Part 30 (1/2)

I exulted too, but I confess a certain repugnance and nervousness mingled with that feeling: it was a new thing to me to stand face to face with a murderer.

Neither of us gave as much attention as it deserved to the narrative with which the officer favored us _en route_, of how he had been gradually getting the clew to the fugitive's many doublings and disguises till he came upon his retreat at last. ”They mostly make for home when they're dead beat,” he remarked, alluding to Bruce's having selected London as his final hiding-place.

We soon reached the spot--one of those dreary by-ways that trend westward out of the Waterloo Road. As we drew up, the outline of a figure revealed itself out of the darkest nook of the dim street, and a man came forward and opened the door of the cab, interchanging a word or two with our companion.

As we got out, the detective laid his hand on Guy's arm. ”Gently, sir,”

he said. ”You must be careful. We've not quite so much proof as I could wish. It would be straining a point to arrest him as it stands. I'd do it though--_for you_. Get him to talk, and don't hurry him; he's safe to commit himself; and we'll nail him at the first word. My comrade says he has not left his bed since yesterday. Perhaps he's ill. All the better.

We can frighten him if we get his man out of the way.”

Guy's hand was on the bell before the last words were said, and he rang it sharply. The two officers drew back into the shadow.

In a few moments an old man opened the door, whom we guessed to be Bruce's attendant. He had one of those stubborn, rough-hewn faces that even white hair can not soften any more than h.o.a.r-frost can the outline of a granite crag.

”What's ye're wull?” he drawled out, in the rugged Aberdeen Doric.

”I wish to see Mr. Bruce.”

”No sic a pairson here,” was the reply, accompanied by a vigorous effort to close the door.

A heavy groan, proceeding from a room on the ground floor, gave him the lie as he spoke. Guy threw up his head like a hound breaking from scent to view, and thrust Macbane back violently. The old man staggered and fell; but he clung round Livingstone's knees, as he groveled, till he was actually trampled down. There was a difficulty in the lock somewhere; but bolt and staple were torn away in an instant by the furious hand that grasped the handle, and so at last we stood in the presence of the man we had sought so long.

Do you remember that hideous picture in Hogarth's ”Two Apprentices,”

where the sleeping robber is alarmed by the crash in the chimney? That was exactly Bruce's att.i.tude. He had started into a sitting posture, and was braced up on his hands, his face thrust forward, half covered by the straight unkempt hair. What a face it was! White and flecked with sweat-drops, marbled here and there with livid stains, the lips quivering and working till they twisted themselves sometimes into a ghastly mockery of a smile, the long teeth gleaming more wolfish than ever. The iris of the prominent eyes had grown yellowish, and the whites were bloodshot, so that the light seemed to flash from them _tawnily_.

Bruce had always been very much afraid of Livingstone. His terror had gone on increasing during months of relentless pursuit; it had reached its climax now. Guy stood at the foot of the bed, contemplating the unhappy wretch with a cruel calmness that seemed to drive him wild. He writhed and cowered under the fixed gaze, as if it gave him physical pain.

”What are you here for?” he screamed out at last.

In strong contrast to the shrill, strained voice, the answer came slow and stern. ”To arrest Charles Forrester's murderer.”

Then Bruce seemed to lose his head all at once, and began to rave. It is impossible to transcribe the string of protestations, prayers for mercy, and horrible blasphemies; but there was enough of self-betrayal to complete the proof we wanted ten times told. The detective chuckled more complacently than ever as he insinuated the handcuffs round Macbane's wrists. Over all Bruce's cries, I remember, the old man's harsh voice made itself heard, ”Whisht, whisht, I tell ye, and keep a quiet tongue; they canna harm ye.” The other did not seem to hear him, or to notice his removal by the officers, muttering, as he went, that ”we had driven his master mad, and were killing him.”

Livingstone waited patiently till the outbreak had spent itself; then he said, ”Get up, and come with us instantly. You shall finish your night in Newgate.”

Tho sick man lay back for some moments with his eyes closed, panting and evidently quite exhausted. When he opened his eyes there was a steadiness in them which surprised us. He spoke, too, quite calmly. ”I do not mean to deny any thing, nor to resist, even if I could. I am tired of running away; it is as well over; but I was taken by surprise at first. Guy Livingstone, do you choose to listen to me for five minutes? My head is clear now. I do not know how long it will last; but I do know that, after to-night, I will never speak about Forrester's death one word.”

”Will you tell me how you killed him?” Livingstone asked, controlling his voice wonderfully.

”That is what I wish to do,” Bruce said. I believe he was glad of the opportunity of showing us how much we had misjudged him in thinking him harmless, for a curious sort of grin was hovering about his mouth. Guy, whose eyes were bent down at the moment, did not see it, or the tale would never have been told.

”You know how you were all against me at Kerton,” he began. ”She did not care for me then, perhaps; but I would have been so patient and persevering that she must have loved me at last--only you never gave me fair play. Ah! do you think, because I was ugly and awkward, I had no chance?”

”No; but because she knew you were a coward,” Guy said.

There was something grand in the utter indifference with which Bruce met the insult.

”You are wrong,” he replied, coolly; ”she did not know it. You all did, and reckoned on my being long-suffering and inoffensive. I saw, at last, what Forrester had done; yet I never guessed but that she would marry me. I trusted to her father and her own fears for keeping her straight.

After marriage I would have tried still what great love and tenderness could do. I meant--never mind what I meant--it's all over now. I was nearly mad for a week after their flight. Then I became quite cool, and I said, 'I will kill him myself.' And so I did. Mind, I swear, Allan knew nothing of it till all was done. I thought I should be brave enough for that. Fifty times during the months that I tracked them, always changing my disguise, I nearly caught him alone; but each time I was balked. Wherever they went, I watched under their windows for the chance of his coming out; but I only saw--”