DR. LYNCH.
Dr. Lynch struggled against a bad appearance. He had turned pale; he
was shaking in the knees; he did not look his torturer in the face.
He knew that all these things were against him. He had seen the woman
in the witness seats. Her presence alone had induced him to tell the
truth. She had been John Hungerford’s housekeeper, and she knew Tom
Lynch as well as she knew the three eminent trustees who had daily
visited the _millionnaire_ while he was in the throes of making his
will.
By the time the doctor was ready to answer the question relating to
his mother’s second husband, he had measured his surroundings; he had
weighed Mrs. Black, the housekeeper, and had apparently satisfied
himself that she could not turn the scale wholly against him. He had
sufficiently explained the reason for adopting a new name--a simple and
very satisfactory reason, it seemed to him. Dr. Lynch had decided what
course to pursue, and the decision had to a great extent restored his
self-possession. He looked around the room, and smiled. It was a rather
ghastly smile, and the doctor would have done better not to attempt it.
“Dr. Lynch, had you any personal interest in the marriage of Mr. Eugene
Hungerford?” continued Dick, when the sensation attending the last
answer of the witness had subsided.
“None whatever,” replied the doctor, promptly, and with an elasticity
in his tones which indicated his belief that all his troubles on the
stand were ended.
“If Mr. Hungerford should not marry, what effect would it have upon
you?”
“I suppose I should come into possession of one sixth part of the late
John Hungerford’s property,” answered the doctor, with a cheerful look.
“Have you, at any time, done anything to prevent his marriage--with
Miss Kingman, for instance?”
“On the contrary, I have always advised him to marry her, and done what
I could to remove certain objections on the part of his mother and his
sister.”
This was certainly true, and there was a strong reaction, even in
the mind of Eugene, in favor of the doctor. If the witness had been
selfishly bent on obtaining the fortune, he would certainly have done
what he could to prevent the marriage, which might, and probably
would, vitiate his individual claims. The face of the doctor now wore
an expression of triumph. He felt that he had nailed to the wall the
insinuation implied in the lawyer’s question.
The doctor had apparently made a point, and Dick had lost one.
The cross-examination was continued, and extended over about the same
ground as on the former occasion. The witness testified to the old
story about the baby, and the woman from Newington. He had paid them no
money; he had done nothing to cover up the truth. Other witnesses were
called; but nothing essentially different from the evidence given at
the examination was elicited; and at six o’clock the court adjourned.
Dr. Lynch, in spite of the point he had made, and in spite of the bold
face he had finally assumed on the stand, was nervous and agitated. It
was clear to him that he was walking among traps and pitfalls; that he
was liable to be tripped up at any moment. He could form no conjecture
of what was coming, for Dick Birch had carefully masked his battery,
and did not indicate what he intended to do.
“Well, Julia, Dick is beginning to unveil the machine he has been
building,” said Eugene, when the court adjourned.
“Do you believe that Dr. Bilks is Tom Lynch?”
“He swears to the fact.”
“What does it all mean?”
“Don’t you see?”
“I can see, but I cannot believe.”
Dick Birch joined them.
“Dick, Julia can see, but she cannot believe,” said Eugene.
“He who runs may read,” laughed Dick, in the best of humor. “Let us
walk over to the hotel.”
“Mr. Birch,” asked Julia, timidly, “do you attribute any bad motives to
Dr. Bilks?”
“To Dr. Lynch?”
“Dr. Lynch, if that is his name.”
“I do; the very worst of motives. In the course of this trial, if my
testimony is not ruled out, I shall prove enough to satisfy all what
the doctor is.”
“Don’t be too hard upon him, Dick,” added Julia, with a little of her
old playfulness towards him.
“I shall exhibit nothing but the truth.”
“What is the truth, Dick?” asked she.
“I would rather have others tell it.”
“I am under very great obligations to the doctor--I owe my life to
him,” added Julia. “I hope you will spare him as much as you can.”
“I cannot spare him at all; or rather he has not spared himself. If he
will speak the truth, I will be as gentle with him as possible.”
“That is all I ask.”
“If you will excuse me, Miss Hungerford, I think you had better remain
at home to-morrow.”
“Why, Mr. Birch?”
“You may hear something which will not be pleasant. As a friend of the
doctor, I think you had better not heal any more of the trial.”
“I thank you for your consideration. I will stay at home. But I would
rather know the worst. Your words are really quite terrible to me.
Won’t you tell me what you think the doctor’s motives were in coming
to Poppleton?” pleaded Julia, who could not resist the painful and
shocking conclusion that the demigod of Pine Hill was the cold,
calculating villain which Dick had described him to be.
“I am still under the shadow, Miss Hungerford,” replied Dick.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Eugene. “I protest against your shadows. I have
never ceased to trust you.”
“But your sister has.”
“I have not, Mr. Birch. I confess that I was vexed at what you said in
relation to me in the court. That is all.”
“I could have made Dr. Lynch say all that I said,” added Dick, blushing
and confused. “Nothing but regard for your feelings prevented me from
doing so.”
“You were very kind,” replied Julia, coloring crimson.
“By the way, Hungerford, Lowe told me last night how he happened to
press me so hard on my relations with your family,” continued Dick,
trying to laugh off his confusion.
“How was it?”
“The doctor suggested the idea to him.”
“Impossible!”
“Lowe says so; he begins to see through the doctor, which was the
reason why he told me of a fact he was asked to conceal. By the way,
Ross Kingman has not a better friend than Lowe in the county, though,
of course, he must do his duty.”
“The doctor suggested it?” repeated Julia.
“That is but a trifle, Miss Hungerford, compared with other things he
has done.”
“You have not answered my question yet, Mr. Birch. What were the
doctor’s motives?”
“In my opinion he intended to obtain one third of John Hungerford’s
money!”
“One third!”
“One sixth in his own right, one sixth in yours,” replied Dick.
“But he advised Eugene to marry Mary Kingman; and he overcame all my
mother’s and my own objections to the marriage.”
Mary had gone to the jail with Dr. Lynch to see Ross, or, of course,
this could not have been said.
“I do not know by what means he intended to effect his purpose; but I
am satisfied that I have correctly stated his design.”
“It is quite impossible, Mr. Birch,” persisted Julia. “He has labored
to bring about the very event which would deprive him of his own share
of my uncle’s property.”
Dick could not answer this obstinate objection to his belief. Here
was an obstacle to his theory which all his investigations could not
explain away. So there was a saving element which still redeemed the
doctor from condemnation. Julia went home almost convinced that Dick
Birch was again mistaken, and the crown was not yet wrested from the
head of the demigod.
The carriage was driven over to the jail for Mary. Dr. Lynch had
important business, which would detain him in Summerville for an hour,
but he would call at Pine Hill on his return. Eugene offered to wait,
but the doctor would ride back with a friend. The party left him,
and Dr. Lynch hastened to the hotel, where they had just parted with
Dick Birch. He wished to see the lawyer, and he did see him. Might he
beg the favor of half an hour’s private conversation with Dick, who,
feeling that he was now on the winning side, was magnanimous enough to
grant it. They took a private parlor up stairs.
“You have begun to thorn me again, Mr. Birch,” the doctor said, with a
smile.
“No; the truth begins to thorn you.”
“We used to be friends, Mr. Birch.”
“That was before I knew you.”
“You are harsh.”
“I am only just.”
“What do you intend to prove?”
“That’s my business.”
“You understand my position in Poppleton?”
“Perfectly.”
“You have already placed me in an awkward situation.”
“You placed yourself there.”
“I took my mother’s name, instead of my father’s, for the reason I
mentioned. That is not a very heinous sin; but it will create very
strong prejudices against me.”
“I know it.”
“Groundless prejudices.”
“No.”
“Why should I suffer for so trivial an offence? My name wrongs no man.
Lynch is an Irish name.”
“It has been naturalized.”
“The name injured me in my profession, and I was about to take the
proper legal steps to have it changed,” whined the doctor.
“Why did you come to Poppleton, Dr. Lynch?”
“Why?”
“That’s the question.”
“To practise my profession, of course.”
“You were doing remarkably well in Dayton.”
“Dayton?”
The doctor was quite sure he had never mentioned the name of this place
to the lawyer, or any other person in Poppleton.
“Dayton, Ohio,” added Dick. “You had a large practice there, and
everybody was surprised when you abandoned it.”
“The climate did not agree with my health,” replied the doctor, with a
ghastly smile. “I find it necessary to keep near the salt water.”
“Precisely so; and you chose Poppleton.”
“I liked the place. I went there, as you are aware, to spend a month in
the summer. The locality suited me, and I decided to settle.”
“Of course your decision had nothing to do with the fact that Eugene
Hungerford lived there?”
“None.”
“Wasn’t it a little singular you never mentioned the circumstance that
you were one of John Hungerford’s contingent legatees?”
“I deemed it best not to mention the fact; it might have bred
suspicion, and deprived me of the good will of Mr. Hungerford and the
family. I have done what I could to serve them.”
“You have done well for them; you saved Julia’s life, Dr. Lynch. She is
lost to me, but I am unselfish enough to be grateful for this, though
you may have done it for your own purposes.”
“It was not for me to save her; God only could do that.”
“None of that, if you please. When the devil quotes Scripture, I am not
one of his congregation. No cant.”
“I only intended to say that I did what any physician should have
done. No human hand could have saved her; though I think her life was
preserved by careful nursing, and, if you please, skilful medical
attendance.”
“I believe it; and I am willing to grant that she owes her life to you.”
“But you say I labored for my own purposes.”
“In a word, you intend to marry her.”
“I have never spoken to her on that subject. I will not deny that I
cherish a very warm regard for her; and herein I have crossed your
path, and excited your wrath against me.”
“I have nothing to say upon that point. The lady shall speak for
herself. On account of what you have done for her, I am disposed
to let you down as easily as possible, consistently with truth and
justice.”
“Let me down?” said the doctor, curiously.
“If you will confess your agency in the events which have transpired in
connection with the murder of Buckstone, I will do all that I can to
save you from disagreeable consequences, and even to protect your good
name,” said Dick, in a serious tone.
“Confess?”
“Why do you repeat my words after me? You know what I mean?”
“I have nothing to confess,” replied Dr. Lynch; but awful forebodings
were apparently creeping through his mind.
“If you have not, let us waste no more time.”
Dick rose from his chair, as if to terminate the interview.
“What could I have to confess?”
“First, that you sent for Buckstone, and that you went over to the
island with him.”
“But I did not.”
“We waste time; I have business with Mr. Darling to-night. You must
excuse me if I decline to say anything more about it.”
“Don’t be harsh, Mr. Birch.”
“I am not harsh. Confess, and I will spare you as much as I can.”
“I have nothing to confess. You are laboring under some mistake, Mr.
Birch.”
“Perhaps I am,” sneered Dick. “To-morrow will show whether I am or not.”
“To-morrow?”
“Don’t repeat my words, doctor.”
“You threaten me.”
“Did I seek this interview, or did you?”
“I did, of course, and I am grateful to you for your kindness in
granting it.”
“What do you want of me?” demanded Dick, impatiently.
“I wished merely to explain the matter about the name.”
“Well, you have done so.”
“But that opened other matters.”
“I do not wish to say another word. I prefer to let the trial take its
course. For your sake, I proposed that you should make a clean breast
of it.”
“Why for my sake?”
“Because we may be able to temper the facts so that they will not bear
so hard upon you.”
“What facts?”
“All the facts.”
“Mr. Birch, you assume that I have not told the truth.”
“I distinctly say that you have not.”
“That I have perjured myself?”
“You have.”
“Very well, Mr. Birch; and I thank you for your candor in stating just
what you mean. Now, grant for a moment that I have been base enough to
falsify the truth--assume it for a moment.”
“Assume it for a moment,” repeated Dick, with a significant smile.
“Should you expect a man who had made and sworn to certain statements,
to retract them, merely upon your invitation to do so?”
“Not unless he were to obtain some advantage by doing so.”
“Precisely, Mr. Birch. Now, assuming still that I have not told the
truth, what advantage should I gain by retracting?”
“Now I understand you, Dr. Lynch; and I am ready to meet your views.”
“Of course we only assume that I have not told the truth.”
“Of course; but I shall take the liberty to answer your question just
as though it were an actual state of things. What are you to gain?”
“What should I gain, if the case were real, instead of supposed?”
“Not much, perhaps. I must be vindicated; therefore you must confess,
on the stand, that you were the person with Buckstone just before he
was killed.”
“That would ruin me.”
“It will ruin me if you don’t. If you were there for a good purpose, it
will not injure you any more than it has me.”
“I should gain nothing by this.”
“If you tell the whole truth, voluntarily, you will gain much in
the estimation of honest men. And the lawyers will spare you. All
this matter is really foreign to Ross Kingman’s case. It has nothing
whatever to do with it.”
“Why was it brought in, then?”
“Because the person with Buckstone is an important witness. If I had
testified that I was the man, I should simply have been required to
tell what I knew of the murder. If I had known nothing, that would have
been the end. If you were the stranger, you can tell what you know
about it. If it implicates you in the murder, you need not criminate
yourself.”
“We are only assuming a case,” interposed the doctor.
“Certainly--if you please.”
“What questions would be asked of me?”
“Were you the person with Buckstone?”
“I was,” replied the doctor, with a sickly smile. “Let us suppose we
are in court; I am on the stand, and you are Mr. Lowe.”
“Did you see the murder committed?”
“I did not.”
“Did you know a murder had been committed?”
“I did. Of course you understand, Mr. Birch, that we are merely
supposing a case.”
“What did you do?”
“I went down to the cliff in the boat, and found the body.”
“Was life extinct?”
“It was.”
“What did you do with the body?”
“I took it back to the beach.”
“Did you remove the head?”
“I did.”
Dick Birch began to be very much excited, when the doctor again called
his attention to the fact that they were merely supposing a case.
“Why did you remove the head?” continued Dick.
“I wanted it for dissection. One of my patients was sick with brain
fever, and I wished to study the case with a real brain.”
“Did you dissect it?”
“I did.”
“Where?”
“In my office, that night.”
“Where is the head now?”
“I have the skull.”
“Who was your patient?”
“Mr. John Dunbar.”
So far the case was real, for such a person had been sick with brain
fever at the time.
“What did you do with the body?”
“Sunk it in the channel, as the witnesses have described.”
“For what purpose?”
“That I might reclaim it for dissection. I spoke about a ‘subject’ to
Dr. White, and invited him to assist me; but I had no opportunity to
recover the body before it was found by the sheriff.”
“When did you make the acquaintance of Mr. Buckstone?”
“I never saw him till after dark on the night he was murdered.”
“Did you send for him?”
“I did.”
“Did you write the letter signed Richard Birch?”
“I did.”
“Where did you get the old envelope?”
“Am I to answer all these questions in court?” demanded the doctor.
“No, not all of them; in fact, not many of them.”
“Why do you put them, then?”
“Because I wish to know how the affair was managed.”
“We are only supposing a case,” added Dr. Lynch, with a hideous grin.
“Very well; let us go on supposing the case a little longer. Where did
you get the old envelope?”
“It is hardly necessary to be so minute.”
“Quite necessary; answer, if you please.”
“I found it on the body.”
“Where did you write the letter with the signature of Mr. Birch?”
“In my office. I went up with the head, and wrote the letter. On my
return, I threw away the original letter, and put the one I had written
in its place.”
“Then you intended that Mr. Birch should be compromised?”
“I did.”
“You intended to recover the body, but you prepared it to be found by
others.”
“I was afraid it would be found.”
“Why did you intend to implicate Mr. Birch?”
“There was good reason why he should be with Buckstone--there was none
to explain why I should be his companion.”
“Why did you send for him?”
“I will not answer another question!” exclaimed Dr. Lynch. “I have been
a fool.”
“We were only supposing a case.”
“We have supposed enough, until you can satisfy me what I am to gain by
supposing more.”
“Are you willing to answer the questions up to the point where you
secured the body for dissection.”
“No; the friends of Buckstone, if he has any, would murder me for what
I did.”
“It was in the cause of humane science. For aught we know, you saved
Mr. Dunbar’s life by dissecting that head.”
“I think I did; but a man’s friends would not consider this a good
excuse for dissecting his brain.”
“Perhaps you are right; and as no truth or principle will be
sacrificed, we had better keep these facts out of the case. Besides,
what doctors do in the cause of science and humanity is hardly a fit
theme for public comment. In a great murder case, within my knowledge,
some of the strongest evidence in regard to the identification of the
victim was withheld to spare the feelings of a witness, and to avoid
low remarks in public. It is a safe precedent, and I think Mr. Lowe
will consent to keep this evidence out of court, especially as it
proves nothing. It was wrong in you to mutilate the corpse; but to
expose you would do a greater wrong by lacerating the feelings of the
dead man’s friends, if they should hear of it, and by outraging the
delicacy of the community generally. Pass this by; we will arrange it
by and by.”
“Is the suppression of this evidence all I am to gain?” asked the
doctor.
“No; here is the deposition of Sandy McGuire,” replied Dick, taking
the document from his pocket. “I shall rebut your evidence with it, if
necessary, and prove that ‘Dr. Bilks’s baby’ was a myth. You will save
this.”
“My God!” groaned the doctor.
“You will be proved to be a liar in all this story.”
“Where did you get this?”
“It was done in due form, you perceive, before a magistrate, and has
the seal of a commissioner for this state in New York upon it. Sandy
McGuire spent and lost all the money you paid him, and then got into a
fight, killed his man, and was sent to the state prison for life. I was
in New York city at the time, looking up Buckstone’s affairs. I went
to him; did what I could for him. As his money was all gone, he had no
incentive to keep your secret any longer. Here is the whole truth in
this paper; and I can support it with other witnesses. Unless you make
it necessary, the document need not be used.”
Dr. Lynch paced the room in violent agitation. This time he was
defeated. It was useless to contend. Dick had him in his toils.
“One thing more, doctor; I have the original letter which I wrote to
Buckstone, and which you threw away upon the beach.”
“I threw it overboard with a stone in it.”
“It was found on the rocks, by a witness who will testify to the fact,
if called upon.”
“Mr. Birch, I am in your power. Do with me as you will,” groaned the
doctor. “I will confess whatever you say.”
“Confess the truth. I have three or four letters written by you to
Buckstone.”
“Spare me, if you can! Let me leave the town at once.”
“No; now sit down, and write a full confession of your agency in the
affair; tell the whole truth; and I pledge you my honor, that, beyond
the simple facts necessary to vindicate my good name, none of it shall
be made public.”
Dr. Lynch sat down at the table, and commenced writing, and Dick went
down to his supper.