Kitabı oku: «The Mystery of M. Felix», sayfa 31

CHAPTER LVIII.
FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE

Sophy and I were lying on two couches placed so that my eyes could rest upon her face. A day and a night had elapsed since our rescue, and I had gained strength surprisingly. With the help of Bob I had dressed myself in the afternoon, and seeing that the exertion had nearly exhausted me he insisted upon my lying down on a couch. I, on my part, upon learning that Sophy had also with assistance dressed herself, in "spick and span new clothes," as she afterwards informed me, insisted feebly but firmly that she should be brought into my room, so there we were, gazing at each other, and rapidly recovering from the terrible ordeal through which we had passed. Warm baths, an entire change of clothing, rest in a soft bed-surely the clean sheets were the most delicious that mortal ever lay between-nourishing food, and the blessed sense of safety, had done wonders for us. Bob had refused with stern kindness to give me any account of his movements until I was in a fit condition to listen to him, and it was not until this day that he consented to place me in possession of the facts. His statement, up to a certain point, will be best explained in his own words.

"Two days having passed," he said, "without hearing from you, I became anxious. The last letter I received from you was written in Monkshead, and in it you informed me that you were going farther on, but you did not mention the name of the place for which you were bound. As you had left Monkshead, it was useless my wiring or writing to you there, so I was compelled to wait your pleasure. Of course, in these circumstances, one always thinks that a letter has gone wrong, and as no other arrived I inferred that you had given me some information of your movements in the supposed missing letter, without which I had no idea what to do. At length I came to the conclusion that you had returned to London, and I determined to follow you. Even if I did not see you there, I might learn from your family or friends something which would enlighten me as to where you were, and what you were doing. Your family had not heard from you, and as they did not appear in any anxiety concerning you, I said nothing, you may be sure, that would cause them alarm. Then I sought an interview with the lady whose cause you espoused, and whom should I meet with her but M. Bordier. He was the soul of politeness, and I could not fail to be impressed by the radiant happiness which shone in the lady's face. I ascribed this joyful expression to the document which M. Bordier had found in the secret drawer of the desk, the particulars of which he had jealously concealed from me. Neither he nor the lady had heard from you. 'We hope to see him soon,' the lady said, 'to thank him for his wonderful kindness to us.' Before I left them M. Bordier drew me aside, and expressed a hope that I would do nothing to make public what had transpired with respect to the purloining of the desk, and the discovery of an important document in it. 'I assure you,' he said, 'that it is entirely a private matter, and that publicity would cause the deepest pain to unoffending persons.' I replied that I should do nothing of my own accord, and that the matter rested with you, and you alone. He thanked me, and we parted."

I interrupted Bob here. "Did M. Bordier make no reference to a trial in which he had been involved?"

"Nothing."

"Have you read of no trial in which his name appears?"

"No. Let me finish first; you will have plenty to tell me when I have done. From M. Bordier I went to the office of the Evening Moon, and was equally unsuccessful in obtaining news of you. Somewhat puzzled I made my way back to the neighborhood of Tylney House, and thence went on to Monkshead. I had no particular fears for your safety, but I resolved, if possible, to track you. It was only on the second day of my arrival at Monkshead that I obtained news which led me to believe you had gone to Deering. Away I posted to Deering, and there I learned that you had gone to Glasserton, on what errand was not known. The landlord's daughter had shown you a short cut through the woods. I took the high road, as less likely to mislead me: but I may mention that before I started from Deering the girl who directed you informed me that only you and a young girl had gone to Glasserton. What, then, had become of Crawley? At Glasserton I heard that two persons answering to the description of you and Sophy had been in the village, that you had remained but a few hours, and had then started back toward Deering. I immediately returned to Deering, but you had not reappeared there. It was then that a fear of foul play flashed upon me; it was then and then only that I began to fear for your safety. There had been a mysterious murder committed in Deering Woods, and the murderer was committed for trial-"

"My God!" I cried.

Strange as it may appear, I had not until this moment thought of the murder which had been perpetrated in the woods. Heaven knows it was not from indifference that this lapse of memory had occurred to me, and I can only ascribe my forgetfulness to the intensity of my misery for several days past, during which I had been completely and entirely engrossed in the frightful sufferings I had endured. But now Bob's reference to the foul deed brought Gerald Paget's peril to my mind. I was so terribly excited that Bob caught hold of me in alarm, for I had started from my couch and was swaying to and fro on my feet.

"In Heaven's name," exclaimed Bob, "what is the matter with you?"

"Do not ask questions," I said, speaking with feverish haste, "but answer mine, and follow any instructions I may give you. The murderer is committed for trial, you say. Has the trial taken place?"

"It is taking place now," replied Bob, speaking as rapidly as I did; the contagion of my excitement had seized him. "The Assizes are on."

"What is the time?"

"Five minutes past four."

"When did the trial commence?"

"This morning, I heard."

"Is it over?"

"I do not know."

"Will it take you long to ascertain how it is proceeding?"

"I might do it in half an hour."

"Do it, in less time if you can, I am not mad, Bob; I am as sane as you are. This is a matter of life and death, and, God forgive me, I have allowed it to escape me. One more question. You have not spoken of Dr. Peterssen. Where is he?"

"In prison, under arrest."

"That is good news. Go now, quickly-and send the landlord up to me immediately, with some telegraph forms."

He hastened from the room, and in a very short time the landlord made his appearance. The vital necessity of immediate action had inspired me with strength of mind if not with strength of body, and my mental powers were quickened and sharpened by the crisis. I had settled upon my plan of action, and when the landlord handed me the telegraph forms I wrote the messages I wished to send with celerity and clearness. The most urgent and lengthy of these telegrams was addressed to M. Bordier, and in it I implored him to come to me without a moment's delay, and to bring Emilia with him. I told him that the husband whose death Emilia had so long mourned was now on a trial for murder of which he was innocent, that I had been mercifully rescued myself from a cruel death and held in my hands proofs of Gerald Paget's innocence, and that my case would be strengthened by the presence of Emilia and himself. I requested him to acknowledge my telegram the instant he received it, and to say when I might expect him to join me; it was imperative that there should not be the least delay, and he was to spare no expense in attending to my instructions. In addition to this telegram I despatched messages to my mother, to the editor of the Evening Moon, and to Mrs. Middlemore. Without further detail I may say that I did everything in my power to bring the persons to my side whose presence I considered necessary for the work before me, and my despatches were winging to London before Bob returned. He reported that the case for the prosecution was not yet concluded, that it was expected that the defence would be brief, and that the summing up of the judge would occupy some time. It was almost certain that the verdict would not be delivered until to-morrow. Counsel had been deputed by the judge to defend the prisoner, who throughout the trial had maintained a strange silence, which some ascribed to obstinacy, and others to aberration of intellect. Having heard what Bob had to say, I addressed a letter to the counsel for the defence, urging him at the adjournment of the case, to call upon me immediately, as I had news to communicate to him of the highest importance to the prisoner. My letter despatched, there was nothing more to do for at least a couple of hours, and I consented to listen to the completion of Bob's narrative. When he heard that a murder had been committed in Deering Woods fears for my safety flashed upon him, and he went to see the body of the murdered man. He was greatly relieved to find that the body was that of a stranger-(it must be borne in mind here that he had never set eyes on M. Felix during that man's lifetime) – but it did not dispel his fears. I had started back to Deering through the woods, and from that moment neither I nor Sophy had been heard of. He determined to remain on the spot and keep watch about the woods, in the hope of discovering what had happened to me. The idea of foul play between Deering and Glasserton had taken morbid possession of him, and he did not attempt to banish it. Day after day he searched and watched without result, until one night he saw a man walking stealthily through the woods with provisions he must have purchased somewhere in the neighborhood. The stealthy movements of this man aroused Bob's suspicions, but although he followed him warily the man suddenly disappeared. This circumstance strengthened Bob's suspicions, and, with or without reason, he now came to the conclusion that the man, whose movements proclaimed that he was engaged in an unlawful proceeding, had something to do with my disappearance. He hired two men to watch with him, and at length his efforts were rewarded. The man was seen again at night creeping stealthily through the woods; again he disappeared at the same spot as on the previous occasion. It was at the edge of the fallen cliffs that this took place, and the men Bob had hired, who were more intimate with the locality than their employer, pointed out a downward track which bore marks of having been recently used. This track was noiselessly followed, with the result already recorded. Sophy and I were saved.

"I did not come an hour too soon," said Bob, when he had concluded his story.

"Not an hour, Bob. I believe I could not have lived another day."

A telegram was brought into me. It was from M. Bordier: "We shall be with you to-night. Have not informed Mrs. Paget of the particulars. Not advisable to agitate her unnecessarily. Decide when we meet." Other telegrams were also brought to me, and I learned from them that my sister, a friend on the staff of the Evening Moon, and Mrs. Middlemore would also soon be with me. Bob had been thoughtful enough to arrange for the despatch of news from the court in which the trial was taking place. Seven o'clock, eight o'clock, nine o'clock, and the court was still sitting. The Judge was summing up, and had expressed a desire that the trial should be finished that night.

"He is of the opinion," I said to Bob, "that the jury will not be long in giving their verdict."

"It looks like it," said Bob.

"Does this strike you as guilty or not guilty?"

"Guilty," replied Bob.

A note was here delivered to me from the counsel for the defense: "I cannot leave the court. The Judge will soon finish his summing up, which is unfavorable to the prisoner. He anticipates a rapid decision on the part of the jury, and a verdict of guilty. If your news is really of importance and, advantageous to the prisoner, come to the court immediately."

I gave the note to Bob to read, and rose.

"Sophy," I said, "are you strong enough to come with me? I am going to the court."

"I'm ready," said Sophy.

"Yes, Agnold," said Bob, "you must go."

He ran down, and by the time we reached it a trap was waiting for us.

"Have a couple of traps in waiting," I said to him, "and the moment the persons I expect arrive bring them to the court. Especially Mrs. Paget, M. Bordier, and Mrs. Middlemore, and send also any telegrams that may come."

"Depend upon me, Agnold," said the good fellow. "Not a point shall be missed." He waved his hand as we drove away, and called out, "Good luck!"

And now I must encroach upon the columns of the Evening Moon for a description of the events of this agitating night. A cooler head and a steadier hand than mine have made the record, and all that I have to do is to vouch for its accuracy.

CHAPTER LIX.
FROM THE COLUMNS OF THE "THE EVENING MOON," UNDER THE HEADING, "THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX SOLVED."

"The stirring incidents of a great city are so numerous, and so pressing in their demands upon the space of the local papers, that it occasionally happens that incidents as stirring and exciting which occur at a distance from the Metropolis are either overlooked or dismissed in a short paragraph at the bottom of a column. This happened in a trial for murder which took place in the Midland Circuit, and, were it not that this particular case bears directly upon the mystery known as The Mystery of M. Felix, its remarkable features would probably have escaped notice in the Metropolitan journals. The circumstances of the case, so far as they were known to the public on the day on which the trial took place, are as simple as they are singular. A man was found murdered in Deering Woods. He was a stranger in the neighborhood, and nothing was found on him which could establish his identity. His pockets were empty, and his underclothing was unmarked. He met his death by a shot fired from a revolver, and the bullet was extracted from his body. In the same woods on the same night a man suspected of the murder was taken into custody. He had in his possession a six-barrelled revolver, and one of the barrels had been discharged. Upon being questioned he refused to answer, but looked vacantly about him. The bullet which was extracted from the body of the murdered man fitted the discharged barrel, and was similar to the bullets, with which the remaining five barrels were loaded. The accused, who was properly committed for trial, was, like the victim, a stranger in the neighborhood, and bore about him nothing that could lead to his identification. His silence was a suspicious element in the charge against him, and the revolver with which the deed was done being found upon him, there was little room for doubt that he was the murderer. What the motive for the crime could have been it is impossible to say; if it were robbery the stolen property was carefully hidden away, for no traces of it were discovered. The evidence was simple, but appeared to be complete, and the accused lay in prison until the Assizes, which were held soon after he was committed. At the trial he preserved the same stubborn silence as he had maintained before the magistrate. Asked to plead, he made no answer, and a plea of not guilty was recorded. He had no counsel, and one was assigned to him. The young barrister to whom the defence was entrusted had a difficult task before him. He could obtain not the least assistance from the prisoner, who stood in the dock apparently unconcerned regarding his fate. But it is said that there could occasionally have been observed on his features a pitiful expression, which aroused the sympathy of the spectators. This expression has been described by an onlooker as that of a man who had borne the cruellest and bitterest of buffets in his course through life, and who had been brought to a pass in which he looked upon death as the kindest mercy which could be meted out to him. There were women in court who sobbed as they gazed upon his sad and hopeless face, and yet could not have accounted for their tears on any other ground than those of unreasoning sentiment. That this mute and unconscious appeal had a powerful effect upon the jury will be seen a little further on; it certainly led them to act in a manner which is perhaps unprecedented in a trial for murder in an English court of justice. It will be seen that there were very few witnesses. The surgeon who extracted the bullet, a gun-maker who testified that the barrel had been recently discharged, and that the bullet was one of six with which the weapon had been loaded, the constables who arrested the prisoner-these were all that were called for the prosecution. The Crown counsel elicited all the facts in a fair and impartial manner, and it was evident that he considered the case conclusive. The cross-examination was skilfully conducted, severe tests being applied to the evidence respecting the bullet; but the witnesses remained unshaken. The cross-examination of the constables was directed principally to the demeanor and conduct of the prisoner. Did he make any resistance? – No. When he was arrested, was he endeavoring to make his escape? – It did not appear so; he was wandering through the woods. Was it, to all appearance, an aimless wandering? – Yes. Did he make any excuses for, or give any explanation of his presence in the woods? – He did not utter a single word. Did he endeavor to hide or get rid of the revolver? – No. For the defence a physician who had examined the prisoner was called. His testimony was to the effect that the prisoner was afflicted with melancholia, and that his mind was in such a condition as to render him irresponsible for his actions. It was clear that the line set up for the defence was that the prisoner was insane. The cross-examination of the physician somewhat damaged the weight of his evidence. Did he base his belief that the prisoner was afflicted with melancholia and was not responsible for his actions on the circumstance of his refusing to speak? – Partly, but only to a slight extent. Had he not met in his professional experiences with cases in which persons accused of crime preserved an obstinate and dogged silence for the express purpose of being considered insane and irresponsible? – Yes, there had been such cases. Scanty as was the evidence it occupied several hours. Counsel for the defence made an eloquent and impassioned defence on the plea of irresponsibility and insanity, and then the prosecuting counsel addressed the jury. He dealt in hard and plain facts; he spoke coldly and without passion; he refused to entertain the line of the defence, and said it was more than likely that the prisoner's demeanor proceeded from a cunning nature, and that he hoped by this means to escape the consequences of a ruthless murder committed in cold blood. The Judge, who said that there was no reason why the trial should not be concluded that night, and that the Court would sit late to receive the verdict, summed up dead against the prisoner. Following in the train of the counsel for the Crown, he laid down the law in the clearest manner, and he directed the jury to consider certain issues and be guided by them, and to perform conscientiously the duty for which they were called together. At a quarter to ten o'clock the jury retired, and the Judge left the court, with directions that he should be called when the jury returned.

"It was at this stage of the inquiry that the case promised to assume a new aspect. Our reporter, Mr. Agnold, with whom our readers are acquainted, and to whom the public are indebted for the light thrown upon the Mystery of M. Felix, entered the court in the company of the young girl, Sophy, and immediately fell into earnest conversation with the counsel for the defence. Their conversation lasted a considerable time, during which the counsel took copious notes, breaking off occasionally to put questions to Sophy, who answered them readily. Once the counsel turned Sophy's attention to the prisoner, and she moved toward him. He, turning, saw her, and greeted her with a smile of much sweetness, to which she pitifully responded. This sign of mutual recognition, indicating as it did an acquaintanceship between the prisoner and the young girl, heightened to fever-pitch the interest and excitement of the spectators, but before any explanation of the incident could be given, the return of the jury was announced. Almost at the same moment the Judge made his appearance. The names of the jury were about to be called out, when the counsel for the defence rose for the purpose of making a remark, but was desired by the Judge to resume his seat until the verdict of the jury was given.

"Counsel for the defence: 'If your Lordship knew the importance of the observations I wish to make-'

"The Judge: 'I must request you to be seated until we have done with the jury. Then I will hear you.'

"The jury having answered to their names, were asked if they had agreed upon a verdict; whereupon the following conversation took place:

"The Foreman of the Jury: 'My Lord, the jury wish me to say that they are morally convinced that the prisoner is not guilty.'

"The Judge: 'That is not a verdict. It is not a question of being morally convinced; it is a question of being legally convinced.'

"The Foreman: 'But the jury have the strongest moral doubts, my Lord.'

"The Judge: 'They would not be sufficient to lead to a verdict. The doubts must be legal doubts. It is not for me to influence you one way or another. I have put the facts of the case before you, and it is upon those facts you must decide and pronounce your verdict.'

"The Foreman (after a brief consultation with his brother jurymen): 'Our verdict, my Lord, is Not guilty.'

"The Judge: 'Upon what grounds have you arrived at your verdict?'

"The Foreman: 'Upon the grounds of moral conviction, my Lord.'

"The Judge: 'It is my duty to tell you again that those grounds are insufficient. Sentiment has nothing whatever to do with a criminal case. I must request you to retire and reconsider your verdict.'

"The Foreman: 'With all respect, my Lord, it is useless. We have resolved to return no other verdict than the one we have given, and upon the grounds I have stated.'

"Several of the jury gave audible assent to their foreman's words.

"The Judge: 'I cannot receive your verdict, accompanied by your statement. You will retire and give the matter further consideration.'

"The Foreman: 'If we are locked up all night, my Lord, we shall return no other verdict.'

"The Judge: 'I do not wish to be harsh or oppressive. Equally with yourselves I have a duty to perform. If you do not rightly comprehend any part of the evidence, say so, and I will explain it to you.'

"The Foreman: 'We have no doubts, my Lord. We understand the evidence thoroughly.'

"The Judge: 'Oh, if you cannot agree-'

"The Foreman: 'We are thoroughly agreed, my Lord.'

"The Judge: 'You will retire.'

"The jury were then conducted out of court.

"The Judge, addressing counsel for the defence: 'I am ready to hear you now.'

"Counsel: 'My Lord, during your Lordship's absence from court, while the jury were considering their verdict, the most important revelations have been made to me.'

"The Judge: 'Bearing upon this case?'

"Counsel: 'Bearing directly upon this case. Two persons are present now, who, if I had been able to call them, would have thrown an entirely different light upon the case. One of them is personally acquainted with the prisoner, the other does not know him personally, but knows his name.'

"The Judge 'The Crown is not represented. The learned counsel is not in court. I cannot now hear statements from other persons; but you can go on with your statement. His name is known, you say?'

"Counsel: 'Yes, my Lord. It is Gerald Paget.'

At this mention of his name the prisoner became violently agitated. His countenance was convulsed, and he stretched forth his arms, which trembled from excess of emotion.

"The Judge: 'The prisoner appears to be ill. Is there a doctor in court?'

"The prisoner (speaking for the first time): 'I am not ill. I want to hear what he has to say.'

"Counsel: 'For nineteen years he has been supposed to be dead, and, in pursuance of a diabolical plot, has been confined in a private madhouse as another person. It is this cruel imprisonment which has reduced him to the condition in which we now see him.'

"The Judge: 'Your statement is an extraordinary one.'

"Counsel: 'I shall be able, my Lord, to establish its truth, and the truth of other facts as extraordinary. The strange story which has been revealed to me is too lengthy and complicated to narrate at this hour, but if your Lordship will adjourn until to-morrow I undertake to prove the unfortunate prisoner's innocence, and also the guilt of the man who should now be standing in his place.'

"The Judge: 'Is the man known? Can he be found?'

"Counsel: 'He is known, and is now in prison under another charge which is directly connected with the murder for which the prisoner has been tried.'

"The Judge: 'If your statements are true the case is unprecedented.'

"Counsel: 'It is, my Lord. The person who is guilty of the murder was the prisoner's keeper. There has hitherto been no identification of the murdered man; I am now in a position to prove who he was. He bore the name of Leonard Paget.'

"The Judge: 'Paget is the name of the prisoner.'

"Counsel: 'They were half brothers. There is a question of property involved.'

"An officer of the court here presented himself, and said that the jury wished to speak to the judge.

"The Judge: 'Let them be brought in.'

"Upon this being done, the Judge asked the foreman what he had to say.

"The Foreman: 'It is simply, my Lord, that there is not the remotest possibility of our returning any other verdict than that we have delivered, and in the precise terms in which we have delivered it. There is not the slightest difference of opinion between us; we are absolutely unanimous.'

"The Judge: 'As I have already told you, it is no verdict. Officer, what is that noise?'

"Counsel: 'Witnesses from London have just arrived, my Lord, who are ready to prove the truth of the statements I have made.'

"An extraordinary scene ensued. One of the newly-arrived witnesses was a lady, whose eyes travelled round the court, and finally rested upon the prisoner. In this lady our readers will have no difficulty in recognizing Emilia Paget The moment she saw the prisoner a look of incredulous joy sprang into her eyes.

"'Merciful God!' she cried. 'Has the dead returned to life? Am I awake or dreaming?'

"The Prisoner, with a wild scream: 'Emilia!'

"Emilia: 'It is his voice! Gerald! Gerald!'

"She rushed to the prisoner, and no attempt was made to restrain her. Throwing her arms round his neck she drew his head down to her breast. Convulsive sobs shook their frames.

"Counsel, solemnly: 'My Lord, the prisoner is this lady's husband, whom she has mourned as dead for nineteen years.'

"The Foreman of the Jury: 'My Lord, if anything was needed to prove the justice of our verdict, the proof is now supplied.'

"The Judge: 'You are discharged. The Court is adjourned. Remove the prisoner.'

"Counsel: 'My Lord, my Lord! May not this afflicted couple be allowed a few minutes' intercourse?'

"The Judge: 'I leave it to the discretion of the officers in charge of the prisoner.'

"Counsel: 'Direct them my lord. Say that it may be allowed.'

"The Judge: 'It may be allowed. But all the persons not directly concerned in this unparalleled case must retire.'

"Slowly and reluctantly the spectators left the court in a state of indescribable excitement."