Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Internet Archive
https://archive.org/details/fordefense00humeiala
(University of California Libraries)
[Illustration: Front_Cover]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE MAJOR AND HIS HOUSEHOLD.
II. THE ASHANTEE DEVIL-STICK.
III. DIDO.
IV. VOODOO! VOODOO!
V. DR. ETWALD'S WARNING.
VI. A STRANGE OCCURRENCE.
VII. THE RIVALS.
VIII. A CRY IN THE NIGHT.
IX. AFTER THE DEED.
X. FURTHER MYSTERY.
XI. MAJOR JEN, DETECTIVE.
XII. THE STRANGE PERFUME.
XIII. ISABELLA.
XIV. LADY MEG.
XV. CROSS-EXAMINATION.
XVI. THE EVIDENCE OF JAGGARD.
XVII. THE STORY OF THE NIGHT.
XVIII. THE DEVIL-STICK THIEF.
XIX. FURTHER EVIDENCE.
XX. A STRANGE REQUEST.
XXI. A NINE DAY'S WONDER.
XXII. FOR THE DEFENSE.
XXIII. THE RESULT OF THE TRIAL.
XXIV. A FINAL SURPRISE.
XXV. THREE LETTERS.
FOR THE DEFENCE
BY
FERGUS HUME
AUTHOR OF
"MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "HARLEQUIN OPAL," ETC.
CHICAGO AND NEW YORK:
RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS.
Copyright 1897, by Fergus Hume.
Copyright, 1898, by Rand McNally & Co.
FOR THE DEFENCE.
CHAPTER I.
THE MAJOR AND HIS HOUSEHOLD.
Laurence Jen was a retired major, a bachelor, and the proprietor of a
small estate at Hurstleigh, in Surrey. On leaving the service, he
decided--not unwisely--that it was better to be a Triton in the
country than a minnow in town; and acting upon this theory he
purchased "Ashantee" from a ruined squire. Formerly the place had been
called Sarbylands, after its original owners; but Jen had changed the
name, in honor of the one campaign in which he had participated.
He had been present at the downfall of King Koffee; he had contracted
during the expedition an ague which tormented him greatly during his
later life, and he had received a wound and a medal. In gratitude, it
is to be presumed, for these gifts of fortune, the major, with some
irony, had converted the name Sarbylands into the barbaric appellation
of a West African kingdom; and here, for many years, he lived with his
two boys.
These lads, named respectively Maurice Alymer and David Sarby, were in
no way related to the major, who, as has been stated before, was a
bachelor; but they had entered into his life in rather an odd fashion.
Alymer was the son of a beautiful girl with whom Jen had been
passionately in love, but she did not return his affection, and
married one of his brother officers, who was afterward killed in the
Ashantee war. On returning to England Jen cherished a hope that she
would reward his love by a second marriage, but the shock of her
husband's death proved too much for the fragile widow. She died within
a week after receiving the terrible news, and left behind her a
wailing infant, which was consigned to the cold charity of indifferent
relatives.
It was then that the major displayed the goodness of his heart and the
nobility of his character. Forgetting his own sorrows, he obtained
permission from the relatives to adopt the child, and to take charge
of the trifle of property coming to the lad. Then he bought
Sarbylands; set estate and house in order under the name "Ashantee,"
and devoted his life to cherishing and training the lad, in whose blue
eyes he saw a look of his dead love. This Platonic affection begotten
by the deathless memory of the one passion of his life, filled his
existence completely and rendered him entirely happy.
With regard to David Sarby, he had passed with the estate to Jen. The
boy's father, a libertine, a drunkard and a confirmed gambler, had
been forced, through his vices, to sell his ancestral home; and within
a year of the sale he had dissipated the purchase money in debauchery.
Afterward, like the sordid and pitiful coward he had always proved
himself to be, he committed suicide, leaving his only son, whose
mother had long since been worried into her grave, a pauper and an
orphan.
The collateral branches of the old Sarby family had died out; the
relatives on the mother's side refused to have anything to do with a
child who, if heredity went for anything, might prove to be a chip of
the old block; and little David might have found himself thrown on the
parish, but that Major Jen, pitying the forlorn condition of the
child, saved him from so ignominious a fate. His heart and his house
were large enough to receive another pensioner, so he took David back
to the old deserted mansion, and presented him to Maurice as a new
playfellow. Henceforth the two boys grew to manhood under the devoted
care of the cheerful old bachelor, who had protected their helpless
infancy.
The major was fairly well-to-do, having, besides his pension,
considerable private property, and he determined in the goodness of
his heart, that "the boys," as he fondly called them, should have
every advantage in starting life. He sent them both to Harrow, and
when they left that school, he called upon them to choose their
professions. Maurice, more of an athlete than a scholar, selected the
army, and the delighted major, who highly approved of his choice,
entered him at Sandhurst. Of a more reflective nature and studious
mind, David wished to become a lawyer, with a possible idea of ending
as Lord Chancellor; and accordingly his guardian sent him to Oxford.
Both lads proved themselves worthy of Jen's goodness, and were soon in
active exercise of the professions which they had chosen. Maurice
joined a cavalry regiment and David was admitted to the bar. Then the
major was thankful. His boys were provided for, and it only remained
that each should marry some charming girl, and bring their families to
gladden an old bachelor's heart at "Ashantee." The major had many day
dreams of this sort; but alas! they were destined never to be
fulfilled. In the summer of '95 Fate began her work of casting into
dire confusion the hitherto placid lives of the two young men.
Frequently the young barrister and the soldier came to visit their
guardian, for whom they both cherished a deep affection. On the
occasion of each visit Jen was accustomed to celebrate their presence
by a small festival, to which he would ask two or three friends. With
simple craft, the old man would invite also pretty girls, with their
mothers; in the hope that his lads might be lured into matrimony.
The major, owing to circumstances heretofore related, was a confirmed
bachelor, but he did not intend that his boys should follow so bad an
example. He wished Maurice to marry Miss Isabella Dallas, a charming
blonde from the West Indies; and David he designed as the husband of
Lady Meg Brance, daughter of Lord Seamere. But Jen was mistaken in
thinking that he could guide the erratic affections of youth, as will
hereafter be proved. Sure enough, the lads fell in love, but both with
the same woman, a state of things not anticipated by the major, who
was too simple to be a matchmaker.
On this special occasion, however, no ladies were present at the
little dinner, and besides Jen and his two boys. Dr. Etwald was the
only guest. About this man with the strange name there is something to
be said.
He was tall, he was thin, with a dark, lean face, and fiery watchful
dark eyes. For three years he had been wasting his talents in the
neighboring town of Deanminster; when, if intellect were in question,
he should have been shouldering his way above the crowd of
mediocrities in London. The man was dispassionate, brilliant and
persevering; he had in him the makings not only of a great physician,
but of a great man; and he was wasting his gifts in a dull provincial
town. He was unpopular in Deanminster, owing to the absence of what is
termed "a good bedside manner," and the invalids of the cathedral city
and Hurstleigh, for he had patients in both places, resented his
brusque ways and avoidance of their scandal-mongering tea parties.
Also he was a mystery; than which there can be no greater sin in
provincial eyes. No one knew who Etwald was, or whence he came, or why
he wasted his talents in the desert of Deanminster; and such secret
past which he declined to yield up to the most persistent questioner,
accentuated the distrust caused by his sombre looks and curt speeches.
Provincial society is intolerant of originality.
Etwald had become acquainted with Jen professionally, and having cured
the major of one of his frequent attacks of ague, he had passed from
being a mere medical attendant into the closer relationship of a
friend. The boys had met him once or twice, but neither of them cared
much for his sombre personality, and they were not overpleased to find
that the major had invited the man to meet them on the occasion of
this special dinner.
But Jen, good, simple soul, was rather taken with Etwald's mysticism,
and, moreover, pitied his loneliness. Therefore he welcomed this
intellectual pariah to his house and board; and on this fine June
evening Etwald was enjoying an excellent dinner in the company of
three cheerful companions.
Outside, the peaceful landscape was filled with a warm amber light,
and this poured into the oak-paneled dining-room through three French
windows which opened onto a close-shaven lawn. Dinner was at an end;
Jaggard, the major's valet, butler and general factotum, had placed
the wines before his master, and was now handing around cigars and
cigarettes. All being concluded to his satisfaction--no easy
attainment, for Jaggard, trained in military fashion, was very
precise--he departed, closing the door after him. The warm light of
the evening flashed on the polished table--Major Jen was sufficiently
old-fashioned to have the cloth removed for desert--and lighted up the
four faces around it with pale splendor. This quartette of
countenances is not unworthy of a detailed description.
Major Jen's calls for least. His face was round and red, with a
terrific blonde mustache fiercely curled. He had merry blue eyes,
sparse hair, more than touched with gray, and an expression of
good-humor which was the index to his character. Man, woman and child
trusted Jen on the spot, nor was it ever said that such trust was
misplaced. Even the most censorious could find no fault with the frank
and kindly major, and he had more friends and more pensioners and
fewer enemies than any man in the shire. Can any further explanation
be required of so simple and easily understood a character?
Lieutenant Maurice Alymer was also blonde, and also had blue eyes and
a jaunty mustache, somewhat smaller than his senior's. His hair was
yellow and curly, his features were boldly cut, and his six foot of
flesh and muscle was straight and lithe. Athlete was stamped strongly
on his appearance, and if not clever, he was at least sufficiently
good-looking and good-natured to make him almost as popular as the
major. Jen always maintained that Maurice was the living image of
himself when a dashing young officer, out in Ashantee; but as the good
major was considerably under the middle height and Maurice
considerably over it, this statement must be accepted with some
reserve. It passed as one of Jen's jokes, for a mild quality of which
he was noted.
The other two men had dark and strong faces, which differed entirely
from the Saxon simplicity and good looks of the major and Maurice.
David was clean-shaven and almost as swart as Etwald, and his
expression was that of a being with powerful passions, held in check
by sheer force of will. He was broad and strongly built; and his
smooth black hair, parted in the middle, was brushed carefully from a
bold and rather protuberant forehead. The young barrister was somewhat
of a dandy, but no one who once looked at his face thought of his
dress affectations or dapper appearance. They saw intellect, pride and
resolute will stamped upon the pale countenance. Men with such faces
end usually in greatness; and it seemed unlikely that David Sarby,
barrister and ambitious youth, would prove an exception to the rule.
Lastly Etwald. It is difficult to describe the indescribable. He was
austere in face, like Dante, with hollow cheeks, and a pallid hue
which told of midnight studies. If he had passions, they could not be
discerned in his features. Eye and mouth and general expression were
like a mask. What actually lay behind that mask no one ever knew, for
it was never off. His slightly hollow chest, his lean and nervous
hands, and a shock of rather long, curling hair, tossed from a high
forehead, gave Etwald the air of a student. But there was something
sinister and menacing in his regard. He looked dangerous and more than
a trifle uncanny. Physically, mentally, morally he was an enigma to
the bovine inhabitants of Deanminster and Hurstleigh.
Major Jen sustained the burden of conversation, for Maurice was
absent-minded, and David, physiognomically inclined, was silently
attempting to read the inscrutable countenance of Etwald. As for this
latter, he sat smoking, with his brilliant eyes steadily fixed upon
Maurice. The young man felt uneasy under the mesmeric gaze of the
doctor, and kept twisting and turning in his seat. Finally he broke
out impatiently in the midst of the major's babble, and asked Etwald a
direct question.
"Does my face remind you of anyone?" he demanded rather sharply.
"Yes, Mr. Alymer," replied Etwald, deliberately, "it reminds me of a
man who died."
"Dear me!" said Jen, with a sympathetic look.
"Was he a friend of yours, doctor?"
"Well, no, major, I can't say that he was. In fact," added Etwald,
with the air of a man making a simple statement, "I hated him!"
"I hope you don't hate me?" said Maurice, rather annoyed.
"No, Mr. Alymer, I don't hate you," replied the doctor, in a colorless
tone. "Do you believe in palmistry?" he asked, suddenly.
"No!" said Maurice, promptly,
"All rubbish!" added the major, selecting a fresh cigar.
"What do you say, Mr. Sarby?" asked Etwald, turning to the lawyer.
"I am a skeptic, also," said David, with a laugh. "And you?"
"I am a believer."
Here Etwald rose and crossed over to where Maurice was sitting. The
young man, guessing his errand, held out his left hand with a smile.
Etwald scrutinized it closely, and returned to his seat.
"Life in death!" he said calmly. "Read that riddle, Mr. Alymer. Life
in death."