That night after dinner a card was brought in to Reggie Fortune. “For God’s sake see me,” was scrawled above “Mr. Victor Lunt.” Reggie went down to his consulting-room.
Victor Lunt was in distress. The fat face which in the morning had been pale was now crimson and sweating. He breathed heavily; he seemed swollen.
“You must expect nothing from me, Mr. Lunt. I have done with your case,” Reggie said.
“You’ll hear what I’ve got to say. You must hear my side, doctor. It was you who set them on me. My God, there may be a warrant out for me any moment. Doctor, for God’s sake—you don’t want to send me to the gallows. I never did it. I swear I never did.”
“I have said nothing but the truth about what I found. The facts are the facts, Mr. Lunt. Defend yourself against them. I can do nothing for you.”
“But the facts lie, doctor. God love you, you wouldn’t go to hang an innocent man. I’ll tell you the truth, by God I will.”
Reggie sat down. “I can’t take up your case, Mr. Lunt. I am committed. Anything you tell me is at your own risk. If you can convince me that you’re innocent it’s my duty to do what I can for you. But I advise you to hold your tongue.”
“Don’t you see?” Victor Lunt was almost screaming. “If they hang me it’s you that’s done it. Will you listen now?”
“Go on, sir.”
Victor Lunt mopped his face, tried to speak, and stuttered. “I did go out that day.” The words came in a half-articulate rush. “I wanted to see what Cranford had done to Bert. And in the park I found Bert lying shot. He had a pistol in his hand.”
“Do you want me to believe he shot himself?” Reggie frowned.
“O God, I don’t know. I swear it’s the truth, doctor. He was lying there shot with a pistol in his hand. When I bent over him he grabbed at me. ‘You swine,’ he said, and he lifted his hand to shoot. Then I bashed his face with a stone. But he shot and it cut my head. That was the scratch, doctor. My God, you do see things. I grabbed the pistol and wrenched it away from him.”
“The sprained thumb,” Reggie muttered.
“Then I heard the death-rattle.” Victor Lunt shuddered, and again he could not command his speech. “I lost my head, doctor. I ran away. I chucked the pistol away. I don’t know what I did. Doctor, I swear it’s God’s truth.” He started up. “What do you mean to do now?”
For Reggie sat silent looking at him. “If it’s the truth, Mr. Lunt, I advise you to tell it.”
“It is the truth. Don’t you know it’s the truth? O God!”
“I am not God, Mr. Lunt.”
Victor Lunt screamed. Two men had come into the room. “Mr. Victor Lunt? I am Superintendent Bell. I hold a warrant—” Victor Lunt fell upon the hearth.
They rushed at him, dragged him out of the fire. … “Apoplexy,” Reggie said. “I thought it was coming.” The detective’s eyebrows asked him a question. Reggie shook his head.
“This warrant won’t run,” said Superintendent Bell. “What was he doing here, sir?”
“Asking for mercy,” Reggie said. “He’s taking the case to a higher court. I wonder. I wonder.”
And that night Victor Lunt died. …
A few days afterwards Reggie gave a little dinner to Cranford and Nurse Dauntsey, and Nurse Dauntsey in a shy evening-frock was adorably happy. And in due time, “Have another peach,” Reggie said.
“Do you want to see me blush, Mr. Fortune?” But she took another.
“You can do pleasant things with the stones—he loves me, he loves me not.”
“It’s not interesting any more,” said Nurse Dauntsey, and looked demure.
“I’m off to British Columbia next week,” Cranford announced.
“Alone?” said Reggie, with his eye on Nurse Dauntsey.
“This year, next year,” Nurse Dauntsey counted. “May I have five peaches, Mr. Fortune?”
“I’m sure you know what’s good for you. So you’re dropping the Mozambique copper claim, Cranford?”
“Lady Lunt offered to turn it over to me. I couldn’t touch it.”
“Of course not,” said Nurse Dauntsey.
“Good thing for me Victor Lunt didn’t stand his trial,” Cranford said.
“Yes. It would have kept you in England.” Reggie lit a cigar.
“I should have had to tell the whole story.” Reggie stared at him. “Yes. That’s the proposition, sir. It was the case you put up against him got me off.”
“I put up nothing,” Reggie cried. “Everything I had against Victor was true, and he knew it was true. That’s what broke him. He had a queer story of his own though,” and Reggie told them Victor Lunt’s version of the crime. “I’ve wondered how much of that was true. He wanted me to believe Albert committed suicide, you see. And that’s impossible.”
“Maybe it was all true,” Cranford said. “Poor beggar. He went through it.”
“I didn’t feel merciful,” Reggie said. “Whatever was the way of it, he meant to get his brother murdered. He worked you up and sent you off to do it. He meant the murder. No, I didn’t feel merciful. And yet—I wonder.”
“I always meant to put you wise,” Cranford said. “You’ll pardon me. I couldn’t afford to give anything away. And I told you no lies. I didn’t murder Albert Lunt. But I killed him. Fair and clean, sir. On my soul it’s as good a bit of work as ever I did. He was a yellow dog. It was up to me to wipe him out. This is the way of it, doctor. When they said he wasn’t at Prior’s Colney I laid to wait for him, and then I saw him coming across the park. I met him and I told him off. I had it all cut out. He had to have his chance, though he gave me none. I had two guns. One for him, one for me. I offered him the pick, and he snatched and fired
