, with the real
-peril of public shame, perhaps conviction and
-death. Instantly too there arose, as if to his
-aid, not as yet the full strength of his intellect
-and courage, but the ingrained, dormant spirit of
-crime. If he had only said to Peters, “He sailed
-in the <i>Eleanor</i> with me. I killed him. I will
-tell you all about it,” I have not a shadow of a
-doubt that his confession would have been kept
-inviolate. Only there were trials from which
-even his nerve recoiled, and plain facts of human
-nature which his acuteness never saw. So the
-same deed was done again in quiet reliance upon
-that wonderful luck which this time also had
-provided him with a screen against suspicion,
-and this time also seemed to require nothing of
-him after the act was accomplished except to
-bear himself carelessly. Indeed, though he
-began to bear himself carelessly too soon—for
-he trusted characteristically that Peters had this
-night followed the practice of opening the
-window, which he was oddly fond of preaching,
-and he left the room without troubling to look
-behind the curtain—his confidence seemed
-justified. There was nothing in the room or in the
-house, nothing under the wide vault of that
-starlit sky that was destined to tell the tale.</p>
-
-<p>Morning brought to his eyes, though not yet
-to his comprehension, the presence of a huge
-calamity, for the ground was white with snow in
-which, if Trethewy had come through it, his
-tracks would still be seen. Soon he heard that
-Trethewy had in fact come home when the
-snow lay there. Then at last his whole mind
-rose to the full height of the occasion, to a height
-of composure and energy from which in all his
-later doings he never declined far. I have an
-unbounded hatred for that prevalent worship of
-strong men which seems to me to be born of
-craven fear. Yet it extorts my most unwilling
-admiration of this man that, when safety
-depended so much upon inaction, the only action
-he took was such as at once was appallingly
-dangerous and yet was the only way to avoid an
-even greater peril.</p>
-
-<p>But strangely enough as I shut my mind
-against that haunting memory which I have
-written these pages to expel, far different traits
-and incidents from this keep longest their hold
-upon my imagination. I remember Peters not
-as he died but as he lived; and the murderer
-stands before me, as I take my leave, not in
-virtue of signal acts of crime (which I could more
-easily have forgiven) but of little acts, words,
-even tones of hardness and of concentrated
-selfishness, faintly noted in my story, rendered
-darker to me by the knowledge that he could
-be courteous and kind when it suited him. He
-stands there as the type to me, not of that rare
-being the splendid criminal, but of the man
-who in the old phrase is “without bowels”.
-And men (on whose souls also may God have
-mercy) are not rare among us, who, without his
-intellect or his daring, are as hard as he, but for
-whom, through circumstances—not uncommon
-and I do not call them fortunate—the path of
-consistent selfishness does not diverge from the
-path of a respectable life.</p>
-
-<p>Strangely too, one of those lesser acts of
-unkindness was needed to bring about his downfall.
-If I had never seen him at Florence, the spark
-of my baffled ire would not have been rekindled,
-nor could I have met Trethewy’s family till they
-had gone beyond the seas. And I should never
-have seen him at Florence but that my wife,
-who did not know his name, recalled upon seeing
-him that little delinquency at Crema of which
-she and I can think no longer with any personal
-spleen. It seems as if he might have murdered
-his partner and murdered his host with cruel
-deliberation and gone unpunished; but since one
-day without a second thought he refused a
-common courtesy to a suffering woman and a
-harassed girl, he had set in motion the cunning
-machinery of fate, and it came to pass in the
-end that the red hand of the law seized him and
-dealt to him the doom which the reader has long
-foreseen.</p>
-
-<hr>
-
-<p>Let some surviving characters of this story
-briefly bid farewell. For my wife and me, we
-are settled in our country rectory, so near in
-distance to London and in effect so far off; and,
-if the now delightful labours of my calling seem
-to me not more unsuccessful than perhaps they
-should always seem to the labourer, I like to
-think it means that what Eustace Peters,
-half-unknowing, did for me abides.</p>
-
-<p>Callaghan was our guest not two months ago,
-a welcome guest to us, and even more to our
-children. He talked alternately of a project of
-land reclamation on the Wash and of an
-immediate departure for the East in search of a clue to
-the questions left unsolved in these pages. He
-has since departed from this country, not, I
-believe, for the East, but neither we nor any of his
-friends know where he is, or doubt that wherever
-he is, he can take care of himself and will hurt
-no other creature. Mr. Thalberg continues his
-law business in the City, though the business
-has changed in character. I bear him no ill-will,
-and yet am sorry to be told that (while the
-disclosures in the trial lost him several old clients,
-as well as his clerk, Mr. Manson) on the whole
-his business has grown. Trethewy is now our
-gardener. His daughter is a board-school
-mistress in London. I hope he will long remain
-with us, for I now like him as a man but could
-not lay it upon my conscience to recommend
-him as a gardener. Peters’ nephews, unseen by
-the reader, have hovered close in the background
-of my tale. Both have distinguished themselves
-in India. Yesterday I married the elder to
-Miss Denison, on whom, I hope, the reader
-has bestowed a thought. In the other, who
-is engaged to my eldest daughter, his uncle’s
-peculiar gifts repeat themselves more markedly
-and with greater promise of practical
-achievement.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
-
-<div class="section" id="transcriber">
-
-<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2>
-
-<p>This transcription follows the text of the first edition published
-by Longmans, Green, and Co. in 1906. One passage, however, has been
-altered, namely the passage in Chapter XVIII that reads: “which I
-thought was not that which Vane-Cartwright had carried”. This passage
-has been replaced with the corresponding passage in the 1928 reprint
-by the Dial Press in New York, so as to read: “which I thought was
-not <i>unlike</i> that which Vane-Cartwright had carried”.</p>
-
-<p>All other seeming errors or inconsistencies in the text have been
-left unchanged.</p>
-
-<p>The cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public
-domain. (The image background is a detail taken from <i>Throwing
-Snowballs</i>, a painting created by Gerhard Munthe in 1885.)</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73711 ***</div>
-</body>
-</html>
-
+<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title>Tracks in the Snow</title> +<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> +<style> +body { + margin: 1em auto; + max-width: 40em; +} +p { + margin: 0; + text-indent: 1.5em; + text-align: justify; +} +hr { + width: 40%; + margin: 1em 30%; +} +h1 { + margin: 2em 0; + text-align: center; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +h2 { + margin-top: 2em; + text-align: center; +} +h2 + p { text-indent: 0; } +figure { text-align: center; } +img { max-width: 95%; } +.sc { + font-variant: small-caps; + text-transform: lowercase; +} +#dedication { padding: 50% 0; } +.subtitle0 { + font-style: oblique; + margin: 1em auto; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.subtitle1 { + font-size: large; + font-style: oblique; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.subtitle2 { + margin-top: 1em; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.authorprefix { + font-style: italic; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin: 1em 0; +} +.author { + font-size: x-large; + font-weight: bold; + margin-bottom: 4em; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.publisher1 { + letter-spacing: 0.1em; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.publisher { + font-size: small; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.chapterlist { + display: table; + font-variant: small-caps; + list-style: none; + margin: 1em auto; +} +.dedicationprefix { + font-size: small; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.dedication { + font-size: large; + margin: 1em auto 4em auto; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +div.chapter { page-break-before: always; } +div.section { page-break-before: always; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73711 ***</div> + +<figure> + <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover"> +</figure> + +<div class="section" id="titlepage"> + +<h1>Tracks in the Snow</h1> +<p class="subtitle0">Being</p> +<p class="subtitle1">the History of a Crime</p> +<p class="subtitle2">Edited from the MS. of the Rev. Robert Driver, B.D.</p> +<p class="authorprefix">by</p> +<p class="author">Godfrey R. Benson</p> + +<p class="publisher1">Longmans, Green, and Co.</p> +<p class="publisher">39 Paternoster Row, London</p> +<p class="publisher">New York and Bombay</p> +<p class="publisher">1906</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="contents"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<ul class="chapterlist"> +<li><a href="#ch01">Chapter I</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch02">Chapter II</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch03">Chapter III</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch04">Chapter IV</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch05">Chapter V</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch06">Chapter VI</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch07">Chapter VII</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch08">Chapter VIII</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch09">Chapter IX</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch10">Chapter X</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch11">Chapter XI</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch12">Chapter XII</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch13">Chapter XIII</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch14">Chapter XIV</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch15">Chapter XV</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch16">Chapter XVI</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch17">Chapter XVII</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch18">Chapter XVIII</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch19">Chapter XIX</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch20">Chapter XX</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch21">Chapter XXI</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch22">Chapter XXII</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch23">Chapter XXIII</a></li> +</ul> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="dedication"> + +<p class="dedicationprefix">Ad</p> +<p class="dedication">Dorotheam</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch01"> + +<h2>Chapter I</h2> + +<p>On the morning of the 29th of January, 1896, +Eustace Peters was found murdered in his bed +at his house, Grenvile Combe, in the parish of +Long Wilton, of which I was then rector.</p> + +<p>Much mystery attached to the circumstances +of his death. It was into my hands that chance +threw the clue to this mystery, and it is for me, +if for any one, to relate the facts.</p> + +<p>To the main fact of all, the death of my own +friend on the eve, as I sometimes fancy, of a +fuller blossoming of his powers, my writing +cannot give the tragic import due to it, for +it touched my own life too nearly. I had +come—I speak of myself, for they tell me a +narrator must not thrust himself quite into the +background—I had come to Long Wilton, +three years before, from a college tutorship at +Oxford, to occupy the rectory till, as happened +not long after, the son of the patron became +qualified to hold it. Country-bred, fond of +country people and of country pastimes, I had +not imagined, when I came, either the +difficulties of a country parson’s task or the false +air of sordidness which those difficulties would +at first wear to me; still less was I prepared +for the loneliness which at first befell me in a +place where, though many of my neighbours +were wise men and good men, none ever +showed intellectual interests or talked with +any readiness of high things. The comradeship +of Peters, who settled there a few months +after me, did more than to put an end to my +loneliness; by shrewd, casual remarks, which +were always blunt and unexpected but never +seemed intrusive or even bore the semblance +of advice, he had, without dreaming of it—for +he cared very little about the things of the +Church—shown me the core of most of my +parish difficulties and therewith the way to deal +with them. So it was that with my growing +affection for the man there was mingled an +excessive feeling of mental dependence upon him. +So it was that upon that January morning +a great blank entered into my life. Matters +full of interest, in my pursuits of the weeks and +months that went before, are gone from my +memory like dreams. My whole sojourn at +Long Wilton, important as it was to me, is a +thing dimly remembered, like a page of some +other man’s biography. Even as I call to +mind that actual morning I cannot think of +the immediate horror, only of the blank that +succeeded and remains. I believe that no one, +upon whom any like loss has come suddenly, +will wonder if I take up my tale in a dry-eyed +fashion. I can use no other art in telling it +but that of letting the facts become known as +strictly as may be in the order in which they +became known to me.</p> + +<p>Eustace Peters, then, was a retired official +of the Consular Service, and a man of varied +culture and experience—too much varied, I +may say. He had been at Oxford shortly +before my time. I gathered from the school +prizes on his library shelves that he went there +with considerable promise; but he left without +taking his degree or accomplishing anything +definite except rowing in his college Eight (a +distinction of which I knew not from his lips +but from his rather curious wardrobe). He +had learnt, I should say, unusually little from +Oxford, except its distinctive shyness, and had, +characteristically, begun the studies of his later +years in surroundings less conducive to study. +He left Oxford upon getting some appointment +in the East. Whether this first appointment +was in a business house or in the Consular +Service, where exactly it had been and what +were the later stages of his career, I cannot +tell, for he talked very little of himself. +Evidently, however, his Eastern life had been full +of interest for him, and he had found unusual +enjoyment in mingling with and observing the +strange types of European character which he +met among his fellow-exiles, if I may so call +them. He had ultimately left the Consular +Service through illness or some disappointment, +or both. About that time an aunt of his died +and left him the house, Grenvile Combe, at +Long Wilton, in which a good deal of his +boyhood had been spent. He came there, as +I have said, soon after my own arrival, and +stayed on, not, as it seemed to me, from any +settled plan. There he passed much of his +time in long country rambles (he had been, I +believe, a keen sportsman, and had now become +a keen naturalist), much of it in various studies, +chiefly philosophic or psychological. He was +writing a book on certain questions of +psychology, or, perhaps I should say, preparing to +write it, for the book did not seem to me to +progress. My wife and I were convinced that +he had a love story, but we gathered no hint +of what it may have been. He was forty-three +when he died.</p> + +<p>This is, I think, all that I need now set down +as to the personality of the murdered man. +But I cannot forbear to add that, while his +interrupted career and his somewhat desultory +pursuits appeared inadequate to the reputation +which he had somehow gained for ability, he +certainly gave me the impression of preserving +an uncompromisingly high standard, a keenly if +fitfully penetrating mind and a latent capacity +for decisive action. As I write these words it +occurs to me that he would be living now if this +impression of mine had not been shared by a +much cleverer man than I.</p> + +<p>On the 28th my wife was away from home, +and I had supper at Grenvile Combe, going +there about seven o’clock. There were three +other guests at supper, James Callaghan, +C.I.E., William Vane-Cartwright, and one +Melchior Thalberg. Callaghan was an old +school-fellow of Peters, and the two, though for +years they must have seen each other seldom, +appeared to have always kept up some sort of +friendship. I knew Callaghan well by this time, +for he had been staying three weeks at Grenvile +Combe, and he was easy to know, or rather +easy to get on with. I should say that I liked +the man, but that I am seldom sure whether I +like an Irishman, and that my wife, a far shrewder +judge than I, could not bear him. He was a +great, big-chested Irishman, of the fair-haired, +fresh-coloured type, with light blue eyes. A +weather-worn and battered countenance +(contrasting with the youthful erectness and agility +of his figure), close-cut whiskers and a heavy +greyish moustache, a great scar across one +cheek-bone and a massive jaw, gave him at +first a formidable appearance. The next +moment this might seem to be belied by something +mobile about his mouth and the softness of his +full voice; but still he bore the aspect of a man +prone to physical violence. He was plausible; +very friendly (was it, one asked, a peculiarly +loyal sort of friendliness or just the reverse); a +copious talker by fits and starts, with a great +wealth of picturesque observation—or invention. +Like most of my Irish acquaintance he kept one +in doubt whether he would take an exceptionally +high or an exceptionally low view of any matter; +unlike, as I think, most Irishmen, he was the +possessor of real imaginative power. He had +(as I gathered from his abundant anecdotes) +been at one time in the Army and later in the +Indian Civil Service. In that service he seemed +to have been concerned with the suppression of +crime, and to have been lately upon the +North-West Frontier. He was, as I then thought, at +home on leave, but, as I have since learned, he +had retired. Some notable exploit or escapade +of his had procured him the decoration which +he wore on every suitable and many unsuitable +occasions, but it had also convinced superior +authorities that he must on the first opportunity +be shelved.</p> + +<p>Vane-Cartwright, with nothing so distinctive +in his appearance, was obviously a more +remarkable man. Something indescribable about him +would, I think, if I had heard nothing of him, +have made me pick him out as a man of much +quiet power. He was in the City, a merchant +(whatever that large term may mean) who +had formerly had something to do with the far +East, and now had considerable dealings with +Italy. He had acquired, I knew, quickly but +with no whisper of dishonour, very great wealth; +and he was about, as I gathered from some +remark of Peters, to marry a very charming +young lady, Miss Denison, who was then +absent on the Riviera. He had about a fortnight +before come down to the new hotel in our +village for golf, and had then accidentally met +Peters who was walking with me. I understood +that he had been a little junior to Peters at +Oxford, and had since been acquainted with +him somewhere in the East. Peters had asked +him to dinner at his house, where Callaghan +was already staying. I had heard Peters tell +him that if he came to those parts again he +must stay with him. I had not noted the +answer, but was not surprised afterwards to find +that Vane-Cartwright, who had returned to +London the day after I first met him, had since +come back rather suddenly, and this time to +stay with Peters. He now struck me as a +cultured man, very different from Peters in +all else but resembling him in the curious +range and variety of his knowledge, reserved +and as a rule silent but incisive when he did +speak.</p> + +<p>Thalberg, though not the most interesting of +the company, contributed, as a matter of fact, +the most to my enjoyment on that occasion. I +tried hard some days later to recall my +impressions of that evening, of which every petty +incident should by rights have been engraven on my +memory, but the recollection, which, so to speak, +put all the rest out, was that of songs by +Schubert and Schumann which Thalberg sang. I +drew him out afterwards on the subject of music, +on which he had much to tell me, while +Vane-Cartwright and our host were, I think, talking +together, and Callaghan appeared to be dozing. +Thalberg was of course a German by family, but +he talked English as if he had been in +England from childhood. He belonged to that race +of fair, square-bearded and square-foreheaded +German business men, who look so much alike +to us, only he was smaller and looked more +insignificant than most of them, his eyes were +rather near together, and he did not wear the +spectacles of his nation. He told me that he +was staying at the hotel, for golf he seemed to +imply. He too was something in the City, and +I remember having for some reason puzzled +myself as to how Vane-Cartwright regarded +him.</p> + +<p>I must at this point add some account of the +other persons who were in or about Peters’ +house. There were two female servants in the +house; an elderly cook and housekeeper, Mrs. +Travers, who was sharp-visaged and +sharp-tongued, but who made Peters very comfortable, +and a housemaid, Edith Summers, a plain, +strong and rather lumpish country girl, who +was both younger and more intelligent than she +looked. It subsequently appeared that these +two were in the house the whole evening and +night, and, for all that can be known, asleep all +night in the servants’ quarters, which formed an +annex to the house connected with it by a short +covered way. In a cottage near the gate into +the lane lived a far more notable person, Reuben +Trethewy, the gardener and doer of odd jobs, +a short, sturdy, grizzled man, of severe +countenance, not over clean. Peters was much attached +to him for his multifarious knowledge and skill. +He had been a seaman at some time, had been, +it seemed, all sorts of things in all sorts of places, +and was emphatically a handy man. He was +as his name implies a Cornishman, and had +come quite recently to our neighbourhood, to +which in the course of a roving existence he +was attracted by the neighbourhood of his uncle, +Silas Trethewy, a farmer who lived some three +miles off. He was now a man of Methodistical +professions, and most days, to do him justice, of +Methodistical practice; but I, who was perhaps +prejudiced against him by his hostility to the +Church, believed him to be subject to bitter and +sullen moods, knew that he was given to +outbursts of drinking, and heard from his +neighbours that drink took him in a curious way, +affecting neither his gait, nor his head, nor his +voice, nor his wits, but giving him a touch of +fierceness which made men glad to keep out of +his way. With him lived his wife and +daughter. The wife was, I thought, a decent woman, +who kept her house straight and who came to +church; but I had then no decided impression +about her, though she had for some time taught +in my Sunday school, and had once or twice +favoured me with a long letter giving her views +about it. The daughter was a slight, +childish-looking girl, whom I knew well, because she +was about to become a pupil teacher, and who +was a most unlikely person to play a part in a +story of this kind.</p> + +<p>Our party that evening broke up when, about +ten o’clock, I rose to go; and Thalberg, whose +best way to the hotel lay through the village, +accompanied me as far as the Rectory, which +was a quarter of a mile off and was the nearest +house in the village. We walked together +talking of German poetry and what not, and +I cannot forget the disagreeable sense which +came upon me in the course of our talk, that a +layer of stupidity or of hard materialism, or +both, underlay the upper crust of culture which +I had seemed to find in the man when we had +spoken of music. However, we parted good +friends at the Rectory gate, and I was just going +in when I recollected some question about the +character of a candidate for Confirmation, on +which I had meant to have spoken to Peters +that night. I returned to his house and found +him still in his library. The two guests who +were staying in the house had already gone to +bed. I got the information and advice which +I had wanted—it was about a wild but rather +attractive young fellow who had once looked +after a horse which Peters had kept, but who +was now a groom in the largest private stables +in the neighbourhood. As I was leaving, Peters +took up some books, saying that he was going to +read in bed. He stood with me for a moment +at the front door looking at the frosty starlight. +It was a clear but bitterly cold night. I well +remember telling him as we stood there that he +must expect to be disturbed by unusual noises +that night, as a great jollification was taking +place at the inn up the road, and my parishioners, +who realised the prelate’s aspiration for a free +rather than a sober England, would return past +his house in various stages of riotous +exhilaration. He said that he had more sympathy with +them than he ought to have, and that in any +case they should not disturb him. Very likely, +he added, he would soon be asleep past rousing.</p> + +<p>And so, about a quarter to eleven, I parted +from him, little dreaming that no friendly eyes +would ever meet his again.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch02"> + +<h2>Chapter II</h2> + +<p>I was up early on the 29th. Snow lay thick on +the ground but had ceased falling, and it was +freezing hard, when, while waiting for breakfast, +I walked out as far as my gate on the village +street to see what the weather was like. +Suddenly Peters’ housemaid came running down +to the village on her way, as it proved, to the +police-station. Before passing she paused, and +breathlessly told me the news. I walked quickly +to Peters’ house. Several neighbours were +already gathering about the gate of the drive +but did not enter. I rang the bell, was admitted +by the housekeeper and walked straight up to +Peters’ bedroom. Callaghan and +Vane-Cartwright were there already, the former +half-dressed, unshaved and haggard-looking, the +latter a neat figure in bedroom slippers and +a dressing-gown. We had only exchanged a +few words when the police-sergeant entered, +followed a minute or two later by a tall and +pleasant-faced young constable, who brought +with him the village doctor, an ambitious, +up-to-date youth who had lately come to those parts.</p> + +<p>I have some little difficulty in saying what +I then observed; for indeed, though I looked +intently enough on the dead face and figure, +and noticed much about them that is not to my +present purpose, I took in for myself very little +that bore on that problem of detection which +has since interested me so much. I cannot now +distinguish the things which I really saw upon +hearing the others mention them from the things +which I imagine myself seeing because I knew +they were mentioned then or later. In fact I +saw chiefly with the eyes of the Sergeant, who +set about his inquiries with a quiet promptitude +that surprised me in one whom I knew only as +a burly, steady, slow-speaking, heavy member +of the force.</p> + +<p>There was little to note about the barely +furnished room which showed no traces of +disorder. On the top of some drawers on the left +of the bed-head lay a curious, old-fashioned +gold watch with the watchkey by it, a +pocket-knife, a pencil, a ring of keys and a purse, the +last containing a good deal of money. On a +small table on the other side of the bed stood a +candlestick, the candle burnt to the socket; by +it lay two closed books. Under the table near +the bed lay, as if it had fallen from the dead +man’s hand or off his bed, a book with several +leaves crumpled and torn, as if, in his first alarm, +or as he died, Peters had caught them in a +spasmodic clutch. I looked to see what it was, +merely from the natural wish to know what had +occupied my friend’s mind in his last hour. It +was Borrow’s <i>Bible in Spain</i>. When I saw the +title an indistinct recollection came to me of +some very recent mention of the book by some +one, and with it came a faint sense that it was +important I should make this recollection clear. +But either I was too much stunned as yet to +follow out the thought, or I put it aside as a +foolish trick of my brain, and the recollection, +whatever it was, is gone. The position of the +body and the arrangement of the pillows gave +no sign of any struggle having taken place. +They looked as if when he was murdered he +had been sitting up in bed to read. He could +hardly have fallen asleep so, for his head would +have found but an uncomfortable rest on the +iron bedstead. But I repeat, I did not observe +this myself, and I cannot be sure that anybody +noted it accurately at the time.</p> + +<p>The surgeon stepped quickly to the body, +slightly raised the left arm, drew aside the +already open jacket of the sleeping suit, and +silently indicated the cause of death. This was +a knife, a curious, long, narrow, sharp knife for +surgical use, which the murderer had left there, +driven home between two of his victim’s ribs. +I say “the murderer,” for the surgeon’s first +words were, “Not suicide”. I had no suspicion +of suicide, but thought that he pronounced this +judgment rather hastily, and that the Sergeant +was right when he asked him to examine the +posture of the body more closely. He did so, +still, as I thought, perfunctorily, and gave certain +reasons which did not impress either my +judgment or my memory. I was more convinced by +his remark that he had studied in Berlin and +was familiar with the appearances of suicide. I +may say at once that it appeared afterwards, at +the inquest, that there was reason to think that +Peters had not had such a knife, for he never +locked up drawers or cupboards, and his servants +knew all his few possessions well. It appeared, +too, that the owner of the knife had taken +precautions against being traced, by carefully +obliterating the maker’s name and other marks on +it with a file.</p> + +<p>In the midst of our observations in the room +a vexatious interruption happened. I have +forgotten to say that the servants had been +sent out of the room by the police-sergeant, and +that, almost immediately after, the constable +who brought the doctor had been sent down to +examine the outside of the house. For some +reason he was slow in setting about this; it is +possible that he stopped to talk to the servants, +but in any case, he went out through the kitchen, +and explored first the back of the house, where +he thought he knew of an easy way of making +an entrance. Meanwhile the neighbours, who +had collected about the gate, had been drawn +by their curiosity into the garden, and by the +time the constable had got round to the front +of the house several were wandering about the +drive and the lawn which lay between it and the +road. They had no more harmful intention +than that of gazing and gaping at the windows, +but it led to the very serious consequence that +a number of tracks had now been made in the +snow which might very possibly frustrate a +search for the traces of the criminal. This the +Sergeant now noticed from the window.</p> + +<p>As for the actual carriage-drive I was +fortunately able to remember (and it was the only +useful thing that I did observe for myself) that +when I had arrived there had been no +footmarks between the gate and the front door +except the unmistakable print of the goloshes +worn by the housemaid on her way to call the +police. But the tracks on the lawns and +elsewhere about the house might cause confusion.</p> + +<p>Upon seeing what was happening the +Sergeant asked Vane-Cartwright, Callaghan and +myself to await him in Peters’ study, while he +went out to drive away the intruders, to make +the constable keep others out and to pursue +his own investigations. While we waited +Vane-Cartwright, who had spoken little but seemed +to watch all proceedings very attentively, made +the sensible suggestion that we should look for +Peters’ will, as we ought to know who were his +executors. We consulted the housekeeper, who +pointed out the drawer in which the few papers +of importance were kept, and there we soon +found a will in a sealed envelope. The first few +lines, which were all that we read, showed me +that, as I had expected, I was Peters’ executor +along with an old friend of his whom I had +never met but who, I believed, as was the fact, +now lived in America.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant now rejoined us; he had +discovered nothing outside, and, though the tracks +of the intruders made it difficult to be certain, +he believed that there was nothing to discover; +he thought that the murderer had approached +the house before the snow began to fall, and he +found no sign that he had entered the house in +the manner of a housebreaker. He had, I must +say, taken a very short time about his search. +He wished now that the servants should be +summoned, as of course it was necessary to +make inquiries about the movements of all +persons connected with the house. But he was +here delayed by Callaghan who had matters of +importance to relate.</p> + +<p>He and Vane-Cartwright had been disturbed +during the night in a notable manner. They +had actually had an alarm of murder, and +curiously enough a false and even ludicrous alarm. +About 11.30 o’clock they had been roused by +loud shouting outside the house, amid which +Callaghan declared that he had distinguished a +cry of murder. He had come tumbling out of +his room, calling Vane-Cartwright, who slept in +the next room, and who immediately joined him +in the passage. Without waiting to call Peters, +whose room was some distance from theirs and +from the staircase by which they descended +(for there were two staircases in the main part +of the house), they went to the front door and +opened it. The flash of a bull’s-eye lantern in +the road, the policeman’s voice quietly telling +some revellers to go home and the immediate +cessation of the noise, showed them that they had +been roused by nothing more serious than the +drunken uproar which I had predicted to Peters +would disturb him. The two men had returned +to their rooms after locking the front door again; +they had noticed that the library door was open +and the lights out in that room; they had noticed +also as they went upstairs (this time by the +other staircase) light shining through the chink +under Peters’ bedroom door; and they had +heard him knock out the ashes of a pipe against +the mantelpiece. The pipe now lay on the +mantelpiece; and, of course, that particular noise +is unmistakable. They concluded that, though +he was awake and probably reading, he had not +thought the noise outside worth noticing. +Callaghan added that he himself had lain awake +some time, and that for half an hour afterwards +there had been occasionally sounds of talking +or shouting in the lane, once even a renewal of +something like the first uproar.</p> + +<p>The report subsequently received from the +constable who had been on duty along the road +that night confirmed the above, and a little +reflexion made it appear that the disturbance +outside had nothing to do with the murder. +In fact the only thing connected with this +incident which much impressed me at the time was +Callaghan’s manner in relating it. He had up +to now been very silent, he now began to talk +with furious eagerness. He readily saw and +indeed suggested that the disturbance which he +related was of little consequence. But having +to tell of it he did so with a vividness which +was characteristic of him, so that one saw +the scene as he described it, saw indeed more +than there was to see, for he spoke of the ground +already white and the snow falling in thick +flakes, when he was pulled up by the Sergeant +who said that the snow had not begun to fall till +three o’clock that morning. Callaghan began +angrily persisting, and the Sergeant appealed +to Vane-Cartwright, who up till now had said +little, merely confirming Callaghan’s narrative +at various points with a single syllable or with +a nod of his head, but who now said that +Callaghan was wrong about the snow. He added +the benevolent explanation that Callaghan, who +was really much excited, had combined the +impressions of their false alarm over night with +those of their all too real alarm in the morning.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch03"> + +<h2>Chapter III</h2> + +<p>Hereupon Callaghan, who had a more +important matter to relate, changed the subject +abruptly by saying, “Sergeant, have your eye +on that man Trethewy”. He told us that, ten +days before, Trethewy had quarrelled with his +master. Peters, he said, had met Trethewy in +the drive, at a point which he indicated, and, +noticing a smell of spirits, had firmly but quietly +taken him to task, telling him that his occasional +drinking was becoming a serious matter. +Callaghan had come up at the moment and had +heard Trethewy, who was by his account +dangerous with drink at the time, answer with surly +insolence, making some malicious counter-insinuation +against his master’s own habits, exploding +for a moment into wild anger, in which he seemed +about to strike his master, but to refrain upon +catching sight of Callaghan’s powerful frame +beside him, then subsiding again into surliness +and finally withdrawing to his own cottage with +muttered curses and a savage threat. This was +the substance of Callaghan’s statement. But +there was a great deal in it besides substance; +the whole of the conversation, from the moment +at which Callaghan came up, was professedly +repeated word for word with a slight but +dramatic touch of mimicry, and the tone and temper +of master and man were vividly rendered. I +can never myself remember the words of any +conversation, and for that reason I am unable +now to set out Callaghan’s narrative, and was +unable at the time to put faith in its accuracy. +Here and there a phrase was presumably truly +given because it was given in Trethewy’s own +dialect, but once at least the unhappy Trethewy +was made responsible for a remark which he +surely never made, for it was pure Irish, and +indeed I think it was the very threat of +picturesque vengeance which I had myself heard +Callaghan address to a big boy in the street +who was on the point of thrashing a little boy. +One detail of the description was a manifest +mistake. Callaghan indicated (truly, I have +some reason to think) the spot in the drive +where such altercation as did happen took place, +but he added that Peters stood watching +Trethewy with his hand upon a young tree. Now +Peters had planted that tree with Trethewy +several days later, just before the frost set in; +and other details in the story seemed equally +incredible. “Ever since then,” concluded +Callaghan, “I have seen murder in that fellow’s +eye. Mind you, I have had to do with murderers +in India. Three times have I marked that look +in a man’s eye, and each time the event has +proved me right, though in one case it was long +after. I tell you this man Trethewy——” But +here Vane-Cartwright stopped him. He had +already disconcerted Callaghan a little by +pointing out the Hibernicisms that adorned the +alleged remarks of Trethewy; and now he quelled +him with the just, but, as I thought, unseasonably +expressed, sarcasm, that if he had seen murder +portended in Trethewy’s glance it would have +been a kind attention to have given his host +warning of the impending doom. He went on +to insist warmly on the totally different +impression he had himself gathered from Trethewy’s +demeanour to his master. He was not apt to +say more than was needed, but this time he ran +on, setting forth his own favourable view of +Trethewy, till he in turn was stopped by the +Sergeant who said, “Really, sir, I do not think +I ought to listen now to what any gentleman +thinks of a man’s manner of speaking, not if it is +nothing more than that”.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant then sent for Trethewy. I +had wondered that we had not seen him before, +the explanation was that he had been away at +night, had returned home very late, and so had +come late to the house in the morning and +was still doing the pumping when the Sergeant +sent for him. However, he seemed at last to +have slept off the effect of whatever his +nocturnal potion had been, and he gave a clear +account of his movements without hesitation +and with a curiously impressive gravity. He +had suddenly made up his mind at dusk on the +previous evening to go to his uncle’s house, +where there was a gathering of friends and +kinsfolk, which he had at first intended to +avoid. They had made a night of it. He +had started home, as several, whom he named, +could testify, at four o’clock in the morning +(the church clock near his uncle’s was then +striking), and the violence of the snowstorm +was abating. He had come across the moor +by a track of which he knew the bearings well. +This track struck into the grass lane which +passed near the back of the house at the other +side of the pasture, and which curved round into +the road joining it close by Trethewy’s cottage. +As he came along the lane a man on horseback +leading a second horse had overtaken him and +exchanged greetings with him. He had seen +the man before, but could not tell his name or +dwelling or where he was going. The snow +had done falling when he reached his cottage. +Once home, he had turned in and slept sound +till he was roused soon after eight by his wife +with the news of the murder. He had seen +nothing, heard nothing, guessed nothing which +could throw light on the dreadful deed of the +night. Trethewy was dismissed with a +request from the Sergeant to keep in his house, +where he could instantly be found if +information was wanted from him. This he did.</p> + +<p>The two servants were now summoned, and +the Sergeant had a number of questions to ask +them. The housekeeper in particular had a +good deal to say about her master’s ways, +the household arrangements and so forth, and +seemed to find satisfaction in saying it at +length. So a lot of trivial details came forth, +which I, who was by this time becoming +exhausted, had little patience to follow. Was the +candle which was found burnt out a new candle +the evening before, or a candle-end, or what? +The question was asked of the housekeeper, but +the housemaid answered with promptitude that +it was a full new candle which she had herself +put there last evening, shortly before the master +went to bed. We learnt also that Peters was +very irregular about going to bed; sometimes +he would take a fit of sitting up, working or +reading, night after night, and sometimes he +would go to bed early, but always he had a +book with him and lay awake for a while +(often for hours and hours, as he had confessed +to her) reading it after he went to bed. +Sometimes it would be a story book, but more often +one of those dull books of his; and much more +on the same subject would have been +forthcoming if the housekeeper had not at last been +stopped, without, as I thought, having told us +anything of importance.</p> + +<p>At last I went home, to find the churchwarden +irate at my lateness for an appointed +interview about the accounts of the dole +charities, and to have a forgotten but +much-needed breakfast pressed upon me. I would +rather have been alone, but Callaghan gave me +his company as far as my house, and expounded +his view about Trethewy all the way. He left +me at my door to go in search of Thalberg, +whom up to that moment we had all forgotten.</p> + +<p>In about three-quarters of an hour Callaghan +burst in on me. Where he had breakfasted, +if at all, I neglected to ascertain, but he had +contrived to get shaved at the village barber’s, +and he now looked fresh and seemed keen. +He was this time in a state of great +indignation against Thalberg. He had been unable +to see him, but had ascertained that he was +still at the hotel, and that he had heard the +news of Peters’ murder, but had seemed little +interested in it, and had rejected the landlady’s +suggestion that he might like to go up to the +house to learn the last news of his unhappy +friend. It appeared that Thalberg had shut +himself up in his room ever since, but had +ordered a fly to drive him to the afternoon +train at the station five miles off. The landlady +and Callaghan seemed to have agreed that there +was something peculiarly heartless in his +omission to call at Peters’ or to make any inquiries.</p> + +<p>Callaghan soon left me, returning, as I thought, +to Grenvile Combe, while I endeavoured to +settle myself to prepare my sermon for the next +day, Sunday, with a mind hardly indeed awake +as yet to the horror of the morning or to the +loss I had sustained, much less able in any +connected way to think over the meaning of +our observations, but mechanically asking over +and over again whether it was reasonable that +my now confirmed aversion from Thalberg was +somehow associated in my mind with the object +of our investigations.</p> + +<p>I say “our” investigations; as a matter of +fact I had no intention whatever at that time +of busying myself with investigation at all. In +the first place I was quite aware that I had no +aptitude for such work, and in the second, and +far more important place, I, who hold it most +undesirable that a clergyman should be a +magistrate, could not but feel it still less fitting that +he should be a detective in his own parish. +But I could not escape altogether. About +2.45 I received a visit from the Sergeant, a +much-embarrassed man now, for he brought +with him the Superintendent, who had driven +over in hot haste to take charge of the inquiry. +The Sergeant had zealously endeavoured to rise +to the occasion, and to my unpractised judgment +seemed to have shown much sense. Perhaps +his zeal did not endear him the more to the +keen, and as I guessed, ambitious gentleman +who now took over the inquiry, but any way +he had been guilty of real negligence in +allowing the snow round the house to be trampled +over by trespassers, and at this the +Superintendent, who had rapidly gathered nearly all +that the Sergeant had to tell, seemed greatly +exasperated; moreover, the Superintendent had +noticed, if the reader has not, that the +public-house had been open very late the previous +night. His present errand was to ask me to +come to the house, not because I was the +deceased man’s legal personal representative, +but because he foresaw possible explorations +in which my topographical knowledge of my +large and scattered parish might be of use.</p> + +<p>We returned to Grenvile Combe, and the +Superintendent went straight to the +death-chamber where he remained some minutes with +the Sergeant and me, taking note with much +minuteness and astonishing rapidity of all the +details which I have already mentioned. +Suddenly he opened the door and called up the +housemaid; she arrived at length, the housekeeper, who +fetched her, being refused admittance. “Why,” +said the Superintendent pointing to the window, +“is that window latch unfastened and the other +fastened?” The housemaid said shyly but quite +decidedly that she did not know, but this she +did know, that both had been fastened by her +last night, that one of the few matters in which +her master showed any fussiness was insisting +that a window should be latched whenever it +was shut, and that he never neglected this +himself. Why had the Sergeant not noticed this in +the morning? Poor Sergeant Speke, already +crestfallen, had no answer; at least he made +none. Our stay in the room was short. The +Superintendent, I believe, returned there that +evening and spent an hour or two in searching +microscopically for traces of the criminal; but +now he was in haste to search the garden. “I +shall begin,” he said, “at the point under that +window. It is past three already. Come on, +there is not a minute of daylight to be lost.” At +the point under the unlatched window he made +a startling discovery, startling in that it had not +been made before.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch04"> + +<h2>Chapter IV</h2> + +<p>I am now driven to attempt the task, which I +had hoped to escape, of a topographical +description. To begin with what is of least importance +for the present. The village of Long Wilton +lies in the valley of a little stream, and two +roads run Northwards from the village along +the opposite sides of the valley. The road +along the Western side leads up a steep hill +to the church, built at some distance from the +village for the benefit of the former owners of +the manor house. Just beyond the church +lies a house which was the manor house, but +has now lost its identity in improvements and +extensions and become a new and not very +beautiful hotel. This hotel owes its origin +to the South-Western Counties Development +Company, Limited, which discovered in its +neighbourhood promising golf links, whose +promise may be fulfilled when the extension of +the railway is completed. I ought to but do +not thank the Company for a liberal +contribution made for the reseating of the church in +the days of my predecessor. The hotel spoils +the view from Grenvile Combe, across the +valley. Its upper windows command a +prospect of the whole of Peters’ grounds. This, +however, does not concern us yet.</p> + +<p>The road on the other side of the valley +leads to some outlying hamlets which form +part of the parish. On the right hand of it, as +you go Northwards, the ground rises steeply +towards a wide tract of moorland. About a +quarter of a mile out of the village a grass lane +diverges from the road and leads in a +North-Westerly direction. Grenvile Combe is a little +property of some ten acres lying between the +grass lane and the road, and bordered on the +North by a fir plantation which extends from +the road to the lane. The cottage, or lodge, +which was then Trethewy’s, stands close to the +Southern corner of the grounds, where the +grass lane turns off; and the gate of the drive +is close by. The stables, which Peters had not +used of late, stand on a detached piece of the +property across the road. The house itself is +near the fir plantation. The back of it looks +out upon a steeply rising pasture field which +lies along the grass lane. The front looks +(across the drive, a strip of lawn and the road) +to the stream and to the church and that ugly +hotel on the little hill beyond. Peters’ study +was in the front of the house at the North-East +corner of the main block of the building, in +other words, it was on your left as you entered +at the front door; and his bedroom was just +above it. A path leads from the drive under +the North wall of the house to the kitchen +entrance, and on the left of this path, as one +goes towards the kitchen, stands an out-building +in which is the pump. A shrubbery of berberis +and box and laurel, starting near the house, +just across the path, skirts round the blind end +of the drive, and straggling along under the +low brick wall, which separates the drive and +front lawn from the fir plantation, ends at a fine +old yew tree which stands just by the road. +All along the front of the house there is a +narrow “half area,” intended to give so much +light and air, as servants were once held to +deserve, to the now disused dungeons where +the dinners of former owners had been cooked.</p> + +<p>In that area right below the unlatched window +we saw a ladder lying, a short light ladder, but +just long enough for an active man to have +reached the window by it. Now the snow had +come with a North-East wind, and any one who +may have wrestled with my essay in topography +will readily understand that just here was a +narrow tract where very little snow had fallen +and the frozen ground was mostly bare. There +was accordingly no clear indication that the +ladder had ever actually been reared towards +the window, but it might have been. The path +to the kitchen door was clear enough too, and a +man might have picked his way just thereabouts +and left not a footprint behind. Casting about +like a hound, the Superintendent had found some +footprints near, before his companions had begun +seeking; footprints pointing both ways. He +immediately returned to the house and got some +bundles of chips for kindling, with which to +mark the place of the footprints he discovered. +Callaghan had joined us, and he and I and the +Sergeant followed the Superintendent, keeping, +as he bade us, carefully a little behind him. In +a moment it was plain that some man had +climbed the wall out of the fir plantation, not +far from the yew tree, that he had crept along +the edge of the lawn, planting his feet most of +the way under the edge of the berberis shrub, +but now and then, for no obvious cause, but +perhaps in guilty haste, deviating on to the +lawn where his tracks now showed in the snow. +He had made his stealthy way, not quite stealthy +enough for him, round the end of the drive; no +doubt he had found the ladder somewhere up +that side path, no doubt he had opened the +latch in the well-known way, entered through +the window, done the deed, slipped out and left +his ladder where we found it; and there were +his footprints, returning by the way he came to +the same point in the wall.</p> + +<p>Here we paused for a moment. Not a word +was said as to the inferences that we all drew +from those few footprints, but the Superintendent +sharply asked the Sergeant, “Why was that trail +not found and followed to an end this +morning?” Poor Sergeant Speke looked for an +instant like a detected criminal, but he pulled +himself together and made sturdy answer: “I +think, sir, it was not there this morning”. +“Think!” said the Superintendent, and in a +very few minutes from the discovery of the +first footprint, he and all of us were over the +wall and in the fir plantation. And there we +paused again, for the fir boughs also had kept +out the snow, and the carpet of fir needles +showed no distinct traces of feet. Eventually—it +seemed a long time but it was a short +time—we found where the fugitive had emerged +from the fir plantation over some iron hurdles +into Peters’ field and along a little sort of gulley +that there ran from the plantation half-way +along the field. “Not the best place to break +cover, but their wits are not always about them,” +said the Superintendent, and he pointed to a +wedge-shaped snowless tract which, caused by +some extra shelter from the wind, extended +from the wall, tapering towards a clump of +gorse bushes. Then he sped on the trail, +making the rest of us spread out to make sure that +there were no other tracks across the field. +Southwards, right along the field, the trail led +till he, and we rejoining him, scrambled out of +the field, where our quarry must have scrambled, +into the green lane about two hundred yards +from Trethewy’s cottage. Thus far, but no +farther; along the now well-trodden snow of +the lane it was idle to look for the print of any +particular foot. “I am thinking of the hours +of lost daylight,” said the Superintendent, now +depressed. “Was this a likely way for a man +making for the moors, Rector?” “You need +not look that far,” said Callaghan; “those +footprints were the man Trethewy’s. Down at the +cottage yonder,” he added for the Superintendent’s +benefit. “They are the track of hobnailed +boots, sir,” said the Superintendent, “that’s all +that they are.” “Do you see that pattern?” +said Callaghan; and there was something odd +about the pattern of the nails in the last +footprint just beneath our eyes. “You never saw it +in any footprint before, but I did, and it is the +pattern I saw in Trethewy’s footmark not a +fortnight ago when last there was snow.” He +was strung up again now, and he had strangely +quick eyes when he was strung up. “That is +the man’s footprint,” he said, “and there are the +man’s boots.” Some way along the ditch, +under brambles and among old kettles and +sardine tins and worn-out boots (for plentiful +rubbish had been dumped just here), lay quite +a good pair of boots, old boots truly, but not +boots that I should have thrown away, whatever +a poorer man might do. The Superintendent +had them instantly. “Odd they are so full of +snow,” said Callaghan; “he did not lace them +or they were much too big for him. But what +possessed him to throw them away, anyhow?” +“Oh,” said the Superintendent, “they mostly +have plenty of half-clever ideas. It takes a +stupid one to escape me, sir,” he interposed to +me with a sort of chuckle, for he had lost no +more time in appropriating the discovery than +he had done in picking up the boots. “The +clever idea this time,” he added, “was just +this—the lane is trampled enough now, but in the +morning, when fewer feet had been along it, you +might have picked out the print of a particular +boot by careful looking. But a fellow in his +socks could shuffle along among the few +footmarks and make no trace that you could swear +to; only he would not go far like that by +daylight when the people he passed would notice +his feet. Of course it was madness not to hide +the boots better, but I expect he had taken a +good deal of liquor to screw himself up to his +work. Is that Mr. Trethewy’s house, sir?” +for we were by this time close to it.</p> + +<p>I had been keen enough, as any man would +have been, from the moment we saw the ladder +till now, but I hope it will be easily understood +why I did not accompany the hunters to +Trethewy’s cottage. I went back to the house +to find Vane-Cartwright, who had stayed there, +as it seemed, reading gloomily and intently +all the afternoon, and to arrange for the +prompt removal of him and Callaghan from +that now cheerless house to the Rectory. The +housekeeper, oddly enough, was quite ready +to stay, and she kept the housemaid with +her.</p> + +<p>Callaghan, who soon came back, said that +Trethewy had come to the door of his house +when they knocked. “Mr. Trethewy,” said the +Superintendent, “do you know these boots?” +He answered composedly enough, “They look +like my boots, but I do not know where you +found them”. Here Mrs. Trethewy came +forward and said in a very unconvincing tone (so +Callaghan insisted), “Why, that is the pair I +have looked for high and low these three days. +Do not you remember, Reuben, how angry you +were they were lost?”</p> + +<p>We left the house for the Rectory soon (my +man was to come with a barrow for the luggage), +but before we left, one further piece of evidence +had accidentally come to my knowledge. I +learnt from something which the housekeeper +was saying to the maid that the ladder was one +which was always kept in the pump-house, that +the pump-house was always kept locked, and +that Trethewy kept the key.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch05"> + +<h2>Chapter V</h2> + +<p>On Wednesday, the 2nd of February, +Candlemas Day, I read the burial service over my +friend’s body. I will not dwell upon what that +service was to me, but like many funerals of my +friends it is associated in my mind with the +singing of birds. The inquest had taken place on +the Monday and Tuesday, and while it clearly +established the fact that the death had been +caused by murder, not suicide, nothing was laid +before the jury which would have justified a +verdict against any particular person. I believe +that some doubt had arisen as to the +identification of the boots. The village shoemaker, whose +expert opinion was asked, had said that though +he never arranged hobnails in that way himself, +he had seen the same arrangement in boots that +had been brought to him to be repaired, by some +man who was not Trethewy. Later on, however, +it was ascertained, I fancy through Callaghan’s +ingenuity, that Trethewy, who liked dabbling in +various handicrafts, had cobbled and nailed some +boots for a friend, that this friend was the man +whose hobnails had been noticed by the +shoemaker, and that he had been safe out of the way +at the time of the murder. Moreover—perhaps +I forgot it, perhaps I assumed that they would +find it out for themselves and preferred that +they should—anyhow I had not mentioned to +the police that I heard Trethewy alone had had +access to the ladder (they found it out later).</p> + +<p>Callaghan and Vane-Cartwright stayed with +me for the funeral. A large crowd of merely +impertinent people, as I confess I regarded them, +collected from the neighbourhood and even from +far away for the occasion. Two only of Peters’ +family were there, or could have been there. +He had two nephews in the Army, but they were +then in India. The rest of his near belongings +were an old gentleman (a cousin of his father’s, +whom I had heard Peters himself describe as +a relative whom he had only met at burials, +but whom he regarded as an essential part of +the funeral ceremony) and a maiden aunt, his +mother’s sister. Both of them came; both +insisted on staying at the hotel, instead of at +the Rectory, for the night before, but they had +luncheon and tea at the Rectory after the funeral, +and departed by the evening train. The old +gentleman was, I believe, a retired stipendiary +magistrate. Vane-Cartwright very obligingly +devoted himself to entertaining him and took +him for a walk after luncheon, while Callaghan +roamed about, observing the people who had +come for the funeral, expecting, as he told me, +that there might be something to discover by +watching them. I was thus left alone for a +while with Peters’ aunt, who, by the way, +appeared to have known Vane-Cartwright as +a boy.</p> + +<p>Having with some difficulty overcome her +formidable reserve and shyness, I learnt from +her much that I had not known about my friend, +her nephew, how really remarkable had been +the promise of his early days, though he had +idled a little at Oxford; and how he had left +Oxford prematurely and taken up an +appointment abroad, because he felt that his parents +could not well afford to keep him at the +university until he could earn his living in a +profession at home. Of his later life too, including +his latest projects of study, she had much to tell +me, for she had followed him and his pursuits +with an affectionate interest. This contrasted +strangely both with her evident indifference on +her own account to books and such matters as +delighted him, and with the strange calmness +with which she seemed to regard his death and +the manner of his death. I was becoming +greatly attracted by this quiet, lonely old lady, +when the return of the cousin and +Vane-Cartwright and of Callaghan at the same time put +an end to our conversation. Probably it was +only that she did not feel equal to the company +of such a number of gentlemen, but I +half-fancied that some one of the number—I could +not guess which, but I suspected it was the old +cousin—was antipathetic to her.</p> + +<p>I went to London myself that night, +returning next afternoon. I had to go and see my +wife and children. They had gone soon after +Christmas to stay with my wife’s father, and +she had taken the children for a night to +London on their way home. She was +compelled to stop there because my daughter, who +was delicate, caught a bad chill. It was now +so cold for travelling that I urged her to remain +in London yet a little longer.</p> + +<p>I am not sure why I am being so precise in +recording our movements at that time. Perhaps +it is merely from an impulse to try and live over +again a period of my life which was one of great +and of increasing, not diminishing, agitation. +But having begun, I will proceed.</p> + +<p>I returned to my rectory the day after the +funeral hoping to be free from any share in a +kind of investigation which consorted ill with +the ordinary tenour of my work. But of course +I could not remove myself from the atmosphere +of the crime. To begin with, I had an important +interview with Trethewy (which I will relate +later) the day after my return. But, besides, +rumours of this clue or that, which had been +discovered, came to me in the common talk of my +parish, for every supposed step towards the +discovery of the criminal seemed to be matter of +general knowledge. So the crime went with +me in my parish rounds, and in the privacy of +my house I was still less able to escape from +it, for Callaghan was with me, and Callaghan’s +mind was on fire with the subject.</p> + +<p>I discovered very soon that Callaghan, whom +I had asked to stay for the funeral, was bent +upon staying in the village as long as he could. +He conceived that, with the knowledge he +possessed and his experience in India, he might, if +on the spot, be able to contribute to the ends of +justice; and he seemed to find a morbid +satisfaction, most unlike my own feeling, in being near +to the scene of crime and the scene of detection. +Moreover, he exhibited an esteem and love for +Peters and a desolate grief at his loss which, +though I had not known that the two men were +quite such friends, I was almost forced to think +unaffected. So I readily invited him to stay at +the Rectory, and he stayed there some ten days +altogether, when he declared that he would put +himself upon me no more and would move to +the hotel. At the last moment he changed his +mind, and said he had taken a fancy to stay at +Peters’ house if he might. I was persuaded to +acquiesce in this, and there he stayed, with +occasional absences in London, till nearly a +month later, shortly after the time when, as I +shall tell, Trethewy was committed for trial at +the Assizes.</p> + +<p>Vane-Cartwright, who remained quiet and +reserved, thanked me very much the night +after the murder for having him at the Rectory, +saying, with a feeling that I had not quite +expected, that either to hurry away on that day of +agitation or to stay a night longer in Peters’ +house, would have been a trial for him. He +added that he purposed returning to London +immediately after the funeral, and after an +important City meeting, for which he must stay in +England, he was going out to meet his young +lady on the Riviera. I suppose that without +intending I betrayed before the funeral the fact +that I was a little worried by my impending +duties as executor, duties which strangely enough +I had never had to perform before, and in which +I was now a little embarrassed by the absence +from England of my fellow-executor and the +principal legatees, and by the prospect of having +to carry out a charitable bequest which left me +a large discretion and might possibly involve +litigation. Vane-Cartwright very unobtrusively +put me in the way of doing whatever was +immediately incumbent on me. I suppose I +appeared as grateful as I felt; anyhow, it ended +with a delicate suggestion from Vane-Cartwright +that he would be very glad to stay at the hotel +for a day or two and make himself useful to me +in any way that he could. Of course I pressed +him to stay at the Rectory, and, in spite of an +apparent preference for staying at the hotel, he +after a while agreed. I was expecting that I +might soon be leaving home for some time, as +it might be necessary to take my little daughter +for a month abroad in a warmer climate, and +after that I knew I should be very busy with +Confirmation classes and other matters, so that +I was anxious to make immediate progress, if I +could, with winding up Peters’ estate, and was +very glad that Vane-Cartwright would stay, as +he did stay, at the Rectory. On the Saturday +however (a week after the murder) he received +a telegram which compelled him to leave that +afternoon. I had by this time begun to like +him, which I confess I did not at first; men of +his stamp, who have long relied on themselves +alone and been justified in their reliance, often +do not show their attractive qualities till the +emergency occurs in which we find them useful.</p> + +<p>Trethewy was arrested the day that +Vane-Cartwright left. I wondered why he was not +arrested earlier (for there did not seem to be +any real room for doubt that he had made those +footmarks), but I have never ascertained, and +can only guess that the police felt sure of +securing him if he attempted to escape, and hoped +that, if left alone, he might betray himself by +such an attempt or otherwise. He never did. +He sat in his cottage, as I gathered, constantly +reading the Bible, but once or twice a day pacing +thoughtfully and alone up and down the drive. +He did the few necessary jobs for the house +with punctuality, but he never lingered in it, +never visited the field or the lane, and hardly +spoke to any one, except on the day before his +arrest, when, to my astonishment (for he was +known to be hostile to the Church), he sent for +me, and we had the memorable interview to +which I have already referred.</p> + +<p>During the days before his arrest, as well as +after, all sorts of enquiry, of which I knew little, +were going on. Thalberg’s movements after the +murder were traced. Some attempt was made, +I believe, to find the man who, according to +Trethewy, had passed him with two horses in +the lane. But there seems to have been some +bungling about this, and the man, about whom +there was no real mystery (he was a farm +servant who had started off early to take a horse, +which his master had sold, to its new owner), +was not then found. Two important discoveries +were made about Trethewy. After his arrest +his cottage was searched, and he was found to +be the possessor of inconceivably miscellaneous +articles. Among them were several weapons +which he might naturally have picked up on +his travels, but among them (which was more +to the point) was a small case of surgical +instruments. Two instruments were missing +from that case, and the instrument used by +the murderer might, though not very neatly, +have fitted into one of the vacant places. The +case was found, as Callaghan, who contrived to +be present, told me, at the back of a shelf in +a cupboard filled with all sorts of lumber and +litter that had lain there who can say how +long. Callaghan, however, professed to have +observed, from marks on the dust of the shelf, +that the contents of the cupboard had been +recently disturbed, in order, he had no doubt, +to hide the instrument case at the back of +everything.</p> + +<p>The other new discovery had occurred two +days before. Trethewy’s uncle and the guests +who had been at his party on that ill-omened +night were of course sought and questioned. +They all corroborated Trethewy’s own account +of his movements, but they added something +more. Trethewy it seemed had been normal +and cheerful enough as the evening began, +but, as the night and the drinking went on, +fell first into melancholy, then into sullenness, +lastly and a little before he went home into +voluble ferocity. He recurred to the topic, +to which his uncle said he had more than once +alluded on previous days when he had met +him, of his quarrel with Peters, against whom +he had conceived an irrational resentment, and +he actually, though those who heard him did +not take him seriously at the time, uttered +threats against his life.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch06"> + +<h2>Chapter VI</h2> + +<p>I was told of this behaviour of Trethewy’s by +Sergeant Speke the day after the arrest. But +it was no surprise to me, for I had come +myself to communicate to the police something +to the same effect. On mature reflexion I +had thought it my duty to report the matter of +the interview which I had had with Trethewy +some days before. Trethewy had, unsolicited, +made a confession to me—not a confession of +crime, but a confession of criminal intent.</p> + +<p>Unchecked by a warning that I could promise +no secrecy as to what he should say, and a +reminder of, what he knew full well, that he was +in a position of grave danger, he declared to +me that he had harboured the thought of killing +his master, and, though he had never actually +laid hands on him, was as guilty as though he +had done so. Starting with this declaration he +plunged into a long and uninterrupted discourse +of which I should find it impossible, even if I +wished it, to give an at all adequate report.</p> + +<p>As for the matter of his statement: if one +were to accept it as true, it was the tale, common +enough two centuries ago, but so rarely told now +that modern ears find it very hard to take it in, +the tale of the ordinary struggle between good +and evil in a man, taking an acute and violent +form, so that the man feels day by day the +alternate mastery of a religious exaltation, which +he believes to be wholly good, and of base +passions, which, when they come upon him, +seem to be an evil spirit driving him as the +steam drives an engine. From the manner of +the statement, it was very hard to gather how +much of it was sincere, impossible to gather +whether or not something worse lay concealed +behind that which was so strangely confessed. +Self-abasement and self-righteousness, the +genuine stuff of Puritan enthusiasm, the adulterated +stuff of morbid religiousness, sheer cant, manly +straightforwardness, pleasure in the opportunity +of preaching and that to the parson,—all these +things seemed blended together in Trethewy’s +talk.</p> + +<p>On the most favourable view the story came +to this. A few years before, Trethewy, after a +careless life, had become suddenly impressed by +deep religious feelings, no less than by precise +and inflexible religious views. His conversion, +he trusted, had not left his conduct unaffected, +but though for a time he walked, as he said, +happy in this new light, it had been the +beginning, not the end, of his inward warfare. His +natural ill-temper, that worst sort of ill-temper +which is both sulky and passionate, began to +come upon him again in prolonged fits of intense +wrath, intensified, I suppose, by reaction from the +pitch at which he often strove to live. Besides +this, he gave way at times to a keen pleasure +in alcohol. He was tempted by what he called +a “carnal” pride in the strength of his head for +liquor; and I have sometimes observed that +drink works its worst havoc upon the very men +who may appear to be the least affected by it, +bringing about a slow perversion of the deeper +motives of action, while for a long time it leaves +the judgment unclouded upon those more trivial +and obvious matters in which aberration is +readily detected. Thus at the time of that +altercation with Peters of which Callaghan had +been a witness, Trethewy was already brooding +perversely over some trumpery or altogether +fancied grievance. He was deeply under the +influence of drink at that moment, and did not +know it, but knew he had had enough to make +most men drunk. His very worldly pride had +therefore been the more offended at the +imputation which Peters threw on him. His spiritual +pride was offended too by a rebuke from one, +whom, though originally fond of him, he had +come to regard as a worldling, steeped in mere +profane philosophy. He had been enraged to +the point of desiring Peters’ death, and the threat +which Callaghan reported had been actually +uttered. He had meant, it may be, nearly +nothing by his threat when he uttered it; but, +when once this almost insane notion, of killing +for such a trifle a man whom normally he liked, +had taken shape in words, it recurred to him +every time that he was put out, or that a third +glass of spirits went to his lips. Perhaps it +recurred to him with all the more terrible power +because in better moments his conscience was +horribly alarmed at his having given in, by so +much as one thought, to this suggestion of the +Devil. On the morning before Peters’ death he +had a fresh altercation with him on the occasion +of some trifling oversight in the garden to which +Peters had called his attention, and I was +surprised after what Vane-Cartwright had said to +be told that Vane-Cartwright was present on this +occasion and had heard the insolent language in +which he seems to have addressed Peters. All +day and night after that the evil dream had +been upon him, and he walked home from his +uncle’s that night plotting murder. He awoke +in the morning calmer, but his wrath still +smouldered, till his wife brought him the news +that Peters was murdered, when it gave place +in a moment to poignant grief for Peters. He +could not stir from the cottage; he sat, he tried +to pray, he thought, and he saw himself as he +was—perhaps not quite as he was, for he saw +himself as a man guilty of blood.</p> + +<p>He would gladly, I think, have talked with me +of his soul, but, with the suspicion which I had +in my mind, I did not see how I could say much +to him. So, having heard him out, I got away +with some pitifully perfunctory remarks. How +was I to take this confession? Was the mental +history which the man gave of himself a cunning +invention for accounting for the known quarrel +and the known threats? Was the story true +with this grave correction that Trethewy had +carried out his intent? Was it the simple truth +all through? Did it even go beyond the truth +in this, that the man’s thoughts had never been +so black as he made them out? For days these +questions occurred frequently to my mind, but +my real opinion upon them was fixed almost as +soon as I got away from Trethewy. Contrary +to my principles I disliked him, I felt strangely +little sympathy for his spiritual struggles; but I +did not doubt that they were real, and I did not +doubt that he was innocent of the crime.</p> + +<p>Before Trethewy was brought before the +magistrates, a letter arrived which excited my +imagination unaccountably, or rather two letters +arrived. The day before Vane-Cartwright had +left, a letter had arrived for Peters, bearing the +postmark of Bagdad. Vane-Cartwright +carelessly opened it. He had, I think, at my +request, on the day when I was away in London, +opened some letters which arrived for Peters’ +executors. So he had a good excuse for opening +this. “Well, that is very uninforming,” he said, +passing the letter over to me, with an apology +for his mistake, and laughing more than was +usual with him. Uninforming it certainly was. +“Dear Eustace,” it ran, “I am sorry I can tell +you nothing about it.—Yours, C. B.” Just a +week later, after Vane-Cartwright had left, came +another letter from the same place, in the same +hand, and almost, but not quite, as brief: “Dear +Eustace, This time I will not delay my answer. +Longhurst sailed in the <i>Eleanor</i> and she did not +go down. To the best of my belief she still +sails the seas. I never liked C.—Yours ever, +Charles Bryanston.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch07"> + +<h2>Chapter VII</h2> + +<p>After several remands, the proceedings against +Trethewy before the magistrates came to a close +about the end of February. There was nothing +much to note about these proceedings, which +ended, as I suppose they must have ended, in +his being committed for trial. The reader +knows by this time pretty nearly the whole case +against him. That Peters had been murdered +was certain. The accused had had several +altercations with the murdered man. In one of +them he had expressed a wish to kill him, and +he had repeated this wish to others upon the +fatal night. Footprints had been found which, +as the reader knows, seemed at first sight plainly +indicative of his guilt. Then there was the +ladder. It was undoubtedly kept, before the +murder, locked up in a place of which only +Trethewy had the key. That any one could +have had access to it between the murder and +the discovery of the ladder was a view supported +only by the uncorroborated statement of the +accused that he had left the key of the +pump-house that morning, when summoned to speak +to the police, and had forgotten to go back for +it until the next day. Lastly, the finding of the +instrument case, though not very important, at +any rate disposed of any improbability that +Trethewy would have had such an instrument +as the knife that was used.</p> + +<p>I daresay this would have been enough to +hang a man if this was all; and against this +there was nothing to be set, except the +immovable persistency of Trethewy and his wife from +the first in the tale which they told.</p> + +<p>Nothing, that is, till after he had been +committed for trial. But the very evening after his +committal, a slight but almost conclusive +circumstance was brought to light, and entirely +altered the aspect of the case. That evening I +received a visit from Peters’ housemaid, Edith +Summers. She had, she said, something on her +mind. She had told a falsehood to the +police-sergeant on the morning after the murder. +She had interrupted the housekeeper to say +that the candle by Peters’ bed had been a long +candle the night before; she had said this +because she had been very severely scolded by +the housekeeper for forgetting to put fresh +candles in the candlestick; and so she had said +what was false, not meaning any harm, but +thinking for the moment (as she now tried to +explain) that it was true, and that she had done +what she had intended. She had confessed to the +housekeeper since, but the housekeeper had only +said she was an impudent girl to have put in +her word then, and had better not put it in again. +She had gone to the court expecting to be a +witness on some small point and determined to +make the matter clear then; but she had not +been called. She had spoken to a policeman, +and had been told to speak to one of the lawyers. +She had tried to get the attention of Trethewy’s +lawyer, but he had been too busy to listen to +her.</p> + +<p>I am ashamed to say that listening to her +rather long explanation, I entirely failed to see +the significance of what she told me. I said +something quite well intentioned about the evil +of saying what was not true, and then told the +girl kindly, that I did not think there was any +harm done. But she had thought about it and +was in earnest, and she made me see it in a +moment. There were, she explained, other +candles in the room, but they were new candles, +and they were not lighted that night. From +this and what we already knew the conclusion +was almost inevitable. Peters was murdered +before two inches of ordinary candle, which was +burning at 11.30 <span class="sc">P.M.</span> on the 28th of January, +burnt down.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Stupid as it may seem, I had for some time +been convinced of Trethewy’s innocence, and +yet had never really drawn the necessary inference +from it. Of course with the two premisses +in my mind—Peters was murdered, Trethewy +did not murder him—I had been aware, in a +sense, of the conclusion, but it had taken no +hold of my attention. Now, however, I had +evidence of Trethewy’s innocence, which was no +longer a private intuition of my own, but was +something of which every one must appreciate +the force. Perhaps it was from this, perhaps it +was from the sentimental effect of having the +time of the crime fixed within such narrow limits; +anyhow the thought, “Some one other than +Trethewy murdered Peters,” came upon me +with a sudden horror which could hardly have +been greater if I had only that moment become +aware of the original fact of the murder.</p> + +<p>I instantly went over in my mind the list of +those few who were so placed as to lie within +the reach of suspicion. Trethewy could no +longer be suspected. Thalberg surely could +not. I dismissed the two women servants from +my mind immediately. There remained two +men—three men—three men, of whom I was +one. I knew how easily I could clear myself, +for the door had been locked behind me before +that candle was lit. But I was the last man +known to have seen Peters, and my confused +current of thought included me as a man to be +suspected. I asked myself of each in turn, is +he the guilty man? and in each case I answered +no. As I look back now, it seems to me, that +the answer “no” did not come to my mind with +the same whole-hearted conviction in each case. +But I did not in the few moments for which I +then reflected, I did not till long after do more +than go round in this circle: One of us three +men murdered Peters. Was it—— each of us +in turn? No. Could it after all be one of the +servants? No! Was there not then in the +vast region of possibility some way of +accounting for Peters’ death without the guilt of any of +us. The plainest reasons bade me answer yes, +and yet again I answered no. And so back +round the circle.</p> + +<p>But the girl was with me and I could not +keep her waiting for ever. I arrested my +mental circle where it began, at the thought: +it seems Peters was murdered while two inches +of ordinary candle, lighted before 11.30 <span class="sc">P.M.</span> on +the 28th of January, burnt out. I started up to +take the girl at once to see the police, but on a +sudden idea I desisted. I wrote a note to the +housekeeper, asking that the girl should again +come to see me at eight in the evening, and I +sent a message to the police-sergeant, asking +him to come at the same time. Of course I +had often interviewed him on parish matters, +and having got him settled into the arm-chair in +my study, in which I could usually put him at +his ease, I fired upon him the question, +“Sergeant, were those tracks, which we found, really +there when you came to Mr. Peters’ house in +the morning?” Now Sergeant Speke was a +very honest man, but he was (most properly, I +am sure) a creature of discipline, and his answer +threw, for me, a flood of light on the problem +how it is that the very best of the police are so +ready to back up one another. He answered +immediately and with conviction: “Well, you +see, sir, it is not for me to judge”. The +answer was on the face of it preposterous. He +alone had searched the front of the house that +morning, and it was for him alone, of all men, +to say whether the tracks were there. He +obviously did not see this at all, and I was +wise enough to let go an opportunity for +moralising to him. I beguiled him, with a glass of +wine and other devices of the tempter, into +feeling himself off duty for the while, and talking +with me as fellow-mortal to fellow-mortal. I +very soon discovered, first, that Sergeant Speke +had searched carefully enough around the house +that morning to have seen the tracks if they +had been there, and, secondly, that the man, +Speke, as distinct from the Sergeant, knew +perfectly well that they were not there.</p> + +<p>Not till then did I summon the girl Edith +from the servants’ hall where she was waiting. +I made her tell her tale. I saw the Sergeant take +a due note of it for transmission to those, to me +mysterious, headquarters where I supposed all +such matters were digested. I got the +assurance that Sergeant Speke was really man +enough to see that his own evidence, as to the +non-existence of the tracks that morning, would +be noted and digested too. I dismissed the +Sergeant and Edith, and went slowly to bed. +Did I suspect this person? No! Did I +suspect that person? N—no. At last I determined +that I would not let my suspicions fasten on +any one man, while it might be just as +reasonable that his suspicions should fasten on me. +But my mind remained full of horror and of the +image of a candle-end spluttering out, while the +man, who had lighted it to read by, lay dead in +those bloody sheets. Very, very glad I was +that my wife was at last coming home next day.</p> + +<p>I suppose it was from the association of two +female names that my dreams, when at last I +slept, were of nothing more horrible than the +ship <i>Eleanor</i>, which, as the reader remembers, +probably still sailed the seas.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch08"> + +<h2>Chapter VIII</h2> + +<p>With some doubt as to whether it was what I +ought to do, but with no doubt that it was what +I wanted to do, I sought out Callaghan next +morning for a final talk with him before he left; +for he was at last to tear himself away from the +scene which he haunted. I tried on him, I do +not know why, the effects of Edith’s disclosure +without telling him what I now knew about the +tracks. I could see that he accepted the truth +of the girl’s statement, and had grasped, much +more quickly than I had, what it imported. It +was therefore wearisome to me, and, in my then +state of mind, most jarring, that for some time +he persisted in playing with the idea that +Trethewy might still be guilty. He supported +it, as he went on, with more and more +far-fetched arguments, so that my patience was +nearly at an end, when, to my amazement, I +found my friend off at full speed again upon a +fresh track, that of Thalberg. I listened, and +this time seriously, to several things which he +told me about Thalberg, which were new to +me and threw an unpleasant light upon him. +Then I interposed. Thalberg had left the +house with me, and it had been made all but +certain that he went straight to his hotel and +never left it until many hours after the murder +had been discovered. In any case it was not +he who had made those tracks, for he had +certainly kept in his hotel from early morning on +the 29th till he left. And I then told Callaghan +my reason for believing that those tracks were +made in the middle of the day on the 29th. +“My dear friend,” he exclaimed, this time with +all the appearance of earnestness, “I no more +really believe than you do that Thalberg +actually did the deed. He is not man enough. +But I have a method, I have a method. I am +used to these things. I am off to Town now; +I shall be there some time; you know my +address. I mean,” he added grandiloquently, +“to work through all the outside circumstances +and possibilities of the case, and narrow down +gradually to the real heart of the problem; it is +my method.”</p> + +<p>Well, there may have been some method in +his madness, for there was certainly some +madness in his method. I took leave of him (after +he had called, that afternoon, to renew +acquaintance with my wife) little foreseeing what his +two next steps would be. He stopped on his +way to London at the county town, where he +went to the county police office to +communicate some information or theory about Thalberg. +He went on to London, as he had said he +would, but, instead of remaining there as he +had said, he suddenly departed next day for the +Continent, leaving no address behind.</p> + +<p>We have now arrived at the first week in +March, the several events (if I may include +under the name of events the slow emergence +of certain thoughts in my own mind) which +prepared the way for the eventual solution of +our mystery, occurred at intervals, and in an +order of which my memory is not quite distinct, +during that and the remaining nine months of +the year.</p> + +<p>The resolution at which I had arrived, not +to occupy my mind with suspicions, or to regard +the detection of crime as part of my business, +was not a tenable resolution, and it was entirely +dissipated by my wife in a talk which we had +on the first evening after her arrival. I was +aware that she would not be able to share with +me in the determination not to harbour +suspicions of any particular person, but I had +thought she would be averse to my taking +positive steps towards the detection of the +crime. She, however, was indignant at the +idea that I could let things be. “Several +innocent men will be under a cloud all their lives,” +she said, “unless the guilty man is found. +There is Trethewy, I suppose they will let him +out some day; but who is going to employ +him? Not that uncle of his; and we cannot. +Who do you suppose is going to see this through +if you do not?” She was powerfully seconded +in this by a neighbour of ours, now an old man, +who had had much experience as a justice. +“Mr. Driver,” he said, “you may think this is +the business of the police, but remember who +the police are. They do their ordinary work +excellently, but their ordinary work is to deal +with ordinary crime. This was not an ordinary +crime, and it was done by no ordinary man. If +it is ever discovered, it will be by a man whose +education gives him a wider horizon than that +of professional dealers with criminals.”</p> + +<p>I do not know how far the reader may have +been inclined to suspect Callaghan (that +depends, I suppose, on whether the reader has +been able to form any idea of his character, +and I myself had not, so far, formed any coherent +idea of his character; there seemed little +coherence in it), but the police certainly had begun +to suspect him.</p> + +<p>On a superficial view of the matter there was +every reason to do so. Short of bolting on the +night of the murder, before it was discovered, +he had done all that, theoretically, a guilty man +should have done. He had lost no time +whatever in attempting to put suspicion on one +innocent man. He had striven to intermeddle +officiously in the investigations conducted by the +police. There was more than one apparent lie +in the information he had given. He had +haunted the scene of the crime as though it +fascinated him. When the first innocent man +was cleared, he had at once suggested another +man, who was almost certainly innocent also, +and he had then, after giving false accounts of +his intentions, quitted the country without +leaving his address. Then he was certainly in the +house when the crime was committed. His +movements on the following day were nearly +accounted for, but not so fully that he could not +have made those false tracks. After all it was +a circumstance of deep suspicion that he had +been so quick to recognise the peculiar print +of Trethewy’s boot.</p> + +<p>Alas, even to the test <i>cui bono</i>, “that stock +question of Cassius, ‘whom did it profit?’ ” +Callaghan responded ill. I knew, and +somewhat later in reply to an enquiry by the police, +it was my duty to say, that Callaghan was in a +certain sense a gainer by Peters’ death. He +had been a most imprudent investor (not, I +believe, a speculator), and had in his +embarrassment borrowed £2,000 from Peters. Peters, +while living, would not have been at all hard on +him if he had been honestly unable to pay, but +was just the man to have made Callaghan’s life +a burden to him if he thought he was not doing +his best to keep above water. Peters’ will +cancelled the debt, and it was not impossible that +Callaghan knew it. But this last point illustrates +the real weakness of the argument against him. +Nobody could know Callaghan a little and think +that either this interest in the will or any other +point in this hypothetical story of his crime, +however much it might be like human nature, was +in the least like him.</p> + +<p>Here, for want of a good description of him, +are a few traits of his sojourn in my parish. He +was, it is true, with difficulty dragged out of a +furious brawl with a gentleman from the North +of Ireland who, he said, had blasphemed against +the Pope. The man had not so blasphemed, +and Callaghan himself was not a Roman Catholic. +On the other hand, he had habitually since his +arrival lain in wait for the school children to +give them goodies and so forth. He assaulted +and thrashed two most formidable ruffians who +were maltreating a horse, and then plastered +their really horrible bruises with so much blarney +that they forgave, not merely him, but the horse. +He had brought for Peters, with infinite pride, +a contraband cargo of his native potheen, a +terrible fluid; and after Peters’ death he would +sit up alone in that desolate house, drinking, not +the potheen, which, in intended charity, he +suggested that I should bestow on the poor in the +workhouse, but Mrs. Travers’ barley water, and +writing a rather good and entirely bright and +innocent fairy story.</p> + +<p>This is emphatically not evidence, but it made +me sure of Callaghan’s innocence. Looking at +what I suppose was evidence, I had wondered +whether I was not soft in this, and I brought +the matter to the test of my wife’s judgment. +I knew that, at least at her earlier meetings +with Callaghan, she had disliked him, and, out of +the facts which she knew already, I made what +I flattered myself was a very telling case against +him. It did not disconcert me that the lady, +who, when told of his flight, had trusted he +would remain out of England till she went +abroad, said without much interest, “What +stuff,” and then suddenly kindling, exclaimed, +“What, Robert, are you turning against that +poor man?” When I asked for the reasons +why she scouted the idea of his guilt, she seemed +to consider the request quite frivolous; but at +last I extracted from her a sentence which +expressed what I think was at the root of my own +thought. “Mr. Callaghan,” she said, “is violent +enough to commit a murder and cunning enough +to conceal anything, but I cannot imagine his +violence and his cunning ever working together.”</p> + +<p>Of course we both thought of him as sane, +though he was just one of those people to whose +doings one constantly applies the epithet “mad”.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch09"> + +<h2>Chapter IX</h2> + +<p>The enquiry upon which I had now stirred +myself to enter, could not be an easy one, but +it should have seemed for the present to be +narrowed down to a question about a single man. +Perhaps it was from repugnance against +consciously going about to hang a man who had +sheltered under my roof, that I did not even +then definitely put to myself the question of that +man’s guilt. By some half-conscious sequence +of thought I was led to begin my search far afield. +It started with the two letters which had come +for Peters from Mr. Charles Bryanston, or rather +first with the later letter.</p> + +<p>I had some time before written briefly and +formally to Mr. Bryanston to acquaint him with +the fact of Peters’ murder, but had, for a while +since, thought no more of him. Now I began +to do what one very seldom does, steadily and +methodically think. I mooned up and down +with a pipe in my garden or in the lanes. I +sat, with those letters in my hand, alone before +the fire. I sat at my writing-table with paper +before me, and made incoherent jottings with a +pencil. I should be afraid to say how often +and how long I did all these seemingly idle +things. Till at last, in the time between tea +and dinner, with the children playing in the +room, I arrived at actually spelling the matter +out.</p> + +<p>“This time I will not delay my answer.” +“This time——” Then at other times he +did delay his answer. That might have some +significance when I turned to the earlier letter. +“This time I will not delay my answer.” It +was an answer to a question in a letter just +received from Peters, an answer probably by +return of post. Why not delay it this time as +usual? Why, of course, because the question +was one which both to Peters and to +Bryanston seemed important, perhaps momentous. +Simple enough so far. “Longhurst did sail +in the <i>Eleanor</i>, and she did not go down.” +It was clear enough that some one had thought +that Longhurst had sailed in a ship that did +go down. Peters had thought otherwise, and +Peters was right. What of that? There is +nothing momentous in that. Stop, though. It +is not necessarily that. Some one need not +have thought it—he may have said it to Peters, +and Peters may have thought it was a lie. And +what did it matter, and why did some one say +it? Well, of course, Longhurst would be dead +if the ship had gone down; and Longhurst was +not really dead, and some one was interested +in saying that he was. Perhaps Longhurst +was the next heir to some property, and search +ought to have been made for him; and my +mind wandered over all the stories I had ever +read of lost heirs, in fact or in fiction. Or +perhaps—— Who said Longhurst and his +ship went down? “C.” said it, whoever “C.” +might be.</p> + +<p>Then I took up the earlier letter. I knew +from the other letter that this had been sent +late. There was nothing further to be gained +from the words of it, but a flood of suspicion +broke upon me as I held it in my hand. Had +“C.” another initial to his surname, a double +name? Did I know this “C.”? Had I not +seen this very letter in the hands of “C.”? +Had I not thought it rather odd that he, a +man so decidedly “all there,” had opened and +read it before it was given to me? Had I +not rather wondered at the pains he had kindly +taken to help me with several letters before? +Did he not laugh rather strangely as he read +it, though I never heard him laugh at +anything amusing? Did he not go away just after +the letter came, though he had not been +intending to go so soon? Was it conceivable that +he knew that Peters had asked that question, +and thought the first letter (“very +uninforming,” as he called it) was the answer to that +question, and an answer which made him safe? +After that one laugh I thought he became +suddenly downcast. Had he really read in +that letter that he need not have feared +Peters, and that he had—yes, murdered him +for nothing? Had the accident that Peters +had written, perhaps long before, some +unimportant question to Bryanston, and the +accident that Bryanston had delayed his answer +betrayed this man into leaving me alone with +my letters a week too soon; and would this +trifling mistake lead him to—to the gallows? +and I remembered with a start the grim end +which I was preparing. Yes, all this was +conceivable. There is an old maxim that you +should beware of going back upon your first +instinctive impressions of liking or dislike when +you happen to have them. There are +qualifications to it; the repulsions that start from +ugliness or strangeness or difference of opinion +may not be safe guides. But broadly the maxim +is true. It was true in this instance. No, I +too had never liked “C.”</p> + +<p>It is strange that I should have received Mr. +Bryanston’s answer the very next morning, a +long, full, warm-hearted letter on the death of +the friend to whose letters in life—and what +letters Peters wrote!—he made such scrappy +replies. In a P.S. at the end, as if the writer +had hesitated whether to write it, were the +words: “It is curious and may be news to you +that Mr. Peters, at the time he was murdered, +was unravelling the mystery of another murder, +committed, as he suspected, many years ago”.</p> + +<p>So then, as I had half-guessed, Longhurst +was dead. It was not that he was alive and +Cartwright pretended he was dead, he was +dead, and Cartwright had a motive for falsely +pretending he was drowned.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch10"> + +<h2>Chapter X</h2> + +<p>“Tout comprendre, c’est tout pardonner,” is, +I do not doubt, a saying which has its truth. +Nevertheless, I have generally noticed, when I +have read much about murders or other great +crimes, or about the social or political misdeeds +which are not called crimes, that every piece +of additional knowledge about the manner in +which the thing was done, the inducements that +led to it, the conduct that followed it, has, for +me at least, set the capital act of wrong in +a more hideous light. It is not, I think, that +the picturesque circumstances, like the +guttering candle whose image got on my nerves that +night, affect me profoundly. It is, I believe, +that, while many men, most if you like, are +middling, the distinctly bad are really much +worse and the distinctly good are really much +better than the world of middling people is at +all ready to allow. When I looked at the +whole circumstances of the crime, as I now +conceived them, a great hatred of +Vane-Cartwright possessed my soul. There was a passage +in my subsequent course with regard to him, +when a reason personal to myself had just been +added to the cause of my hate, upon which I +look back sometimes with self-disgust, but I +cannot think that the desire, which first prompted +me to fasten myself upon Vane-Cartwright and +try to drag him down, was an impure desire, or +that it consorted ill with the inner meaning of +those precepts which it was my profession to +teach.</p> + +<p>Whether it was right or wrong, the strength +of the feeling which then animated me showed +itself in my resolve to think calmly and to act +circumspectly. I was conscious that the +structure of my theory was held together by no +firm rivets of verifiable fact, but by something +which must be called feeling. I did not distrust +my theory on that account; but I did distrust +myself, and I determined, in what lay before +me, to take as few impulsive steps and to draw +as few impulsive conclusions as I could.</p> + +<p>Reflecting, next morning, on what could be +done immediately to bring my hypothesis to +the test of fact, I looked in the <i>Postal Guide</i> +for such information as it gave about the mails +to and from Bagdad. I also verified my +impression as to the date of that occasion when +Vane-Cartwright, staying at the hotel, had spent +the evening with Peters. From what I found +it seemed to me that a letter to Bagdad, posted +that night, might have been expected to bring +an answer back by the date on which the first +letter from Bryanston came to my hands, or +even a few days earlier, but that the delays of +steamers might easily bring it about that an +answer should not arrive till a week later, that +is, when the second letter from Bryanston came +to me. So far then there was nothing to make +my conclusion impossible. I may add here that +the enquiries which I made, as soon as I saw +how to do it, confirmed what I gathered from +the <i>Postal Guide</i>, and showed that on this +occasion such a delay of the mails had actually +happened.</p> + +<p>But, assuming this about the mails, what a +frail edifice my theory still remained! Upon +most careful reconsideration, I saw, as the reader +may see, that it fitted in easily with all the known +facts. It was just as well founded as many +things which are taught as established truths of +science or history. But as for expecting the +law to hang Vane-Cartwright upon this, I +myself, fantastically no doubt, refrained a little later +from black-balling him at a distinguished club, +of which, oddly enough, I had in my ambitious +youth become a member. In large part the +case, so to call it, against him rested on my +observations of his demeanour in my house, and +especially of his conduct in regard to my business +as executor and my letters. This was precise +and cogent enough for me, the observer at first +hand; but it was too much matter of general +impression to be of use to any one but me. Then +the attribution of that early murder to +Vane-Cartwright seemed to me absolutely requisite +to make his murder of Peters conceivable. But +it was the work of my imagination. In the +region of palpable facts, one thing alone was +evidence against Vane-Cartwright and not +against any other man. It will be remembered +that, when Callaghan first denounced Trethewy, +Vane-Cartwright said that Trethewy’s behaviour +in his presence to Peters had been friendly and +respectful. He knew, I now told myself, a better +way than expressing suspicion of Trethewy, and +while by his stealthy act he fabricated evidence +against him, he contrived by his words to cast +on Callaghan alone the risk of thereafter +appearing as an innocent man’s traducer. But +his cunning had made a slip. It was gratuitous +in doing so to have uttered a refutable lie as to +Trethewy’s conduct in his presence. He was +not the man to have seen the imprudence of +this. It would have been to him inconceivable +that Trethewy should confess the full extent of +his wrong conduct to me. And so, not from +any want of coolness, he had provided me with +the one scrap of ordinary evidence necessary to +give firmness to that belief of mine which might +otherwise have seemed a mere bubble.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch11"> + +<h2>Chapter XI</h2> + +<p>By the time that my wife, who had been again +obliged to be in London while I was spelling +out this story, had returned, I had long come +to the conclusion that my theory had enough +in it to be worth submitting to her criticism. +But she forestalled me with news of her own, +and news which concerned Vane-Cartwright. +The young lady, Miss Denison, whom he was +to have married had suddenly broken off the +engagement within two days of his joining +her upon the Riviera. The girl could give +no good reason for her conduct, and her own +people loudly condemned it; they had been +against the engagement, for the difference of +age was too great; they were still more against +the flighty breach of it; but she was obdurate. +She and her people returned home for Easter, +and my wife, who had already known her a +little, now met her several times at the house +of a common friend in London. The foolish or +unhappy young lady had given my wife her +confidence. Far from having any suspicion +about the murder, she had never even heard, +when she made her decision, that there had +been a murder at all; for she and her mother +did not read news of that order, and +Vane-Cartwright, though he had said that he had +been through a dreadful experience, of which +he was anxious to tell her, had not yet said +what it was. There had evidently been a +quite unaccountable quarrel in which the +high-tempered girl had, in all things external, begun, +continued and ended in the wrong; and she did +not now defend herself. Somehow, she said, +he was changed. No, not in his manner to her; +she had not doubted his attachment to her. +Only she had thought she had loved him before, +and she knew now that she did not. Something, +which she had seen in him before but not +disliked, now jarred upon her feelings in a new +way. She had been very, very foolish, very, +very wrong; she could explain nothing; she +was very unhappy, very angry with herself; but +this she knew, and this alone she knew, that it +would be wrong for her to become William +Vane-Cartwright’s wife.</p> + +<p>So much my wife told me. Then, with that +precipitancy in travelling to remote conclusions +which sometimes seems so perilous in able +women, she said, as quietly as if it were the +most obvious comment, “Robert, it was +Vane-Cartwright that did the murder”. Now she +had never even spoken to him.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, she received my theory of the +murder almost with enthusiasm. None the less, +she immediately put her finger upon the weakest +part of it. “I wonder, all the same,” she +exclaimed, “why he murdered Eustace?” “Why,” +I said, “he saw in a moment that Eustace knew +he was lying and suspected him of the murder.” +“That would not have been enough,” she said; +“he must be a very cool-headed man from the +way he behaved after the murder, and he would +never have run the risk he ran by a second +murder, if there had not been much more than +suspicion of the first.” “Then,” I suggested, +“perhaps Eustace already knew it, and the lie +he told only provoked Eustace into showing +it.” “If,” she replied, “Eustace knew it, he +would never have had him within his doors.” +“Well,” I said wearily, because I could not +immediately see how to answer, “perhaps he +did not murder Eustace.” Then she turned on +me with a woman’s promptitude and a woman’s +injustice: “You can always argue me down,” +she said, “but he did murder Eustace Peters, +and you have got to find out all about it and +bring him to justice. I am sure you have the +ability to do it. You may have to wait, but, if +you wait patiently and keep your eyes open, all +sorts of things will turn up to help you. I shall +be very angry with you,” she added, in a tone +not at all suggestive of anger, “if you do not +do it.”</p> + +<p>I felt, like my wife, that it was a matter of +waiting for what would turn up. In the +neighbourhood of the murder there was probably very +little to turn up. The police, I felt no doubt, had +made all manner of enquiries; and as for +anything that I was likely to pick up, I supposed +I had already heard all, and more than all that +any person in the neighbourhood knew about +the matter. I may anticipate a little and say +that in the whole of the four months, which, as +it proved, were all that remained to me as Rector +of Long Wilton, no fresh information was given +to me by my neighbours there. It soon occurred +to me that the murder of Longhurst, far away +and long ago, might be easier to trace than the +recent, but perhaps more carefully veiled, crime +committed to cover it. Peters, I reasoned, must +have been in possession of proofs of it, and +probably, as I searched his voluminous papers, +something would appear to indicate the nature +of those proofs. I began, as in any case I +should have done, a careful reading of his +papers. It took up no small part of my spare +time, for I found that he had prepared little +enough for immediate publication, but fuller +and more valuable materials for his projected +book of psychology than I should at all have +expected from his manner of proceeding. But, +of what now interested me more than my friend’s +philosophy, I found nothing in all this mass of +letters and notes and journals; nothing, that +is, which threw direct light on this mystery, for +indeed his psychological notes and my +discussions with a friend of his, an Oxford philosophy +tutor, to whom I eventually committed them, +did, I think, influence me not a little in one +important part of my enquiry later.</p> + +<p>In pushing enquiries further afield there was +need for some caution. An indiscretion might +have brought what I was doing unnecessarily +soon to the notice of the suspected man, and +the great ability with which I credited him +might suggest some effective scheme for baffling +my search. But of course I wrote early to Mr. +Bryanston to ask if he would tell me to whom +he alluded as “C.,” whether Longhurst was the +man whom Peters suspected had been murdered, +and whether I inferred rightly that “C.” was +involved in this suspicion.</p> + +<p>It was my duty to put all that I knew at the +disposal of the police, and the opportunity for +doing so soon presented itself in the visit, which, +as I have said, was paid to me to enquire about +Callaghan. My visitor was an important official, +since dead, whom I need not more clearly +indicate. He had been a military man, and he +struck me as, in some ways, admirably qualified +for his post. He was, I believe, excellent in +the discipline he maintained among his +subordinates and in all the dispositions he made for +meeting the common public requirements. I +am told also that he had wonderful familiarity +with the ways of ordinary law-breakers, but he +did not appear to me to have much elasticity +of mind. After answering fully his question +about Callaghan, I thought it right to give my +own impression of his innocence. My visitor +answered me with a somewhat mysterious +reference to those who really guided the conduct of +the affair. He could not himself, he said, go +behind their views. Then with an evident +sympathy for my concern about Callaghan, he +told me in confidence and still more +mysteriously that the opinion of an eminent specialist +had been taken.</p> + +<p>I then ventured to press the question of +Trethewy’s release, and learnt that it was being +carefully considered, but he could not be set free +immediately. Then I told my visitor of the +statement of Vane-Cartwright when Callaghan +first spoke of Trethewy, and how Trethewy’s +confession proved this to have been a deliberate +falsehood. I showed him and gave him copies +of the letters of Bryanston to Peters and to me. +I informed him, and at my request he noted, that +Vane-Cartwright had opened the first letter. +I stated what I had myself observed of +Vane-Cartwright’s conduct, and indicated frankly the +conclusion which I was disposed to draw. It +did not seem to me that I produced any +impression. My visitor listened, if I may say so, with +the air of a man who completely takes in the +fact and sees that it should be put in some +pigeon-hole, but is without either apprehension +or wonder as to its real bearing. I gathered, +on the whole, that the official mind was chiefly +taken up with the theory that Callaghan was +guilty; but that there was also thought to be +an off-chance that something might yet turn up +to repair the seemingly shattered case against +Trethewy. I gathered too, and, I hope, gave +due weight to the fact, that there was some likely +way, of which I had before heard nothing, by +which an unknown person might have entered +and escaped from the house that night. One +thing more I learnt; nothing suspicious had been +discovered about Thalberg’s movements, but it +appeared, and this seemed to be considered as in +his favour, that he had a great deal to do with +Vane-Cartwright.</p> + +<p>After my visitor had taken courteous leave of +me, it dawned upon me what was meant by his +dark sayings about Callaghan. I had wondered +how the opinions of an eminent specialist in +police matters could be so cogent in a case about +which he knew nothing at first hand. Suddenly +it occurred to me that the eminent specialist +really was a physician well versed in the +symptoms of insanity. The police then were not +being guided by those superficial and so to +speak conventional notes of guilt, of which I had +thought, to the exclusion to all those sides of +character which I had noted. On the contrary +they had a view of their own on which these +two conflicting sets of phenomena might be +reconciled, a view which explained why Callaghan +was to me so inexplicable. The man was not +sane.</p> + +<p>I could not conceal from myself that there +was at least something plausible in this view. +There is a sort of marked eccentricity and, as it +were, irresponsibility of conduct of which I had +always thought as something not merely +different from incipient madness but very far removed +from it. Yet I had once before been terribly +mistaken in thinking thus about a friend, and +I might, I reflected, be mistaken now. The +natural effect upon me was, or should have +been, a keener sense of the unsubstantial nature +of the story which I had built up about +Vane-Cartwright. But I believed it still.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch12"> + +<h2>Chapter XII</h2> + +<p>In the course of the summer my wife and I paid +our annual visit together to London, and I had +a few days in Oxford before the end of the +summer term.</p> + +<p>I heard a good deal about Vane-Cartwright +in London, for he had become a man of some +mark in society, and moved in a little set, which +was known among its members by a rather +precious name, now forgotten though celebrated +in the gossip of that time, and which included +a statesman or two of either party and several +men of eminence in letters, law or learning. +By a strange coincidence of the sort which is +always happening, I met at an evening party +a friend who mentioned Longhurst, and I had +just heard from him something of no moment +about this man whose fate so deeply exercised +me, when I saw Vane-Cartwright himself +standing in another part of the throng. I took the +opportunity of watching him, unobserved myself, +as I supposed. I have hitherto forborne to +describe his appearance, because such +descriptions in books seldom convey a picture to me. +But I must say that seen now in a room where +there were several distinguished people, he made +no less impression on me than before. He was, +I should say, five foot eleven in height, thin and +with a slight stoop, but with the wiry look +which sometimes belongs to men who were +unathletic and perhaps delicate when young, +but whose physical strength has developed in +after years. Hair which had turned rather +grey, while the soft texture and uniformly dark +hue of his skin still retained a certain beauty of +youth, probably accounted for a good deal of +his distinction of appearance, for he was not +handsome, though his forehead, if narrow, was +high, and his eyes which were small were +striking—of a dark greenish-grey colour, I think. +The expression of the mouth and of the +clear-cut and firm-set jaw was a good deal hidden by +a long though rather thin moustache, still black. +I had time while he stood there to notice again +one trick, which I already knew; he was, I +supposed, bent upon being agreeable, so he was +talking with animation, and when, in so talking, +he smiled and showed his white teeth, his +eyelashes almost completely veiled his eyes. To +me, naturally, it gave him a hateful expression, +yet I could see a certain fascination about it. +Then he moved farther off—very quietly, but I +could see as he made his way through the crowd +that in reality every motion was extraordinarily +quick.</p> + +<p>Some ten minutes after, I was about to go, +when he suddenly came from behind and +addressed me, asking me to choose a day for +dinner or luncheon at his club. I declined, and +freed myself as courteously and as quickly as I +could, and thought, for the moment, that there +had been nothing marked in the way in which, +obeying irresistible impulse, I had shaken off +the man whom I suspected on such slight +grounds but so rootedly.</p> + +<p>A few days afterwards a great robbery was +attempted at Vane-Cartwright’s house. The +robbers were after a well-chosen and valuable +collection of gold ornaments of early periods or +from strange countries, which he had begun to +make. It was reported in the papers that the +theft had been with great presence of mind +interrupted and prevented by the owner of the +ill-guarded treasures. But the robbers +themselves got away. The matter was much talked +of, and conflicting tales were told about it, but it +seems that Vane-Cartwright, hearing some +unusual noise, had come downstairs and surprised +the two men who had entered the house before +they had succeeded in removing any of their +spoil. As he came down he had rung up the +police by the District Messenger Company’s +apparatus which was in the house. Coming +quietly upon them, and standing in the dark +while they were in full light, he had first ordered +them to hold up their hands, and had then made +each of them singly turn out his pockets and +restore the smaller stolen articles which they +had already secreted in them. He then, it was +said, kept them standing there to await the +police. But, by some ruse, they distracted his +attention for a moment, and then, suddenly +putting out their light, made a rush past him +and escaped. Such at any rate appears to have +been the information which he gave to the police +who arrived soon after. The police actually +arrested two men, already known to them as +suspicious characters, who had been observed +lurking near the house together and afterwards +slinking away separately, and they were at first +confident that they had secured the authors of +the attempted robbery. But Vane-Cartwright +not only could not identify the arrested men as +the two housebreakers, whom he had of course +seen well; he insisted firmly that they were not +the men whom he had seen; nor were the right +men ever caught. The matter caused some +surprise, and the police were freely blamed for +their bungling. I have my own reason for +doubting whether they were justly blamed.</p> + +<p>It is a mere fancy on my part that this +incident and my meeting with Vane-Cartwright a +few days before may have had a connexion +with each other and with certain subsequent +events in this history. I fear that my +experience in that year and the next has made me +ready to see fanciful connexions; and the +reader, when he knows of those subsequent +events, will see what I suspect took place upon +the discovery of the theft, but will very likely +think my suspicion extravagant. However that +may be, Vane-Cartwright’s plucky adventure +and the celebrity which it helped to give to his +artistic collections, caused me to hear all the +more of him during my stay in London.</p> + +<p>Curiously, however, it was at Oxford, where +he had not distinguished himself, that the fame +of Vane-Cartwright was most dinned into my +ears. The University is apt to be much +interested in the comparatively few of her sons whose +road to distinction is through commerce; and, +moreover, he had lately given to the University +Museum a valuable collection of East Indian +weapons, fabrics, musical instruments and what +not, which he had got together with much +judgment. Thus it happened that I heard +there one or two things about him which +were of interest to me. A friend of mine, an +old tutor, the Bursar of the college at which +Vane-Cartwright had been, described him as +he was in his undergraduate days. He had, +in his opinion, been badly brought up, had +never gone to school, but been trained at +home by parents who were good people with +peculiar views, highly scientific and possibly +highly moral views. He had not fallen into +either of the two common classes of +undergraduates which my old friend understood +and approved—the sportsmanlike and boyishly +fashionable class, or the studious class who +studied on the ordinary lines; still less into the +smaller, but still not small, class which +combines the merits of the two. He had +attainments of his own, which the old tutor did not +value sufficiently, for he was proficient in +several modern languages and modern +literatures; moreover, the necessary mathematics, +Greek and Latin grammar, formal logic, etc., +which he had to get up, gave him not the +slightest trouble. Altogether he had plenty of +cleverness of his own sort, but it was a sort +which the Bursar thought unwholesome. He +was quite well conducted, and ought to have +been a gentleman, coming of the family of +which he came, but somehow he was not quite +a gentleman. Thus it was a great surprise to +the possibly conventional instructor of his youth +that he had done so well in the world.</p> + +<p>Then I heard of him from another man, +justly esteemed in financial circles, who was on +a visit to his son at Oxford, and whom I met in +a common-room after dinner. Somebody had +hazarded the remark that Vane-Cartwright +must have been either a very hard worker or a +very lucky speculator. “No,” said this +gentleman, who was a colleague of his on the Board +of one of the only two companies of which he +was a director, “I should not say that a man +like that worked hard as you would understand +work at Oxford, or at least as a few of you would. +His hard work was done when he was young. +Most of his business is what one of his clerks +could run, and probably does run, for many +weeks together, on lines which he has planned +very carefully and revises whenever occasion +requires. Nor is he what most people would +call a speculator. I fancy he very seldom takes +any uncommon sort of risk, but he always does it +at the right moment. He has succeeded because +he is very quick in making his calculations and +very bold in taking action on them. He does +not seem to be constantly watching things, but +when a special emergency or a special +opportunity occurs he seems to grasp it instantly, and +I believe he troubles himself very little, too +little perhaps, about any affair of his when it is +once well in train.”</p> + +<p>Lastly, I heard a story, the narrator of +which could give me few precise details, of the +pains which Vane-Cartwright had taken to +search out the few relations of an old partner +of his in the East who had died before their +affairs turned out so successfully, and of the +generosity with which he had set up these people +in life though they had very little claim on him. +Here at least was something which took its +place in the story which I was weaving; the +rest of what I had heard was little to the +purpose, though it served to give life and colour to +my idea of the man’s character.</p> + +<p>Now, however, I was really to discover +something definite. When we returned to our home +at Long Wilton, only a little before we finally +left it, I completed my examination of Peters’ +papers. His various diaries and notebooks, +notes of travel and notes of study, jottings and +completed passages for his psychological book, +I found to be of fascinating interest, and I +lingered over them long, but there was not +a hint among them all of Longhurst, +the <i>Eleanor</i> or any kindred topic. One of the +journals, I noticed, had had some leaves cut out. +The last place of my search was a small wooden +trunk which I had brought home from his +house (now sold). On the top of it lay a sheet +of paper with, written in his mother’s hand, +“Some little things which I have put aside for +Eustace. His wife or his children may care to +see them hereafter.” It may have been from +a false sense of pathos, but my eyes filled with +tears, and I was indisposed to rifle callously these +relics so lovingly put aside with natural hopes +which now could never be fulfilled. I was about +to make a bonfire of the box and all its +contents, reverently but with speed, when my wife +arrested me in amazement at my folly. “Why,” +she said, “cannot you see? His letters to his +mother will be in it.” “His letters from the +East,” she added, as I still did not comprehend. +And they were in it.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch13"> + +<h2>Chapter XIII</h2> + +<p>I here set down in order of their date several +extracts from Peters’ letters to his mother written +from Saigon in the years 1878 to 1880.</p> + +<p><i>First Extract:</i> “I have a new acquaintance, +one Willie Cartwright, a young fellow who was +at Oxford just after me. I spend a good deal +of time with him because of talking Oxford +shop and because he is fond of books; at least +he was brought up among them, and reads the +books he thinks he ought to read. I have not +got very much in common with him, for he is +a narrow-shouldered, bilious-looking, unathletic +fellow, with no instinct of sport in him; but +he is a welcome addition to my circle, because +he is refined—in a negative way at least—and +most of my friends’ conversation here is—well, +not refined, and it becomes a bore.”</p> + +<p><i>Second Extract:</i> “How curious that you +should have known some of young Cartwright’s +people, for it is W. V. Cartwright. I thought +they must have lost their money since I heard of +him at Oxford. Yes, I will try to ‘take care +of him’ a little, as you say, but really, though +he is quiet and not sociable among men, he +is by no means a timid youth, and he has +quite got the name of a shrewd business man +already.”</p> + +<p><i>Third Extract:</i> “I am rather sorry about +Willie Cartwright. He seems to have got into +the hands of a fellow named Longhurst, who has +lately turned up here, no one knows why. He, +Longhurst, is a rough customer whom no one +seems to know anything about, except that he +has been in Australia. He has been a mining +engineer, and seems to know also a lot about +tropical forestry. He has wonderful yarns of +the discoveries he has made in the Philippines, +the Dutch Indies and all over the shop. I +should not believe his yarns, but he seems to +have made a little money somehow. Well, +Cartwright now talks of becoming a partner +with him in some wild-cat venture, and I am +afraid he will get let in. He says himself he +thinks Longhurst will try to do him. He had +much better stick to his humdrum business +here, which will give him a living at any rate, +and perhaps enable him to retire comfortably +when he is, say, forty-five, young enough to +enjoy life, though one does age soon in this +climate.”</p> + +<p><i>Fourth Extract:</i> “Cartwright and +Longhurst have actually gone off together. Parker, +whom Cartwright was with, is very sick about +it. . . . By the way, I ought to confess I was +quite wrong about Longhurst. I have seen a +good deal of him since, and found him a very +kind fellow, with an extraordinary simplicity +about him in spite of all his varied experiences. +I generally assume that when a man is spoken +of as a rough diamond, the roughness is a too +obvious fact, and the diamond a polite +hypothesis, but I was wrong in Longhurst’s case. +Also I think you may reassure C.’s aunt about +the chances of his being swindled. In strict +confidence I think the chances are the other +way. MacAndrew, the lawyer here, told me a +story he had no business to tell about the +agreement between . . .” (Part of letter lost.)</p> + +<p>This was all. Peters before long was moved +to Java; and the letters to his mother ceased +soon after, for she died.</p> + +<p>Not long afterwards I got Bryanston’s answer +to my letter of enquiry to him. He told me little +but things of which by this time I was sure. +“C.” was Cartwright (William V. Cartwright, +he called him), and was, he conjectured, the man +whom Peters connected with Longhurst’s death. +He would be glad to tell me at any time +anything that he could, but he was off now for a +sea voyage which the state of his health made +necessary (a long absence immediately before +accounted for some delay in his answering me), +and at present he could think of nothing to tell +me but what I should see in Peters’ letter to +him, of which he was keeping the original and +now enclosed a copy.</p> + +<p>The important part of the letter enclosed was +as follows: “I have a question to ask you +which perhaps you will answer this time by +return of post. Never mind my previous +question about the old Assyrians. You will +remember the time in 1882 when you were at +Nagasaki, and you will remember Longhurst’s +being there and his sailing. After his +disappearance it got about naturally that he sailed in +that unhappy ship the <i>William the Silent</i>, which +went down in a cyclone. Now I have a distinct +recollection that when I met you, some months +after that, you told me that you had seen +Longhurst with Cartwright at Nagasaki, that +you saw them off, and that they both sailed +together in the same ship. I have forgotten +the name of the ship you mentioned, but it was +a ship with some female name, and it belonged +to your people. Will you please tell me at once +if my recollection is right. As for my reason +for asking, I expect I told you fully my reasons +for believing that Longhurst died by some foul +play. I may have told you the suspicion which +I had as to who did it. It was a suspicion for +which I was sorry afterwards, for I saw reason +to think it quite unfounded. But I have just +seen a man, whom I need not name, who must +have known when and how Longhurst sailed +from Nagasaki; and he astonished me by +saying that he sailed in the <i>William the Silent</i>. +Now one of three things: either I have got +muddled in my recollection as to what you said, +or, which I can hardly believe, I was mistaken +in my identification of the body which I exhumed +from the tomb which the chiefs showed me, or +I was right in both points, and then a conclusion +seems to follow which I shrink very much from +drawing. There is one other matter of fact +which I suspect and which I can easily verify, +which would absolutely fix the guilt on the +man I allude to, but I want to make quite +sure from you that my memory is right as to +Longhurst’s sailing. A suspicion of my man’s +guilt came to me as I have said, long ago, but +after making some enquiries I dismissed it +summarily, for I have, or ought to have, a sort of +hereditary friendship with him.”</p> + +<p>So then my hypothesis had been further put +to the test of facts, and again some of the points +which I had guessed had proved to be true. It +was no longer only a fanciful imagination of my +own, but a suspicion which any sane man with +the facts before him must feel, and feel very +strongly. There was more than enough +evidence for any sensible historian, for a lawyer +there was still none at all.</p> + +<p>In September the time came that we were to +leave Long Wilton for good. We then moved +to a country parish, which, though deep in the +country, is yet very near to London (and I +thenceforward often came to town). Naturally +leaving one parish and getting into another, not +to speak of the change of house, filled my whole +time with work to be finished now or never, +and with arrangements which must instantly be +set on foot for future work.</p> + +<p>Before the close of the year 1896 (I think it +was late in October, anyway it was some time +after I had settled into my new parish), a further +record of the sort for which I have been looking +came to light. It was my business as executor +to sell certain securities which had belonged to +Peters, and for a long time there was a difficulty +in finding with whom those securities were +lodged. Eventually, however, they were found +in the hands of the firm who had been his agents +while he was absent in the East, and in sending +them to me, the firm sent also a packet which +they told me had been deposited with them for +safe keeping in the year 1884, on the occasion of +a brief visit home which Peters had made. The +packet was a large envelope on which was +written “Notes on the affair of L.” On opening +it I found first two maps drawn by Peters. +The one was a rough copy of a map of the +island Sulu, in the Philippines. The other a +map on larger scale, very carefully drawn, +apparently from Peters’ own survey, of a small +portion of the island. It was inscribed “Chart +showing the spot where the tomb of a dead +white man was shown me by the two chiefs”. +Next I found a number of sheets taken out of +Peters’ journal, kept in the year 1882 in the +months of July and August. From this it +appeared that Peters had at that time +accompanied one Dr. Kuyper, who seemed to have +been a naturalist, upon a cruise in the Philippines, +and that they had come to a village upon the +coast of the island, where the Filipinos informed +them that a month or so before, a European, +they thought an Englishman, had come down +from somewhere inland, with several Malay and +Chinese servants, and had requested assistance +in burying the body of his companion. The +dead man, he stated, had been killed by a fall +from some rocks. The Filipino chiefs had told +Peters that the servants, who had not been +present when the fall took place, were much +excited, and seemed suspicious about it, but that +the manner and the answers of the European +traveller had allayed their own suspicion. +Something, however, seems to have aroused suspicion +in Peters and Kuyper, for they disinterred the +body. Peters’ journal proceeded to record certain +facts about the body, the clothing, etc. (in +particular the fact that a finger was missing on one +hand), which had led Peters to identify the body +as that of his former acquaintance, Longhurst. +He recorded also that they had found two bullets +from a revolver in the back of the head, and he +made a note as to the size and pattern of revolver +which these bullets would fit. Full enquiries +were made by Peters and Kuyper as to the +movements of the surviving traveller, who was +presumably the murderer, and he appeared to +have sailed, the day after his arrival, in a +Chinese junk, which took him up at a point +which was indicated on the chart. Peters had +recorded also the description which the Filipinos +gave of this visitor, and it was plain to me that +there were points in the description which tallied +with the appearance of Vane-Cartwright. It +seemed, though the journal after this point was +fragmentary, that Peters and Kuyper proceeded +immediately afterwards to Manilla, very likely +to communicate their discovery to the officers +of justice. There was nothing more in the +journal itself which it is worth while to repeat +here.</p> + +<p>Next I found a considerable number of notes, +which were in large part unintelligible to me +and perhaps to any one except the man who +made them. There were many abbreviations +in them, and very often they were illegible. +They included descriptions of a number of people +with outlandish names, and particulars as to +where and how it was supposed they were to +be found. Unfortunately, it was just in these +particulars that the abbreviations and illegibility +made the difficulties of the reader most serious. +There were also recorded the movements, or +a great part of the movements, of a personage +called “X.” in the months June to September +in the year 1882.</p> + +<p>Further, on a separate sheet of paper, I found +an indication of the reason why Peters had +desisted from his pursuit of that person X. whom +I thought myself able to identify. This sheet of +paper was headed “Description given me of the +convict Arkell executed at Singapore in +November, 1882”. The description corresponded +very well with that given in the journal of the +presumable murderer of Longhurst, and so far +as it went it seemed to show that the convict +Arkell might well have been confused with the +successful and respected financier, William +Vane-Cartwright. At the foot of the paper was a +note, with the dates queried, as to the time when +Arkell had been, as he seems to have been, on +the island of Sulu.</p> + +<p>There was also among these papers one which +began, “These, so far as I can recollect them, +are the facts told me by MacAndrew in regard +to the agreements made in 1880 between X. and +L.” MacAndrew’s story had apparently related +to changes made in the draft of the +agreement, at the instance of X., which MacAndrew +evidently thought that L. had not understood. +The note seemed to have been finished in haste +and to have left out some important facts, which +Peters no doubt carried in his memory. A +lawyer, among my friends, tells me that without +these facts it is impossible to be certain what +exactly was the trick which “X.” played upon +“L.,” and that it is even possible to suppose +that there was no dishonesty at all in his +proceedings.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch14"> + +<h2>Chapter XIV</h2> + +<p>Towards the end of November, 1896, I again +saw Callaghan. I had some time before +ascertained that he had returned to London, and I +daresay it may appear to the reader strange +that I should not immediately upon his return +have sought him out and again compared notes +with him. But (not to mention that I had no +reason, so far, to set great store upon Callaghan’s +observations and theories) it must be +remembered that I had received a very grave warning +as to his possible character. It is a serious +matter for a father of a family to enter into +intimate relations with a gentleman who, according +to an eminent specialist, is a homicidal lunatic. +So I made first a few enquiries from +acquaintances of his in regard to his character and recent +proceedings. For a while I intended to put off +seeing him till a time, which I was now +unhappily compelled to foresee, when my wife and +children would be safe out of the country. But +in the end my enquiries and my wife’s absolute +conviction satisfied me that the idea of his lunacy +was really, as I had at first supposed, quite +unfounded and foolish.</p> + +<p>Anyway, I at last invited Callaghan to stay +for a couple of days in our new home. He +accepted, but for one night only. He arrived in +the afternoon full of his Parisian adventures +and to a less extent of his detective researches. +With these, or with an adorned version of them, +he entertained me for an hour or so before dinner. +It seems that his sudden departure for Paris +was not altogether motiveless. He had, on his +arrival in London, heard by some accident of a +gentleman in Paris who was a correspondent +and intimate of Thalberg. He had +immediately conceived the notion of scraping +acquaintance with this gentleman and using him as a +means of information about Thalberg, and he +was further drawn towards Paris by a fancy +that he would like to study French methods of +criminal investigation, into which, through the +good offices of some friends of his, he thought +he could get some insight. In the latter respect +he was gratified. Now it seems that he had +already begun before Peters’ death to cherish +the ambition of getting high employment in the +Criminal Investigation Department at Scotland +Yard. So it came to pass that his studies in +the science of criminal investigation generally, +occupied more of his attention from that time +till our present meeting than the particular +investigation which had at first fascinated him. +Moreover, before he had been long in Paris he +discovered, to his huge amusement, that he was +himself the subject of suspicion and of close +observation, and without regard to how this might +affect his cherished ambition of an appointment +at Scotland Yard, he entered upon, and +continued during three whole months, an elaborate +scheme of mystification for the French officials +who were observing him, and, through them, for +that very Department in which he wished to fill +a high place. Nevertheless, he had pursued +ingenious enquiries in regard to the (as I still +thought him) unfortunate Thalberg, for which +purpose he paid several flying visits to London +and elsewhere. The result of these enquiries +he related to me, mingling it up with the tale of +his other adventures in such a manner that it +was hard for me to grasp what its importance +might be. I was able to see that Callaghan had +employed quite extraordinary ingenuity and +pains in picking up the facts about Thalberg +which he told me, but that very ingenuity struck +me as ludicrously disproportionate to the +importance of the facts which he had found, or was +ever likely to find along this road. Thalberg was +a solicitor in the City who had been in a small +way of business, till the firm of which he was +now the sole surviving partner began, a good +many years before, to be employed by +Vane-Cartwright. Vane-Cartwright got this firm +appointed solicitors to a company which was formed +to take over his original venture in the East, and +he still continued to employ Thalberg from time +to time upon private business of his own. +Thalberg’s family were interested in Eastern +commerce, and he had correspondence with many +persons in various parts of the far East. Years +before he had transacted for Vane-Cartwright +a good deal of correspondence of a nature so +secret as to be unknown to his clerks, and in +the course of this very year he had again +returned to an employment of the like kind for +some one or other. It appeared that it might +have been upon an errand connected with this +secret correspondence that he had come down +to Long Wilton. Callaghan was much excited +about a discovery which he had made that +Thalberg had in January of this year been in +correspondence with a personage in Madrid, +telegraphing to him in a cipher employed by +the Spanish Consulate in London, of which he +was able to make use through an official in that +Consulate, who had since been discharged for +misconduct and was now in Paris. There was +more of this nature as to the mysterious +proceedings of Thalberg, but I cannot well +remember how much Callaghan told me on that +occasion, and I must observe that I have set +down what he then told me as I understand it +now. I was not able to understand it completely +at the time owing to the fact that throughout +his talk that afternoon Callaghan did not once +allude to Vane-Cartwright by his name.</p> + +<p>I wondered then, and I wonder now, how far +up to this time Callaghan suspected +Vane-Cartwright. I believe that he did not like to avow +to himself the full suspicion that he felt, and +that this was why he hesitated to name him to +me. I am sure that in his heart he disliked him +very much; he had always seemed to do so. +But I think that, to my Irish friend, +Vane-Cartwright appeared the embodiment of those +characteristics of the Englishman which an +Irishman knows he dislikes, but thinks that +he ought to respect. So I should guess that, +as long as he could, he had dutifully forced +himself to believe in Vane-Cartwright as a very +estimable person full of English rectitude. +In any case, for all the pains he took to follow +up his suspicion that Thalberg was somehow +connected with the crime, I know that he had +not fully seen the conclusion to which this was +leading him.</p> + +<p>When I went up to dress for dinner, I +reminded my wife of certain passages in Peters’ +manuscripts on psychology which we had read +together with very great interest. Among these +was a curious paper on “Imagination, +Truth-telling and Lying,” in which, beginning with +the paradox that the correct perception of fact +depended far more on moral qualities, and +truthfulness in ordinary speech far more on +intellectual qualities than was generally supposed, +he proceeded to describe with great wealth of +illustration some of the types under which races +and individual men fall, in respect of their power +of getting hold of truth and of giving it out. +Scattered through these pages were a number of +remarks which came to my mind in this talk with +Callaghan. With most of them I will not trouble +the reader, but in one passage in particular +Peters had pointed out the mistake of thinking +that a man who commits glaring inaccuracies is +necessarily on that account not worth listening +to. Ludicrous inaccuracies, even glaring +falsehoods as they may seem, spring often, he +insisted, from the peculiar abundance and vivacity +of the impressions which a man receives from +what passes before his eyes. A person with +this gift may frequently in his memory put +something that he has truly noticed into a wrong +connexion, or combine two scattered fragments +of observation, true in themselves, into a single +totally erroneous recollection of fact. But a +man who gets things wrong in this way, is, said +Peters, often more full of information than a +more sober observer, because he has noticed far +more, and after all, a very large part of what he +has noticed is sure to be accurately retained. In +another passage, which I am afraid I may mar +by summarising it, Peters described how, with +all men in some degree, but with some men in +a wonderful degree, intellectual faculties are the +servants of emotional interests, so that not only +the power of inference, but even memory itself +will do work at the bidding of pain or pleasure, +liking or dislike, which it will not do upon a +merely rational demand. Reminding my wife +of this, I said I wished I knew by what test I +could tell the true from the false in Callaghan’s +reminiscences, and by what spell I could turn +the flow of those reminiscences into the channel +in which they would be useful.</p> + +<p>As we went down to dinner she whispered to +me that, if Callaghan was the sort of man that +I seemed to think, she would try to turn his +thoughts in the useful direction; only I must +let him alone for a little while. In the course of +dinner, she told our guest what she had told me +long before about Vane-Cartwright’s +engagement, and how it had been broken off, and just +what the young lady had said to her. Only of +course she did not go on to tell him the rash +inference which she had drawn as to +Vane-Cartwright’s guilt. I could see that Callaghan +heard her with strange emotion, but my wife +speedily turned the conversation on to more +commonplace topics, upon which, during the +remainder of dinner, he responded to her brightly +enough, but by no means with his usual +appearance of interest.</p> + +<p>After dinner Callaghan and I retired to my +study to smoke pipes. He sat for a long while +silent, and I thought that he had gone to sleep, +or should have thought so but for the +contraction of his brows. Suddenly he sat upright in +his chair. “Faith!” he exclaimed with great +energy, and with the air of a man to whom a +really thrilling thought has just occurred, “I +know what became of those eyeglasses of mine.” +“What eyeglasses?” I asked, disappointed and +annoyed at the triviality of what came forth as +the issue of his cogitation. “Why,” he said, +“I once took for a short time to wearing +eyeglasses. I was looking at the stars with a man +one night and I found I could not count seven +Pleiades. So I went to an oculist who said he +would pass me for the Navy, but as I was +paying him a fee I might take a prescription for a +pair of double eyeglasses which I never could +keep steady on my nose.” “Well?” I said +sulkily. “Well,” he answered, “it is only that +I lost them while I was staying with Peters. +Of course they went into that big despatch-box, +which Vane-Cartwright always kept in his room. +My dear Mr. Driver,” he said in a more serious +tone, “do you really suppose that +Vane-Cartwright had not possessed himself of something +handy for throwing suspicion upon you, if you +had turned out to be the convenient man? I +might easily have been the convenient man, +and in that case, the morning after the murder, +my eyeglasses would have been found smashed +and lying on the floor of Peters’ bedroom, as if +he had knocked them off in struggling with me. +Only (fortunately for you and me, Mr. Driver), +Trethewy was chosen as the suitable man, and +accidents that we know of prevented the plot +against Trethewy working as well as perhaps +the plot against you or me might have worked. +Well,” he continued with a smile, “I have a +good deal more to tell you about Mr. Thalberg, +but that will keep for a bit, and we shall +understand it better later. I suspect there is +something different that you wanted to ask me about +now.”</p> + +<p>I asked him for anything that he remembered +of that evening when Vane-Cartwright had first +visited Peters at Long Wilton, while Callaghan +was already staying in the house. He +recounted to me and to my wife, whom we called +in, the conversation and events of that evening +in great detail. An indescribable change seemed +to have come over him for a time; not only was +the matter which he had to relate weighty, but +the man himself gave me an impression of force +and character which I had not previously +suspected. I repeat only so much of his narrative +as was of special interest for my purpose. +“After a bit,” said Callaghan, “Peters and +Vane-Cartwright got away on to the subject of +their experiences in some Cannibal Islands, or +French possessions, or I do not know where. +I was not much interested, and I dozed a bit, +till suddenly I was aroused and saw that there +was something up. I do not know what +Vane-Cartwright had said, but suddenly Peters said, +‘Sailed in what?’ three times as quick and +three times as loud as his usual way of +speaking. That was what woke me up. ‘In the’—I +don’t remember the name, I did not quite +catch it, for Vane-Cartwright was speaking +very quietly, though I could see that his face +was set hard and that his eyes were bright, +and I began to think he did not look such a +dull fellow as I thought him at first. Peters +said nothing but ‘Oh,’ and this time very +quietly. Then he got up and strode slowly +about the room with his hands clenched. He +did not seem to notice Vane-Cartwright much, +and Vane-Cartwright went on talking, in as +indifferent a way as he could, about cyclones +and things, the usual sort of travellers’ talk, only +without the lies that I should have thrown in; +but he was watching Peters all the time like a +cat. After a while Peters sat down again and +seemed quite composed, and talked again in +quite a friendly way, but it seemed to be an +effort. Then he went and wrote a letter at the +other end of the room, two letters rather; one +I noticed was addressed to Bombay, or Beirut, +or somewhere beginning with a B. Both the +letters had twopenny-halfpenny stamps on them. +Soon it was bedtime; but Peters was for taking +his letters down to the post that they might +go early in the morning, and Vane-Cartwright +was very anxious to take the letters for him, as +it would be very little out of his way to go down +to the post. Peters thanked him in that very +polite way which he had with him when he did +feel really obstinate. I was not going with them, +for I thought I was in the way, but, just as he +was leaving, Peters turned back and asked me +rather pressingly to come too. I suppose he +would have felt lonely in that man’s company, +for certainly he did not want to talk to me. +I do not think he said more than two words +to me after we parted from Vane-Cartwright, +who, by the way, kept with us all the way to the +post office, which was not on his way home; +but, just as we were getting back, Peters said +to me suddenly, ‘Let me see, did I ask him to +stay with me next time he came here?’ ‘I do +not know,’ said I. ‘Well, good-night,’ said he.”</p> + +<p>At this point I broke in upon Callaghan’s +story with loud regrets that Peters had written +those letters with the murderer in the room, +“For you know what those letters were about,” +I added, remembering that he did not. “I +know,” said he, “but he could not help it; +he was an Englishman. You English always +show your hand. Not because you are frank +and outspoken, for you are anything but that, +but because you are so proud. You know,” he +went on, “that I have a devout belief in the +English qualities that all we Irish hear so +much about; but when I had an Englishman +for my dearest friend, I could not help noticing +the national defects, could I? I could not have +acted as Peters did. I rather hope that when +I had got scent of the fellow’s dirty +secret—whatever it was, for I have not a notion about +that—I would have exploded at once and had +it out with him. I daresay I should not, but, +if I had not, at least I should have taken the +trouble to dissemble properly.” “If he had +done either,” I said, “he would be alive to-day, +and Vane-Cartwright would not be a murderer, +or at least——” “I understand you,” said he.</p> + +<p>He continued his story, and related with great +detail what was done and said day by day during +Vane-Cartwright’s calamitous sojourn in Peters’ +house when he returned to stay there. He +described the relations of the two men as being +exactly the reverse of what they had been when +he had formerly seen them together. Then +Peters had been genial and friendly, +Vane-Cartwright stiff and unforthcoming. Now it was +very much the other way. Several times, it +appeared, the conversation had got upon the +subject of Peters’ Eastern travels. Each time +the conversation had been led thither by +Vane-Cartwright in a way of which I was +afterwards to have experience. Peters was in a +manner compelled to enter into it and +compelled to yield information which Callaghan at +the moment had thought utterly trivial, but +which he now saw clearly Vane-Cartwright was +anxious to possess. The information which was +extracted seems to have related to all the places +that Peters had visited in the East, and all the +people whom he had ever met, and Callaghan +remembered, or fancied, that several times, while +he was being thus drawn out, Peters showed +curious irritation. It appeared most strikingly +from Callaghan’s recital that Vane-Cartwright +had throughout shown the coolest readiness to +talk about the scene of his crime, if he had +committed one, and to take Peters’ recollection +back to the old days of his association with +Longhurst.</p> + +<p>But now I must explain that through all +that Callaghan told me, ran the same strain of +odd and fantastic inaccuracy to which I have +more than once alluded. Several times, for +example, he said that I was present at +conversations at which I certainly was not present. +He repeated to me remarks of my own, which, +if I ever said anything like them, were made +on a totally different occasion from that of +which he spoke. One of those remarks had +really been made within three hours of the time +when he repeated it to me, and could not have +been made previously. This is perhaps the +best example that I can give of what caused +me a most exasperating sense of +disappointment. Disappointment because, where I could +not check him, Callaghan seemed to be +supplying me, in the greatest fulness and in the +most credible manner, with just the information +that I desired; but where I could check him, +though he was now and then curiously accurate +in his recollection of circumstances well known +to me, which I had not thought he could have +observed, it still more often happened that he +was under some grotesque mistake.</p> + +<p>Worst of all, he gave me new details about +the fatal night, which, if they could have been +trusted, would have had greater weight than +any other piece of evidence that had yet come +to me, but they were just of the sort in which +he was likely to be mistaken. Speaking of the +moment at which he was called out from his +room by the disturbance in the street, he +declared that knocking immediately at +Vane-Cartwright’s door he heard, as Vane-Cartwright +answered from the far corner of the room, a click +which he was certain came from the lock of the +despatch-box which he had mentioned. He +conjectured that among various articles which +were there for a dark purpose, the knife which +was the instrument of Peters’ death lay in that +box, and that he had interrupted +Vane-Cartwright in the act of taking it forth. This of +course was mere conjecture, but what followed +seemed at first evidence enough to have hanged +the criminal. He had opened Vane-Cartwright’s +door, and he now described to me almost every +object that was in the room as he entered it. +Amongst others there lay upon the chest of +drawers George Borrow’s <i>Bible in Spain</i> in a +binding which he described. Curiously enough +he did not know the significance of this; he had, +as he told me, been so much overwhelmed with +grief when the murder was discovered that he +had hardly begun to see or think distinctly till +after we had all left the room of death; but as +the reader may remember, this was the very +book (and it was bound in the same way) which +was found in that room dropped from the dead +man’s hand with torn and crumpled leaves. +Who but Vane-Cartwright could have brought +it there?</p> + +<p>It was one of Peters’ oddities, well known to +me (and perhaps Vane-Cartwright had learnt +it long ago at Saigon), that he would have +welcomed at any strange hour the incursion of +a friend to talk about anything. No doubt, I +thought, Vane-Cartwright entered his room on +the pretext of showing him a passage which bore +on something he had said. Probably between +the leaves of the <i>Bible in Spain</i> he carried +something that looked like a paper-knife. Anyway +here was proof that after the hour at which any +of us saw Peters alive, after Vane-Cartwright, +by his own account, had last seen him, that man +entered Peters’ room. “But,” I exclaimed, as +all this ran through my mind, “you spoke just +now of the day when I was riding at Long +Wilton, whereas I was on a horse to-day for +the first time for four years. Ten times at +least I have known you put things out of time +or out of place just like that, by way of giving +colour to your story. How do I know that +you have not done so now, that you did not +really see that book in Vane-Cartwright’s room +any one of the other times that you went there, +that it had not been back in Peters’ library and +been brought up again by Peters himself?”</p> + +<p>To my surprise Callaghan answered most +humbly. He was quite aware, he said, of this +evil trick of his mind; he had had it from a boy, +and his parents ought to have flogged it out of +him. As to the particular point on which I +challenged him, he could not himself be quite +sure.</p> + +<p>During the remainder of his stay with me I +gave him an outline of what I had so far +discovered, and we compared notes upon it, but +he was not long with me, as he had an +important engagement next evening, and our +conference was not so full as it should have +been. So it easily happened that neither of us +gained the enlightenment which he might have +gained if our talk had been fuller. But I must +confess that I fell into the fault which he called +English. My disclosure was more incomplete +than it need have been; I had not quite got +over my instinctive wish to keep him at arm’s +length, and my pride rebelled a little at the +discovery that this erratic Irishman was not a +man whom I could afford to patronise.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch15"> + +<h2>Chapter XV</h2> + +<p>The chapter which I am about to write may +well prove dreary. It will be nothing but a +record of two deaths and of much +discouragement. Here was I with my theory (for it had +been no more) grown into a fairly connected +history which so appealed at many points to a +rational judgment as to leave little room for +doubt of its truth. And yet, as I could not +but see, there was very little in it at present +which could form even a part of the evidence +necessary to convict Vane-Cartwright in a +Court of Law. I determined all the same to +get advice upon the matter from a lawyer, who +was my friend, thinking that it was now time +to put my materials in the hands of the +authorities charged with the detection of crime, and +that, with this to start upon, and with the skill +and resources which they possessed, they could +hardly fail before long to discover the evidence +needed for a prosecution. But my lawyer friend, +though he quite agreed with me in my +conviction that Vane-Cartwright was guilty of two +murders, doubted whether the facts which I had +got together would move the authorities to take +up the matter actively. Still he undertook, +with my approval, to talk about the subject +with some one in the Public Prosecutor’s +office or in the Criminal Investigation +Department of Scotland Yard, I do not know which. +Nothing resulted from this, and the failure +needs little explanation. Some want of touch +between town and country police, some want +of eagerness on the part of a skilled official +who had lately incurred blame and +disappointment through the ludicrous failure of a keen +pursuit upon a somewhat similar trail, these +might account for it all. But besides, Callaghan +had been beforehand with us, and on this +occasion had managed to raise a spirit of incredulity +about it all. Perhaps too even hardened experts +recoiled instinctively from associating with guilt +one of the few great men of finance who were +at once well known to the outside public and +respected in the City itself.</p> + +<p>For me then there was nothing but to wait +for the further things which I somehow felt +certain would turn up. As for Callaghan it +happened just about this time that he became +keenly enamoured of an invention, made by an +engineer friend of his, through which he +persuaded himself that he could make his own and +his friend’s fortune. Henceforward for some +time the affair of Peters seems to have passed +from his mind, and he was prevented from +meeting me at the few times at which I should +have been able to see him.</p> + +<p>In the course of December I had a letter +from my old parish from a friend who was kind +enough to keep me posted in the gossip of the +place. He said that the police were now busy +over a new clue as to the murder. It may be +remembered that according to Trethewy he had, +as he returned home on the night of the murder, +been passed in the lane by a man riding a horse +and leading another. Well, report said now +that a man in a neighbouring parish, who had +been greatly excited about the murder at the +time, had been having dreams about it night +after night, which impressed him with the notion +that he was to discover the truth. Rooting +about for all the recollections of that time which +he could find among his neighbours, he heard +that in the early morning after the murder a +man with two horses had been seen between +Peters’ house and the village, that another +man, a stranger to the village, had come up +from the direction of Peters’ house and had +mounted the second horse, and that the two +had ridden off together. Report added that the +man whom Trethewy had seen had now been +traced by the police, and that his answers as to +the man who had joined him and ridden off with +him were unsatisfactory and suspicious; and it +added one more telling detail. The police (as +I may have mentioned) had before I left Long +Wilton noticed one window at the back of the +house as in some respects the readiest way by +which the house could have been wrongfully +entered. It belonged to a housemaid’s closet, of +which the door did not shut properly. It was +very easy to climb up to it; but then the window +itself was very small, and it was a question +whether a man of ordinary stature could possibly +have squeezed himself through it; now the +strange man of this rumour was described as +being ridiculously small and thin. There were +many more picturesque details related, but the +whole story professed only to consist of unsifted +rumour. I believed little of it, but I naturally +did accept the statement (quite mistaken) that +the police were busy in the matter. With my +fixed idea about Vane-Cartwright, I felt sure +that they were upon a false scent. But I +thought it very likely that this would for the +present absorb their attention, and, between +this and the great pressure of work in a new +parish and of certain family anxieties, I made +no further effort at this time to secure attention +to the discovery which I believed I had made.</p> + +<p>Twice in the few days just before Christmas +my hopes of making further discoveries were +vainly aroused. I made a call of civility in my +new parish upon a notable Nonconformist +parishioner, and, in my rapid survey of his +sitting-room before he came to me, I noticed several +indications that he had been in Australia, and +I saw on the mantelpiece a framed photograph. +It was rather a hazy and faded photograph +which gave me no clear impression of its +subject, but under it was written, “Walter +Longhurst, Melbourne, 3rd April, 1875”. Could +that be my Longhurst, and was this one of those +relations of his, whom, as I had heard, +Vane-Cartwright had treated with suspicious +generosity? Might he not, in that case, be the +possessor of information more valuable than he +knew? He now came in. He was a truly +venerable man, who in spite of great age was +still active as a lay-preacher of one of the +Methodist Churches, and I was attracted by +the archaic but evidently sincere piety of his +greeting when he entered the room. But +unfortunately, when by adjusting his gold spectacles +he had discovered of what profession I was, a +cloud of suspicion seemed to arise in his mind, +and he was more anxious to testify, in all charity +but with all plain dealing, concerning priestly +pretensions and concerning that educational +policy which was then beginning to gather +strength, than to enter into any such +conversation as I desired. I made out, nevertheless, +that this Walter Longhurst was probably my +Longhurst, and my expectation rose +unreasonably. My new friend (if he will let me call him +so) was no relation of his, but had known him +at a time when both were in Australia. +Longhurst was from his point of view outside the +fold besides being a rough kind of man, or, as +he put it, a “careless liver”; but he evidently +flattered himself that he had exercised a good +influence over Longhurst, and the latter had +given money, which he could then ill afford, +though he made a good deal of money later, to +help religious work with which my lay-preaching +friend was connected. Later on, when my +informant had returned to England and was for +some time incapacitated by an accident which +happened on the voyage, Longhurst, to his +surprise, had from time to time sent him presents +of money. They came in the form of +banknotes, sent by a mysterious agent in London, +who gave no address to which they could be +returned, but who wrote stating Longhurst’s +desire that he should use them for himself, or, +if he absolutely would not, should at least use +them in his work. All this the old man’s +gratitude obliged him to relate, but, when I +pressed him for information about Longhurst’s +relations or friends, either he knew nothing or +his ill-defined suspicion of me returned and shut +his mouth. I did, however, ascertain that some +years before (after Longhurst’s death) a rich +gentleman, whose name the old man had +forgotten, though I thought I could supply it, had +heard of him in some way as one of Longhurst’s +beneficiaries, and pressed upon him a pension +which he had refused, as he would, if he could, +have refused Longhurst’s bounty.</p> + +<p>Two days later, on Christmas Eve, I was +urgently summoned to visit Peters’ aunt, Miss +Waterston, whom I had seen at his funeral. I +had called upon her in the summer at her flat in +London, but a lady who was staying with her +remained in the room all the time, in spite, as I +thought, of several hints that she might go, and +Miss Waterston, when I left, said how glad she +would be to see me again, and, she hoped, talk +with me more fully. I took little note of this at +the time, but I made up my mind to take my +wife to see the old lady when I could, and +continued thinking of it and putting it off till +I got this summons, which told me that Miss +Waterston was very ill and had something +which she much wished to tell me. When I +arrived at her flat she was dead. The lady +who had been looking after her told me that +she had several times shown anxiety that I +should come soon, but had at last remarked +that if I did not come in time she would accept +it as a sign that what she had meant to tell me +was best untold. She had two weeks before, +when she was not yet ill, remarked that she +would like to see me soon. Various straws of +things that were told me about her suggested +that she had lately become concerned afresh +about her nephew’s death. She had been +intimate with the Cartwright family, and had +to the end seen something of a rather neglected +widowed cousin of William Vane-Cartwright’s. +Of course I have no ground for thinking that +she had any grave disclosure to make to me.</p> + +<p>Christmas, that year, came sadly to me. We +must in any case have been full of memories +of the last Christmas, at which Peters had +joined our party and added much to the +children’s and our own delight. This Christmas +he was dead; the hope, not perhaps consonant +with Christmas thoughts, of avenging him had +arisen in my mind and was dying, and I came +home from the deathbed of the last remaining +person of his kin who had loved him better +than we did, and who in the little I had seen +of her had reflected to me some indefinable +trace of the same noble qualities as I discovered +in him.</p> + +<p>I attended her funeral. So did the old +cousin who had come with her to Peters’ +funeral. He recognised me and greeted me +courteously, remarking what a charming person +that Mr. Vane-Cartwright was whom he had +met at my house. He looked to me older; +his grey hair was turning auburn; he was as +unattractive to me as the rest of the appanage +of funerals, but I was grateful to him for being +one of the very few who came to honour the +remains of the old woman, almost a stranger +to me, whom I yet so truly respected.</p> + +<p>By the time the anniversary of Peters’ death +came round I was again alone; it had been +necessary after Christmas that my daughter +should go South, and my wife had taken her. +I was busy and therefore happy enough, and +I did not often but I did sometimes ask myself, +would nothing more ever turn up? Yes, before +long something did turn up; something not to +help me on but to show me that, in thinking ever +to unravel the dark history of Longhurst’s fate, +I had started upon a hopeless task. Early in +February a letter came to me re-directed to +Peters from the dead letter office at Siena, +where it had long lain entombed. It was a +letter written by Peters to a certain Reverend +James Verschoyle, D.D., addressing him as a +person Peters well knew and had seen quite +lately. It bore the date of Vane-Cartwright’s +first evening at Grenvile Combe. It reminded +him of a conversation which he had had with +Peters, at their last meeting, about a very +mysterious event in the Philippines, and of the great +surprise which Peters had expressed at what +Verschoyle then told him. “To tell the truth,” +said Peters, “it should have revived a suspicion +which I had long ago entertained against a man +who was once my friend. Or rather, it should +have done more than that, it should have +convinced me of his guilt and given me the means +of proving it. How I came to put it from my +mind I hardly know. I think that my +recollection of what you told me is precise, but I should +be greatly obliged if you would refer to your +journals of the months May to October, 1882, +and perhaps you will oblige me by copying +out for me all that has any bearing on this +matter. I am sorry to trouble you, but I +am convinced that the ends of justice may +be served by your doing this for me, and I +suspect that if they are to be served, I must +act as quickly as I may.”</p> + +<p>I lost no time in tracing the Rev. James +Verschoyle, D.D., who had about a year before +been at Siena. He had, after a sojourn in +Germany, come back to England. He had, I found, +been a missionary in the East. I managed to +trace him to his latest address, only to find that +he had died in the previous August. I had an +interview with some of his family, and found them +most obligingly willing to search for the +journals in question. It was strange that the journals +for the years 1881 to 1883 could nowhere be +found. I was convinced that they had contained +those crucial facts to which Peters had referred +in his letter to Bryanston.</p> + +<p>Evidently there had been information in Dr. +Verschoyle’s possession which in Peters’ hands +could have led to the conviction of +Vane-Cartwright. Evidently Peters had once seen that +information, but had disregarded it, more or less +wilfully, in his determination to think his old +acquaintance innocent, and to put the guilt on +Arkell who had been hanged at Singapore. +Evidently the full significance of Verschoyle’s +facts came to his mind when Vane-Cartwright, +that evening at Grenvile Combe, had revived +his first suspicion, and he wrote at once to +recover the precise details. But of what nature +that information was, and how Vane-Cartwright, +seeing Verschoyle’s name on an envelope, could +have grasped the full extent of the danger to +himself, I could not guess then, and I cannot +guess now.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch16"> + +<h2>Chapter XVI</h2> + +<p>So then the mystery of Longhurst’s fate was +not for me to unravel. Peters had held the +clue of it, and had died because he held it; +Verschoyle perhaps had the clue and was dead +too, probably from some other cause; neither +had recorded his secret, or the record could not +be found. As for the manner of Peters’ death, +what further place was there to look to for some +fresh discovery? I already had heard all that +any of my old parishioners, any grown man +or woman among them, knew, and it was less +than I knew, and I had searched the +neighbourhood for news, quietly, but I hoped no less +effectively; the police, I was now ready to +believe, had searched as zealously and more wisely. +And so Vane-Cartwright was to go unhanged, +and why not, after all? he was not a homicidal +maniac but a wise criminal, rather more unlikely +than most men to commit any further crime. +Even his gains, however ill-gotten, were not +likely to be more harmfully spent than those +of many a better man. And no innocent man +suffered under suspicion. Trethewy had been +found a good place by some unlooked-for +benefactor, where no memory of the crime would +pursue him. Callaghan’s numerous enough +friends understood him far too well to suspect +him, and as for his numerous acquaintances who +were not friends, if they did suspect him, the +good man would be rather amused than +otherwise. Let Vane-Cartwright live and adorn +society which is adorned by men and women +worse than he, to whom circumstances have +never brought the opportunity of dramatic +wrong-doing.</p> + +<p>Thus I tried to think, as I left England for +a few weeks in the late spring of 1897 to join +my wife and our daughter, who was now much +stronger, in Italy; but, whatever I tried to +think, I had always with me that consciousness +of a purpose frustrated or let go, which is +perhaps the hardest thing to bear well and the +most enervating thing to bear ill.</p> + +<p>Some ten days later I was in Florence with +my wife. The next day we were to go to +Rome, leaving our daughter at the villa of a +friend in Fiesole. I remember at our early +breakfast telling my wife the facts or reports +which I had been picking up about that strangely +powerful secret organisation, the Mafia. I +repeated to her what I had just heard, that not +only prominent Italian politicians, but even +foreigners who had large commercial dealings +with Italy, sometimes found it convenient to be +on good terms with that society. But she was +little interested in political facts which did not +connect themselves with any particular +personality, and I thought she had hardly heard me, +though she raised her eyes to listen from the +volume of Senator Villari’s <i>Savonarola</i> which +she was finishing. I little imagined that before +another day had closed this chance remark of +mine would have acquired the closest personal +interest for her, and have been turned to very +practical account.</p> + +<p>Later in the day she was in the Pitti Galleries, +and I came there from Cook’s office to join her. +She was looking with puzzled interest at a +picture by Botticelli, when a tall man, dressed +like an Englishman, placed himself with assumed +unconsciousness just in front of her, in a position +of vantage for fixing his connoisseur’s gaze upon +it. She turned away and met me, and was +saying, half-amused, that after all there were +Englishmen who could be as rude as any foreigner, +when, looking at him again as he moved away +to leave the gallery, she started and said: “Oh, +Robert, I know his face”. I too knew his face, +and knew, as she did not, his name. “It is that +dreadful man that I told you about who was at +Crema. Do not you remember I told you how +he would keep the only good room at the hotel +when I arrived there with mother so terribly +ill, the time she had that first stroke. And oh, +I took such pains to write him the nicest note +I could”—and very nice her notes could +be—“and I could just see his horrid face as he +glanced at it and said nothing but ‘tell the lady +I cannot’ to the waiter. And oh, poor mother +did suffer in the dreadful hot room with all the +kitchen noises and the smells.” I did remember +her story well, an ordinary story enough, of one +of those neglects of courtesy which, once in +fifty times it may be, are neglects of elementary +mercy; but I said little, and I did not tell her +that her rediscovered enemy was my enemy +already, William Vane-Cartwright. I said to +myself that I would not tell her because she +would feel an unreasonable relenting towards +Vane-Cartwright, if once she realised that she +herself owed him a grudge. Really I did not +tell her because I had promptly formed a design +which she would have discovered and +disapproved.</p> + +<p>That evening I left my wife on some pretext, +and having discovered Vane-Cartwright’s hotel, +I paid him a friendly call. I suppose it was +dishonourable; at least, I have often reproached +myself for it, but truly I do not know if it was +really dishonourable. I do know that I was +very foolish to dream, as I did, that I should +ferret something out of him. He received me +in his private sitting-room with cordiality, or, +I should rather say, effusiveness. He sent a +rather urgent message to his friend who was +travelling with him, as if (I thought) he did not +wish to be alone with me, but he was far from +embarrassed. “Tell me, Mr. Driver,” he began, +as soon as we were seated, “has anything +further been heard about the murder of our +friend Peters?” I answered that Trethewy +had been released and had left the neighbourhood, +having found a situation, through some +friends unknown to me, and that to the best of +my belief, the police had discovered no further +clue. “I am glad about Trethewy,” he said. +“You know I always suspected there had been +some mistake there, and besides, I always liked +the man. I do not think the police will discover +a clue,” he said, “I rather think that the +solution of the mystery will occur to some of us, his +friends, if a solution ever is found.” I was +silent. I could not tell whether he had a design +to allay possible suspicions of mine, or a design +to goad me into betraying whether I had those +suspicions, or whether he was merely keeping +himself in practice. I wanted to drop the +subject if I could. “Do you know,” he persisted, +“whether they have found any other way in +which the house could be entered from outside +except the window of his room, by which I +don’t believe the murderer did enter?” I said +there was a small window to a housemaid’s +closet which was not fastened, and that the +housemaid could not be quite certain that the +door of the closet was really locked overnight, +for it did not shut properly; but it was very +doubtful whether a man could get through the +window. “Who in the world,” he said, “could +have a motive for killing Peters, dear old Eustace +Peters?” I was beginning to lose my head, +for I felt I was playing an unworthy part. +“Well,” I said, with no particular purpose, “it +seems certain that it cannot have been Mr. +Thalberg.” “Certain, I should say,” he +answered. “Oh, no,” he added, more +energetically, “I know Thalberg well, and he is not the +man. As for Callaghan, one might as well +suspect you or me—me, I should say,” and he +turned away to fetch a cigar, or perhaps to +watch me for a moment in the mirror. “The +fact is,” he said returning, “it must be far easier +than we, who have never had occasion to give +our wits to it, think to commit a murder and +hide one’s tracks absolutely. But here is Mr. +Poile, let me introduce you, and let us, for +Heaven’s sake, talk of a more cheerful subject.” +So we did turn to a subject which I should have +thought had no pitfalls, the subject of Italian +brocades, of which Vane-Cartwright was an +amateur. He produced a large parcel of ancient +and gorgeous stuffs which had come up on +approval from a shop. He talked, in a way +that really held all my interest for the time, +about the patterns; and, starting from the more +conventional of the designs before us, he +proceeded to discuss the history of common patterns, +telling me curious things about the patterns and +the fabrics of the Eastern Archipelago and the +Malay Peninsula. Suddenly he picked up a +really noble piece of brocade, and turning to me, +with a face of winning simplicity and kindliness +which he could not have learnt to assume if it +had not at some time been natural, he said: +“Oh, Mr. Driver, I am so fond of picking up +these things, and it is so hard to find any +satisfactory use for them, it would be a real kindness +if you would accept this as an altar-cloth for +your church. It will be wasted in a museum +otherwise.” It was too much for me. The +proposition that I should accept an altar-cloth +for my church from the man that I was seeking +to convict of murder, sent a visible shudder +through my frame, and all the more because I +felt that it was illogical to recoil from this when I +had not recoiled from affecting friendship to him. +I said “No” quite violently, and, when I collected +my wits to utter thanks and explanations, they +were at once too effusive and too lame to have +blinded a stupider man than Vane-Cartwright.</p> + +<p>I stayed long with him—should have +outstayed my welcome, if I had ever been +welcome—for I was demoralised, and had resolved in +mere dull obstinacy both to disarm his suspicions +somehow and to get something out of him. +The first would have been impossible for any +one, the second was impossible for me then, and +at last I took leave, praying him not to come +down with me, and descended the stairs a very +miserable man. I had behaved stupidly, that +was certain. I had behaved badly, that was +possible. I had shown him that I suspected him, +that was certain. I ought to have known +beforehand that he would guess it, for my refusal to +visit him in London (as I happened to have +promised I would, before he left Long Wilton) +had been marked enough to set him thinking. +Had I done nothing worse than betray vague +suspicions? Yes, in my floundering efforts I +had recurred to his Eastern patterns, and so +led him to Eastern travels and towards topics +dangerous to him, only to fall into my own trap. +He must have seen that I had somehow heard +before, as not one Englishman in twenty +thousand has heard, of the little island of Sulu.</p> + +<p>Wholly sick with myself I stood in the hall +of the hotel, absently watching the porter set +out the newly arrived letters in little heaps on +a table. There was one for Vane-Cartwright. +Had I not noticed that handwriting before? +Yes, it was a marked hand, one so obviously +that of a servant and yet so well-formed and +with such an elegance. I gazed at the +handwriting (somehow I thought of Sunday schools). +I had just time to note the postmark before +another letter covered it.</p> + +<p>The corner of my eye had half-caught a +vision of some one coming downstairs, coming +very quietly but very quickly. A light step +on the rug beside me, an unpleasantly gentle +hand taking my arm, the fingers, I half-fancied, +seeming to take measure of the size and +hardness of my muscle, and Vane-Cartwright’s too +cultivated voice saying lightly, “Looking to +see if there is any one else that you know +coming to the hotel, Mr. Driver? I always do +that. Well, good-night again, and so many +thanks.” “Caught again,” I reflected, as I +turned into the street, and nothing gained by +spying and being caught spying. Yes, +something gained, that letter for Vane-Cartwright +with the postmark Crondall is in the +handwriting of Mrs. Trethewy.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>One question alone occupied me as I walked +back: What was the exact significance of the +almost certain fact that the situation which the +Trethewys had obtained was really in +Vane-Cartwright’s service? Had I learnt that fact +a day sooner, I might have thought that, +murderer or not, he had done a true and +unobtrusive kindness in secretly engaging them, +but the little scene in the Pitti, and the trivial +story of the best bedroom at Crema, shut +that explanation out of my mind. I had +not resolved this question when I got to the +hotel and to my wife, who was now anxiously +expecting me. I had not even thought of the +other questions, to which it led, but I had at +least returned in far too sensible a mood to +think any further of disguising anything from +her. Our talk lasted well into the night. I +record so much of the substance of its close +as really concerns my story. “But still I do +not see,” I said, “why you should say I have +spoilt our holiday.” “Because you must go +by the first train to-morrow. Not a moment +later. Oh, Robert, cannot you see why I have +been so angry? I have looked forward so +to our stay alone together at Rome, and at +another time I should be very angry to lose +it; but it is not that. Oh, Robert, I could find +it in my heart to beg you not to do your duty. +It is your duty; you would not be so full of +passion against the man if it was not that you +knew it was your duty; and I know it too, and +you must follow up that clue at once before he +makes it too late. But, oh, what am I saying, +it is not your duty I am thinking of. I would +beg you to let the duty be if that would save +you. But it is too late now; it’s a race for life +between you and him. Peters has been killed, +and Verschoyle has been killed, and oh!”</p> + +<p>The thought was not in the least new to me +except so far as it concerned Verschoyle. I had +foreseen a time when my life would be in danger +from Vane-Cartwright. Stupid as it may seem, +I had not realised yet that that time was now, +and anyway I had resolved to treat it lightly +myself, and hoped that it might not occur to +her. We spent a while without words. Then +I said, in the foolish persuasion that it was a +manly utterance: “I do not think that I am +brave, but somehow the idea of being murdered, +even if I put the likelihood of it far higher than +I do, is not one which, apart from the thought +of you, would weigh much with me”. Whatever +I may have been going to add, I was allowed +to go no further. I was made to see in a +minute that the risk to my life was a real +consideration which it was selfish and, in a +man of normal courage, very cheap to +overlook; but anyway, the need for haste was +real, and, after a very short rest, I was to +start. To get ahead of Vane-Cartwright, who +would probably look out for my departure, I +had resolved to take horses and carriage in +the early morning, post to Prato, and take the +railway there. My wife was to go with our +daughter to our friend’s villa. So the next +morning found me on my way to England, +sad to go, and yet, I must confess, not a little +exhilarated, against all reason, by the sense +that perhaps it really was a race for life on +which I had started, and a race with a +formidable competitor.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch17"> + +<h2>Chapter XVII</h2> + +<p>Crondall is a small market town on a chalk +stream in a Southern county, and about two +miles from it down the valley lies the shooting- +and fishing-box which Vane-Cartwright, as I +found, had lately taken, with a very +considerable shooting in the well-wooded hills, which +lay behind it reaching up to the chalk downs, +and with a mile or so of fishing in the +trout-stream which passed through the garden. +People shoot because it is the thing to do, +but as a rule they do not hunt or fish unless +they like it. So it was for the shooting that +Vane-Cartwright had taken this place, a very +charming place for a bachelor, and within easy +reach of town. Trethewy, however, had been +engaged as a sort of water-bailiff and to look after +the fishing, which he was more or less +competent to do. I found him installed in a queer +old thatched cottage which stood on an island, +formed by two branches of the stream, at the +lower end of the garden. The cottage could +be approached by a narrow footbridge from +a private footpath which led from Crondall. +On the other side of the stream a public +footpath led towards the small village and the +once famous fishing inn, at which I took up +my quarters for a few nights. The bridge +just mentioned was formed by two narrow +brick arches, and above them were hatches +which were now raised; and just below the +bridge the stream was spanned by one of the +old-fashioned fish-houses which are +occasionally found on South-country streams, under the +floor of which were large eel traps in which +eels migrating down stream were caught. +Under the fish-house, which was entered from +Trethewy’s cottage, the stream rushed in two +pent-up channels which joined again in a +broad, reed-fringed pool, with a deep dark +hole immediately below the fish-house. My +eye fastened on this pool at once as the best +morning bath which had been offered me for +some years.</p> + +<p>Why was Trethewy there? Was Trethewy +after all an accomplice in the crime? My wife +and I were agreed in not inclining to that +explanation, though in some ways it looked the +most plausible. It followed that one or more +of the family was, to the knowledge of +Vane-Cartwright, in possession of information which, +if it came out, would establish Vane-Cartwright’s +guilt. It did not follow that any of them had +guilty knowledge; probably they were not +aware of the significance of what they knew. +Which of them held this dark secret, and +how was I to elicit it?</p> + +<p>In the call just after their tea-time, which I +lost no time in paying, I found that each of +the family was for a different reason hard to +approach on the topic on which I was so +impatient to enter. I was welcomed respectfully +and cordially enough, but they were evidently +puzzled and surprised at my visit. I tried +Trethewy first. He struck me as much +improved by his season of adversity, by the more +active life he now led, or by the rigid abstinence +to which, as I soon gathered, he had brought +himself; but he told me quite firmly he never +spoke, never wished to speak of the question +of Peters’ death. He had himself suffered the +horror of being accused when he was innocent; +he wished to run no risk of bringing the same +on some other possibly innocent man. Besides, +the guilt of his own thought and motives still +weighed on him, and he had no wish to judge +any other. Nevertheless, he said plainly, when +I asked how he liked his new position, that he +was ill at ease to have come and hoped soon +to get away. From his impenetrable manner, +I began to fancy that, contrary to what I had +at first thought, the secret rested with him, and +in that case the secret would be very difficult to +extract. As for Mrs. Trethewy, from the time +of the murder two thoughts had mainly occupied +her mind: anxiety for her husband, and anxiety +that her daughter, for whose upbringing she +was so careful, should know nothing of the +suspicion that had rested on her father, and +hear as little as possible of the horror that +had occurred so near her. The girl had been +bundled away, the very day after the discovery, +to stay with Mrs. Trethewy’s mother, who lived +thirty miles away from their home. And to +this day, the mother told me, the girl had no +idea that her father had been in prison charged +with the crime. Accordingly, Mrs. Trethewy +was overflowing with gratitude to +Vane-Cartwright, who had found them this new home +far away. She told me that he had always +seemed to take a fancy to her husband, and had +visited their cottage several times during his +stay with Peters; and that it was after a talk +with him that she sent the girl away to her +grandmother’s. That the suggestion had +actually come from him she did not say, it was a +mere guess of mine that he had contrived to +put it into her head. With the girl, whom +she sent on an errand to Crondall, I got no +opportunity of talk that night, and I had to +return to my inn ill-satisfied with my +exploration so far, and puzzled how to proceed.</p> + +<p>I got my bathe next morning in the pool of +which I have spoken (this is not quite so +unimportant as it may seem). Trethewy managed +to ensure me privacy for the purpose, and after +that I called on the Trethewy family again. I +have remarked already that I supposed myself +to have heard all that any grown-up person in +my old parish could tell in regard to the murder +and its surrounding circumstances. It had been +borne on my mind strongly since my meeting +with Vane-Cartwright at Florence, that others +besides adults have eyes and memories, that +Trethewy’s girl had been near the house at the +time of the murder and on the following day, +and that I could not count on having heard +from her parents all that she might have to say +that might be interesting to me. When I called +on the Trethewys again, I found it an easy +matter to get a walk by the river-side alone +with the girl. I had anticipated that, if I were to +pay any decent regard to her mother’s hitherto +successful wishes for her ignorance, I might +have to talk long and roundabout before I could +elicit what I wanted. I soon found that it was +not so. Ellen Trethewy, though little taller +than before, had mentally grown in those fifteen +months from a shy and uninteresting +schoolgirl to a shy but alert, quick-witted and, as it +now struck me, rather interesting young woman.</p> + +<p>We had many things belonging to old times +to talk over, but I found her anxious herself to +talk on the very subject on which I was bent, +and I found in a moment that her mother’s +precautions had been absolutely vain. Knowing +her mother’s wish, she had never alluded to +the matter since; but her grandmother, who +disliked Trethewy, had taken a keen pleasure +in acquainting her with all that she herself +knew (and a good deal more besides) about the +course of the proceedings against him. The +girl, not quite trusting her grandmother, had +procured and carefully read the newspaper +account of the trial before the magistrates. She +had never doubted for one instant, she told +me, that her father was innocent, and it was +with more than common understanding that +she studied the details in the story which might +make his innocence clear. “Is it very wicked +of me, Mr. Driver?” she said, “that I do not +feel a bit, not a bit grateful to Mr. Vane-Cartwright, +and I do not believe father does. I do +believe he would have gone to the workhouse +rather, if he had known it when we came here +that he was to be under Mr. Vane-Cartwright. +But he thought the gentleman who sent for us, +and who was really his agent, was the master +of the place; and, once we were here, mother +begged him so not to go. Mother is always +saying how good Mr. Cartwright has been to us, +and father never answers a word; but I am sure +he has a plan to take us away somewhere far +off.” “Tell me,” I said, “what makes you say +all this. Have you seen anything in Mr. +Vane-Cartwright to make you think he had some wrong +reason for getting your father to come here?” +“Oh, I do not say that,” she said, “but I have +always feared his looks. Always, I think, since +he first came to our house to talk to father, and +much more since I saw him at the window that +dreadful morning when poor Mr. Peters lay +dead.” “Why, what could you see that +morning?” I said. “Oh, very little,” she said. “You +see, of course we heard the news as Edith passed +by on her way to call the police, and mother told +me to keep within doors, and she kept in +herself, and then she went to father and woke him, +and she stayed there talking to him, and I was +alone and I felt so frightened. And then the +policeman came, and you, sir, and the doctor; +and by-and-by some neighbours came looking +in. One of them was Mrs. Trimmer who kept +the baker’s shop, and I was fond of her, and I +do not know whether it was that I was frightened +to be alone, or just inquisitiveness, for I was a +child then, though it is not so long ago, but, +though I never disobeyed mother before, I did +so that time; and I went out, and Mrs. Trimmer +took my hand and we walked up and looked at +the house. It was not much we saw, for all we +stood so long staring; but the front door opened +and we saw that Irish gentleman look out, +looking so sad, poor man, and then he took a turn or +two up and down in the hall, leaving the door +open; and then we could hear voices, and the +rest of you came downstairs and into the hall, +but I could see Mr. Vane-Cartwright come to +the window of Mr. Peters’ room, and he stood +there looking out of the window with his hand +leaning on the sash of the window, leaning +forward, seeming to be looking out intently at the +people below.” “Did he open the latch of the +window?” I asked at once. “I couldn’t say +that,” said she. “Why were you so frightened?” +I asked. “Oh, I do not know,” said she; “he +didn’t look anything very terrible, and I couldn’t +see him well for there was frost on the window, +but I knew him by his black moustache.”</p> + +<p>I suppose every one of my readers has been +guilty of mislaying some little article of +importance and looking for it everywhere but in the +right place, which always turns out to have been +the most obvious place of all. Perhaps I may +be forgiven for having all these fifteen months +been doing something analogous. I had not +only overlooked Trethewy’s daughter; I knew +when I spoke to Sergeant Speke about those +tracks in the snow that there was something +more I had meant to ask him and had forgotten; +and often since I had been dimly conscious of +something forgotten. That something was the +window-latch. The girl could not tell me about +it, but at least it might be possible to prove by +others, who had been in the room, that none +but Vane-Cartwright unlatched that window.</p> + +<p>I make this obvious reflexion now because +I made it then, and in making it wasted a +moment of possible talk with the girl, a trifling +waste which was near to having momentous +consequences. Of course it was not because +the girl had been standing then on the lawn +that Vane-Cartwright had taken the step, when +every unnecessary step involved risk, of wiling +the Trethewys away in this secret manner. He +knew she had something more to tell; she was +about to tell it me. “I hardly know,” she +broke in on my silence, “whether I ought to +think as I do, but I would like to tell you +what——” “Well, Ellen!” said, in cheerful +tones, a voice that was somehow not cheerful, +“taking a walk—who is the happy?—why, it +is Mr. Driver. I did not expect the good luck +of meeting you again so soon.” Where was I +staying, What good chance brought me there, +and Really I must move my luggage instantly +to his house, and so forth, from the last man +in the world whose company I desired at that +moment.</p> + +<p>I got off staying with him. I got off, I know +not on what excuse, true or false, an afternoon’s +fishing and a pressingly urged dinner. But then +(for an idea struck me) I would, if I had finished +the sermon I was writing for a Saint’s day +service (not in the calendar, I fear) at a +neighbouring church to-morrow, stroll over to +Vane-Cartwright’s after my supper if he was in any +case going to be in. He would in any case +be in, and delighted to see me. He would be +in from seven onwards. He dined at 7.30, and +if I thought better of it would be delighted to +see me then, and I must not dress. For the +present, as Ellen had to go home, might he not +show me the short way to my inn. It was not +what I should have thought a short way, but it +was delightfully secluded, and it led us by quite +a curious number of places (a rather slippery +plank over a disused lock will do as an example), +where I fancied that an accident might have +befallen an unwary man with a too wary +companion. Perhaps it was only the condition of +my nerves that day that made me a little +proudly fancy such things, for I was not only +highly strung, I was unusually exhilarated. It +was a great change since our last meeting, for +this time I felt that I had at last gained a definite +advantage, and, little as he showed it, I thought +I was talking with a desperate man. It is not +safe to be dealing with a desperate man, but, if +you happen not to pity him, it is not a +disagreeable sensation. As we passed over a footbridge +(I was going first, and there were stakes and big +stones below on which a man might hurt +himself if he fell) it was probably one of my fancies +that the shadow of my companion, cast before +him, made an odd, quick movement with its arm. +Anyhow, I turned my head and said with a +laugh what a handsome stick Mr. +Vane-Cartwright was carrying. I asked what wood it +was. I did not ask whether it was loaded. He +told me what wood it was, where he bought it +and what he gave for it. He told me what +an interesting medallion was set in the head +of it, but he did not show me that medallion. +After that I had a further fancy. It was that +my guide took less polite pains than he had +taken to let me pass first through every narrow +place. Let me say at once that I do not +suppose he very seriously thought of +attacking me there; perhaps his eyes were open for +any very favourable spot, but perhaps it was +all my fancy. In spite of that fancy I was +thoroughly enjoying my walk. It was a new +sensation, to me to be doing most of the +conversation, and I was surprised and pleased with +myself to think that I was doing it well. Perhaps +I was doing it well, but I do not think it was +my guidance of the talk which brought it back +to the subject of Trethewy. Vane-Cartwright +managed to tell me that he hoped no rumour +of suspicion attached to Trethewy here, or to +any one at all connected with him. Would I +mind trying to find this out from the landlord +at the inn. He was a greater gossip than any +old woman in the place, and a shrewder one. +“I would not,” he added, “trust everything +he says, for he embroiders on what he has +heard; but he hears everything, and he is +shrewd, and I discovered a few weeks back +that he had an acquaintance in your old parish.”</p> + +<p>By this time we were at the inn door, and I +noticed the landlord’s name, which was the same +as that of a man of doubtful character who had +come to Long Wilton just before I left it. +Several people were about, and they might, if +they chose, hear every word of what he spoke, +except when he dropped his voice. “Stop,” he +cried, and I stood still. “I am going to be +open with you, Mr. Driver, as open as I thought +you would have been with me. I have been +trying to bring myself to it all this walk, and I +will now. I have not said what I meant” (here +he dropped his voice) “about Trethewy. I have +really” (this in a whisper) “begun to suspect +him myself. Oh, yes, you laugh; I know what +you suspect of me. Do you think I cannot +see what interpretation you put upon every +one of my doings that you know of, in your own +house, at Peters’ before—long ago at the island +of Sulu, I daresay. You think” (this time so +loud that I thought the landlord and other +men must hear, though, as I reflected later, the +phrase he used was so chosen that a countryman +would not readily take it in), “you think I am +the assassin of Eustace Peters. Well, I am not.” +We turned and walked away again from the +inn. “I know,” he continued, “how things +look. I should not wonder if I were fated to +hang for this. I should not greatly care now, +for I have thought it so long, but hanging for +it and being guilty of it are different matters.” +He kept his eyes fixed steadily on me all this +while. “You thought things looked ugly for +Trethewy once, did you not? But I know +you thought him innocent when it was hard to +think so. I do not ask you to believe me, but +I ask you to keep the same firm, clear mind +now. You think Trethewy did not kill Peters. +So do I. He did not actually kill him, he no +more did that than you did. Now I know you +will answer me straight. You are too brave a +man to care about playing the part you played +at Florence. Have you found or have you not +found any direct evidence whatever, true or +false, that convicts any man—convicts him if +it is true—of making those tracks, or of going +to or coming from the place where they were +made? Shall I repeat my question? Is it not +clear, or are you still uncertain whether you will +answer it?” I could do no other; I told him +truly that I had nothing but inference to go +upon as to who made those tracks, and I told +him that my inference pointed to him. +“Naturally,” he said quietly (here we turned and paced +slowly towards the inn again). “Only, till you +have something better than that inference, +remember that there may be more subtle motives +than you think of for making false tracks. +Anyway (for it is no good my arguing with you +further, I see that), here is one piece of advice +that you may take or leave—honestly, you had +better take it if you value your future peace of +mind—keep your mind open a little longer. +Go away from here, and visit Long Wilton again +and hear what they say there now; or, if you +will not do that, stay here long enough to watch +Trethewy, and the girl, and the people that you +may see about with them,—one man in +particular. Well, good-bye, Mr. Driver, pardon +my saying I respect you in spite of Florence.” +The manner of this last remark was maddening. +I was keenly stung. I said, “Mr. +Vane-Cartwright, after all, Peters’ death is not the only +mysterious death you and I know of.” “Oh, +Longhurst,” he said, with a light laugh which +this time really took me aback. “I will tell +you anything you can wish to know about poor +Longhurst. Not now, as you are not in the +mind for it. To-night, if you think better of +your refusal to come, or any time you may +choose. I only wish,” he said sadly, as he finally +turned away, “old Peters had asked me straight +out about Longhurst.” He had puzzled me but +he had not shaken me. Could he have imagined +that he was likely to do so? Probably not, but +it occurred to me, directly he was gone, that he +now knew for certain that I was dangerous; +knew that in some ways he could play upon +me easily, and in some ways not at all; and +knew that I had not yet found out what I +came to find out from Ellen Trethewy.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch18"> + +<h2>Chapter XVIII</h2> + +<p>Whether it was that my fancies pursued me +to the inn, or that Vane-Cartwright’s words had +unconsciously impressed me, I took and have +retained a great dislike to the gentleman who +was just arriving at the inn. He came, as he +said, for dry-fly fishing, but his accent and his +looks showed him to be native to a land where +dry fly-fishing is, I believe, not practised. He +was near me and about me several times in the +course of that day, and though he molested me +in no way, my dislike deepened. It was now +near midday and I contemplated taking no +further step till evening, so I had plenty of +time for thought, and I needed it. It may be +imagined that I was in a state of some tension. +I had rested little since I left Vane-Cartwright’s +hotel at Florence, and on arriving at the inn I +had news which increased my agitation. My +wife had telegraphed to my home saying she +had gone for a day or two to the Hôtel de +Brunswick, saying also, that I must pay no +attention to any wire, purporting to be from her, +which did not contain the word “Fidele”. +Evidently there was some one in Florence +whom she suspected would send false messages. +I conjectured that Vane-Cartwright had an +understanding with the Mafia, and had obtained +through them the services of some villain. +Well, here was a wire: “Regret to acquaint +respected sir, Mrs. Driver suddenly +unwell.—Direttore Hôtel Brunswick.”</p> + +<p>There is one advantage about being tired. +It prevents the mind from wandering away on +so many side tracks. But with all that +advantage, whatever it may be worth, it took me a +full half-hour to make up my mind how to +regard this; but I came back to my first +impulse, not on the first occasion to disregard what +my wife herself had undoubtedly telegraphed.</p> + +<p>On the other main points I may acquit myself +of having wavered, and I will not mystify the +reader more than I mystified myself. I had not +the faintest doubt that Vane-Cartwright’s +suggestion about the Trethewy family, whatever its +object might be, was a well-acted lie. However, +I determined to follow the suggestion to some +extent. I got hold of the landlord; he was all +that Vane-Cartwright had said, and on a very +slight hint he began talking of the Long +Wilton murder and of the charge against Trethewy. +I was disgusted to find that suspicion had +followed the people here. It was not clearly +to Vane-Cartwright’s interest that it should +follow them, and I suppose it was accident. I +found that the landlord was well posted as to +Trethewy’s story and all the proceedings in +regard to him. As he went on hinting +suspicion of him, I said it was a curious thing +about those tracks. “Ah,” said he, “little +feet can wear big shoes;” and he looked wise. +“About that lass now of Trethewy’s, not but +what I like the lass,” he was continuing after a +solemn interval, but I need not try to repeat +his talk. The upshot of the suggestion was +simply this, that the girl had stepped out in her +father’s boots and made the tracks, knowing full +well that she could ensure the detection of the +false tracks hereafter, but for which of two +reasons rumour was not certain. Either it +was really to fasten false suspicion on her father +till the guilty man, a lover of hers presumably, +made good his escape; or her father had +committed the crime, and she knew it, and to save +him had fabricated against him evidence which +he and she knew would be broken down.</p> + +<p>It was not a likely story to tell to me, and I +was inclined now, not for the first time, to be +thankful that however great a fool I might be, +I looked a greater fool than I was. By putting +me up to eliciting this story, Vane-Cartwright +had merely supplied me with knowledge about +the situation of the Trethewys which I might +find useful in dealing with them.</p> + +<p>I felt that I had brought danger not only +upon myself but also upon the Trethewys. I +was in some doubt whether by going to them +again that night I might not be bringing danger +nearer them, but the impulse to be beside them +if danger were there impelled me to go. I +arrived about nightfall. I found Trethewy +himself preparing to leave the house. He had +been bidden to go and help in repairing a +threatening breach of a mill-dam some way up +the stream, and he evidently felt surprised and +suspicious about the errand on which he was +sent. Replying to a look of enquiry in my +face, he said: “Sir, I never disobeyed my +master’s orders yet”. “No,” he added, looking +suddenly abashed, “I behaved badly enough +by my old master, but I never disobeyed orders, +and I should not like to begin doing so now.” +I said that, if he went I should stay at his house +till he returned. He said, “It would be a +kindness that I should always remember, sir”. And +so he went.</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Trethewy appeared ill-pleased at +my presence. She seemed to guess that my +coming was in some way to disturb their peace. +I fancied that, in getting the mastery over his +drinking and his wrathful ways, Trethewy had +become very gentle and submissive to his wife. +In her days of difficulty I had been used to +admire her for the way in which she brought up +her daughter. I now did not think her improved +by finding herself more the mistress of her house +than she was wont to be. Still she was civil +enough, and willing, after the girl had gone to +bed in a sort of cupboard off the parlour-kitchen, +to entertain me with her best conversation. I +interrupted by telling her frankly that I knew +she wished to keep her daughter in ignorance of +all concerning Peters’ murder, and the suspicion +that had arisen about it, but that I feared that +she would find it impossible, for I had learned +that day that rumour had followed them to their +new home. From my heart I pitied her, for she +seemed utterly cast down as she began to realise +that Ellen must come to hear all, if indeed she +had not heard it already.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the girl burst into the room and +threw her arms round her mother’s neck. “Oh, +mother, mother!” she said, “I cannot keep +on deceiving you. Dear, kind mother, who +wanted to deceive me for my good. I would +have given so much that you should not know +this, but grandmother told me all.” “Go to +bed now, dear,” said her mother; “I cannot +bear more to-night.” The mother too went to +bed, and I lay down under a rug upon the +sofa.</p> + +<p>I had no intention of keeping awake all +night. Gladly as in my excited state I would +have done so, it was a necessity that I should +get such rest as I could. I lay on a shake-down +which Mrs. Trethewy provided for me, and I +thought of Florence and of one whom I had +left at Florence. Then I slept, and I dreamed, +dreamed that she was ill and wanted me. I +woke with a horrid start as some one in my +dream pronounced the word “poison”. Thank +God, it was a dream. I assured myself of that +and slept again to dream more pleasantly.</p> + +<p>I dreamed I was a boy and I was swimming +in a clear river. Cool, cool river!</p> + +<p>There was a fish in the river, and I was +swimming after the fish. Cool, cool river!</p> + +<p>It was an ugly fish, and I was pursuing it, and +the river was warm.</p> + +<p>The fish was Vane-Cartwright, and I was +pursuing him. Warm, warm river!</p> + +<p>The river was gone from my dream, and I +was pursuing Vane-Cartwright over a great +plain. Warmer and warmer!</p> + +<p>I pursued him through thick woodlands. +Sultry and stifling!</p> + +<p>I pursued him over a great mountain. +Burning, burning hot!</p> + +<p>I leapt to my feet calling “Fire!”</p> + +<p>In waking fact, the thatched cottage was in a +blaze.</p> + +<p>I called with all my might to Mrs. Trethewy. +I told her to run out while I brought out her +daughter, and she answered.</p> + +<p>I burst into the girl’s little room on the ground +floor. It was full of smoke; she was suffocating +before she could wake. I tore her from her +bed, and bore her through the door and on to +the footbridge. I turned my head back +towards the house to call again to Mrs. Trethewy, +when a hoarse cry of “Fire!” came from the +other direction, and a man—he seemed an old +grey-bearded rustic—ran on to the bridge +towards the door, dashed with full force against us, +and overturned me and my half-conscious burden.</p> + +<p>I do not know just how we rolled or fell, but +we were in the water. I had managed still to +hold Ellen Trethewy with my right arm, and +with my left hand to catch the edge of the +footbridge. I could not by any effort have pulled +us both out or raised her on to the bridge, but +it was easy to hold our heads above water, for +we were against the pier of the bridge, in +between the two currents that shot under the +arches. Mrs. Trethewy would be there in a +moment and could help us out; or—why did +not that old rustic help us?</p> + +<p>They say that men in moments of extreme +peril take in all manner of things with +extraordinary rapidity, but I do not know whether +I really saw all as I see it in memory now, or +whether what I did was from accident and the +instinct of fear.</p> + +<p>I glanced up, and the old rustic stood over us +raising a mighty stick which I thought was not unlike +that which Vane-Cartwright had carried in the +morning. So much I did see and think.</p> + +<p>One good blow and I should have been +stunned, if my brains were not out. Whether +we got entangled in the eel grating or were +carried right under the fish-house into the pool, +there was little chance for either of our lives if +that blow had fallen where it was aimed.</p> + +<p>I let go my hold on the bridge and threw my +head back, and the stick crashed idly on the +bricks of the margin. I tried to get one long +breath before we went under, but I swallowed +a horrible gulp of water. Good chance or my +convulsive effort guided us into the arch for +which I would have steered. Under one arch +the old eel grating remained. I did not know +its structure, and I did not know whether the +trap-door over it was fastened down, but there +was little hope that we should pass that way +alive. Under the other arch, as I had found that +morning, the grating had long been removed, +and down that archway the strong stream was +carrying us, safe, if it did not throttle us on the +way. How long a passage I thought it, though +the rush of the water seemed so headlong. I +could feel the slimy growth on the brick +archway above us, and my nostrils were for a moment +above water though my mouth was pressed +under. Then we were under the floor of the +fish-house, and my head rose and I got a gulp +of air, but my head struck a joist of the floor, +and the stream swept me on, ducking +involuntarily under another joist and another. We +were out in the pool, sucked down in the bubble +and swirl of the eddy. I opened my eyes and +could see the glare of the fire through great +green globes of water. I was on the surface; I +was swimming with great gasps; I was under +again; I was exhausted. My feet struck on +pebbles: I was standing in the shallow water. +I still held the body. Was it lifeless? Three +strides and I should land her on the bank. No, +my steps sank in some two feet of almost liquid +mud. The dragging of my steps furnished just +the little further effort needed to spend my +remaining breath. I sank forward on the reeds +and flags of the margin, with one last endeavour +to push her body in front of me, and I lay, +helpless and panting horribly, beside her, while a +man came and jumped into the marshy fringe +of the pool and stood over us. That dire old +rustic, I felt no doubt, and I felt no care. No, +it was the girl’s father.</p> + +<p>In the morning, shooting down that same +dark cool avenue of sweet water, and swept +without an effort far out into the swirling +reed-fringed pool, I could not have imagined how +hardly and how ill I was to pass that way again +with a living or lifeless burden.</p> + +<p>She lived; the first shock of the water had +roused her, and she had kept a shut mouth, a +steady grasp where it least incommoded me and +a heroic presence of mind.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch19"> + +<h2>Chapter XIX</h2> + +<p>There is not much that can be done for a +thatched cottage once well alight, and for such +salvage as could be done there were plenty of +ready helpers soon upon the scene. That aged +rustic was not among them, nor did I afterwards +see or hear of him; but among them before long +appeared Vane-Cartwright himself, brisk and +alert, and forward to proffer to Trethewy every +sort of help and accommodation for his now +homeless family. Trethewy’s response was +characteristic—total and absolute silence.</p> + +<p>It seemed late but was still early morning +when I had the Trethewys assembled for +breakfast in my private sitting-room in my inn. +Neighbours had readily supplied the women +with clothes, and a cart had been forthcoming +to carry them. Trethewy and I walked to the +inn together, and his attitude to Vane-Cartwright +was naturally quite altered. He told me a +second time of the dislike, which he had felt +from the first, of being in Vane-Cartwright’s +service, and he told me that he had just decided +to accept a situation which was open to him in +Canada, and had expected to sail with his family, +who did not yet know it, in six weeks, but +supposed he must put it off now.</p> + +<p>At last I really heard what it was that Ellen +Trethewy could tell and for knowing which she +had been removed to Crondall, and it did not +come up to my expectations.</p> + +<p>About noon after Peters’ murder, after +Callaghan and I had gone into the village, and +while Vane-Cartwright, by his own account, +had stayed reading in the house, the girl had +twice seen him as she looked out of the window +of the cottage. She had seen him come out of +the gate of the drive and turn to the right up +the road away from the village. About twenty +minutes later she had seen him turn in again at +the gate, and this time he came down the green +lane. To any one who knew the lie of the +ground, the significance of this was certain. +He could not have got round by road or by +any public footpath in that time; either he had +come through the plantation and the fields, +where the tracks were made, or he must have +made a round over ditches and hedges and +rough ground by which a man taking a casual +and innocent stroll was extremely unlikely to +have gone, especially in frost and snow.</p> + +<p>The inference was convincing enough to me, +but then, as I knew, I was ready to be +convinced. Vane-Cartwright was not likely, I felt, +to have done so much to prevent the girl +revealing merely this. Was there nothing more?</p> + +<p>Yes, there was, but it was something of which +Ellen did not feel sure. During that twenty +minutes the sun shone out brilliantly upon the +snow, and tempted her to stroll out a little +way up the drive, when she stood for awhile to +look, in spite of the horror of the time, with +delight at the spotless covering of the lawn and +the shining burden of the cedar branches, and +then up at the sun. Her eyes were soon so +dazzled that all sorts of fancied shapes danced +before them. Turning suddenly and looking +towards the field, she thought for an instant, but +only an instant, that she saw between two trees +a man up in the field, about half-way up, +walking towards the hedge, towards a spot in the +hedge which we already know. She covered +her eyes with her hand and looked again with +clearer vision. There was no one there, and +she tried to brush aside the fancy that she had +seen any one. But somehow she had often +wondered since about what she had seen, and +somehow she connected it in her fancy with the +murder. She could not connect it with the +making of the tracks, for she had only read of +them in a muddled newspaper report which had +given an entirely wrong impression as to +whereabouts they were found. Now it was all +obvious. Vane-Cartwright, while he made those +very tracks, had passed before her eyes; he had +seen her standing and looking towards him, and +he could not entertain the hope, though it was +true, that her eyes did not see him clear.</p> + +<p>This much being plain, my first thought was +of amazement at the coolness of +Vane-Cartwright on the evening after the murder, while +he could not be sure that the discovery of the +tracks had not been told to the girl and had not +already drawn forth from her an explanation +which, if believed, must be fatal to him. My +second thought was of great disappointment that +the identification of him with the maker of the +tracks was still to so large an extent a matter +of inference. I cannot say whether I myself, +or Trethewy, or the girl, who, having long +brooded over these matters without the +necessary clue, now showed astonishing quickness in +grasping them, was first to see the next step +which the enquiry required. Evidence must be +sought which would show whether +Vane-Cartwright or some other person had undone the +window-latch in Peters’ room. I was ready +immediately to rush off to Long Wilton and see +whether Sergeant Speke could recollect +anything of importance about the movements of +the persons who were in the room that morning. +It was the girl who suggested to me a possible +witness rather nearer at hand. The young +doctor had been in the room till nearly the last, +and, as her mother happened to have told her, +he had very shortly after the event in question +removed to London. Could not I see him?</p> + +<p>I resolved to see him, if I could, that day, +for I thought I could gain nothing by further +waiting near Crondall. I was anxious about +the safety of Ellen Trethewy, but I found her +father, who was as much persuaded as I of the +peril which continued to hang over her, had +formed his own plan for promptly removing +her; he thought we should be safer separate; +and it reassured me to see a reminiscence of +his wild youth sparkle in his now sober +countenance as he said that it would not be the first +time that he had baffled a pursuit.</p> + +<p>Upon some calculation, prompted perhaps by +excessive precaution and futile craft, such as +may well be excused in excited men who have +found themselves surrounded by unimagined +dangers, we decided that I should not start for +any of the stations on the branch line that +passes Crondall, but should leave my luggage +behind, drive, in a fast trap which the baker +sometimes let out, to an ancient castle in the +neighbourhood, thence, three miles, to the +junction on the main line to London, send the trap +back with a note to my landlord, and go to +town by the one fast train in the day which +there was easy time to catch. I suppose we +thought I should get some start of +Vane-Cartwright, and that this was worth while, as he +was likely to stick close to me, and had shown +already his fertility of baleful resource.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, I arrived at the junction just as +the up-train came in. The train from Crondall +had arrived a little while before, and was +standing in a bay on the other side of my platform +of departure. I was by this time so sleepy that +I could hardly keep my eyes open as I walked. +I did barely notice the screaming approach of +a third train, which was in fact the down-train +from London, but in which of course I felt no +interest, and I noticed some but not quite all of +the people on the platform or in the +waiting-shed. I took my seat in the far corner of a +carriage. I began instantly to doze, and the +train, I believe, waited there awhile. I faintly +heard shouts and whistles which heralded the +starting of the train, but it did not start +immediately. When the carriage door again +opened and two other passengers got in, I did +half-open my eyes; but I started broad awake +when to those half-open eyes my +fellow-passengers revealed themselves as Vane-Cartwright +and the foreign visitor at the inn, whose looks I +had irrationally disliked. I say broad awake—but +not awake enough to do the proper thing to +be done. The train was already in motion before +they sat down, and my fellow-passengers with +their luggage so encumbered the door that I +could not have got back on to the platform. +I ought, I suppose, to have pulled the +communication cord. As it was, I merely sat up, looking +at them as indifferently as I could, while really +my heart sank within me, and I wished my +muscles had not been so stiff and chilled from +my adventure of the night before.</p> + +<p>The train was moving but not yet fast. It +seemed to be slowing down again. There was +fresh shouting and whistling on the platform; +the stationmaster saying angrily, “Put him in +here”; a voice that sounded somehow well +known, but which I could not recognise, +answering him vigorously; and just as the train began +to go faster a big man, still shouting and very +hot with pursuit, tumbled into the carriage. To +my delighted surprise I found myself joined by +Callaghan.</p> + +<p>The most surprising turns of good fortune, I +have learned to think, are generally the reward +of more than common forethought on the part +of some one. My rescue in this case, which I +will none the less call providential, could never +have happened but for the zealous care of +Callaghan himself, and of another person many +hundred miles from the scene.</p> + +<p>But of all this I was soon to hear. +Meanwhile, Callaghan, who was in the highest of +spirits, bestowed on me a mere smile of +recognition, and poured himself forth upon +Vane-Cartwright with an exuberance of pleasure at +the unexpected meeting which must have been +maddening. It was the only time, during my +acquaintance with Vane-Cartwright, when he +appeared to be in the least at a loss. Hearty +good-humour was, I should think, the only +attitude towards him which he did not know how +to meet. So he passed, I take it, a miserable +journey. Nor was his mysterious companion +left to enjoy himself. To my astonishment +Callaghan addressed him politely by a +strange-sounding name, which I suppress, but which +from the start which the gentleman gave +appeared to be his name.</p> + +<p>As for me, Callaghan leaving me in the +corner which I had originally chosen had +manœuvred Vane-Cartwright into the other +corner of the same side of the carriage, and the +stranger into the seat opposite him, while he +placed himself between me and Vane-Cartwright, +and with his back half-turned towards me +entertained them both.</p> + +<p>I dozed away again and again, and I daresay +I was asleep for a good part of the journey, +but I endeavoured to think out in my waking +moments what was the nature of the peril which +had threatened me, for peril assuredly there +was, and how it could have come about that I +was thus rescued.</p> + +<p>As to the former question, I got no further +than the reflexion, that to stick me with a knife +and jump on the line or make a bolt at the +London terminus (which was our first stop) +would have been too crude for the purpose. +As to the latter question, Callaghan, suffering +our fellow-passengers to escape for a moment +behind their newspapers, roused me with a +nudge, and surreptitiously passed me what +proved to be several pounds’ worth of +telegraphic message from my wife at Florence to +himself. I was hardly yet aware how thoroughly +my wife’s original aversion for Callaghan had +given way in the day when he had been her +guest, and when she had passed from observing +his weaknesses to putting up with them and +occasionally reproving them. I learned now +that a few hours after I had left her, my wife +had telegraphed to Callaghan through a mutual +friend whom she believed would have his +address, stating the sort of errand on which I had +gone, and the few particulars known to her +which might determine my movements, and +entreating him to find me, and having found +me, never to leave me alone. But that was not +all. The telegram stated that Vane-Cartwright +was on his way home, having sent home one +communication only, a telegram to a registered +telegraphic address in London, that address +being the word by which Callaghan had accosted +the stranger.</p> + +<p>As I afterwards learned, my wife, directly I +had departed, had removed to Vane-Cartwright’s +hotel. Vane-Cartwright did not know her by +sight, and, if he had discovered her, he was the +sort of man who would probably despise the +intelligence of any nice woman. She had taken +the best rooms in the hotel, close to +Vane-Cartwright’s, and had otherwise set about, for +the first time in her life, and for a few hours, +to throw money about in showy extravagance. +By money and flattery she had contrived to be +informed of the address of every letter and +telegram that Vane-Cartwright sent before his +departure, of the name and nationality (nothing +more was known of him) of his only visitor that +morning, and of the further fact that shortly +after Vane-Cartwright’s departure that visitor +had returned and had enquired whether she had +moved to that hotel, but had not asked to see +her. She learned also that Vane-Cartwright +had been at the station when the Milan train +started, but had returned and waited for the next +train. The reader already knows that she had +had the intuition that false messages might be +sent me in her name.</p> + +<p>Callaghan had been away from home, and +had not got the message till late in the evening +before he joined me. He lost no time in going +to my house to ascertain my address and what +had last been heard of me. He called also at +Vane-Cartwright’s house, where he was only +informed that he was abroad. He left London +by the first train in the morning armed with +a <i>Bradshaw</i> and a map. Study of <i>Bradshaw</i> had +led him to notice that I might possibly be +leaving by a train which would be at the junction +about the same time as his. So he was on the +look out, and with his quick sight actually saw +me in my train as he arrived. By running hard +and shouting entreaties and promises to the +officials, he had just managed to catch me.</p> + +<p>When our train arrived at Paddington, +Callaghan shook me awake. It appeared to me +that Vane-Cartwright, who had not been +conversational before, had just started an interesting +subject by which he hoped to detain Callaghan +while our mysterious companion got away from +the train. It was not a successful effort. +Callaghan pushed me somewhat rudely out of the +carriage, and jumping out after me told me to +wait for him, and kept me, while he stood about +on the platform till every passenger by the train +but ourselves had gone away. At last he called +a hansom; still he did not enter it till the driver +of an invalid carriage which had been waiting +in the rank of cabs appeared to give up the +expectation that the person for whom he waited +was coming, and drove away.</p> + +<p>“Do you see that invalid carriage?” said +Callaghan to me. “It was ordered for you.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch20"> + +<h2>Chapter XX</h2> + +<p>Here let me mention that I have fancied since +that I recognised the ill-looking foreigner who +was with me at the inn and in the train. I +recognised him in a chemist’s shop in a very +fashionable shopping street. I think it would +be libellous to name the street. The telegraphic +address which my wife sent to Callaghan was +the telegraphic address of that fashionable +chemist’s shop.</p> + +<p>I had intended to take leave of Callaghan for +the time upon our arrival at the station, but I +found that this was not to be done, for Callaghan +was determined to obey almost to the letter my +wife’s behest to him, not to leave me. He took +me to luncheon at a restaurant, and then +prevailed upon me to come with him by one of our +fast trains to my own house, collect there all +the papers which I possessed bearing on the +affair of Peters, and bring them to his chambers, +where he was resolved I should at present stay.</p> + +<p>When we arrived there, I was for starting at +once to seek out the doctor who had been at +Long Wilton, but I was practically overpowered +and sent to bed, after handing over to Callaghan, +amongst other papers, the notes which Peters +had made as to the death of Longhurst.</p> + +<p>After some hours Callaghan entered my +room to tell me that dinner would be ready in +half an hour, that I might get up for it if I liked, +or have it brought to my bedroom. He then +turned on me reproachfully. “Why had I not +shown him these papers long ago, when he +came to stay with me?” I was at a loss for an +answer, for in fact when I had told him of my +suspicions and my reasons for them, I had done +the thing by halves, because my want of +confidence in him lingered.</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” said my good-natured friend, +“I daresay I can guess the reason. But these +papers explain much to me. You never told +me it was the island of Sulu on which Peters +discovered the body, or that he went there with +Dr. Kuyper. I had heard the name of that +island and the doctor before—on the last night +of Peters’ life while you were talking music with +Thalberg.”</p> + +<p>Next morning I set off early to see the doctor +who had been at Long Wilton. Callaghan, who +at first seemed to think it his duty to be with +me everywhere, gave way and consented to go +upon some business of his own about which +he was very mysterious; but he put me in the +charge of his servant, a man singularly fitted to +be his servant, an Irishman and an old soldier, +who, I discovered, had made himself very useful +to him in his spying upon Thalberg, having +entered into a close and I daresay bibulous +friendship with one of Thalberg’s clerks. My +new guardian so far relaxed his precautions as +to allow me to be alone with the doctor in his +consulting-room; he otherwise looked after me +as though he thought me a child, and from +the very look of him one could see that I was +well protected, though indeed I hardly imagined +then that the perils which beset me at Crondall +would follow me through the streets of London.</p> + +<p>I asked the doctor kindly to give me all his +recollections as to what occurred in Peters’ +bedroom while he was there. He told me little +but what was of a professional nature, and he +informed me rather dryly that he made it his +practice on all occasions to observe only what +concerned him professionally. I therefore put +to him with very little hope the main question +which I had come to ask—Had he observed +anything about the windows. “Certainly,” he +said, “that, as it happens, is a professional matter +with me. I never enter a sickroom without +glancing at the windows, and I did so from force +of habit this time, though” (and he laughed with +an ugly sense of humour) “it didn’t matter +much, as no fresh air could have revived that +patient; but the windows were shut, and (for I +often notice that too) they were tight shut and +latched.” “Are you certain,” I said, “that +both of them were latched?” “Certain,” he +answered; “they were both latched when I +came into the room, and they were latched +when I went out, for I happened to have looked +again. You see that, once one has the habit +of noticing a certain kind of thing, one always +notices it and remembers it easily, however little +else one may see.” I asked him then whether +he happened to remember the order in which +the persons who had then been in the room +left it. About this he was not so certain, but +he had an impression that only two persons +were left in the room after him. These were +the police-sergeant, who held the door open for +a moment while Vane-Cartwright lingered, and +who locked it when they had all left. I may +say at once that this was afterwards confirmed +by the police-sergeant, who added that +Vane-Cartwright was standing somewhere not far +from the window in question.</p> + +<p>I returned by appointment to Callaghan’s +chambers some time before eleven. I was +immediately taken out by him again upon an +errand which he refused to explain. We +arrived at length at an office in the City which +from the name on the door proved to be that +of Mr. Thalberg, Solicitor and Commissioner +for Oaths. We were ushered into Mr. +Thalberg’s private room, and it immediately appeared +that Callaghan had come to give instructions +for the making of his will. He explained my +being there by saying there was a point in his +will about which he desired to consult both of +us. I was thus compelled to be present at what +for a while struck me as a very tedious farce. +Callaghan, after consulting Mr. Thalberg upon +the very elementary question whether or not he +thought it an advisable thing that a man should +make a will, and after beating about the bush +in various other ways, went on to detail quite +an extraordinary number of bequests, some of +them personal, some of a charitable kind, which +he desired to make. There was a bequest, for +example, of the Sèvres porcelain in his chambers +to his cousin, Lady Belinda McConnell (there +was no Sèvres porcelain in his chambers, and +I have never had the curiosity to look up Lady +Belinda McConnell in the Peerage). So he +went on, disposing, I should think, of a great +deal more property than he possessed, till at +last the will appeared to be complete in outline, +when he seemed suddenly to bethink him of the +really difficult matter for which he had desired +my presence. By this time, I should say, it had +begun to dawn upon me that the pretended +will-making was not quite so idle a performance as +I had at first thought. Callaghan must in the +course of it have produced on a person, who +knew him only slightly, the impression of a +good-natured, eccentric fellow, wholly without +cunning and altogether unformidable. This +was one point gained, but moreover, Mr. +Thalberg was rapidly falling into that nervous and +helpless condition into which a weak man of +business can generally be thrown by the unkind +expedient of wasting his time. It now appeared +that the real subject on which Mr. Thalberg and +I were to be consulted was the disposal of +Callaghan’s papers in the event of his death. +Callaghan explained that he would leave +behind him if he died (and he felt, he said, that he +might die suddenly) a great quantity of literary +work which he should be sorry should perish. +He would leave all his papers to the discretion +of certain literary executors (he thought these +would perhaps be Mr. George Meredith and +Mr. Ruskin), but there were memoirs among +them relating to a sad affair in which persons +living, including Mr. Thalberg and myself, +were in a manner concerned. He referred to +the lamented death of Mr. Peters, the +circumstances connected with which had been for him +a matter of profound and he trusted not +unprofitable study. He felt that in any directions +he might leave in regard to these memoirs it +was only fair that he should consult the +gentlemen present. Mr. Thalberg by this time was +in a great state of expectation, when Callaghan +pulled out his watch and, observing that it was +later than he thought, asked if there was a +Directory in the office, that he might find the +address of a certain person to whom he must +telegraph to put off an appointment with him. +A clerk brought the London Directory from an +outside room, and was about to retire. “Stop +a moment, Mr. Clerk, if you don’t mind,” said +Callaghan, and he slightly edged back his chair, +so as to block the clerk’s going out, “perhaps it +is the Suburban Directory that I want. Let us +just look,” and he began turning over the leaves. +“Ferndale Avenue,” he said, “that’s not it; +Ferndale Terrace—you see, Mr. Thalberg,” he +said, “I would like to talk this matter out with +you before I go—Ferndale Crescent—right side, +No. 43, 44, No.” (all this time his finger was +running down a column under the letter B in +the Trades Directory) “45, 46, 47; I thought +he was thereabouts. Here’s the name,” he said. +“You see, Mr. Thalberg, your own movements, +if they were not explained, would look rather +curious—47, 49, no, that’s not it—look rather +curious, as I was saying, in connexion with that +murder of Peters—look ugly, you know—51 +Ferndale Crescent, that’s it. Thank you, Mr. +Clerk,” and he shut the Directory with a bang +and handed it back to the clerk with a bow, and +made way for him to leave the room.</p> + +<p>Mr. Thalberg bounded from his chair and +collapsed into it again. “Stop, Mr. Manson,” +he cried to the clerk, “you must be present at +whatever else this gentleman may have to say.” +He sat for a moment breathing hard, more I +thought with alarm than with anger. He did +not seem to me to have any presence of mind +or any of the intellectual attributes, at any rate, +of guile, and I could not help wondering as I +watched him, whether this really was the man +whom Vane-Cartwright chose for his agent +in employments of much delicacy. “Do you +come here to blackmail me, sir?” cried Mr. +Thalberg, forcing himself to assume a voice and +air of fury. There was never seen anything +more innocent or more surprised and pained +than the countenance of Callaghan as he replied. +He was amazed that his motive could be so +misunderstood; it was the simple fact that what +he was forced in his memoirs to relate might +hereafter suggest suspicions of every one who +was in the neighbourhood of the crime, himself +and his friend Mr. Driver in particular, and, +though in a less degree of course, Mr. Thalberg. +He was giving Mr. Thalberg precisely the same +opportunity as he had given to Mr. Driver, of +explaining those passages in his (Callaghan’s) +record, which might seem to him to require +explanation. Here he appealed to me (and I +confess I backed him up) as to whether he had +not approached me in precisely the same way. +Mr. Thalberg appeared to pass again under the +spell of his eccentric visitor’s childlike innocence, +and sat patiently but with an air of increasing +discomfort while Callaghan ran on: “You see, +in your case, Mr. Thalberg, it’s not only your +presence at Long Wilton, which was for golf of +course, wasn’t it?—only you went away +because of the snow. There is that +correspondence with a Dutch legal gentleman at Batavia +which occurred a little afterwards, or a little +before was it? And there were the messages +which I think you sent (though perhaps that +was not you) to Bagdad. Of course I shall +easily understand if you do not care to +enlighten me for the purpose of my memoirs +which no one may care to read. Pray tell me +if it is so. I daresay it’s enough for you that +your correspondence and movements will of +course be fully explained at the trial.” “What +trial?” exclaimed Thalberg, quite aghast. It +was Callaghan’s turn to be astonished. Was it +possible that Mr. Thalberg had not heard the +news, which was already in two or three evening +papers, that there was a warrant out for the +arrest of Vane-Cartwright, and that it was +rumoured that he had been arrested in an +attempt to escape from the country.</p> + +<p>In Mr. Thalberg’s countenance increased +anguish now struggled ludicrously with the +suspicion, which even he could not wholly put +aside, that he was being played upon in some +monstrous way. He began some uncertain +words and desisted, and looked to his clerk +appealingly. That gentleman (not, I believe, +the same that had fallen under the sway of +Callaghan’s faithful servant) seemed the +incarnation of the most solid respectability. He +was, I should judge, of the age at which he +might think of retiring upon a well-earned +competence, and he gave Thalberg no help, +desiring, I should think, to hear the fullest +explanation of the startling and terrible hint +which had been thrown out before him against +his master’s character. While Thalberg sat +irresolute, Callaghan drew a bow at a venture. +“At least, Mr. Thalberg,” he said, “I thought +you might like to tell me the results of your +interview with Dr. Verschoyle when you went +to Homburg to see him.” “Sir,” said +Thalberg, making a final effort, “do you imagine +that I shall tell you what passed at an interview +to which I went upon my client’s business.” +“Thank you, Mr. Thalberg,” said Callaghan. +“I am interested to know that you went to +Homburg on your client’s business (I thought +it might have been for the gout), and that you +did see Dr. Verschoyle, for I had not known +that till you told me. I did know, however, +about that correspondence with Madrid in the +Spanish Consul’s cipher, and I knew that the +enquiries you made through him were really +addressed to an influential person at Manilla.”</p> + +<p>At this point Mr. Thalberg abruptly went +over, with horse, foot and artillery, to the +enemy. He assured Callaghan of his perfect +readiness to answer fully any questions he might +ask about his relations with Vane-Cartwright, +and if he might he would tell him how they began.</p> + +<p>This is what it came to. Thalberg had been +partner to a lawyer who was Longhurst’s +solicitor. In the early part of 1882, when +Longhurst had spent a month in England, he +had consulted Thalberg’s partner about some +matters that troubled him in regard to his +partnership with Vane-Cartwright. Thalberg +could not remember (so at least he said) the +precise complaint which Longhurst had laid +before his partner, except that it related to +Vane-Cartwright’s having got concessions and +acquired property for himself which Longhurst +considered (without foundation, as Thalberg +supposed) should have belonged to the +partnership. Nor did Thalberg know the advice +which had been given Longhurst. He had +heard no more of him beyond the mere report +that he had been drowned, till, after his death, +Vane-Cartwright, whom Thalberg had not +previously known, came to London and employed +the firm to find out various members of +Longhurst’s family who were still living, and to whom +he now behaved with great generosity. Since +then Thalberg had been, as we knew, solicitor of +a company which Vane-Cartwright had founded, +and had occasionally done for him private law +work of a quite unexciting nature. But in the +middle of January of last year, 1896, Thalberg +had been instructed by Vane-Cartwright to +make for him with the utmost privacy certain +enquiries. One was of a person in Bagdad, as +to the identity and previous history of a certain +Mr. Bryanston; one concerned a certain Dr. +Kuyper, a physician and scientist in Batavia, +who, it was ascertained, was now dead. +Another was, as Callaghan knew, addressed to a +correspondent in Madrid, but Thalberg declared +that this enquiry went no further than to ascertain +the name and address of the person who then +filled the office of Public Prosecutor or, I think, +Minister of Justice in the Philippines. I ventured +to ask the name; it was a name that I had seen +before in those notes of Peters’. Lastly, there +was an enquiry in regard to Dr. Verschoyle. +Thalberg had been instructed if possible to +obtain an interview with this gentleman before +a certain date. The purpose of the interview, +he declared, was to obtain from him some notes +and journals which would be of use in the +foundation of a new mission in the Philippines, +under the auspices of the Society for the +Propagation of the Gospel, a project in which +Vane-Cartwright appeared, he said, to be +keenly interested (and indeed it was the fact +that he had previously patronised missionary +societies). The object of Thalberg’s visit to +Long Wilton was this. He had been told to +repair there without fail by the date on which +he actually came, and to inform +Vane-Cartwright by word of mouth of the result, if any, +of his enquiries. That result had been, shortly: +that Bryanston was the man who had at one +time been at Nagasaki; that Kuyper was dead; +that the Minister of Justice (or whatever the +precise office was) at Manilla was the person +already alluded to; and that Verschoyle was +abroad and had lately been at Siena, but had +departed abruptly some weeks before—for +Germany, it was thought, but he had left no +address behind him. All this Thalberg had +duly reported to Vane-Cartwright in Peters’ +house the afternoon before the murder occurred. +And what all this taught Vane-Cartwright, +though in part obscure, is in part obvious. It +taught him that no letter from Verschoyle to +Peters need at present be expected. It taught +him that a letter from Bryanston, which must +be expected, might be dangerous and must be +intercepted. It taught him that Peters would +remain inactive only till that letter reached his +hands. It taught him also that if Peters were +put to silence, Kuyper, the other European who +had seen that body in Sulu, could tell no tales.</p> + +<p>After Peters’ death, Thalberg, still acting +under instructions, had had an interview with +Dr. Verschoyle at Homburg, to which he had +traced him, and had taken with him a letter +written on the paper of the S.P.G., and signed, +as he believed, by the secretary of that society. +(It has since appeared that the secretary had no +knowledge of such a letter.) Dr. Verschoyle +delivered to him some journals which he, +Thalberg, never read, for transmission to +Vane-Cartwright, to whom he duly delivered them. +That, he said, was all that he knew of the +subjects on which Callaghan sought information. +He denied all knowledge of further +communications made on behalf of Vane-Cartwright with +that important official in the Philippines; but he +appeared to me somewhat nervous in answering +Callaghan’s questions on this matter, and anxious +to appease him with the prospect that he might +be able, through friends of his, to ascertain what +communications of this nature had actually +taken place.</p> + +<p>It was curious to how many questions +suggested to us by what he had said he could give +no answer. Indeed he informed us, with an air +of moral self-complacency, that he thought it +a very sound maxim for a professional man to +know as little as possible of things which it was +not his business to know. I guessed that +perhaps his strict observance of this precept was +the thing which had commended him to the +service of Vane-Cartwright, but I really do +believe that Mr. Thalberg knew nothing behind +the facts which he now thought it convenient to +himself to reveal.</p> + +<p>However that may be, he made no secret of +anything which he could disclose without injury +to himself. We had got from him, or I ought +to say Callaghan had got from him, evidence +which might serve to show plainly enough that +Vane-Cartwright was aware of Peters’ suspicions +and concerned himself greatly about them, and, +content with this, we were preparing to go when +Mr. Thalberg stopped us saying that there was +one important matter of which we had not asked +him yet, and perhaps should be surprised to know +that he could tell us anything. I have omitted +to say that in the course of the conversation he +had heard something from us about the things +which had led to Vane-Cartwright’s being +suspected. We had told him in substance the +story about the tracks, and were much surprised +to find that he appeared wholly ignorant of the +charge that had been brought against Trethewy. +He now told us a fact which had a great bearing +upon the history of those tracks. He asked us +whether or not Peters’ grounds could be seen +from the upper rooms of the hotel. I said that +no doubt they could, for the hotel was only too +visible from those grounds. He then stated +that having confined himself to his bedroom +until it was time for him to start for his train, +he had at a certain hour noticed a man walking +across Peters’ field (for from his description it +was plain to me that it was Peters’ field, and +plain further that the man was walking pretty +much where those tracks were made). This +man, even at that distance, he recognised as +Vane-Cartwright; he recognised him by his fur +coat and a cap which Ellen Trethewy had seen +him in, and by some peculiarity about his gait +which he knew well. The man was also +swinging his stick in Vane-Cartwright’s own particular +manner. The distance was considerable, but +I knew that it would be possible for a +clear-sighted man to recognise at that distance any +one whom he knew very well. The hour which +Thalberg named corresponded with what Ellen +Trethewy had told me.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch21"> + +<h2>Chapter XXI</h2> + +<p>As we left Thalberg’s office and walked down +the narrow court which led to the street, I +daresay our looks and voices, if not our words, +betrayed the exultation of men who see a +long-sought object at last within reach. As we +turned into the street we were stopped by +Vane-Cartwright.</p> + +<p>Only the day before I had been expecting to +find him lurking for me round every corner; +but now and here it startled me to meet him. +When I learnt why he met us, it startled me +still more, and looking back upon it, I still find +it unaccountable.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Driver, Mr. Callaghan,” he said, +addressing us in turn in tones as quiet as ever, +but with a pale face and highly-strung manner, +“I am your prisoner.” I suppose we stared +for a moment, for he repeated, “I am your +prisoner. I will go with you where you like; +or you can give me in charge to the nearest +constable. There is one. You see you have +beaten me. You probably do not yet know it +yourselves, but you have.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” he continued, “if you do not quite +know what you are going to do, I will ask one +thing of you. Before you give me up to justice, +take me somewhere where I can talk with you +two alone. I want to tell you my story. It +will not make you alter your purpose, I know +that; but it will make you respect me a little +more than you do. It is odd that I should +want that, but I do.”</p> + +<p>“Well, gentlemen?” he said questioningly, +as we still hesitated, and his old self-possession +returning for a moment, a smile of positive +amusement came over his face.</p> + +<p>I confess that if I had acted on my own +impulse I should have taken my antagonist at +his word when he suggested that we should call +the nearest policeman. But Callaghan had been +taking the lead in our late movements, and I felt +that the occasion belonged to Callaghan; and +Callaghan was more generous.</p> + +<p>“If you have anything to say, sir,” he said, +“come to my chambers and say it. +Four-wheeler!”</p> + +<p>In a moment more we were in a cab—how +slow the cab seemed—Callaghan sitting opposite +Vane-Cartwright and watching him narrowly lest +he should play us a trick, while I too watched +him all through the interminable drive, very +ill at ease as to the wisdom of our conduct, and +wondering what could be the meaning of the +unexpected and desperate hazard which our +antagonist was now taking. He was evidently +going to confess to us. But why? If the +knowledge we already possessed was sufficient, +as perhaps it was, to secure his conviction, yet +he could only partly guess what that knowledge +was; of the two most telling pieces of evidence +against him, the fact about the window-latch +which the surgeon had told us, and the fact +that Thalberg had recognised him afar from +his window in the hotel, he must have been +quite unaware. And then what did he expect +to gain by the interview which he had sought +with us? What opinion had he formed of the +mental weaknesses of the two men with whom +he was playing? Was he relying overmuch +upon the skill and mastery of himself and +others which he would bring to bear in this +strange interview? Had the fearful strain +under which he had been living of late taken +away the coolness and acuteness of his +judgment? Could he rely so much upon the +chance of enlisting our compassion that he +could afford to give us a certainty of his +guilt, which, for all he knew, we had not got +before, and to throw away the hope of making +an escape by flight, which with a man of his +resource might easily have been successful? +Or had he some other far more sinister hope +than that of stirring us to unworthy pity or +generosity? I could not resolve these +questions, but I was inclined to an explanation +which he was himself about to give us. If the +cause of suspicion against him became public +he would have lost everything for which he +greatly cared, and he was ready to risk all +upon any chance, however faint, of avoiding +this. I was, as I have said, ill at ease about +it all. I did not feel that after the conversation +I had held with him before, Vane-Cartwright +would get over me, but it is an experience +which one would do much to avoid, that of +listening obdurate to an appeal into which +another man puts his whole heart; and more +especially would one wish to have avoided +consenting to hear that appeal in a manner +which might raise false hopes. But for a +more serious reason it had been a mistake to +acquiesce in this interview; I had learned to +know not only Callaghan’s goodness of heart +but his cleverness and his promptitude, but I +had not learned to credit him with wisdom or +with firmness; and the sort of impulsiveness, +which had made him at once grant the +request for this interview, might easily have +further and graver consequences.</p> + +<p>At last we were in Callaghan’s room and +seated ourselves round a table.</p> + +<p>“I see,” said Vane-Cartwright, “that it +puzzles you gentlemen why I should ask for +this interview. You think I am an ordinary +criminal, which perhaps I am, and you thought +that like an ordinary criminal I should try all +means to save a disgraced life, which I certainly +shall not do. I know that you have not got the +knowledge which would convict me of murder. +I do not suppose you think you have, and in +any case you have not. And, if you had, I +think you know I have contrivance enough to +take myself off and live comfortably out of +reach of the law. But I do not care for +escape, and I do not care for acquittal. You +have the means to throw suspicion on me, and +that is enough for me. I cared for honour and +success, and I do not care for life when they +are lost.” He was looking at each of us +alternately with an inscrutable but quite unflinching +gaze, but he now hid his eyes, and he added +as if with difficulty, “Yet I did care for one +other thing besides my position in the world, +but that has gone from me too.</p> + +<p>“And now,” he resumed, “that my struggle +is over, and that the people—more people and +bigger people than you would think—who have +been courting me for the last twelve months +will think of me only with as just abhorrence +as Thalberg himself does, I have an odd fancy, +and it is this: I should like to stand a little +better in the eyes of the very men who, far +from courting me, have had the courage to +suspect me and the tenacity to drag me down.” +He had raised his eyes again, but this time +fixed them on Callaghan only, for he +doubtless saw that I was out of touch with him, and, +seeing this, he had art enough to appear to +recognise and acquiesce in it.</p> + +<p>“You know something of my story. Let +me tell you just a little more of it, and, please, +if it interests you enough, question me on any +point you will. I shall not shrink from +answering. If a man is known to have murdered two +of his friends, there cannot be much left that +it is worth his while to conceal. First, I would +like to speak of my early training. If I had +been brought up in the gutter, you could make +some allowance for that, and give me some +credit for any good qualities I had shown, +however cheerfully you might see me hanged +for my crimes. It is not usual to suppose that +any such allowance may have to be made for +a man brought up to luxury and to every sort +of refinement, and yet such a man too may be +the victim of influences which would kill the +good in most characters even more than they +have in mine. You may have heard a little +about my people, and perhaps know that their +views and ways were not quite usual; I am +not going to say one word against them (I +am not that sort of man, whatever I may be), +but there were two things in my boyhood +harder for me than the ordinary Englishman +can well imagine. I was brought up in the +actual enjoyment of considerable wealth and +the expectation of really great wealth, and just +when I was grown up the wealth and the +expectations suddenly vanished. That has +happened to many men who have been none the +worse for it. But then I was brought up soft. +You know I am not a limp man or a coward; +but I had all the bringing up of one; cared +for hand and foot, never doing a thing for +myself (my good people had great ideas of +republican simplicity, but they were only literary +ideas). None of the games, none of the sport +that other boys get; no rubbing shoulders with +my equals at school; no comradeship but only +the company of my elders, mostly invalids. +Few people know what it is to be brought up +soft. But there was worse than that. You” +(he was addressing Callaghan) “were piously +brought up. Oh, yes, you were really. I +daresay your home was not a strict one, and you +were not carefully taught precepts of religion +and morality or carefully shielded from the +sight of evil (perhaps quite the contrary, for I +have not the pleasure of knowing much about +you, Mr. Callaghan), but I am quite sure that +you had about you at home or at school, or +both, people among whom there was some +tacit recognition of right and wrong of some +sort as things incontrovertible, and that there +was some influence in your childhood which +appealed to the heart. But in my childhood +nothing appealed to the heart, nothing was +incontrovertible, above all, nothing was tacit. +Everlasting discussion, reaching back to the +first principles of the universe, and branching +out into such questions as whether children +should be allowed pop-guns. That was my +moral training, and that was all my moral +training. It was very sound in principle, I +daresay—and I am not going to pose as an +interesting convert to the religious way of +looking at things, for I am not one—but it did not +take account of practical difficulties, and it was +very, very hard on me. Not one man in ten +thousand has had that sort of upbringing, and +I do not suppose you can realise in the least +how hard that sort of thing is.</p> + +<p>“So,” he continued, “I found myself at +twenty-one suddenly made poor; more accustomed than +most lads to think life only worth living for +refinements which are for the wealthy only; taught +not to take traditional canons of morality for +granted; taught to think about the real utility +of every action; landed in a place like Saigon, +and thrown in the society of the sort of gentry +who, we all know, do represent European +civilisation in such places; sent there to get a +living; thoroughly out of sympathy with all +the tastes and pleasures of the people round +me, and at the same time easily able to +discover that for all my strange upbringing I was +by nature more of a man than any one else there. +As a matter of fact, there was only one decent +man there with intellectual tastes, and that was +Peters; but Peters, who was only two or three +years older than I, and, as I own I fancied, +nothing like so clever, took me under his +protection and made it his mission to correct me, +and it did not do. You can easily imagine +how, in the three years before Longhurst came +on the scene, I had got to hate the prospect +of a life of humdrum, money-grubbing among +those people in the hope of retiring with a +small competence some day when my liver and +my brain were gone; you would not have +thought any the better of me if I had become +content with that. At any rate I did not. I +meant to be quit of it as soon as I could, and +I meant more. I resolved before I had been +three weeks in the place to make money on +a scale which would give me the position, the +society and the pursuits for which I had been +trained. I resolved in fact to make the sort of +place for myself in the world which every man, +except the three men in this room and Thalberg, +thinks I have secured. If I had no scruples as +to the way in which I should carry out that +resolve, I differed from the people around me only +in knowing that I had no scruples, and in having +instead a set purpose which I was man enough +to pursue through life. And I am man enough, +I hope, not to care much for life now that that +purpose has failed. If I pursued my end +without scruple, I think I was carrying out to its +logical conclusion the principles that had been +taught me as a boy; and, as I am not going to +seek your sympathy on false pretences, let me +tell you I do not know to-day that there are +any better principles—there may be; I hope +there are.</p> + +<p>“I waited nearly three years, learning all I +could about business and about the East, its trade +and its resources, and waiting all the time for my +opportunity which I knew would come, and which +came. It came to me through Longhurst; but +I must go back a little. I have said that Peters +was my only equal in our society there. Now +let me say, once for all, that in nothing that I +am going to tell you do I wish to blame Peters +more than I blame myself; but from the first +we did not hit it off. Peters, as I have said, +took on himself the part of my protector and +adviser a little too obviously; he had not quite +tact enough to do it well, and I was foolish +enough in those days to resent what I thought +his patronage. At first there was no harm +done; Peters thought I should be the better if I +entered more into such sport as there was in the +place, for which I had very little taste, and he +tried to make me do so by chaffing me about +being a duffer, in his blunt way, which I thought +rude, and that before other people. You would +hardly imagine that I was ever shy, but I was; +and, absurd as it seems, this added a good deal +to my unhappiness in my new surroundings. I +should very soon have got over that, for I soon +found my way about the place, and my shyness +quickly wore off; but worse than that followed. +I was fond of arguing, and used to discuss all +things in heaven and earth with Peters. You +can easily suppose that his views and mine did +not agree, and I daresay now that I pained him +a good deal. I did not mean to do that, but I +did mean to shock him sometimes, and so I +often took a cynical line, by which I meant +nothing at all, telling him the sharp things that +I should do if I got the chance; and once or +twice I was fool enough to pretend that all sorts +of things of which Peters would not approve +went on in our business. To my amazement I +discovered after a time that Peters took all this +nonsense seriously. I would have given +anything to efface the impression that I had made, +for though there are few men that I ever +respected, Peters was one of them. But Peters +became reserved towards me and impossible to +get at. Then gossip came in between us. There +is sometimes very spiteful gossip in a little +European settlement in the East; and I am +certain, though I cannot prove it, that a man +there, with whom I had constant business, told +Peters a story about a shady transaction which +he said I was in. The transaction was real +enough, but neither I nor my firm had any +more to do with it than you. I know that this +man told it to other people, for I have heard so +from them, and I do not doubt that that was +what finally turned Peters against me. I tried +to tax Peters with having picked up this story, +but he said something which sounded like +disbelieving me, and I lost my temper and broke +off; and from that day till we met again at +Long Wilton we never exchanged any more +words together, though we crossed one another’s +path as you shall hear.</p> + +<p>“Mind, again, I am not saying it was his fault; +but it is in itself doing a young man a very ill +turn to show him that you think him dishonest +when as yet he is not, and it did me harm. +Upon my soul, I was honest then; in fact, in that +regard, most of my dealings throughout life +would stand a pretty close scrutiny. But I +have often thought that I might have become +a much better man if Peters would have been +my friend instead of suspecting me unjustly; +and I confess that it rankles to this day, and all +the more because I always respected Peters. +After that, however, he did me some practical +ill turns, disastrously ill turns; rightly enough, if +he thought as he did. I must tell you that our +separation came a very little while before +Longhurst came to the place. Just afterwards I had +an opening, a splendid opening; it would not +have made me the rich man that I am, but it +would have given me a good position right +away, and what it would have saved me you +shall judge. A very eminent person came to +Saigon; he knew something of Peters and a little +of me. He saw a great deal of Peters at +Saigon, and he pressed him to accept a post +that was in his gift in the Chinese Customs +service. Peters refused. I suppose he was at +that time thinking of coming home. The great +man then spoke to me about it, and had all but +offered it to me. How I should have jumped +at it! But suddenly it all went off and he said +no more to me. I believed that Peters warned +him against me; possibly, being sore against +Peters, I was mistaken; but at any rate that was +what I ever afterwards believed. It was partly +in desperate annoyance about this that I plunged +into what then seemed my wild venture with +Longhurst.</p> + +<p>“And now I must tell you about Longhurst. +He had been at some time, I suppose, a clever +man; at least he had a wonderful store of +practical knowledge about forests, mining and other +matters, and he had travelled a great deal in all +parts of that region of the world, and picked up +many things which he wanted to turn to account. +He had made a little money which he wished to +increase, and he had a great scheme of +organising and developing the trade of South-Eastern +Asia and its islands in various valuable kinds +of timber, spices, gum, shellac, etc., etc. He +promised any one who could join him that in a +few years, by exploiting certain yet undeveloped +but most profitable sources of supply, he could +get a monopoly of several important trades, the +sago trade, for example. He set forth his scheme +to the company generally at the English Club +the first time I met him, and everybody laughed +at him except me, who saw that if he got into +the right hands there was something to be made +out of his discoveries for him and other people. +And as a matter of fact we did make something +of them, more than I expected, but not what he +expected. I did not make a large sum out of +our joint venture, not much more than I could +have made by staying where I was, but I got +the knowledge of Eastern commerce, which has +enabled me since to do what I have done.</p> + +<p>“I saw you smile just now, Mr. Callaghan, +when I spoke of Longhurst getting into the +right hands. Well he did; and I did not. He +had been, as I said, a clever man, and there was +something taking about him with his bluff, +frank, burly air, but he was going off when I +met him. People do go downhill if they spend +all their lives in odd corners of the earth; and, +though I did not know it at first, he had taken +the surest road downhill, for he had begun to +drink, and very soon it gained upon him like +wildfire. When he once goes wrong no one +can be so wrong-headed as a man like that, who +thinks that he knows the world from having +knocked about it a great deal doing nothing +settled; and I should have found Longhurst +difficult to deal with in any case. As it was, +Longhurst dined with Peters the night before +we left Saigon together. On the first day of +our voyage he was very surly to me, and he +said, ‘I heard something funny about you last +night, Master Cartwright. I wish I had heard +it before, that’s all.’ When I fired up and told +him to say straight out what it was, he looked +at me offensively, and went off into the +smoking-room of the steamer to have another drink. +That was not a cheerful beginning of our +companionship, and I had my suspicion as to whom +I ought to thank for it. I believe the same +tale-bearer that I mentioned before had been +telling Peters some yarn about my arrangements +with Longhurst, which looked as if I was trying +to swindle him, and that Peters had passed it +on. I very soon found that Longhurst was not so +simple as he seemed. I daresay he had meant +honestly enough by me at first, but having +got it into his thick head that I was a little +too sharp, he made up his mind to be the sharper +of the two; and the result was that if I was to +be safe in dealing with him I must take care to +keep the upper hand of him, and before long I +made up my mind that my partner should go +out of the firm. I could have made his fortune +if he would have let me, but I meant that the +concern should be mine and not his, and I did +not disguise it from him. That was my great +mistake. I do not know what story, if any, you +have picked up about my dealings with +Longhurst. He put about many stories when we +had begun to quarrel—for he had begun by +that time, if not before, to drink freely—but the +matter that we finally quarrelled about was this. +Of the various concessions which we started by +obtaining (at least I started by obtaining them; +that was to be my great contribution to the +partnership), two only proved of very great +importance—one was from the Spanish +Government of the Philippines and the other from the +Government of Anam, and these, as it happened, +were for three and four years, renewable under +certain conditions but also revocable earlier in +certain events. There was no trickery about +that, though Longhurst may have thought there +was. I simply could not get larger concessions +with the means of persuasion (bribery, in other +words) at our command. Subsequently I got +renewals and extensions of these concessions to +myself alone. To the best of my belief then +and now the transaction held water in law and in +equity, but whatever a lawyer might think of +it, the common-sense was this: Longhurst had +become so reckless and so muddle-headed that +nothing could any longer prosper under his +control, if he had the control, and besides that, +I never could have got the extended concessions +at all if he was to be one of the concessionaires. +There are some things which an Eastern +Government or a Spanish Government cannot stand, +and Longhurst’s treatment of the natives was +one of them. But I must go back a bit. There +were other things besides this which contributed +to our quarrel. For one thing, odd as it may +sound in speaking of two grown-up men, +Longhurst bullied me—physically bullied me. He +was a very powerful man, more so, I should +think, even than you, Mr. Callaghan, and when, +as often happened, we were travelling alone +together, he used to insist on my doing as he +liked in small arrangements, by the positive +threat of violence. To do him justice he did +not do it when he was sober, and though in +those days I was a weakly and timid man +compared to what I have become, I soon learned +how to stop it altogether. But you can easily +imagine that I did not love him; and a bitter +feeling towards his chief companion is not a +wholesome thing for a man to carry about +through a year or two of hard work in that +climate (for it is a climate! none of the dry +heat and bracing winters you have in Northern +India); still I hope I did not bear him malice +so much for that as for other things. I have +said I have no scruples, but I have no liking +for ruffianism and cruelty. I hate them for the +same reason for which I hate some pictures +and some architecture, because they are not to +my taste. But I had, in out-of-the-way places, +among weak savages, where law and order +had not come, to put up with seeing deeds +done which people here at home would not +believe were done by their countrymen, and +which a man who has served his days in an +honourable service like the Indian Civil could +believe in least of all. He had kicked a wretched +man to death (for I have no doubt he died of it) +the day he died himself.</p> + +<p>“But why do I make all these excuses? for, +after all, what did I do that needs so much +excuse? I told Longhurst plainly what I had +done about the concessions and what I proposed +to do for him, and he seemed to fall in with it +all, and then he went home for a month’s holiday +in England. I suppose he saw some lawyer, +probably Thalberg, and got it into his head that +he could make out a case of fraud against me. +At any rate, when he returned, he seemed surly; +he did not have it out with me straight, but he +began to make extravagant demands of me and +threaten me vaguely with some exposure if I +did not give in to them, which of course I did +not. Then he quarrelled about it in his cups, +for the cups were getting more and more +frequent, and several times over he got so violent +as to put me in actual fear of my life. And at +last, unhappily for him, it came to a real +encounter. We had visited the island of Sulu, +where I had reason to think we might establish +a branch of our business, and after two or three +days in an inland town we were returning to the +coast, expecting to be picked up by a Chinese +junk which was to take us back. The evening +before we started down he produced a packet +of documents and brandished it at me as if it +contained something very damaging to me, and +I could see plainly (for I have an eye for +handwriting) that on the top of it was an envelope +addressed by Peters. I am not justified in +inferring from this that Peters—who had seen +Longhurst several times since he had seen +me—had again been repeating to him some +malicious falsehood with which he had been stuffed +before he left Saigon; but can you wonder that +I did infer it? On the march down—when we +were alone, for we had sent on our servants +before—Longhurst began again more savagely +than ever, and for about an hour he heaped all +sorts of charges and vile insinuations upon me, +which I answered for a while as patiently as I +could. At last, breaking off in the middle of a +curse, he fell into silence. He strode on angrily +ahead for a hundred yards or so. Then at a +rocky part of the path, where I was below him, +he turned suddenly. He hurled at me a great +stone which narrowly missed me, and then he +came rushing and clambering back down the +path at me. I fired (he turned as I fired). +That was the end. Was it murder?” He +paused and then braced himself up as he +answered his own question. “Yes, it was, +because I was angry, not afraid, and because I +could easily have run away, only for some +reason I did not mean to.</p> + +<p>“But I am foolish to weary you with all this +long preliminary story, for, after all, what do +you care about Longhurst; it is Peters, your +own friend, about whom you care. You think +that he came to suspect me of murdering +Longhurst, and I killed him for that; but as sure as I +killed him, that was not—that was <em>not</em> what made +me do it.”</p> + +<p>Vane-Cartwright sat for a long time with his +face covered with his hands. At last he sat +up and looked me straight in the face. “Mr. +Driver, did you never suspect there was a +romance in Peters’ life of which you knew +nothing? I did know of it, and I honoured +him for it, but I hated him for it too. Certainly +you did not suspect that there was a romance +in mine. It does not seem likely that a great +passion should come to a calculating man like +me, with the principles of conduct of which I +have made no secret to-day. But such things +do happen, and a great passion came late in +life to me. And here is the cruel thing, which +almost breaks my philosophy down, and makes +me think that after all there is a curse upon +crime. It ought to have enriched and ennobled +my life, ought it not? It came at just the +moment, in just the shape, and with all the +attendant accidents to ruin me.</p> + +<p>“It began five years ago. Miss Denison and +her parents were staying at Pau. I was in the +same hotel and I met them. I knew nothing +then of their position and wealth and all that, for +I had not been long in London. I loved her, +and a great hope came into my life. One begins +to weary after a while of toiling just to make +money for oneself. For a few days all seemed +changed, the whole world was new and bright +to me. Suddenly I got an intimation from the +father of the lady that my calls were no longer +acceptable. I could not imagine the reason. I +asked for an interview to explain matters, and +he refused it. I left at once. I did not yet +know how hard I should find it to give her up. +It was only as I left the hotel that I learned +that Peters, Peters whom I had not met since +we quarrelled at Saigon, and of whom I last +heard of the day that Longhurst died, was in the +hotel and had called on my friends. Now I see +clearly that I am wrong to draw inferences, but +again, I ask, could I help inferring what I did?</p> + +<p>“More than four years passed. I tried hard to +create new interests for myself in artistic things, +making all sorts of collections; and I developed +an ambition to be a personage in London society. +Then I saw Miss Denison again, and I knew +that I had not forgotten her, and could not do so. +I knew now what had happened, and so I +absolutely insisted on an explanation. I had it out +with the father. I satisfied him absolutely. In +a few weeks’ time I was engaged. For the first +time in my life I was happy. That was only +a month before I came to Long Wilton. I must +tell you that Peters had known the Denisons +long, and that I knew Miss Denison had been +fond of him, but we naturally did not talk of +him much, and I did not know he was at Long +Wilton. There, to my complete surprise, I saw +Peters again. I would not avoid him, but I +certainly did not wish to meet him. He, +however, came up to me and spoke quite cordially. +I do not know whether he had reflected and +thought he had been hard on me, but he seemed +to wish to make amends, and I at that time, just +for a few short hours, had not got it in my heart +to be other than friendly with any man.</p> + +<p>“That evening I spent at his house. You, +Mr. Callaghan, were there, and you must have +seen that something happened. I at any rate +saw that something I said had revived all +Peters’ suspicions of me, and this time with +the addition of a suspicion, which was true, that +I had murdered Longhurst.</p> + +<p>“Now, I ask you, if you have any lingering +idea that that was why I killed him, how was +it possible that he could ever prove me guilty? +Have you any inkling of how he could have done +it? I have not. Now what could induce me, on +account of a mere idle suspicion on the part +of a man who need be nothing to me, to run +the risk amounting almost to certainty of being +hanged for murdering him?</p> + +<p>“But my conscience was active then, for a +reason which any man who has loved may guess. +I wanted to clear up all with Peters. I could +not get him alone that evening, and I had to +go next day. I returned the first day I could, +bringing certain materials for clearing up the +early transaction about which he had first +suspected me. I was honestly determined to make +a clean breast to him about Longhurst. You +can hardly wonder that I meant to feel my way +with him in this. I tried to get to close quarters +with him. Mr. Callaghan saw enough to know +how unsuccessful I was. I tried all the time, +again and again, to draw Peters into intimate +talk about our days in the East, but he always +seemed to push me away. I determined very +soon to obtain a letter from a friend, whom I +will not name now, who knew how Longhurst +had treated me, which I could show to Peters; +so I wrote to him. But in the meantime +relations with Peters grew harder and harder. I +will not spin out excuses, but all his old +animosity to me returned, and I began while I was +waiting for that letter to feel once again the old +rancour I had felt. This man had hurt me by +suspecting me falsely, when, had he shown me +confidence, he could have made a better man of +me; he had spoilt my best chance of a career; +he had poisoned my relations with Longhurst, +and so brought about the very crime of which +he was now lying in wait to accuse me; he had +thwarted my love for four miserable years. On +the top of all that came this letter” (he had held +a letter in his hand all the time he was speaking), +“and it shall speak for itself. But first one +question. You may remember when you first +saw me at Long Wilton. Well, I came really as +it happened upon an errand for Miss Denison. +Mrs. Nicholas, in the village, you may not know, +had been her nurse. But that does not matter. +Between my first visit and my return, do you +happen to remember that a Mrs. Bulteel was +staying at the hotel, and visited Mr. Peters of +whom she was an old friend?”</p> + +<p>Callaghan remembered that it was so.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Bulteel is, I have always supposed, +the lady referred to in this letter, which reached +me (will you note?) by the five o’clock post at +Peters’ house, seven hours before I killed him.”</p> + +<p>He passed the letter to me without looking +at me. Callaghan and I read it together. It was +in a lady’s hand, signed with the name of Lady +Denison, the young lady’s mother. It appeared +to be written in great agitation. Its purport was +that the young lady had resolved, so her mother +found, to break off her engagement with +Vane-Cartwright. She had formerly loved another +man, whose name the mother thought she must +not mention, though probably Vane-Cartwright +knew it, but had supposed that he did not care +for her or had given up doing so. She had now +learned from an officious lady friend, who had +lately seen this old lover, that he cared for her +still; that he had concealed his passion when +he found she favoured Vane-Cartwright, but +that having now apparently quarrelled with +Vane-Cartwright he had authorised her to let +this be known if she saw her opportunity. The +mother concluded by saying that she had so far +failed in reasoning with her daughter, who had +wished to write and break off her engagement, +and all she could do was to lay on her the +absolute command not to write to Vane-Cartwright +at all for the present.</p> + +<p>“There is only one comment to make on that +letter,” said Vane-Cartwright. “You may +wonder why I should have assumed that it was +hopeless. Well, I knew the lady better than +you, better than her mother did, and knew that +if her old attachment had returned it had +returned to stay. Besides, I read this letter with +my rival sitting in the room (you two gentlemen +were sitting in the room too as it happens), and +when hard, self-contained people do come under +these influences, they do not give way to them +by halves.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Vane-Cartwright, when +we had read and returned the letter. “I am +glad you have heard me so patiently. That all +this makes me less of a villain than you thought +me, I do not pretend to say; but I think you +will understand why I wished some men whom +I respected, as I respect you, to know my story. +I do not suggest for a moment that it should +influence your present action. Here I am, as +I said to begin with, your prisoner. Of course +you see that society is just as safe from future +murders from me as from any man. But if +your principles of justice demand life for life, or +if human feeling makes you resolve to avenge +your friend, that is just what I came here +expecting. I am the last man in the world who +could give an unprejudiced opinion on the ethics +of punishment.”</p> + +<p>He ended with a quiet and by no means +disagreeable smile.</p> + +<p>As I have often said I make no sort of +pretence to report any talk quite correctly, and here, +where the manner of the talk is of special +importance, I feel more than ever my incompetence +to report it. I can only say that the singular +confession, of which I have striven to repeat the +purport, was in reality delivered with a great +deal of restrained eloquence, and with occasional +most moving play of facial expression, all the +more striking in a man whom I had seldom +before seen to move a muscle of his face +unnecessarily. It was delivered to two men of +whom one (myself) was physically overwrought, +while the other (Callaghan), naturally emotional, +was at the commencement in the fullest elation +of triumphant pursuit, in other words, ready to +recoil violently.</p> + +<p>We sat, I do not know how long, each +waiting for the other to speak. Vane-Cartwright +sat meanwhile neither looking at us nor moving +his countenance—only the fingers of one hand +kept drumming gently upon his knee.</p> + +<p>At last I did what I think I never did but +once before, obeyed an impulse almost physical, +to speak words which my mouth seemed to utter +mechanically. If they were the words of reason, +they were not the words of my conscious thought, +for that was busy with all, and more than all the +scruples which had ever made this business hard +to me.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Vane-Cartwright,” I said, “it is my +painful duty to tell you at once that I do not +believe one word you have said, except what +I knew already.”</p> + +<p>He went white for a moment; then quickly +recomposed himself and inclined his head slightly +with a politely disdainful expression.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Driver,” said Callaghan, in a gentle +tone, and he arose and paced the room. He +was strangely moved. To begin with, though +he had felt nothing but remorseless glee in his +share in hunting his victim down, he would in +any case have felt great repugnance at giving +him the <i>coup de grâce</i>. But then he had once +taken the step of inviting that victim into his +own room; he had sat there for an hour and +a half with that victim by his own fireside, +telling his life-story and implicitly pleading for +his life. And the pleading had been conducted +under the flattering pretext that it was not +pleading at all but the instinctive confidence +of a redoubtable antagonist, in one whom he +respected for having beaten him. As for the +story itself, Callaghan did not exactly believe it; +on the contrary, I found afterwards that, while +I had not got beyond a vague sense that the +whole story was a tissue of lies, he had noted +with rapid acuteness each of the numerous +points of improbability in it; but to his mind +(Irish, if I may say publicly what I have said +to him) the fact that the story appealed to his +imaginative sympathy was almost as good as +its being true, and what in respect of credibility +was wanting to its effect was quite made good +by Callaghan’s admiration for the intrepidity +with which the man had carried out this +attempt on us. And the story did appeal to +his sympathy, he had sympathised with his +early struggles, he had sympathised still more +with the suggestion of passion in his final crime, +and (Irish again) had ignored the fact that on +the criminal’s own showing the crime conceived +in passion had been carried through with a +cold-blooded meanness of which Callaghan’s own +nature had no trace. Lastly, he was genuinely +puzzled by the problem as to the morality of +vengeance which Vane-Cartwright had raised +with so dexterously slight a touch.</p> + +<p>Whatever his motive, Callaghan was upon +the point of resolving that, at least from his +own room, where the criminal had come to +appeal to his mercy, that criminal should go +away free. And if Callaghan had so resolved +I should have been powerless for a time; he was +prepared and I was not as to the steps +immediately to be taken to secure Vane-Cartwright’s +arrest. But it seems, if for once I may use that +phrase with so little or else so deep a meaning, +that the luck had departed from +Vane-Cartwright. At this crisis of his fate a device of +his own recoiled upon him with terrible force.</p> + +<p>“I cannot do it! I cannot do it!” Callaghan +was exclaiming, when the door opened and a +telegram was brought for me. This was the +message: “Clarissa terribly ill, symptoms +poison, Bancroft, Fidele”. It meant that my +wife was dying at the friend’s villa to which she +had gone, and dying by that man’s means, and it +was certified by the use of the password which +my wife had told me to expect. I did not +reflect and I did not speak; I grasped +Callaghan’s arm and I put the telegram in his +hand. He knew enough to understand the +message well. He read it with an altered face. +He passed it to Vane-Cartwright and said: +“Read that, and take it for my answer”. I +should doubt if Vane-Cartwright had often +been violently angry, but he was now. He +dashed the telegram down with a curse. “The +fool,” he said, and he gasped with passion, “if +he was going to try that trick, why did not he +do it before?” Callaghan stepped up to me, +put his big arms round me, and for a moment +hugged me in them, with tears in his eyes. +Then without a word he strode across the room, +and, before I could see what was happening, +Vane-Cartwright’s hands were tied behind his +back with a great silk handkerchief.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch22"> + +<h2>Chapter XXII</h2> + +<p>My story draws towards its close, and of mystery +or of sudden peril it has little more to tell. Upon +one point, the most vital to me, let me not give +the reader a moment’s suspense. My wife +did not die of poison, had not been poisoned, +had not been ill, had not sent that telegram. +What had happened was this: on one single +occasion she had not despatched her own +message herself; through the misunderstanding or +too prompt courtesy of her host’s butler, the +telegram which she had written had been taken +by a messenger, and it had fallen into the +hands of the enemy’s watchful emissary. It +had revealed to him the password which my +wife used to me; and in its place there had +gone over the wires a message which would +indeed have called me back at any stage of the +pursuit, but which was fated to arrive neither +sooner nor later than the moment when it must +destroy Vane-Cartwright’s last hope of escape.</p> + +<p>I say not later, for indeed I have evidence +strong enough for my now suspicious mind that +Vane-Cartwright had endeavoured to prepare +his escape in the event of his failure to persuade +Callaghan and myself. An unoccupied flat +immediately below Callaghan’s had the day +before been engaged by a nameless man, who +paid a quarter’s rent in advance, and on the day +of his interview with us, several strange persons, +who were never seen there again, arrived with +every sign of belated haste; but, whatever +accident had delayed them, they arrived a quarter +of an hour after we had left.</p> + +<p>And so on the 15th of May, 1897, nearly +sixteen months after Peters’ death, his murderer +was handed over to the police, with information +which, including as it did the fact of his +confession, ensured their taking him into custody.</p> + +<p>Then I, in my turn, became Callaghan’s +prisoner. I arrived at Charing Cross station in +good time for the night train, and found my +luggage already there and registered, and my +ticket taken. Our tickets taken, rather, for, +protest as I might, I was escorted by Callaghan, +indeed nursed (and I needed it) the whole way +to Florence, and to the villa where my wife was +staying. One item remains untold to complete +for the present the account of the debt which I +owe him. We had hardly left Charing Cross +when his quick wits arrived at precisely that +explanation of the telegram which in happy fact +was true; but all the way, talkative man though +he was, he refrained from vexing my bruised +mind with a hope which, he knew, I should not +be able to trust.</p> + +<p>When he had learnt at the door that his happy +foreboding was true, no entreaty would induce +him to stay and break bread. He returned at +once to England, leaving me to enter alone to that +reunion of which I need say nothing, nor even +tell how much two people had hungered for it.</p> + +<p>The reader who is curious in such matters +might almost reconstruct for himself (in spite of +the newspaper reports which naturally are +misleading) the trial of William Vane-Cartwright. +He might pick out from these pages the facts +capable of legal proof, which, once proved and +once marshalled into their places, could leave +no reasonable doubt of the prisoner’s guilt.</p> + +<p>But, however late, the trained intelligence of +the police had now been applied to the matter, +and the case wore an altered aspect. No +startling discovery had come to pass, only the +revelation of the obvious. Some points had been +ascertained which ought to have been +ascertained long before; still more, facts long known +had been digested, as, surely, it should have +been somebody’s business to digest them from +the first. In particular, tardy attention had +been paid to the report of the young constable +who, as I mentioned, followed Sergeant Speke +into Peters’ room, and who had incurred some +blame because his apparent slowness had allowed +some trespassers to come and make footprints +on the lawn (I fancy his notes had been +overlooked when some officer in charge of the case +had been superseded by another). The +observed movements, just after the crime, of two +or three people who were about the scene, had +been set down in order. Enquiries, such as +only authority could make, had ultimately been +made among Vane-Cartwright’s acquaintance in +the East, and though disappointing in the main, +they yielded one fact of importance. Moreover, +the researches which were made by Callaghan +shortly after the murder, and which I had +supposed at the time were so futile, now appeared in +another light. Just before that suspicious flight +to Paris, he had given to the police at Exeter +some scrappy and ill-explained notes; and on +a subsequent visit, which I have mentioned, to +Scotland Yard, he had handed in a long and +over-elaborate memorandum. These now +received justice. I must, therefore, attempt to +state, with dry accuracy, the case which was +actually presented against the accused.</p> + +<p>Upon the fact that he had confessed his guilt, +though indeed it reversed the surface improbability +that a man in his position was a criminal, +I must lay no separate emphasis. Neither judge +nor prosecuting counsel did so. The defence +dealt with it upon a theory which turned it to +positive advantage. I myself can well conceive +that a man, to whom his life was little and his +reputation much, might have taken the risk of a +false confession to us in the hope of binding us +to silence.</p> + +<p>But, to begin, Peters was without doubt +murdered on a certain night, and during that +night Vane-Cartwright was one of a few who +could easily have had access to him.</p> + +<p>Now years before one Longhurst had +disappeared; a report had got abroad that he went +down in a certain ship which had been lost; +the report was false; but he never reappeared; +several witnesses (traced out by the enquiry of +the police in the East) appeared at the trial, and +swore that Vane-Cartwright had often spoken +of Longhurst’s sailing in that ship; yet he must, +according to Mr. Bryanston’s evidence, have +known that this was false; and, according to +the same evidence, he had been in Longhurst’s +company after the time when the rest of +Longhurst’s neighbours last saw him. From this +(though the other proved facts of their +connexion amounted to little more than they were +reputed partners) it followed that +Vane-Cartwright was in a position in which suspicion of foul +play towards Longhurst might easily fall on him.</p> + +<p>Next, Peters at the time of his death not +merely entertained this suspicion but was taking +steps to obtain proof of its truth; for there +were his letters to Bryanston and to Verschoyle +still extant, and admissible in evidence as <i>res +gestæ</i>, the actual first steps which he had taken +with this aim.</p> + +<p>Next, Vane-Cartwright knew of Peters’ +suspicion and was greatly perturbed by the +knowledge. His whole conduct was in this regard +most significant. Callaghan showed that on the +first evening when he had seen the two men +together their intercourse had at first been easy, +but that by the end of the evening something +had happened which completely altered their +manners; the one became abstracted and aloof, +the other eagerly watched him. Of the talk +which caused this change Callaghan had only +caught Peters’ question, “sailed in what,” but it +was evident now to what that question referred. +It was in itself strange that after this +Vane-Cartwright should have availed himself of a +general invitation given by Peters earlier, and +have come rather suddenly to his house, putting +off (as it was now shown) for that purpose a +previous important engagement. It was a +sinister fact that, before he did so, he had set +on foot mysterious enquiries, some of which +related to the two men to whom, in his presence, +Peters had written letters about the affair of +Longhurst, while the rest, though less obviously, +appeared to be connected with the same matter. +The first fruits of these enquiries (and they were +telling) had been, by his arrangement, brought +to him on the very afternoon before the murder. +After the murder he had, it now seemed plain, +stayed on at my house merely in the hope +of intercepting Bryanston’s answer. By what +means he knew that the sting of Dr. Verschoyle +lay in his journals cannot be conjectured, but +there was no mistaking the purpose with which, +a little later, he obtained these journals by deceit. +Altogether his conduct had been that of a man in +whom Peters had aroused an anxiety so intense +as to form a possible motive for murdering him.</p> + +<p>And altogether his conduct after the murder +bore, now that it could be fully traced, the +flagrant aspect of guilt. He had unlatched the +window; this was now certain, though of course +of that act by itself an innocent account might +be given. The reader knows too the whole +course of his action in regard to Trethewy and +his family, beginning with the lie, which made +him appear as screening Trethewy when in fact +he was plotting his undoing, and ending with his +breaking in upon my talk with Ellen Trethewy, +who had stood where she might have seen him +making those tracks in the snow. The making +of the tracks,—this, of course, was the key to his +whole conduct, the one thing, which, if quite +certain, admitted of but one explanation. Only +just here, when last we dealt with that matter, a +faint haze still hung. Thalberg swore to having +seen him in the field, where those tracks and no +others were just afterwards found; Ellen +Trethewy had seen him start to go there and again +seen him returning. Yet, though the two +corroborated each other, there might be some doubt +of the inference to be drawn from what Ellen +Trethewy saw (that depended on knowledge of +the ground), and of the correctness of the +observation made by Thalberg from afar. After +all, was it absolutely impossible that Trethewy +had through some strange impulse, rational or +irrational, made those tracks himself,—perhaps, +with his sense of guilt and in the +over-refinement of half-drunken cunning, he had fabricated +against himself a case which he thought he +could break down.</p> + +<p>But here the late revealed evidence came in. +It was certain, first, that those tracks did not +exist in the morning. The constable who had +let the trespassers come in stopped them when +he found them, and noted carefully how far they +had gone; he got one of them, an enterprising +young journalist, to verify his observation, and +it resulted in this, that the part of the lawn where +those guilty tracks began was absolutely +untrodden then. Next it was certain now that +throughout the time when those tracks were +made Trethewy had been in his house. Now, +when the whole course of events that morning +was considered, there could be no doubt that +those tracks were made by some one who knew +exactly what the situation was. Since it was +not Trethewy, it lay between Sergeant Speke, +myself, Callaghan and Vane-Cartwright. +Sergeant Speke and I could easily give account of +our time that day, but I think I mentioned that +there had arisen some doubt as to where +Callaghan had been just at the critical hour. It +was explained now; Callaghan had been too far +away; just at that time he had gone again to +the hotel, moved by one of his restless impulses +to try and spy upon Thalberg. It lay then +beyond doubt that the tracks were made by +Vane-Cartwright, and it was beyond doubt why +he made them.</p> + +<p>But the case did not rest there. The front +door of Grenvile Combe had been bolted on the +inside that night, before Peters died. +Presumably Peters did it; anyway Vane-Cartwright and +Callaghan, as they had said next morning, found +it bolted when they came down disturbed by the +noise, and themselves bolted it again; and Peters +was then living, for they heard him in his room. +The other doors had been bolted in like manner +by the servants. Every window but two had +also been latched. The doors had remained +bolted till the servants were about in the +morning, when Peters must have been some hours +dead. The fastened windows were still fastened +when we came to the house (a window in the +back servants’ quarters had been open for a +short while in the morning, but the servants +had been about all the time), for the constable, +before he obeyed the Sergeant and began his +search outside, had been in every room and +noticed every fastening. The two exceptions +were Vane-Cartwright’s own open window, +which did not matter, and the little window at +the back, already named as a possible means of +entrance. Careful experiment had now been +made (Callaghan had long ago suggested it), +and it showed that, whoever could climb to that +window, only an infant could pass through it. +No one then had entered the house by night, or, +if he had previously entered it, had escaped +by night; and it was also certain that no one +could have lurked there concealed in the +morning. Therefore, Peters was murdered by an +inmate of the house, by the housemaid, or by the +cook, or by Vane-Cartwright, or by Callaghan. +Now the housemaid and the cook had passed a +wakeful night; the disturbance in the road had +aroused them and left them agitated and alarmed; +each was therefore able to swear that the other +had remained all night in the bedroom which +they shared. Therefore, Peters was murdered +either by Vane-Cartwright or by Callaghan.</p> + +<p>And why not, it might be asked, by Callaghan, +against whom at one time such good grounds +of suspicion were to be found? The reader +must by this time have seen that the eccentric +and desultory proceedings of Callaghan, even +his strange whim of staying in that +crime-stricken house and the silly talk with which he +had put me off about his aim, had, as he once +boasted to me, a method, which though odd and +over-ingenious, was rational and very acute. +The neglected memorandum he had made for +the police was enough in itself (without his +frankness under cross-examination) to set his +proceedings since the murder in a clear light. +Callaghan, moreover, was the life-long friend of +Peters. True it was that (as the defence scented +out) he had owed Peters £2,000, and Peters’ will +forgave the debt. True, but it was now proved +no less true, that since that will was made the +debt had been paid, and paid in a significant +manner. Callaghan had first remitted to Peters +£500 from India. Peters, thereupon, had sent +Callaghan an acquittance of the whole debt. +Callaghan’s response was an immediate payment +of £250 more. And the balance, £1,250, had +been paid a very few days before Peters was +killed. This was what an ill-inspired +cross-examination revealed, and if the guilt lay +between Vane-Cartwright and Callaghan, there +could be no doubt which was the criminal.</p> + +<p>So Callaghan and I had gone through tangled +enquiries and at least some perilous adventures +to solve a puzzle of which the solution lay all +the while at our feet, and at the feet of others.</p> + +<p>It would be melancholy now to dwell on the +daring and brilliance of the defence. No +witness was called for it. It opened with a truly +impressive treatment of Vane-Cartwright’s +confession; and the broken state of his +temperament, originally sensitive and now harassed by +suspicion and persecution, was described with +a tenderness of which the speaker might have +seemed incapable, and which called forth for the +hard man in the dock a transient glow of +human sympathy. Every other part of his +conduct, so far as it was admitted, was made +the subject of an explanation, by itself plausible. +But little was admitted. Every separate item +of the evidence was made the subject of a doubt, +by itself reasonable. If a witness had been +called to tell some very plain matter of fact, that +kind of plain fact under one’s eyes was +notoriously the sort of thing about which the most +careless mistakes were made. If a witness had +had a longer tale to tell he had revealed some +poisonous pre-possession. I, for example, a +most deleterious type of cleric, had, besides a +prejudice against unorthodox Vane-Cartwright, +an animus to defend Trethewy, arising from +that sickly sentiment towards Miss Trethewy +which I betrayed when I fled to her from my +ailing family at Florence. In Trethewy’s case +again there had been a confession of a very +different order; and the suggestion was +dexterously worked that something still lay concealed +behind Trethewy’s story. Withal the vastness +of the region of possibility was exhibited with +vigorous appeals to the imagination. Strong +in every part, the defence as a whole was bound +to be weak; the fatality which made so many +lies and blunders work together for evil was +beyond belief; the conduct which needed so +much psychology to defend it was indefensible.</p> + +<p>So the verdict was given and the sentence +was passed.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch23"> + +<h2>Chapter XXIII</h2> + +<p>Once again I saw William Vane-Cartwright. +At his own request I was summoned to visit +him in the gaol. It was not the interview of +penitent and confessor; none the less I am +bound to silence about it, even though my +silence may involve the suppression of +something which tells in his favour. One thing I +may and must say. Part of his object in +sending for me was to make me his agent in several +acts of kindness.</p> + +<p>As I look back, I often ask myself: Was +there indeed no truth, beyond what we knew, +in the tale that this man told to Callaghan and +me, and which was skilfully woven to accord +as far as possible with many things which we +might have and had in fact discovered. In +point of vital facts it was certainly false. I +could now disprove every syllable of that love +story; his acquaintance with Miss Denison was +only a few months old; she had never known +Peters; and the letter that he showed us was a +forgery of course. I happen, moreover, too late +for any useful purpose, to have met several +people who knew Longhurst well; all agree that +he was rough and uncompanionable, all that he +was strictly honest and touchingly kind; all testify +that in his later days he was a total abstainer.</p> + +<p>Yet, in the face of this, I believe that +Vane-Cartwright described fairly, as well as with +insight, the influences which in boyhood and early +manhood told so disastrously upon him. I now +know, as it happens, a good deal about his +parents, for one of my present neighbours was a +family friend of theirs. They were a gifted but +eccentric couple, with more “principles” than +any two heads can safely hold. Little as I like +their beliefs, I cannot but suspect that their +home life was governed by a conscientiousness +and a tender affection for their child, from +which, if he had wished to be guided right, +some light must have fallen on his path. Yet +without doubt their training was as bad a +preparation as could be for what he was to +undergo. He lost his fortune early, and was exiled +to a settlement in the East which, by all +accounts, was not a school of Christian chivalry. +Almost everything in his surroundings there +jarred upon his sensibility which on the æsthetic +side was more than commonly keen. Dozens +of English lads pass through just such trials +unshaken, some even unspotted, but they have +been far otherwise nurtured than he. Peters +too had an influence upon his youth. I, who +knew Peters so well, know that he cannot have +done the spiteful things which Vane-Cartwright +said, but I do not doubt for one moment that +he did repel his young associate when he need +not have done so. Peters was young too, and +may well be forgiven, but I can imagine that +by that chill touch he sped his comrade on the +downward course which chanced to involve his +own murder.</p> + +<p>Altogether it is easy enough to form some +image, not merely monstrous, of the way in +which that character formed itself out of its +surroundings; to understand how the poor lad +became more and more centred in himself; to +praise him just in so far as that concentration +was strength; to note where that strength lay, +in the one virtue which in fact he had claimed as +his own, in the unflinching avowal to himself of +the motive by which he meant to live.</p> + +<p>That motive, a calculated resolve to be +wealthy, to become detached in outward fact +as he was already in feeling from the sort of +people and the sort of surroundings amid which +his present lot was cast, had already been +formed when the partnership with Longhurst +offered him his opportunity. One may well +believe him that the three years of that +partnership cost him much. His one companion was +a man whom, I take it, he was incapable of +liking, and his position at first was one of +subjection to him. He had lied to us much about +Longhurst, but I fancy that he had spoken +of him with genuine, however unjust, dislike. +What particular fraud he played upon him, or +whether it was, strictly speaking, a fraud at all, +I do not know. But no doubt he was by nature +mean (though ready enough to spend money), +and he was probably more mean when his +strength was not full fledged and his nascent +sense of power found its readiest enjoyment in +tricks. Assuredly he intended from the first +to use the partnership as much as possible for +himself and as little as possible for his partner. +I am told that this is in itself a perilous attitude +from a legal point of view, and that it is, in +many relations of life, harder than laymen think +to keep quite out of reach of the law by any +less painful course than that of positive honesty. +Let us suppose that he did only the sort of +thing which his own confession implied, +obtaining for himself alone the renewal of concessions +originally made to his firm. Even so, I +understand, he may have found himself in this +position, that Longhurst would have been entitled +to his share (the half or perhaps much more, +according to the terms of partnership) of +extremely valuable assets upon which +Vane-Cartwright had counted as his own. Moreover, +that possibly stupid man would have had his +voice about the vital question of how and when +to sell this property.</p> + +<p>Even if this was all, it still meant that the +hope upon which Vane-Cartwright had set +his soul, the hope not of a competence but of +eminent wealth, was about to slip away, and to +slip away perhaps irretrievably. For, as I +have lately learnt, he was then ill, could not +remain in that climate, would not, if he fell down +the ladder, be able to start again, with more +money and more experience, where he had +started three years before. In the choice +which then arose he was not the man to set +his personal safety in the scales against his +ambition. And so the incredible deed was +done, and fortune favoured the murderer with +the report that his victim had been lost in a +wrecked ship (possibly even he had met with +that report before he killed him). +Henceforward, watchful as he had to be for a while, the +chief burden which his guilt laid upon him was +that of bearing himself with indifference.</p> + +<p>Thirteen years had passed, years of +unvarying success. The watchfulness was now seldom +needed, and the indifference had become a pose. +And so at last, on his first evening at Grenvile +Combe, he fell talking in his wonted way of +Longhurst, and gave that false account of his +end to one of the only two living men with +whom it behoved him to take care. Instantly +the spectre of his crime, which he thought had +been laid, confronted him, and confronted him, +as some recollection warned him, with the real +peril of public shame, perhaps conviction and +death. Instantly too there arose, as if to his +aid, not as yet the full strength of his intellect +and courage, but the ingrained, dormant spirit of +crime. If he had only said to Peters, “He sailed +in the <i>Eleanor</i> with me. I killed him. I will +tell you all about it,” I have not a shadow of a +doubt that his confession would have been kept +inviolate. Only there were trials from which +even his nerve recoiled, and plain facts of human +nature which his acuteness never saw. So the +same deed was done again in quiet reliance upon +that wonderful luck which this time also had +provided him with a screen against suspicion, +and this time also seemed to require nothing of +him after the act was accomplished except to +bear himself carelessly. Indeed, though he +began to bear himself carelessly too soon—for +he trusted characteristically that Peters had this +night followed the practice of opening the +window, which he was oddly fond of preaching, +and he left the room without troubling to look +behind the curtain—his confidence seemed +justified. There was nothing in the room or in the +house, nothing under the wide vault of that +starlit sky that was destined to tell the tale.</p> + +<p>Morning brought to his eyes, though not yet +to his comprehension, the presence of a huge +calamity, for the ground was white with snow in +which, if Trethewy had come through it, his +tracks would still be seen. Soon he heard that +Trethewy had in fact come home when the +snow lay there. Then at last his whole mind +rose to the full height of the occasion, to a height +of composure and energy from which in all his +later doings he never declined far. I have an +unbounded hatred for that prevalent worship of +strong men which seems to me to be born of +craven fear. Yet it extorts my most unwilling +admiration of this man that, when safety +depended so much upon inaction, the only action +he took was such as at once was appallingly +dangerous and yet was the only way to avoid an +even greater peril.</p> + +<p>But strangely enough as I shut my mind +against that haunting memory which I have +written these pages to expel, far different traits +and incidents from this keep longest their hold +upon my imagination. I remember Peters not +as he died but as he lived; and the murderer +stands before me, as I take my leave, not in +virtue of signal acts of crime (which I could more +easily have forgiven) but of little acts, words, +even tones of hardness and of concentrated +selfishness, faintly noted in my story, rendered +darker to me by the knowledge that he could +be courteous and kind when it suited him. He +stands there as the type to me, not of that rare +being the splendid criminal, but of the man +who in the old phrase is “without bowels”. +And men (on whose souls also may God have +mercy) are not rare among us, who, without his +intellect or his daring, are as hard as he, but for +whom, through circumstances—not uncommon +and I do not call them fortunate—the path of +consistent selfishness does not diverge from the +path of a respectable life.</p> + +<p>Strangely too, one of those lesser acts of +unkindness was needed to bring about his downfall. +If I had never seen him at Florence, the spark +of my baffled ire would not have been rekindled, +nor could I have met Trethewy’s family till they +had gone beyond the seas. And I should never +have seen him at Florence but that my wife, +who did not know his name, recalled upon seeing +him that little delinquency at Crema of which +she and I can think no longer with any personal +spleen. It seems as if he might have murdered +his partner and murdered his host with cruel +deliberation and gone unpunished; but since one +day without a second thought he refused a +common courtesy to a suffering woman and a +harassed girl, he had set in motion the cunning +machinery of fate, and it came to pass in the +end that the red hand of the law seized him and +dealt to him the doom which the reader has long +foreseen.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Let some surviving characters of this story +briefly bid farewell. For my wife and me, we +are settled in our country rectory, so near in +distance to London and in effect so far off; and, +if the now delightful labours of my calling seem +to me not more unsuccessful than perhaps they +should always seem to the labourer, I like to +think it means that what Eustace Peters, +half-unknowing, did for me abides.</p> + +<p>Callaghan was our guest not two months ago, +a welcome guest to us, and even more to our +children. He talked alternately of a project of +land reclamation on the Wash and of an +immediate departure for the East in search of a clue to +the questions left unsolved in these pages. He +has since departed from this country, not, I +believe, for the East, but neither we nor any of his +friends know where he is, or doubt that wherever +he is, he can take care of himself and will hurt +no other creature. Mr. Thalberg continues his +law business in the City, though the business +has changed in character. I bear him no ill-will, +and yet am sorry to be told that (while the +disclosures in the trial lost him several old clients, +as well as his clerk, Mr. Manson) on the whole +his business has grown. Trethewy is now our +gardener. His daughter is a board-school +mistress in London. I hope he will long remain +with us, for I now like him as a man but could +not lay it upon my conscience to recommend +him as a gardener. Peters’ nephews, unseen by +the reader, have hovered close in the background +of my tale. Both have distinguished themselves +in India. Yesterday I married the elder to +Miss Denison, on whom, I hope, the reader +has bestowed a thought. In the other, who +is engaged to my eldest daughter, his uncle’s +peculiar gifts repeat themselves more markedly +and with greater promise of practical +achievement.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="transcriber"> + +<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2> + +<p>This transcription follows the text of the first edition published +by Longmans, Green, and Co. in 1906. One passage, however, has been +altered, namely the passage in Chapter XVIII that reads: “which I +thought was not that which Vane-Cartwright had carried”. This passage +has been replaced with the corresponding passage in the 1928 reprint +by the Dial Press in New York, so as to read: “which I thought was +not <i>unlike</i> that which Vane-Cartwright had carried”.</p> + +<p>All other seeming errors or inconsistencies in the text have been +left unchanged.</p> + +<p>The cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public +domain. (The image background is a detail taken from <i>Throwing +Snowballs</i>, a painting created by Gerhard Munthe in 1885.)</p> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73711 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |