Read Ebook: The Heart of a Mystery by Speight T W Thomas Wilkinson

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Ebook has 1094 lines and 81143 words, and 22 pages

y of it; and who also possessed the means of getting quietly away after the deed was done. Mr. Brancker says that he knocked several times at Strong's door; Strong says that no one knocked; Mr. Brancker has a contusion over his left eye, which he accounts for by saying that a woman hit him with a stone. Finally, how are we to account for the blood-smears with which Mr. Brancker's drawer is marked both inside and out, as well as the floor in front of it?"

"For all that you have said I do not care one jot," was Edward Hazeldine's answer. "I am perfectly convinced that John Brancker had no more to do with the death of my father than I had."

"I am not saying that he had. I am only showing you which way the evidence is tending. In all probability the researches of the police during the next few days will put an entirely different complexion on the affair."

Edward Hazeldine went his way, a thoroughly unhappy man. It is not too much to say that the horror with which he had first heard of his father's death was now to a certain extent overshadowed by the grief and shame caused him by the reading of his father's letter. Under his cold, practical, matter-of-fact exterior lay hidden a proud and, in some things, a very sensitive nature, which was far more easily wounded than anyone knew of, and very deep was the wound made in it today. He prided himself on being a thoroughly just man, and it was essential to his happiness that all his actions should meet with the approval of his own conscience. But still more essential was it that he should stand well in the eyes of the world, and be one of whom his fellow-townsmen might have just reason to feel proud. Hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind lay the half-formed hope of one day being able to represent his native town in Parliament. It was a hope of which he had never spoken to anyone, but none the less was it secretly cherished. From the time when he was a boy of twelve, he had set himself steadily to regard his advancement in life, and the acquisition of wealth and social position, as the great ends for which he must never cease to strive.

But what would Lord and Lady Elstree think and say, and in what way would they act, should he ever be compelled to reveal to the world the real facts connected with his father's death? In such a case he knew full well that the doors of Seaham Lodge would be closed to him forever, and that he must give up all hope of ever winning the hand of Miss Winterton. Goshope Grange, one of the Earl's country seats, to which he had been invited for a week's shooting last September, and where he had for fellow-guests two lords, three baronets, and a host of minor celebrities, would know him no more. Social extinction would be the fate of him and his, should the contents of his father's letter ever become known. After such an exposure, how could he bear to look his fellow-townsmen in the face? He would have to give up his business, if indeed, his partners did not insist on his seceding from it; all his ambitious projects would fall in ruins around him, and he would have to seek another home in some place where he was known to none.

"And as matters were now turning out, it seemed only too probable that he would feel himself compelled to reveal the contents of the letter. It would never do to let an innocent man suffer under the stigma of so terrible a crime. Whatever the cost to him and his might be, that man's innocence must be proclaimed aloud on the housetops. Very bitter were his thoughts as he walked slowly through the town, with his hat pulled over his brows and his eyes bent on the ground, towards his father's house. A chill shot through his heart as his fingers touched the muffled knocker. The servant who let him in burst out crying afresh the moment she set eyes on him, and he needed all his nerve to enable him to retain his outward composure as he opened the drawing-room door and went in. Clement was sitting on one side of the fireplace, Fanny on the other. Edward touched his brother lightly on the shoulder, and then the hands of both met in a long, affectionate grip.

"Where is my mother?" asked the elder man.

"She is lying down in her own room," answered Fanny. "When I went to her, a few minutes ago, she was asleep."

"Sleep is the best thing for her just now. I must leave it to you, Clem, to induce her to keep up her strength as much as possible."

"You may rely upon it that I will look after her."

Presently Edward took his leave. He was restless and anxious to get home. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. The company of anyone would have been distasteful to him just then. He shut himself up in his study as soon as he reached home.

Next day Mr. Avison, who had been telegraphed for, arrived from Paris, and he and John Brancker at once set to work to ascertain to what extent the Bank was a sufferer by the recent robbery. The result was that gold and notes to the amount of about three thousand one hundred pounds proved to be missing, together with the twelve hundred pounds which the dead man had brought with him from London.

The investigation served to bring to light one singular fact which puzzled Mr. Avison and John Brancker not a little. Mr. Hazeldine's private ledger was missing, as were also a number of check slips on which the undercashiers entered the numbers of the notes which they paid over at the close of each day's business.

"It certainly looks," said Mr. Avison, "as if the thief or thieves were intimately acquainted with the ins and outs of our business, or else why should they have taken away with them the only evidence by means of which we should have been able to trace the missing notes?"

But John Brancker could only profess himself to be as utterly puzzled over the affair as Mr. Avison was.

Although Mr. Avison had read the evidence taken at the inquest, he had hitherto attached no importance to the fact that certain portions of it seemed to point the finger of suspicion at John Brancker. John was such an old and tried servant, and he had such implicit confidence in his integrity, that he had only smiled to himself, as he thought how wide of the truth people are often led by circumstantial evidence.

But now the case began to put on a very different complexion. A grave suspicion was taking root in his mind, that no one but a man thoroughly acquainted with the inner working of the Bank could be at the bottom of the mystery. It troubled him more even than the loss of the money troubled him, to think that his faith in human nature should be so rudely shaken. But Mr. Avison was by nature a very reticent man, a man who thought much but said little, and John had not the faintest notion of the feelings at work in his employer's mind. The Banker said to himself that some further evidence would probably be forthcoming at the adjourned inquest, and that he could afford to wait till then.

Obed Sweet was another person who was considerably troubled in the article he called his mind. That Mr. Hazeldine had come by his death between half-past ten and half-past eleven o'clock, everybody seemed fully agreed. Yet was Obed quite aware that during the greater portion of the time in question, he had been asleep in his room downstairs. This it was that troubled him. If he had only kept awake, as he ought to have done, might he not have heard someone come in, or go out, or have been alarmed by the noise of a struggle, or by some cry for help? Unfortunately, he had heard nothing. He tried to argue himself into the belief that he was a remarkably light sleeper. "Why, a mouse could hardly scamper across the floor without my hearing it," he said to himself again and again. Still he wished most fervently that he had not fallen asleep on that fatal night.

Meanwhile, the needful authority having been granted by the Coroner, Mr. Hazeldine's funeral took place. It was attended by nearly half the population of Ashdown, either as followers or onlookers. A day or two later, the jury met again for the adjourned inquest.

One important piece of evidence bearing on the murder of Mr. Hazeldine, and one only, had been ferreted out by the police in the course of the week which preceded the adjourned inquest. They had discovered the man who sold the weapon with which the crime had presumably been perpetrated. The point that still remained to be cleared up was the identification of the purchaser of the knife.

As before, the jury assembled in a room of the "White Lion Hotel."

For the sake of appearances, Edward Hazeldine had been obliged to retain the services of Mr. Prestwich, who was supposed to be there with the view of looking after the interests of the family of the deceased. Mr. Avison occupied a seat in the reserved space, and all the witnesses who had been called and sworn on the previous occasion were again in attendance.

The depositions having been read over, Dr. Barton was called, and deposed that, in conjunction with his colleague, Dr. Stone, he had made a post-mortem examination of the body of deceased, and that they found the cause of death to be puncture of the tissues of the heart with the point of some sharp instrument.

The weapon produced exactly fitted the cavity of the wound, and bearing in mind the fact that it was found close by the body, there was little room for doubt that it was the instrument with which the fatal blow had been inflicted.

The evidence of Dr. Stone was to the same effect as that of the previous witness.

Patience Strong, wife of William Strong, deposed that, to the best of her belief, her husband never left home on the night of the supposed murder. He had been ill for two or three days previously, and on the evening in question she left him about nine o'clock, sitting in his slippers by the fire, when she went out to see a neighbor who had a sick child, and she found him still sitting in his slippers by the fire when she got home at five minutes before twelve.

After speaking in a low voice to Chief Constable Mace for a few moments, the Coroner called upon Walter Brill to come forward. In response to the summons a dark, quick-eyed, nervous little man, evidently dressed in his Sunday best, pressed his way through the crowd, and was sworn in the usual way. He deposed that he resided at No. 29 Winton Street, London, and that a few days ago he received, through the police, the photograph of a knife, produced, with a printed request that if he remembered having sold such a weapon he would at once communicate with the authorities. As he at once recognized the photograph's being very like that of a knife sold by him about two months before, he did as he was requested, and was waited upon by Mr. Mace and another gentleman, with the result that he was before the Coroner to-day to give evidence.

The knife now put into his hands was sold by him on a certain day in August last. He knew it by a private mark, which he put on all goods out of the common way sold by him. Had no means of telling the exact date when he sold the knife, but knew it was in August, because his little girl, who had just recovered from the measles, was running about the shop at the time. The knife was called an "American knife," but was in reality of Sheffield manufacture. It was made of the best steel, had one blade six inches in length, and opened with a spring. The purchaser of it was a gentleman about fifty years old, who carried a small black leather bag, of which he seemed to take especial care.

Being pressed to describe more particularly the appearance of the gentleman, witness said that, to the best of his recollection, he wore a black tail-coat and waistcoat, and a high, old-fashioned collar. He had no beard and not much whisker, and was very "respectable-looking." Being asked to look round the room, and see whether anyone among those present bore any resemblance to the person who bought the knife, witness rubbed his hands nervously together, and then turned and fronted the sixty or seventy faces grouped at the other end of the room.

As Walter Brill went on to describe the appearance of the man who bought the knife, John felt his color change in spite of himself. He was a shy, nervous man at the best of times, and totally unfitted to go through such an ordeal as the present one. He could feel, rather than see, that the eyes of all present were bent upon him. He turned first red and then white, and his lower lip began to quiver, as it had a trick of doing in moments of excitement or agitation. Mr. Mace favored his colleague from Scotland Yard with a nod that was perceptible to him alone. Almost unconsciously Mr. Avison moved his chair a few inches further away. John noticed the action, and his heart swelled within him.

The cause of all this was the strangely accurate description given by Brill of the man who had purchased the knife. John Brancker was verging towards middle-age. He went to London three or four times a month, on which occasions he took with him a small black leather bag. A black tail-coat and a high stiff collar formed part of his customary attire. He was clean-shaven, except for two short side-whiskers which began to show signs of grey; while no one could dispute the fact that he was a very staid and respectable-looking man.

The eyes of Brill roved with a sort of vague inquisitiveness from face to face, but no light of recognition came into them. He shook his head slowly and turned to the Coroner.

"Take your time; don't be in too great a hurry," said the latter; so Brill turned to look again.

It needs but that two or three people should stare intently at some one object for the eyes of all there to be drawn in the same direction. So it was in the present case. Brill awoke to the fact that the spectators were not looking so much at him as at someone behind him. He turned, letting his eyes follow the direction of theirs, and confronted John Brancker.

The two men looked at each other. For the first few moments it seemed to Brill that he was gazing into the face of a man whom he had never seen before, but as his eyes took in one by one the different items of John's attire, and then wandered back to his smooth-shaven chin and pointed collars, and when he became conscious that everyone in the room was waiting with a sort of breathless anxiety to see whether he would recognize the man before him, then he began to fancy that the face he was looking at was not altogether strange to him, and that he must have seen it before. In such a case fancy goes a long way on the road to certainty. But Brill felt the responsibility of his position, and was nervously anxious not to make a mistake.

"Well," said the Coroner, after a pause, during which, as the saying goes, a pin might have been heard to drop, "are you satisfied that the person to whom you sold the knife is nowhere among those present?"

Brill drew a long breath, glanced furtively round the room again, and then said in a low voice:

"There is one gentleman here that seems something like the party who called at my shop in August."

"Be good enough to point out the person to whom you refer."

"That is the gentleman," said the witness, turning and indicating John Brancker with his finger. A low murmur, like an inarticulate sigh, ran through the room, and then the silence became more intense than before.

"Are you prepared to swear that is the gentlemen to whom you sold the knife you have seen here to-day?"

"No, I am not prepared to swear to anything of the kind."

"To the best of your belief is he the person to whom you sold the knife?"

"No, I won't go even as far as that," answered Brill, dogmatically. "All I can say is that there is a strong likeness between him and the party who came to my shop; but, for all that, I'm not going to swear that it was him." Nor from that point could anything move him.

John Brancker rose to his feet.

"Don't say anything now," whispered Mr. Avison.

"I must, sir--I must," answered John, with a passionate ring in his voice. Then turning to the Coroner, he said:

"Sir, as I stand here, a living man, I swear that I never saw or spoke to this person before to-day, that I was never inside his shop in my life, and that I never purchased a knife like the one in question either of him or of anyone else." Having said these few words, John resumed his seat.

"Have you any questions to ask the last witness?" asked the Coroner of Mr. Prestwich. He had listened with polite attention to John, but had made no comment.

Mr. Prestwich shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Only two minutes before he had whispered to Edward Hazeldine, who was seated in the next chair, "The evidence this week seems tending in the same direction as that of last week."

"I don't care for that--John Brancker is an innocent man," was the emphatic reply.

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