Part 32 (1/2)
The policemen looked at each other. Then one began, and stated that having heard the report of a gun in Turner Street, he had turned down that way (a lonely, unfrequented way Mr. Carson knew, but a short cut to his garden door, of which Harry had a key); that as he (the policeman) came nearer, he had heard footsteps as of a man running away; but the evening was so dark (the moon not having yet risen) that he could see no one twenty yards off. That he had even been startled when close to the body by seeing it lying across the path at his feet. That he had sprung his rattle; and when another policeman came up, by the light of the lantern they had discovered who it was that had been killed. That they believed him to be dead when they first took him up, as he had never moved, spoken, or breathed. That intelligence of the murder had been sent to the superintendent, who would probably soon be here. That two or three policemen were still about the place where the murder was committed, seeking out for some trace of the murderer. Having said this, they stopped speaking.
Mr. Carson had listened attentively, never taking his eyes off the dead body. When they had ended, he said--
”Where was he shot?”
They lifted up some of the thick chestnut curls, and showed a blue spot (you could hardly call it a hole, the flesh had closed so much over it) in the left temple. A deadly aim! And yet it was so dark a night!
”He must have been close upon him,” said one policeman.
”And have had him between him and the sky,” added the other.
There was a little commotion at the door of the room, and there stood poor Mrs. Carson, the mother.
She had heard unusual noises in the house, and had sent down her maid (much more a companion to her than her highly-educated daughters) to discover what was going on. But the maid either forgot, or dreaded, to return; and with nervous impatience Mrs.
Carson came down herself, and had traced the hum and buzz of voices to the servants' hall.
Mr. Carson turned round. But he could not leave the dead for any one living.
”Take her away, nurse. It is no sight for her. Tell Miss Sophy to go to her mother.” His eyes were again fixed on the dead face of his son.
Presently Mrs. Carson's hysterical cries were heard all over the house. Her husband shuddered at the outward expression of the agony which was rending his heart.
Then the police superintendent came, and after him the doctor. The latter went through all the forms of ascertaining death, without uttering a word, and when at the conclusion of the operation of opening a vein, from which no blood flowed, he shook his head, all present understood the confirmation of their previous belief. The superintendent asked to speak to Mr. Carson in private.
”It was just what I was going to request of you,” answered he; so he led the way into the dining-room, with the wine-gla.s.s still on the table.
The door was carefully shut, and both sat down, each apparently waiting for the other to begin.
At last Mr. Carson spoke.
”You probably have heard that I am a rich man.”
The superintendent bowed in a.s.sent.
”Well, sir, half--nay, if necessary, the whole of my fortune I will give to have the murderer brought to the gallows.”
”Every exertion, you may be sure, sir, shall be used on our part; but probably offering a handsome reward might accelerate the discovery of the murderer. But what I wanted particularly to tell you, sir, is that one of my men has already got some clue, and that another (who accompanied me here) has within this quarter of an hour found a gun in the field which the murderer crossed, and which he probably threw away when pursued, as enc.u.mbering his flight. I have not the smallest doubt of discovering the murderer.”
”What do you call a handsome reward?” said Mr. Carson.
”Well, sir, three, or five hundred pounds is a munificent reward: more than will probably be required as a temptation to any accomplice.”
”Make it a thousand,” said Mr. Carson decisively. ”It's the doing of those d.a.m.ned turn-outs.”
”I imagine not,” said the superintendent. ”Some days ago the man I was naming to you before, reported to the inspector when he came on his beat, that he had to separate your son from a young man, who by his dress he believed to be employed in a foundry; that the man had thrown Mr. Carson down, and seemed inclined to proceed to more violence, when the policeman came up and interfered. Indeed, my man wished to give him in charge for an a.s.sault, but Mr. Carson would not allow that to be done.”
”Just like him!--n.o.ble fellow!” murmured the father.
”But after your son had left, the man made use of some pretty strong threats. And it's rather a curious coincidence that this scuffle took place in the very same spot where the murder was committed; in Turner Street.”
There was some one knocking at the door of the room. It was Sophy, who beckoned her father out, and then asked him, in an awestruck whisper, to come upstairs and speak to her mother.