Part 54 (1/2)
”What man's?” demanded Ella, who generally arrived at a subject about ten minutes after it had been introduced.
”Why the man who was supposed to have murdered the doctor, Miss Ella, and whose body was found in the lake. We were all mightily relieved yesterday, and thought the murderer had found his reward, and were only sorry that he'd cheated the hangman. But in the meantime his wife turns up, and brings a lot of things to light; swears that on the night of the murder he was at Brandon, on an errand for the doctor, and brings the landlord and barkeeper of the 'Brandon Shades' to testify to his remaining there till after eleven o'clock. She also states that the doctor and her husband were on good terms, and that the doctor often employed him in a confidential way; that there was a person who, she knew, bore malice against the doctor; she had overheard a conversation between her husband and Dr. Hugh, in which”----
”But her testimony goes for nothing,” I interrupted, eagerly. ”She is well known to be half crazy, and hardly ever sober. Her testimony can't be worth a straw--n.o.body would listen to her for a moment.”
”I don't know about that; her story hangs together, she's sober enough now, and will be kept so till they have done with her. She says that the doctor came to their shanty late the night before the murder, and called John out; she crept to the keyhole and listened. She lost a good deal of what they said for a little while, they talked so low; then John raised his voice, and said with an oath, he'd take down the villain's pride for him a bit; he wondered the doctor had stood his cursed ugliness so long; for his part, he'd put a bullet through him to-morrow, with pleasure.
The doctor hushed him, and said, 'Not so fast, John, not so fast, wait awhile; we must get a little more out of him before we send him to his long account. We'll settle up old scores with pleasure, after we've no further use for him. Attend to this little errand for me to-morrow, and don't let him slip, and that'll be the first step toward a reckoning.'”
”Well, but I cannot see,” said Mr. Rutledge, ”what it all amounts to, even if the woman's testimony is received, which is more than doubtful.
She didn't hear any names. n.o.body has any doubt but that the doctor had plenty of enemies, and that her man John was a scoundrel, and I cannot see what else her evidence goes to prove.”
”It goes to prove that there was _somebody_ with whom the doctor was not on good terms, who has not appeared on the stage as yet, and of whom we want to get hold. It goes to prove, my dear sir, that the man John was sent to Brandon on a matter in some way connected with this person; and, to my mind, when we shall have, found out who that person was, we shall have found out who was the murderer of Dr. Hugh!”
”But,” said Phil, ”what do the barkeeper and landlord of 'The Shades'
say? Don't they know who he came to meet, and for whom he waited till eleven?”
”John, it seems, 'kept dark,' lounged around the bar-room, and spoke little to any one, as was his manner, but went often to the door, and seemed to wait for some one. The barkeeper thinks, but is not sure, that it was he who was there once before during the morning, with a letter which he left, directed to a gentleman whose name he has forgotten, who never called for it.”
”Ah!” cried Phil, ”now we shall get at it, I think. What became of the letter?”
”The letter,” interrupted Mr. Rutledge, ”the letter that was left there that morning”----
I crushed the newspaper that lay beside me with my nervous hand; I smothered the cry that trembled on my lips, but my eyes burned on his face. He avoided them and went on.
”The letter which was left there by some one, who, it is conjectured, only _conjectured_, may have been this man, was addressed to some person not at all known in Brandon, and who never came for it. It was opened and examined, and proved to be only the business circular of some importing house in New York. So all idea of tracing anything from that was given up, and the letter thrown aside.”
”Strange,” said Phil, thoughtfully. ”I should have thought something could have been made out of it. In a small place like Brandon, where everybody knows everybody, I should have thought that the circ.u.mstance of a strange name on a letter left at a little tavern would have excited some interest.”
”Brandon is a railway station, you know, and consequently there are strangers always coming and going.”
”Do you remember the name on the letter, sir?”
”Some foreign name, I think. Captain McGuffy, do you remember it?” said Mr. Rutledge, indifferently.
”I don't think I heard it,” returned the captain. ”And I really have the curiosity to want to know something more about that letter, though all the legal gentlemen, I know, have decided against its usefulness in the case. I must remember to ask Judge Talbot to let me look at it,” he continued, taking out his memorandum-book and making an entry. ”Phil, don't you feel like taking a drive over to Brandon with me, this morning, and seeing if there's anything new to be learned?”
”Captain McGuffy,” I exclaimed, ”don't you want to do me a favor? I am perfectly wild to have a ride on horseback this morning, and you know you promised to give me some lessons in 'cavalry practice' before we left, and there is only one day more. What do you say to a canter over to Windy Hill this fine morning?”
The captain fell in with the proposition very readily, and Mr. Rutledge suggested that it would be a very good arrangement for all of the party to accompany us, in the carriage and open wagon, and to make our farewell call, also, to the Emersons.
”To-morrow may not be fine,” said Mr. Rutledge, ”and perhaps we had better secure to-day.”
The rest were agreed, and we hurried off to dress; as the two places were far distant from each other and from Rutledge, it was necessary to start as soon as possible. In my dread lest Phil should decline being of the party, and should ride over to Brandon by himself, I called out to him to know if he would not accept an appointment in my regiment? He laughed, and accepted; and unheeding the flaming battery of Josephine's eyes, I ran up to put on my habit. There was another lady's horse in the stable, besides the one I should use, but Josephine and Ella, though dying to ride, would neither of them volunteer to accompany me.
”You are too nervous to ride, Miss,” said Kitty, as she b.u.t.toned my gloves. ”See how your hand shakes. Why will you go? You are not fit.”
”I must; there is no help. Tell him why I go, Kitty, and that I will be back as soon as I can, and you must manage to let me see him in the course of the afternoon. And be sure you make him understand about my going.”
Glorious Madge! I had never expected to mount her again. I had never expected to burden her with such a heavy heart. What a contrast to the daring young rider of a few short months ago. Madge Wildfire was as eager and untamed as then, but not so her mistress. Her mistress, the fire quenched in her eye, the pride of her free step humbled, the courage of her spirit broken, trembled at the very beauty of the animal she rode.
”You are not fit for this,” said Mr. Rutledge, in a low tone, as he put me in the saddle. ”You had better give it up. It is not too late; let one of the others take your place.”