THE SCENE OF THE MURDER.—THE VISIT TO THE HOUSE.—THE MYSTERIOUS
DISAPPEARANCE OF THE TREASURE.
The next day came; there was much excitement in the family of the
Frasers; each one could see the partiality of Sir Francis Varney for
Miss Stevens. She herself could not pretend that it was not so, or that
she was unable to see it. It was quite plain and evident, and yet it
gave her great pain, because she had an unconquerable aversion to him,
who was her benefactor, and to whom she owed so much.
This, however, was a strong and inexplicable feeling in her own mind,
and she felt that if death or Sir Francis were her only alternatives,
she must choose the former. This was from some feeling, from what
source it sprung she could not tell you, that appeared to forbid her
permitting the approach of such a lover.
It might have been instinct, or it might have been that she had taken a
personal dislike to him on account of his complexion; and yet she could
not admit so much even to herself as that, and yet it must have had an
origin.
She looked at him much more and more each hour, and more and more did
she dislike him. At length she felt so much repugnance to him, that, if
it were not for the deep gratitude she owed him, she would fly from and
not even endure his society, good as that she was compelled to admit
really was.
When he offered her his arm in their walk to the assembly-rooms and the
pump-room, they were much pleased with the appearance of everything,
and with the attentions of Sir Francis, who certainly did all he could
to make the party comfortable and amused, he was so well acquainted
with every object.
As they returned to the hotel, at which they all remained, they passed
the house of the old woman who had been so cruelly murdered the night
before. Sir Francis cast a cursory glance at it as they passed, but
there was no sign of the door having been opened, and the murder had
not yet been discovered; and this arose from the fact that the old
woman was an eccentric, and her shutters had remained in that way
before; and, therefore, no one took any particular notice of it.
When the party had reached the hotel, Sir Francis said,—
“You will, I presume, attend the ball this evening at the
assembly-rooms?”
“We should wish to do so,” replied the captain. “Do you intend to go,
Sir Francis?”
“I will, captain. It is now some time since I went to such a place, and
I think the change will be so great and agreeable, that I will go.”
“Then we shall have the advantage of your guidance,” said Captain
Fraser; “and I hope we shall long have the pleasure of doing so.”
“You are very good in saying so, captain; and, if agreeable to yourself
and the ladies, I am willing, and shall be happy to bear you company.”
“I am sure,” replied Mrs. Fraser, “we shall always be happy with Sir
Francis Varney’s company, and thank him for his condescension—shall we
not, sister?”
“Yes. I am sure I shall be much obliged to Sir Francis for this, as
well as many other services he has done us.”
“Do not talk in this manner,” said Sir Francis,—“do not speak of the
past, Miss Stevens; it is the present I would wish you to think of;
at the same time, I desire only to be accepted, because I may not be
thought intruding.”
“Dear me, Sir Francis, how you talk! Really, I am afraid we have said
something to give you displeasure, or my sister, here, has misbehaved
herself; if so, I shall really take her to task for so doing.”
“You will be acting unjustly if you do. But permit me to leave you for
a short time. I have some matters to transact. I expect a remittance
of money to this place, for I usually appoint some particular town or
city, for I do not consider it safe to carry any great amount of money
about me; it gives such temptations to robbery and violence that,
travelling as I do, from place to place, I am especially liable to such
attempts.”
“Certainly, you are.”
“Then I will bid you good evening, for the present,” said the baronet,
and he left the room.
• • • • •
When Sir Francis left the apartment in which he had been with the
Frasers, he walked to his own apartment, and taking a large cloak and a
small portmanteau he had purchased, he made his way to the very house
where he had the night before committed such a double murder.
Before he reached there, however, he put the cloak on, and when he
approached the house, he found the street entirely deserted; then
hastily stepping up, he put the key into the keyhole, and at once
opened the door and walked in.
He paused a moment or two, and then went down the passage a few feet,
until he came to the body, for which he felt with his foot.
“Ah!” he muttered; “I see all is right—quite right; here is the
body—nobody has been here to disturb it.”
He took out materials for obtaining a light, and then he pushed past,
and walked up stairs, until he came to the bed-room, where he again
opened the strange receptacle of gold and bones; but, as he did so,
what was his amazement to find a small packet of paper lying down, but
all the gold gone!
He started up in an instant, and laid his hand upon his sword, but at
the same time he appeared rivetted to the spot, and paused in this
attitude for more than a minute.
Then, recovering himself, he gazed round slowly and carefully from
side to side, as if to assure himself he was not trapped. But hearing
no sound—nothing stirring from any quarter whatever, he began to think
there might be some mistake in his vision.
“Surely—surely,” he muttered, “no one could have come in, and, seeing
the bodies, possessed themselves of the money, and then walked out.
They would surely have given the alarm; besides, any one who had
entered would never have gone further than the bodies.
“It is impossible,” he muttered, and he again stooped down to examine
the cupboard from which the treasure appeared to be abstracted. But
there was nothing to be seen, save the bare boards; no signs of the
treasure remained. This was a strange and mysterious disappearance of
what could not have gone without human means.
“How did they get at it?” he muttered; “the place was locked, and in
the same order as I left it; there is no getting into such a place
without unlocking or forcing open the cupboard, or, I may say, chest,
for this is a strong place; it is not broken open, and I have the key.”
Varney paused for several moments, and then he picked up some paper,
which was folded up, and seeing it was written upon, he thrust it into
his pocket, and again looked into the treasure coffer, but all was gone.
“D——n!” muttered Varney, furiously stamping his foot, as if at that
moment only he had become perfectly aware of his disappointment. “What
can be the meaning of this? But this is no place for me; some one has
been here, and the murder is known. I must quit it—eh?”
At that moment there came such a peal at the door with the knocker,
that made the house appear as if it were a pandemonium of noises and
echoes, which followed the first stunning sounds that filled the place.
Varney started and listened.
“Ah,” he said, “they have tracked me here. What can that mean? Have
they, indeed, laid a trap for me? Do they think I am caught? But,
no—no, I am too fast; they know me not, nor can any one have traced me
here, for they know not where I came from, and—but there, it is useless
speculating; they may have laid a trap to catch whom they could, or
they—ah, they have seen the light, and the house being shut all day,
they now want to see if anything is the matter; but I’ll warrant all is
safe and clear; there is nothing known, and all I have to do, is to get
away.”
That was very true; all Sir Francis had to do was to get away; but it
was somewhat more difficult to perform than he had any notion; for, as
he came out into the landing, he found there was an unexpected obstacle
in his path. As soon as he attempted to descend to the back parlour for
the purpose of getting out of the back window, he found the door had
been burst open by the impatience of the mob who stood below, and the
door not being very strong, the shoulders of those who were nearest
were sufficient to force it open.
In a moment the passage was filled with the crowd, the foremost of whom
tumbled over the body, and were up in a moment.
[Illustration: The crowd finds the nurse’s corpse.]
“Good God!” exclaimed one, “here is somebody lying down in the passage.”
“It is a corpse,” said another.
“The woman’s murdered,” said another, “Get a light—get a light, and let
us see what is the matter. Here is a dead body—a light—get a light,
can’t some of you?”
“Well, I suppose we can; but what of it? I expect it can’t be done
without giving anybody time to do it in; if you think it can, you had
better do it yourself, and perhaps you’ll begin now.”
However, there was a light produced, and that put an end to the
altercation, and silence was immediately restored, when they saw the
congealed blood, and the body lying in it; and then one, on pushing his
way into the parlour, exclaimed,—
“And here’s the old woman, she’s dead and cold.”
“She’s murdered!”
“Yes, there’s no doubt about that, poor creatures; and no one at hand
to lend them any assistance. What a horrible affair!”
“Yes, horrible; but who’s done it? There are rooms up stairs; they had
better be searched; let’s go up at once.”
“Aye—aye.”
Sir Francis waited not a moment more; he had heard enough to convince
him his only chance was to escape while he could, for if they once
seized him under such circumstances, he would not be able to escape
again, and he immediately rushed to the back window; but there was no
balcony there; he could not get out there, so came to the landing,
and just reached the short steps that led to the roof, and there, had
scarcely got the trap-door unbolted, when the heard a voice say,
“Up stairs, lad—up stairs. I hear somebody there trying to get out—up
stairs, lads, and follow him—up stairs.”
There was a shout, and then all rushed up stairs, and Varney had
scarcely got into the loft, when some one called out,—
“I see his legs—he’s got into the loft. Up the steps.”
“Hurrah! hurrah! up the steps, my boys; follow me,” said one man, as
he got on the landing, and ran to seize the ladder; but Varney saw the
necessity of preventing immediate and hot pursuit, lest he should be
recognised and followed to the hotel, when that would be death to his
hopes.
Just as the man had reached the ladder, Varney lifted it off the hooks
upon which it hung, and flung it back against the man, who fell back,
and he, with the fallen ladder, created a dreadful confusion amongst
those who were coming up stairs, many being knocked down, and the
remainder retreated, thinking that at least there were a battalion of
murderers.
[Illustration: Varney flings back the ladder against the men.]
This gave Varney time to get to the roof, and he then crept along
several house-tops, without being discovered, though he could hear the
shouts and hum of the mob, as they gathered round the house he had left.
Then how to get out of his present position was a question he was not
well able to tell. He must let himself out through some of the houses,
and to do that without raising a hue-and-cry, was a question he was not
able to solve. Once or twice he thought of letting himself down from
the outside; but this he gave up as being impossible, for destruction
to himself would be the instant result.
“I must get into one of these houses, and remain concealed,” he
thought, “till the dead of the night, and then I could get through the
house without any trouble, or fear of detection—but then the Frasers. I
must not disappoint them.”
This last consideration appeared to determine him, for he immediately
crawled to one house that appeared to be the best calculated for his
purpose, and he at once entered it by means of a small window that
belonged to an attic. In this room was to be seen only a bed, and a few
chairs, and a table.
All was silent, no one was moving; he stepped up to the bed, but was
somewhat startled to find it occupied by some odd-looking human form,
wrapped up in a curious and uninviting manner.
“Ah!” thought Varney, “I didn’t think to have found any one in
possession of this place so early; but they sleep, and that is enough.”
He had scarce said so, when a voice said,
“Nurse, nurse—confound you, why don’t you bring my posset? Do you hear,
cuss you? here have I been kept here for two hours without my supper,
and what you gave me last night had no rum in it. How’s a man to get
well, and kept upon short allowance? I tell you it cannot be done,
not at any price. Will you bring me my grog posset, or won’t you? You
inhuman wretch, to keep an old sailor upon short allowance of grog and
won’t give him any except in the shape of a posset!”
This was pathetic, but Varney paid no attention to it, and gently
glided out of the room. When he quitted the apartment, he descended the
stairs, and then he came to the passage or hall, when he was met by a
stout female.
[Illustration: Varney sends the nurse up stairs.]
“Whom do you want?” exclaimed the fat female.
“Madam,” said Varney, “are you aware of the calamity that has befallen
you?”
“No, sir. What—what is it?”
“The lunatic in the top room has in a fit of malignity set the upper
part of your house in flames. You had better take care of yourself.”
“Oh, my God! the house is on fire!” said the fat woman. “Oh, mercy,
mercy! Fire! fire! fire! The house is a fire.”
Varney turned round and opened the door, just as several people were
rushing out of their rooms at hearing these alarming exclamations.
“That will do,” muttered Varney, as he closed the door behind him,
and then walked hastily towards the hotel, to which, however, he did
not go quite straight; he went a little on one side to avoid meeting
the crowd, as being an unpleasant mass of human creatures which are
singularly unpleasant to meet with, leaving them to secure themselves
and find the murderer, if they were able to do so.