Part 35 (2/2)

G.o.ddard's secret. The squire was an energetic man, equal to most emergencies; he suddenly made up his mind.

”Mr. Short,” he said, ”I will tell you something. You will see the propriety of being very discreet, in fact it is only to ensure your discretion that I wish to tell you this much. I have reason to believe that this fellow is a convict--do not be surprised--escaped from prison.

He is a man who once--was in love with Mrs. G.o.ddard, which accounts for his having found his way to Billingsfield. Yes--I know what you are going to say--Mrs. G.o.ddard is aware of his presence, and that accounts for her excitement and her fainting. Do you understand?”

”But--good heavens!” exclaimed John in amazement. ”Why did she not give information, if she knew he was in the neighbourhood?”

”That would be more than could be expected of any woman, Mr. Short. You forget that the man once loved her.”

”And how did you--well, no. I won't ask any questions.”

”No,” said the squire, ”please don't. You would be placing me in a disagreeable position. Not that I do not trust you implicitly, Mr.

Short,” he added frankly, ”but I should be betraying a confidence. If this fellow dies here, he will be buried as an unknown tramp. I found no trace of a name upon his clothes. If he recovers, we will decide what course to pursue. We will do our best for him--it is a delicate case of conscience. Possibly the poor fellow would very much prefer being allowed to die; but we cannot let him. Humanity, for some unexplained reason, forbids euthanasia and the use of the hemlock in such cases.”

”Was he sentenced for a long time?” asked John, very much impressed by the gravity of the situation.

”Twelve years originally, I believe. Aggravated by his escape and by his a.s.sault on me, his term might very likely be extended to twenty years if he were taken again.”

”That is to say, if he recovers?” inquired John.

”Precisely. I do not think I would hesitate to send him back to prison if he recovered.”

”I do not wonder you think he would rather die here, if he were consulted,” said John. ”It would not be murder to let him die peacefully--”

”In the opinion of the law it might be called manslaughter, though I do not suppose anything would be said if I had simply placed him here and omitted to call in a physician. He cannot live very long in this state, unless something is done for him immediately. Look at him.”

There was no apparent change in G.o.ddard's condition. He lay upon his back staring straight upward and mumbling aloud with every breath he drew.

”He must have been ill, before he attacked me,” continued Mr. Juxon, very much as though he were talking to himself. ”He evidently is in a raging fever--brain fever I should think. That is probably the reason why he missed his aim--that and the darkness. If he had been well he would have killed me fast enough with that bludgeon. As you say, Mr. Short, there is no doubt whatever that he would prefer to die here, if he had his choice.

In my opinion, too, it would be far more merciful to him and to--to him in fact. Nevertheless, neither you nor I would like to remember that we had let him die without doing all we could to keep him alive. It is a very singular case.”

”Most singular,” echoed John.

”Besides--there is another thing. Suppose that he had attacked me as he did, but that I had killed him with my stick--or that Stamboul had made an end of him then and there. The law would have said it served him right--would it not? Of course. But if I had not quite killed him, or, as has actually happened, he survived the embraces of my dog, the law insists that I ought to do everything in my power to save the remnant of his life. What for? In order that the law may give itself the satisfaction of dealing with him according to its lights. I think the law is very greedy, I object to it, I think it is ridiculous from that point of view, but then, when I come to examine the thing I find that my own conscience tells me to save him, although I think it best that he should die. Therefore the law is not ridiculous. Pleasant dilemma--the impossible case! The law is at the same time ridiculous and not ridiculous. The question is, does the law deduce itself from conscience, or is conscience the direct result of existing law?”

The squire appeared to be in a strangely moralising mood, and John listened to him with some surprise. He could not understand that the good man was talking to persuade himself, and to concentrate his faculties, which had been almost unbalanced by the events of the evening.

”I think,” said John with remarkable good sense, ”that the instinct of man is to preserve life when he is calm. When a man is fighting with another he is hot and tries to kill his enemy; when the fight is over, the natural instinct returns.”

”The only thing worth knowing in such cases is the precise point at which the fight may be said to be over. I once knew a young surgeon in India who thought he had killed a cobra and proceeded to extract the fangs in order to examine the poison. Unfortunately the snake was not quite dead; he bit the surgeon in the finger and the poor fellow died in thirty-five minutes.”

”Dreadful!” said John. ”But you do not think this poor fellow could do anything very dangerous now--do you?”

”Oh, dear me, no!” returned the squire. ”I was only stating a case to prove that one is sometimes justified in going quite to the end of a fight. No indeed! He will not be dangerous for some time, if he ever is again. But, as I was saying, he must have been ill some time. Delirium never comes on in this way, so soon--”

Some one knocked at the door. It was Holmes, who came to say that the physician, Doctor Longstreet, had arrived.

”Oh--it is Doctor Longstreet is it?” said the squire. ”Ask him to come up.”

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