THE BARON TAKES ANDERBURY HOUSE, AND DECIDES UPON GIVING A GRAND
ENTERTAINMENT.
It was not considered anything extraordinary that, although the Baron
Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh went out with the mysterious stranger who had
arrived at the Anderbury Arms to see him, he should return without him
for certainly he was not bound to bring him back, by any means whatever.
Moreover, he entered the inn so quietly, and with such an appearance of
perfect composure, that no one could have suspected for a moment that
he had been guilty really of the terrific crime which had been laid to
his charge—a crime which few men could have committed in so entirely
unmoved and passionless a manner as he had done it.
But he seemed to consider the taking of a human life as a thing not of
the remotest consequence, and not to be considered at all as a matter
which was to put any one out of the way, but as a thing to be done when
necessity required, with all the ease in the world, without arousing
or awaking any of those feelings of remorse which one would suppose
ought to find a place in the heart of a man who had been guilty of such
monstrous behaviour.
He walked up to his own apartment again, and retired to rest with the
same feeling, apparently, of calmness, and the same ability to taste of
the sweets of repose as had before characterized him.
The stranger’s horse, which was a valuable and beautiful animal,
remained in the stable of the inn, and as, of course, that was
considered a guarantee for his return, the landlord, when he himself
retired to rest, left one of his establishment sitting up to let in the
man who now lay so motionless and so frightful in appearance in one of
the ice-wells of the mysterious passage leading from the base of the
cliff, to the grounds of Anderbury House.
But the night wore on, and the man who had been left to let the
stranger in, after making many efforts to keep himself awake, dropped
into sound repose, which he might just as well have done in the first
instance, inasmuch as, although he knew it not, he was engaged in the
vain task of waiting for the dead.
The morning was fresh and beautiful, and, at a far earlier hour than a
person of his quality was expected to make his appearance, the baron
descended from his chamber; for, somehow or other, by common consent,
it seems to be agreed that great personages must be late in rising, and
equally late in going to bed.
But the baron was evidently not so disposed to turn night into day, and
the landlord congratulated himself not a little upon the fact that he
was ready for his illustrious guest when he descended so unexpectedly
from his chamber as he did.
An ample breakfast was disposed of; that is to say, it was placed upon
the table, and charged to the baron, who selected from it what he
pleased; and when the meal was over the landlord ventured to enter the
apartment, and said to him, with all due humility,—
“If you please, sir, Mr. Leek, who has the letting of
Anderbury-on-the-Mount, that is, Anderbury House, as it is usually
called, is here, sir, and would be happy to take your orders as to when
you would be pleased to look at those premises?”
“I shall be ready to go in half a hour,” said the baron; “and, as the
distance is not great, I will walk from here to the mansion.”
This message was duly communicated to Mr. Leek, who thereupon
determined upon waiting until the baron should announce his readiness
to depart upon the expedition; and he was as good as his word, for,
in about half-an-hour afterwards, he descended to the hall, and then
Mr. Leek was summoned, who came out of the bar with such a grand rush,
that he fell over a mat that was before him, and saluted the baron by
digging his head into his stomach, and then falling sprawling at his
feet, and laying hold of his ankle.
This little incident was duly apologised for, and explained;
after which Mr. Leek walked on through the town, towards
Anderbury-on-the-Mount, followed by the illustrious personage whom he
sincerely hoped he should be able to induce to take it.
It was a curious thing to see how they traversed the streets together;
for while the baron walked right on, and with a solemn and measured
step, Mr. Leek managed to get along a few paces in front of him,
sideways, so that he could keep up a sort of conversation upon the
merits of Anderbury House, and the neighbourhood in general, without
much effort; to which remarks the baron made such suitable and
dignified replies as a baron would be supposed to make.
“You will find, sir,” said Mr. Leek, “that everything about Anderbury
is extremely select, and amazingly correct; and I am sure a more
delightful place to live in could not be found.”
“Ah!” said the baron; “very likely.”
“It’s lively, too,” continued Mr. Leek; “very lively; and there are two
chapels of ease, besides the church.”
“That’s a drawback,” said the baron.
“A drawback, sir! well, I am sorry I mentioned it; but perhaps you are
a Roman Catholic, sir, and, in that case, the chapels of ease have no
interest for you.”
“Not the slightest; but do not, sir, run away with any assumption
concerning my religious opinions, for I am not a Roman Catholic.”
“No, sir, no, sir; nor more am I; and, as far as I think, and my
opinion goes, I say, why shouldn’t a gentleman with a large fortune be
what he likes, or nothing, if he likes that better? but here we are,
sir, close to one of the entrances of Anderbury House. There are three
principal entrances, you understand, sir, on three sides of the estate,
and the fourth side faces the sea, where there is that mysterious
passage that leads down from the grounds to the beach, which, perhaps,
you have heard of, sir.”
“The landlord of the inn mentioned it.”
“We consider it a great curiosity, sir, I can assure you, in these
parts—a very great curiosity; and it’s an immense advantage to the
house, because, you see, sir, in extremely hot weather, all sorts
of provisions can be taken down there, and kept at such a very low
temperature as to be quite delightful.”
“That is an advantage.”
Mr. Leek rang the bell that hung over one of the entrances, and his
summons for admission was speedily answered by the old couple who had
charge of the premises, and then, with a view of impressing them with a
notion of the importance of the personage whom he had brought to look
at the place, he said, aloud,—
“The Baron Stoltmayor, of Saltsomething, has come to look at the
premises.”
This announcement was received with all due deference and respect, and
the task of showing the baron the premises at once fairly commenced.
“Here you have,” said Mr. Leek, assuming an oratorical attitude—“here
you have the umbrageous trees stooping down to dip their leaves in the
purling waters; here you have the sweet foliage lending a delicious
perfume to the balmy air; here you have the murmuring waterfalls
playing music of the spheres to the listening birds, who sit responsive
upon the dancing boughs; here you have all the fragrance of the briny
ocean, mingling with the scent of a bank of violets, and wrapping
the senses in Elysium; here you may never tire of an existence that
presents never-ending charms, and that, in the full enjoyment of which,
you may live far beyond the allotted span of man.”
“Enough—enough,” said the baron.
“Here you have the choicest exotics taking kindly to a soil gifted by
nature with the most extraordinary powers of production; and all that
can pamper the appetite, or yield delight to the senses, is scattered
around by nature with a liberal hand. It is quite impossible that
royalty should come near the favoured spot without visiting it as a
thing of course; and I forgot to mention that a revenue is derived from
some cottages, which, although small, is yet sufficient to pay the
tithe on the whole estate.”
“There, there—that will do.”
“Here you have purling rills and cascades, and fish-ponds so redundant
with the finny tribe, that you have but to wish for sport, and it
is yours; here you have in the mansion, chambers that vie with the
accommodation of a palace—ample dormitories and halls of ancient
grandeur; here you have——”
“Stop,” said the baron, “stop; I cannot be pestered in this way with
your description. I have no patience to listen to such mere words—show
me the house at once, and let me judge for myself.”
“Certainly, sir; oh! certainly; only I thought it right to give you a
slight description of the place as it really was; and now, sir, that we
have reached the house, I may remark that here we have——”
“Silence!” said the baron; “if you begin with here we have, I know not
when you will leave off. All I require of you is to show me the place,
and to answer any question which I may put to you concerning it. I will
draw my own conclusions, and nothing you can say, one way or another,
will affect my imagination.”
“Certainly, sir, certainly; I shall only be too happy to answer
any questions that may be put to me by a person of your lordship’s
great intelligence; and all I can remark is, that when you reach the
drawing-room floor, any person may truly say, here you have—I really
beg your pardon, sir—I had not the slightest intention of saying here
you have, I assure you; but the words came out quite unawares, I assure
you.”
“Peace—peace!” cried again the baron; “you disturb me by this incessant
clatter.”
Thus admonished, Mr. Leek was now quiet, and allowed the baron in his
own way to make what investigation he pleased concerning Anderbury
House.
The investigation was not one that could be gone over in ten minutes;
for the house was extremely extensive, and the estate altogether
presented so many features of beauty and interest, that it was
impossible not to linger over it for a considerable period of time.
The grounds were most extensive, and planted with such a regard to
order and regularity, everything being in its proper place, that it was
a pleasure to see an estate so well kept. And although the baron was
not a man who said much, it was quite evident, by what little he did
utter, that he was very well pleased with Anderbury-on-the-Mount.
“And now,” said Mr. Leek, “I will do myself the pleasure, sir, of
showing your grace the subterranean passage.”
At this moment a loud ring at one of the entrance gates was heard, and
upon the man who had charge of the house answering the summons for
admission, he found that it was a gentleman, who gave a card on which
was the name of Sir John Westlake, and who desired to see the premises.
“Sir John Westlake,” said Mr. Leek; “oh! I recollect he did call at my
office, and say that he thought of taking Anderbury-on-the-Mount. A
gentleman of great wealth and taste is Sir John, but I must tell him,
baron, that you have the preference if you choose to embrace it.”
At this moment the stranger advanced, and when he saw the baron, he
bowed courteously, upon which Mr. Leek said,—
“I regret, Sir John, that if you should take a fancy to the place, I am
compelled first of all to give this gentleman the refusal of it.”
“Certainly,” said Sir John Westlake; “do not let me interfere with any
one. I have nearly made up my mind, and came to look over the property
again; but of course, if this gentleman is beforehand with me, I must
be content. I wish particularly to go down to the subterranean passage
to the beach, if it is not too much trouble.”
“Trouble! certainly not, sir. Here, Davis, get some links, and we can
go at once; and as this gentleman likewise has seen everything but that
strange excavation, he will probably descend with us.”
“Certainly,” said the baron; “I shall have great pleasure;” and he
said it with so free and unembarrassed an air, that no one could have
believed for a moment in the possibility that such a subject of fearful
interest to him was there to be found.
The entrance from the grounds into this deep cavernous place was in
a small but neat building, that looked like a summer-house; and now,
torches being procured, and one lit, a door was opened, which conducted
at once into the commencement of the excavation; and Mr. Leek heading
the way, the distinguished party, as that gentleman loved afterwards
to call it in his accounts of the transaction, proceeded into the very
bowels of the earth, as it were, and quickly lost all traces of the
daylight.
The place did not descend by steps, but by a gentle slope, which it
required some caution to traverse, because, being cut in the chalk,
which in some places was worn very smooth, it was extremely slippery;
but this was a difficulty that a little practice soon overcame, and as
they went on the place became more interesting every minute.
Even the baron allowed Mr. Leek to make a speech upon the occasion, and
that gentleman said,—
“You will perceive that this excavation must have been made, at a great
expense, out of the solid cliff, and in making it some of the most
curious specimens of petrifaction and fossil remains were found. You
see that the roof is vaulted, and that it is only now and then a lump
of chalk has fallen in, or a great piece of flint; and now we come to
one of the ice-wells.”
They came to a deep excavation, down which they looked, and when the
man held the torch beneath its surface, they could dimly see the
bottom of it, where there was a number of large pieces of flint stone,
and, apparently, likewise, the remains of broken bottles.
“There used to be a windlass at the top of this,” said Mr. Leek, “and
the things were let down in a basket. They do say that ice will keep
for two years in one of these places.”
“And are there more of these excavations?” said the baron.
“Oh, dear, yes, sir; there are five or six of them for different
purposes; for when the family that used to live in Anderbury House had
grand entertainments, which they sometimes had in the summer season,
they always had a lot of men down here, cooling wines, and passing them
up from hand to hand to the house.”
From the gradual slope of this passage down to the cliffs, and the
zigzag character of it, it may be well supposed that it was of
considerable extent. Indeed, Mr. Leek asserted that it was half a mile
in actual measured length.
The baron was not at all anxious to run any risk of a discovery of the
dead body which he had cast into that ice-well which was nearest to the
opening on to the beach, so, as he went on, he negatived the different
proposals that were made to look down into the excavations, and
succeeded in putting a stop to that species of inquiry in the majority
of instances, but he could not wholly do so.
Perhaps it would have been better for his purpose if he had encouraged
a look into every one of the ice-wells; for, in that case, their
similarity of appearance might have tired out Sir John Westlake before
they got to the last one; but as it was, when they reached the one down
which the body had been precipitated, he had the mortification to hear
Mr. Leek say,—
“And now, Sir John, and you, my lord baron, as we have looked at the
first of these ice-wells and at none of the others, suppose we look at
the last.”
The baron was afraid to say anything; because, if the body were
discovered, and identified as that of the visitor at the inn, and who
had been seen last with him, any reluctance on his part to have that
ice-well examined, might easily afterwards be construed into a very
powerful piece of circumstantial evidence against him.
He therefore merely bowed his assent, thinking that the examination
would be but a superficial one, and that, in consequence, he should
escape easily from any disagreeable consequences.
But this the fates ordained otherwise; and there seemed no hope of that
ice-well in particular escaping such an investigation as was sure to
induce some uncomfortable results.
“Davis,” said Mr. Leek, “these places are not deep, you see, and I was
thinking that if you went down one of them, it would be as well; for
then you would be able to tell the gentlemen what the bottom was fairly
composed of, you understand.”
“Oh, I don’t mind, sir,” said Davis. “I have been down one of them
before to-day, I can tell you, sir.”
“I do not see the necessity,” said Sir John Westlake, “exactly, of such
a thing; but still if you please, and this gentleman wishes——”
“I have no wish upon the occasion,” said the baron; “and, like
yourself, cannot see the necessity.”
“Oh, there is no trouble,” said Mr. Leek; “and it’s better, now you are
here, that you see and understand all about it. How can you get down,
Davis?”
“Why, sir, it ain’t above fourteen feet altogether; so I sha’n’t have
any difficulty, for I can hang by my hands about half the distance, and
drop the remainder.”
As he spoke he took off his coat, and then stuck the link he carried
into a cleft of the rock, that was beside the brink of the excavation.
The baron now saw that there would be no such thing as avoiding a
discovery of the fact of the dead body being in that place, and his
only hope was, that in its descent it might have become so injured as
to defy identification.
But this was a faint hope, because he recollected that he had himself
seen the face, which was turned upwards, and the period after death was
by far too short for him to have any hope that decomposition could have
taken place even to the most limited extent.
The light, which was stuck in a niche, shed but a few inefficient rays
down into the pit, and, as the baron stood, with folded arms, looking
calmly on, he expected each moment a scene of surprise and terror would
ensue.
Nor was he wrong; for scarcely had the man plunged down into that deep
place, than he uttered a cry of alarm and terror, and shouted,—
“Murder! murder! Lift me out. There is a dead man down here, and I have
jumped upon him.”
“A dead man!” cried Mr. Leek and Sir John Westlake in a breath.
“How very strange!” said the baron.
“Lend me a hand,” cried Davis; “lend me a hand out; I cannot stand
this, you know. Lend me a hand out, I say, at once.”
This was easier to speak of than to do, and Mr. Davis began to discover
that it was easier by far to get into a deep pit, than to get out of
one, notwithstanding that his assertion of having been down into those
places was perfectly true; but then he had met with nothing alarming,
and had been able perfectly at his leisure to scramble out the best way
he could.
Now, however, his frantic efforts to release himself from a much more
uncomfortable situation than he had imagined it possible for him to get
into, were of so frantic a nature, that he only half buried himself in
pieces of chalk, which he kept pulling down with vehemence from the
sides of the pit, and succeeded in accomplishing nothing towards his
rescue.
“Oh! the fellow is only joking,” said the baron, “and amusing himself
at our expense.”
But the manner in which the man cried for help, and the marked terror
which was in every tone, was quite sufficient to prove that he was not
acting; for if he were, a more accomplished mimic could not have been
found on the stage than he was.
“This is serious,” said Sir John Westlake, “and cannot be allowed. Have
you any ropes here by which we can assist him from the pit? Don’t be
alarmed, my man, for if there be a dead body in the pit, it can’t harm
you. Take your time quietly and easily, and you will assuredly get out.”
“Aye,” said the baron, “the more haste, the worst speed, is an English
proverb, and in this case it will be fully exemplified. This man would
easily leave the pit, if he would have the patience, with care and
quietness, to clamber up its sides.”
It would appear that Davis felt the truth of these exhortations, for
although he trembled excessively, he did begin to make some progress in
his ascent, and get so high, that Mr. Leek was enabled to get hold of
his hand, and give him a little assistance, so that, in another minute
or so, he was rescued from his situation, which was not one of peril,
although it was certainly one of fright.
He trembled so excessively, and stuttered and stammered, that for some
minutes no one could understand very well what he said; but at length,
upon making himself intelligible, he exclaimed,—
“There has been a murder! there has been a murder committed, and the
body thrown into the ice pit. I felt that I jumped down upon something
soft, and when I put down my hand to feel what it was, it came across a
dead man’s face, and then, of course, I called out.”
“You certainly did call out.”
“Yes, and so would anybody, I think, under such circumstances. I
suppose I shall be hung now, because I had charge of the house?”
“That did not strike me until this moment,” said the baron; “but if
there be a dead body in that pit, it certainly places this man in a
very awkward position.”
“What the deuce do you mean?” said Davis; “I don’t know no more about
it than the child unborn. There is a dead man in the ice-well, and that
is all I know about it; but whether he has been there a long time,
or a short time, I don’t know any more than the moon, so it’s no use
bothering me about it.”
“My good man,” said the baron, “it would be very wrong indeed to impute
to you any amount of criminality in this business, since you may be
entirely innocent; and I, for one, believe that you are so, for I
cannot think that any guilty man would venture into the place where
he had put the body of his victim, in the way that you ventured into
that pit. I say I cannot believe it possible, and therefore I think you
innocent, and will take care to see that no injustice is done you; but
at the same time I cannot help adding, that I think, of course, you
will find yourself suspected in some way.”
“I am very much obliged to you, sir,” said Davis; “but as I happen to
be quite innocent, I am very easy about it, and don’t care one straw
what people say. I have not been in this excavation for Heaven knows
how long.”
“But what’s to be done?” said Mr. Leek. “I suppose it’s our duty to do
something, under such circumstances.”
“Unquestionably,” said the baron; “and the first thing to be done, is
to inform the police of what has happened, so that the body may be
got up; and as I have now seen enough of the estate to satisfy me as
regards its capabilities, I decide at once upon taking it, if I can
agree upon the conditions of the tenancy, and I will purchase it, if
the price be such as I think suitable.”
“Well,” said Mr. Leek, “if anything could reconcile me to the
extraordinary circumstance that has just occurred, it certainly is,
baron, the having so desirable a tenant for Anderbury-on-the-Mount as
yourself. But we need not traverse all this passage again, for it is
much nearer now to get out upon the sea-coast at once, as we are so
close to the other opening upon the beach. It seems to me that we ought
to proceed at once to the town, and give information to the authorities
of the discovery which we have made.”
“It is absolutely necessary,” said the baron, “so to do; so come along
at once. I shall proceed to my inn, and as, of course, I have seen
nothing more than yourselves, and consequently could only repeat your
evidence, I do not see that my presence is called for. Nevertheless,
of course, if the justices think it absolutely necessary that I should
appear, I can have no possible objection to so do.”
This was as straightforward as anything that could be desired, and,
moreover, it was rather artfully put together, for it seemed to
imply that he, Mr. Leek, would be slighted, if his evidence was not
considered sufficient.
“Of course,” said Mr. Leek; “I don’t see at all why, as you, sir, have
only the same thing to say as myself, I should not be sufficient.”
“Don’t call upon me on any account,” said Sir John Westlake.
“Oh! no, no,” cried Mr. Leek; “there is no occasion. I won’t, you may
depend, if it can be helped.”
Sir John, in rather a nervous and excited manner, bade them good day,
before they got quite into the town, and hurried off; while the baron,
with a dignified bow, when he reached the door of his hotel, said to
Mr. Leek,—
“Of course I do not like the trouble of judicial investigations more
than anybody else, and therefore, unless it is imperatively necessary
that I should appear, I shall take it as a favour to be released from
such a trouble.”
“My lord baron,” said Mr. Leek, “you may depend that I shall mention
that to the magistrates and the coroner, and all those sort of people;”
and then Mr. Leek walked away, but he muttered to himself, as he did
so, “They will have him, as sure as fate, just because he is a baron;
and his name will look well in the ‘County Chronicle.’”
Mr. Leek then repaired immediately to the house of one of the principal
magistrates, and related what had occurred, to the great surprise of
that gentleman, who suggested immediately the propriety of making the
fact known to the coroner of the district, as it was more his business,
than a magistrate’s, in the first instance, since nobody was accused of
the offence.
This suggestion was immediately followed, and that functionary directed
that the body should be removed from where it was to the nearest
public-house, and immediately issued his precept for an inquiry into
the case.
By this time the matter had begun to get bruited about in the town,
and of course it went from mouth to mouth with many exaggerations; and
although it by no means did follow that a murder had been committed
because a dead body had been found, yet, such was the universal
impression; and the matter began to be talked about as the murder in
the subterranean passage leading to Anderbury House, with all the gusto
which the full particulars of some deed of blood was calculated to
inspire. And how it spread about was thus:—
The fact was, that Mr. Leek was so anxious to let
Anderbury-on-the-Mount to the rich Baron Stolmuyer, of Saltzburgh,
that he got a friend of his to come and personate Sir John Westlake,
while he, the baron, was looking at the premises, in order to drive him
at once to a conclusion upon the matter; so that what made Sir John
so very anxious that he should not be called forward in the matter,
consisted in the simple fact that he was nothing else than plain Mr.
Brown, who kept a hatter’s shop in the town; but he could not keep his
own counsel, and, instead of holding his tongue, as he ought to have
done, about the matter, he told it to every one he met, so that in a
short time it was generally known that something serious and startling
had occurred in the subterranean passage to Anderbury House, and a
great mob of persons thronged the beach in anxious expectation of
getting more information on the matter.
The men, likewise, who had been ordered by the coroner to remove the
body, soon reached the spot, and they gave an increased impetus to the
proceedings, by opening the door of the subterranean passage, and then
looking earnestly along the beach as if in expectation of something or
somebody of importance.
When eagerly questioned by the mob, for the throng of persons now
assembled quite amounted to a mob, to know what they waited for, one of
them said,—
“A coffin was to have been brought down to take the body in.”
This announcement at once removed anything doubtful that might be in
the minds of any of them upon the subject, and at once proclaimed the
fact not only that there was a dead body, but that if they looked out
they would see it forthwith.
The throng thickened, and by the time two men were observed approaching
with a coffin on their shoulders, there was scarcely anybody left in
the town, except a few rare persons, indeed, who were not so curious as
their neighbours.
It was not an agreeable job, even to those men who were not the most
particular in the world, to be removing so loathsome a spectacle as
that which they were pretty sure to encounter in the ice-well; but they
did not shrink from it, and, by setting about it as a duty, they got
through it tolerably well.
They took with them several large torches, and then, one having
descended into the pit, fastened a rope under the arms of the dead
man, and so he was hauled out, and placed in the shell that was ready
to receive him.
[Illustration: The mob pulls the dead man from the pit.]
They were all surprised at the fresh and almost healthful appearance
of the countenance, and it was quite evident to everybody that if any
one had known him in life, they could not have the least possible
difficulty in recognising him now that he was no more.
And the only appearance of injury which he exhibited was in that
dreadful wound which had certainly proved his death, and which was
observable in his throat the moment they looked upon him.
The crush to obtain a sight of the body was tremendous at the moment
it was brought out, and a vast concourse of persons followed it in
procession to the town, where the greatest excitement prevailed. It was
easily discovered that no known person was missing, and some who had
caught a sight of the body, went so far as to assert that it must have
been in the ice-well for years, and that the extreme cold had preserved
it in all its original freshness.
The news, of course, came round, although not through the baron, for he
did not condescend to say one word about it at the inn, and it was the
landlord who first started the suggestion of—
“What suppose it is the gentleman who left his horse here?”
This idea had no sooner got possession of his brain, than it each
moment seemed to him to assume a more reasonable and tangible form, and
without saying any more to any one else about it, he at once started
off to where the body lay awaiting an inquest, to see if his suspicions
were correct.
When he arrived at the public-house and asked to see the body, he was
at once permitted to do so; for the landlord knew him, and was as
curious as he could be upon the subject by any possibility. One glance,
of course, was sufficient, and the landlord at once said,—
“Yes, I have seen him before, though I don’t know his name. He came to
my house last night, and left his horse there; and, although I only saw
him for a moment as he passed through the hall, I am certain I am not
mistaken. I dare say all my waiters will recognise him, as well as the
Baron Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh, who is staying with me, and who no doubt
knows very well who he is, for he went out with him late and came home
alone, and I ordered one of my men to wait up all night in order to let
in this very person who is now lying dead before us.”
“The deuce you did! But you don’t suppose the baron murdered him, do
you?”
“It’s a mystery to me altogether—quite a profound mystery. It’s very
unlikely, certainly; and what’s the most extraordinary part of the
whole affair is, how the deuce could he come into one of the ice-wells
belonging to Anderbury House. That’s what puzzles me altogether.”
“Well, it will all come out, I hope, at the inquest, which is to be
held at four o’clock to day. There must have been foul play somewhere,
but the mystery is where, and that Heaven only knows, perhaps.”
“I shall attend,” said the landlord, “of course, to identify him; and I
suppose, unless anybody claims the horse, I may as well keep possession
of it.”
“Don’t you flatter yourself that you will get the horse out of the
transaction. Don’t you know quite well that the government takes
possession of everything as don’t belong to nobody?”
“Yes; but I have got him, and possession, you know, is nine points of
the law.”
“It may be so; but their tenth point will get the better of you for all
that. You take my word for it, the horse will be claimed of you; but I
don’t mind, as an old acquaintance, putting you up to a dodge.”
“In what way?”
“Why, I’ll tell you what happened with a friend of mine; but don’t
think it was me, for if it was I would tell you at once, so don’t think
it. He kept a country public-house; and, one day, an elderly gentleman
came in, and appeared to be unwell. He just uttered a word or two, and
then dropped down dead. He happened to have in his fob a gold repeater,
that was worth, at least, a hundred guineas, and my friend, before
anybody came, took it out, and popped in, in its stead, an old watch
that he had, which was not worth a couple of pounds.”
“It was running a risk.”
“It was; but it turned out very well, because the old gentleman
happened to be a very eccentric person, and was living alone, so that
his friends really did not know what he had, or what he had not, but
took it for granted that any watch produced belonged to him. So, if I
were you in this case, when the gentleman’s horse is claimed. I’d get
the d—dest old screw I could, and let them have that.”
“You would?”
“Indeed would I, and glory in it, too, as the very best thing that
could be done. Now, a horse is of use to you?”
“I believe ye, it is.”
“Exactly; but what’s the use of it to government? and, what’s more,
if it went to the government, there might be some excuse; but the
government will know no more about it, and make not so much as I shall.
Some Jack-in-office will lay hold of it as a thing of course and a
perquisite, when you might just as well, and a great deal better, too,
keep it yourself, for it would do you some good, as you say, and none
to them.”
“I’ll do it; it is a good and a happy thought. There is no reason on
earth why I shouldn’t do it, and I will. I have made up my mind to it
now.”
“Well, I am glad you have. What do you think now the dead man’s horse
is worth?”
“Oh! fifty or sixty guineas value.”
“Then very good. Then, when the affair is all settled, I will trouble
you for twenty pounds.
“You?”
“Yes, to be sure. Who else do you suppose is going to interfere with
you? One is enough, ain’t it, at a time; and I think, after giving you
such advice as I have, that I am entitled, at all events, to something.”
“I tell you what,” said the landlord of the hotel, “taking all things
into consideration, I have altered my mind rather, and won’t do it.”
“Very good. You need not; only mind, if you do, I am down upon you like
a shot.”
The excitement contingent upon the inquest was very great; indeed,
the large room in the public-house, where it was held, was crowded
to suffocation with persons who were anxious to be present at the
proceedings. When the landlord reached home, of course he told his
guest, the baron, of the discovery he had made, that the murdered
man was the strange visitor of the previous night; for now, from the
frightful wound he had received in his throat, the belief that he was
murdered became too rational a one to admit of any doubts, and was that
which was universally adopted in preference to any other suggestion
upon the occasion; although, no doubt, people would be found who would
not scruple to aver that he had cut his own throat, after making his
way into the well belonging to Anderbury House.
The landlord had his own misgivings concerning his guest, the baron,
now that something had occurred of such an awful and mysterious a
nature to one who was evidently known to him. It did not seem to be a
pleasant thing to have such an intimate friend of a man who had been
murdered in one’s house, especially when it came to be considered that
he was the last person seen in his company, and that, consequently, he
was peculiarly called upon to give an explanation of how, and under
what circumstances, he had parted with him.
The baron was sitting smoking in the most unconcerned manner in the
world, when the landlord came to bring him this intelligence, and, when
he had heard him to an end, the remark he made was,—
“Really, you very much surprise me; but, perhaps, as you are better
acquainted with the town than I am, you can tell me who he was?”
“Why, sir, that is what we hoped you would be able to tell us.”
“How should I tell you? He introduced himself to me as a Mr. Mitchell,
a surveyor, and he said that, hearing I talked of purchasing or renting
Anderbury-on-the-Mount, he came to tell me that the principal side
wall, that you could see from the beach, was off the perpendicular.”
“Indeed, sir!”
“Yes; and as this was a very interesting circumstance to me,
considering that I really did contemplate such a purchase or renting,
and do so still, as it was a moonlight night, and he said he could
show me in a minute what he meant if I would accompany him, I did so;
but when we got there, and on the road, I heard quite enough of him to
convince me that he was a little out of his senses, and, consequently,
I paid no more attention to what he said, but walked home and left him
on the beach.”
“It’s a most extraordinary circumstance, sir; there is no such person,
I assure you, as Mitchell, a surveyor, in the town; so I can’t make it
out in the least.”
“But, I tell you, I consider the man out of his senses, and perhaps
that may account for the whole affair.”
“Oh, yes, sir, that would, certainly; but still, it’s a very odd thing,
because we don’t know of such a person at all, and it does seem so
extraordinary that he should have made his appearance, all of a sudden,
in this sort of way. I suppose, sir, that you will attend the inquest,
now, that’s to be held upon him?”
“Oh, yes; I have no objection whatever to that; indeed, I feel myself
bound to do so, because I suppose mine is the latest evidence that can
be at all produced concerning him.”
“Unquestionably, sir; our coroner is a very clever man, and you will
be glad to know him—very glad to know him, sir, and he will be glad to
know you, so I am sure it will be a mutual gratification. It’s at four
o’clock the inquest is to be, and I dare say, sir, if you are there by
half-past, it will be time enough.”
“No doubt of that; but I will be punctual.”
We have already said the room in which the inquest was to be held was
crowded almost to suffocation, and not only was that the case, but the
lower part of the house was crammed with people likewise; and there
can be very little doubt but the baron would have shrunk from such an
investigation from a number of curious eyes, if he could have done so;
while the landlord of the house would have had no objection, as far
as his profit was concerned in the sale of a great quantity of beer
and spirits, to have had such an occurrence every day in the week, if
possible.
The body lay still in the shell where it had been originally placed.
After it had been viewed by the jury, and almost every one had remarked
upon the extraordinary fresh appearance it wore, they proceeded at once
to the inquiry, and the first witness who appeared was Mr. Leek, who
deposed to have been in company with some gentlemen viewing Anderbury
House, and to have found the body in one of the ice-wells of that
establishment.
This evidence was corroborated by that of Davis, who had so
unexpectedly jumped into the well, without being aware that it
contained already so disagreeable a visitor as it did in the person
of the murdered man, regarding the cause of whose death the present
inquiry was instituted.
Then the landlord identified the body as that of a gentleman who had
come to his house on horseback, and who had afterwards walked out with
Baron Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh, who was one of his guests.
“Is that gentleman in attendance?” said the coroner.
“Yes, sir, he is; I told him about it, and he has kindly come forward
to give all the evidence in his power concerning it.”
There was a general expression of interest and curiosity when the baron
stepped forward, attired in his magnificent coat, trimmed with fur, and
tendered his evidence to the coroner, which, of course, was precisely
the same as the statement he had made to the landlord of the house;
for, as he had made up such a well connected story, he was not likely
to prevaricate or to depart from it in the smallest particular.
He was listened to with breathless attention, and, when he had
concluded, the coroner, with a preparatory hem! said to him,
“And you have reason to suppose, sir, that this person was out of his
senses?”
“It seemed to me so; he talked wildly and incoherently, and in such a
manner as to fully induce such a belief.”
“You left him on the beach?”
“I did. I found when I got there that it was only a very small portion,
indeed, of Anderbury House that was visible; and, although the moon
shone brightly, I must confess I did not see, myself, any signs of
deviation from the perpendicular; and, such being the case, I left the
spot at once, because I could have no further motive in staying; and,
moreover, it was not pleasant to be out at night with a man whom I
thought was deranged. I regretted, after making this discovery, that
I had come from home on such a fool’s errand; but as, when one is
going to invest a considerable sum of money in any enterprise, one is
naturally anxious to know all about it, I went, little suspecting that
the man was insane.”
“Did you see him after that?”
“Certainly not, until to-day, when I recognised in the body that has
been exhibited to me the same individual.”
“Gentlemen,” said the coroner to the jury, “it appears to me that this
is a most mysterious affair; the deceased person has a wound in his
throat, which, I have no doubt, you will hear from a medical witness
has been the cause of death; and the most singular part of the affair
is, how, if he inflicted it upon himself, he has managed to dispose of
the weapon with which he did the deed.”
“The last person seen in his company,” said one of the jury, “was the
baron, and I think he is bound to give some better explanation of the
affair.”
“I am yet to discover,” said the baron, “that the last person who
acknowledges to having been in the company of a man afterwards
murdered, must, of necessity, be the murderer?”
“Yes; but how do you account, sir, for there being no weapon found by
which the man could have done the deed himself?”
“I don’t account for it at all—how do you?”
“This is irregular,” said the coroner; “call the next witness.”
This was a medical man, who briefly stated that he had seen the
deceased, and that the wound in his throat was amply sufficient to
account for his death; that it was inflicted with a sharp instrument
having an edge on each side.
This, then, seemed to conclude the case, and the coroner remarked,—
“Gentlemen of the jury,—I think this is one of those peculiar cases
in which an open verdict is necessary, or else an adjournment without
date, so that the matter can be resumed at any time, if fresh evidence
can be procured concerning it. There is no one accused of the offence,
although it appears to me impossible that the unhappy man could have
committed the act himself. We have no reason to throw the least shade
of suspicion or doubt upon the evidence of the Baron Stolmuyer of
Saltzburgh; for as far as we know anything of the matter, the murdered
man may have been in the company of a dozen people after the baron left
him.”
A desultory conversation ensued, which ended in an adjournment of the
inquest, without any future day being mentioned for its re-assembling,
and so the Baron Stolmuyer entirely escaped from what might have been a
very serious affair to him.
It did not, however, appear to shake him in his resolution of taking
Anderbury-on-the-Mount, although Mr. Leek very much feared it would;
but he announced to that gentleman his intention fully of doing so, and
told him to get the necessary papers drawn up forthwith.
“I hope,” he said, “within a few weeks’ time to be fairly installed
in that mansion, and then I will trouble you, Mr. Leek, to give me a
list of the names of all the best families in the neighbourhood; for
I intend giving an entertainment on a grand scale in the mansion and
grounds.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Leek, “I shall, with the greatest pleasure, attend upon
you in every possible way in this affair. This is a very excellent
neighbourhood, and you will have no difficulty, I assure you, sir,
in getting together an extremely capital and creditable assemblage
of persons. There could not be a better plan devised for at once
introducing all the people who are worth knowing, to you.”
“I thank you,” said the baron; “I think the place will suit me well;
and, as the Baroness Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh is dead, I have some idea
of marrying again; and therefore it becomes necessary and desirable
that I should be well acquainted with the surrounding families of
distinction in this neighbourhood.”
This was a hint not at all likely to be thrown away upon Mr. Leek,
who was the grand gossip-monger of the place, and he treasured it up
in order to see if he could not make something of it which would be
advantageous to himself.
He knew quite enough of the select and fashionable families in that
neighbourhood, to be fully aware that neither the baron’s age nor his
ugliness would be any bar to his forming a matrimonial alliance.
“There is not one of them,” he said to himself, “who would not marry
the very devil himself and be called the Countess Lucifer, or any name
of the kind, always provided there was plenty of money; and that the
baron has without doubt, so it is equally without doubt he may pick and
choose where he pleases.”
This was quite correct of Mr. Leek, and showed his great knowledge of
human nature; and we entertain with him a candid opinion, that if the
Baron Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh had been ten times as ugly as he was, and
Heaven knows that was needless, he might pick and choose a wife almost
when he pleased.
This is a general rule; and as, of course, to all general rules
there are exceptions, this one cannot be supposed to be free from
them. Under all circumstances, and in all classes of society, there
are single-minded beings who consult the pure dictates of their own
hearts, and who, disdaining those things which make up the amount of
the ambition of meaner spirits, stand aloof as bright and memorable
examples to the rest of human nature.
Such a being was Flora Bannerworth. She would never have been found
to sacrifice herself to the fancied advantages of wealth and station,
but would have given her heart and hand to the true object of her
affection, although a sovereign prince had made the endeavour to wean
her from it.