work in the old man’s sitting-room. In that great rambling house, where the maids slept afar off, and the rats held nightly gambols, strange noises were not likely to be observed; and the thought of Leonard lying stunned and insensible on the grass, made the Doctor’s pace almost a run, as if he were hastening to the rescue.
When Mr. Ward sent down word that he was not up, Dr. May replied that he must see him in bed, and followed upon the very heels of the messenger, encountering no amiable face, for Henry had armed himself for defence against any possible reproaches for his treatment of any patient. Even when Dr. May began, ‘Henry, my poor fellow, I have frightful news for you,’ his month was opening to reply, ‘I knew we should lose that case,’ let the patient be who he might, when the few simple words put to flight all petulant jealousy, and restored Henry Ward to what he had been when in his hour of sickness and affliction he had leant in full confidence on Dr. May’s unfailing kindness.
He was dressed by the time the brougham was at the door, and would have hurried off without telling his sister of the alarm; but Dr. May, knowing that the town must soon be ringing with the news, was sending him to Averil’s room, when both rejoiced to see Mary enter the house. Charging her to keep Averil quiet, and believe nothing but what came from themselves, they thrust on her the terrible commission and hastened away, dwelling on the hope that every moment might be important.
Old Hardy had already mounted his cart-horse, and for him farm roads so shortened the distance, that he received them at the entrance of the courtyard, which was crowded with excited gazers and important policemen.
‘Found him?’ was the instantaneous question of both; but Hardy shook his head so sadly, that the Doctor hastily exclaimed, ‘What then?’
‘Sir,’ said Hardy very low, and with a deprecating look, ‘he did go up by the mail train to London last night—got in at Blewer station at 12.15. They have telegraphed up, sir.’
‘I’ll lay my life it is all a mistake,’ said Dr. May, grasping Henry’s arm as if to give him support, and looking him in the face as though resolved that neither should be cast down.
‘That’s not all, sir,’ added Hardy, still addressing himself to the elder gentleman. ‘There’s his rifle, sir.’
‘Why, he was not shot!’ sharply cried Dr. May. ‘You told me so yourself.’
‘No, sir; but—You’ll see for yourself presently! There’s the blood and gray hairs on the stock, sir.’
‘Never fear, Henry; we shall see,’ said Dr. May, pressing on, and adding as soon as they were out of hearing, ‘Nothing those folks, even the best of them, like so well as laying on horrors thick enough.’
A policeman stood at the house door to keep off idlers; but Dr. May’s character and profession, as well as his municipal rank, caused way to be instantly made for them. They found a superintendent within, and he at once began, ‘Most unfortunate business, Mr. Mayor—very mysterious;’ then, as a sign from the Doctor made him aware of Henry Ward’s near concern, he added, ‘Shall I inform young Mr. Axworthy that you are here?’
‘Is he come?’
‘Yes, sir. He had only slept at the Three Goblets, not half a mile across the fields, you know, Mr. Mayor—came home too late to disturb the house here, slept there, and was on the spot at the first intelligence—before I was myself,’ added the superintendent a little jealously.
‘Where is he?’
‘In his room, sir. He was extremely overcome, and retired to his room as soon as the necessary steps had been taken. Would you wish to see the room, sir? We are keeping it locked till the inquest takes place; but—’
Henry asked, ‘When?’ his first word since his arrival, and almost inarticulate.
He was answered that it would probably be at two that afternoon; the Whitford coroner had intimated that he was ready, and the down train would be in by one. A telegram had just arrived, reporting that the electric message had anticipated the mail train, and that young Mr. Ward would be brought down in time.
‘Never mind, never heed, Henry,’ persisted Dr. May, pressing the young man’s arm as they proceeded to the door of the sitting-room; ‘he must be intensely shocked, but he will explain the whole. Nay, I’ve no doubt we shall clear him. His rifle, indeed! I could swear to his rifle anywhere.’
The superintendent had by this time opened the door of the sitting-room, communicating on one side with the office, on the other with the old man’s bedroom.
Except that the body had been carried to the bed in the inner chamber, all remained as it had been found. There were no signs of robbery—not even of a struggle. The cushions of the easy-chair still bore the impress of the sitter’s weight; the footstool was hardly pushed aside; the massive library table was undisturbed; the silver spoons and sugar-tongs beside the tumbler and plate on the supper tray; the yellow light of the lamp still burnt; not a paper was ruffled, not a drawer pulled out. Only a rifle stood leaning against the window shutter, and towards it both friend and brother went at once, hoping and trusting that it would be a stranger to their eyes.
Alas! alas! only too familiar were the rich brown mottlings of the stock, the steel mountings, the eagle crest, and twisted H. E. cipher! and in sickness of heart the Doctor could not hide from himself the dark clot of gore and the few white hairs adhering to the wood, and answering to the stain that dyed the leather of the desk.
Henry could not repress an agonized groan, and averted his face; but his companion undaunted met the superintendent’s eye and query, ‘You know it, sir!’
‘I do. It was my son-in-law’s present to him. I wonder where he kept it, for the ruffians to get hold of it.’
The superintendent remained civil and impassive, and no one spoke to break the deathly hush of the silent room, filled with the appliances of ordinary business life, but tainted with the awful unexplained mark that there had been the foot of the shedder of blood in silence and at unawares.
The man in authority at length continued his piteous exhibition. Dr. Rankin of Whitford had arrived on the first alarm; but would not the gentlemen see the body? And he led them on, Dr. May’s eyes on the alert to seize on anything exculpatory, but detecting nothing, seeing only the unwieldy helpless form and aged feeble countenance of the deceased, and receiving fresh impressions of the brutality and cowardice of the hand that could have struck the blow. He looked, examined, defined the injury, and explained that it must have caused instant death, thus hoping to divert attention from his pale horror-stricken companion, whose too apparent despondency almost provoked him.
At the Doctor’s request they were taken up the staircase into the corridor, and shown the window, which had been found nearly closed but not fastened, as though it had been partially shut down from the outside. The cedar
