NEMESIS.
"Mr. Brierly, are you strong enough to bear a second shock? I must
confer with you before--before we remove the body."
It was Doctor Barnes who thus addressed Robert Brierly, who, after the
first sight of the outstretched figure upon the lake shore, and the
first shock of horror and anguish, had turned away from the group
hovering about the doctor, as he knelt beside the dead, to face his
grief alone.
Doctor Barnes, besides being a skilled physician, possessed three other
qualities necessary to a successful career in medicine--he was prompt to
act, practical and humane.
Robert Brierly was leaning against a tall tree, his back toward that
group by the water's edge, and his face pressed against the tree's
rugged trunk. He lifted his head as the doctor spoke, and turned a
white, set face toward him. The look in his dark eyes was assurance
sufficient that he was ready to listen and still able to manfully endure
another blow.
The two men moved a few steps away, and then the doctor said:
"I must be brief. You know, do you not, the theory, that of these men,
as to the cause of this calamity?"
"It was an accident, of course."
"They make it that, or suicide."
"Never! Impossible! My brother was a God-fearing man, a happy man."
"Still, there is a bullet-hole just where self-inflicted wounds are
oftenest made."
Brierly groaned aloud. "Still," he persisted, "I will never believe it."
"You need not." Doctor Barnes sank his voice to a yet lower pitch. "Mr.
Brierly, there is a second bullet-wound in the back!"
"The back! And that means----"
"It means murder, without a doubt. No huntsman could so mistake his mark
in this open woodland, along the lake. Besides, hunting is not allowed
so near the village. Wait," as the young man was about to speak, "we
have no time to discuss motives now, or the possible assassin. What I
wish to know is, do you want this fact known now--at once?"
"I--I fear I don't understand. Would you have my brother's name----"
"Stop, man! Knowing that these men have already jumped at a theory, the
thought occurred to me that the work of the officers might be made
easier if we let the theory of accident stand."
He broke off, looking keenly at the other. He was a good judge of faces,
and in that of Robert Brierly he had not been deceived.
The young man's form grew suddenly erect and tense, his eye keen and
resolute.
"You are right!" he said, with sudden energy, as he caught at the
other's hand. "They must not be enlightened yet."
"Then, the sooner we are back where we can guard this secret, the safer
it will be. Come. This is hard for you, Mr. Brierly, I know, and I could
say much. But words, no matter how sincerely sympathetic, cannot lighten
such a blow as this. I admire your strength, your fortitude, under such
a shock. Will you let me add that any service I can render as physician,
as man, or as friend, is yours for the asking?"
The doctor hesitated a moment, then held out his hand, and the four
watchers beside the body exchanged quick glances of surprise upon seeing
the two men grasp hands, silently and with solemn faces, and then turn,
still silently, back to the place where the body lay.
"Don't touch that pistol, Doran," the doctor spoke, in his capacity of
coroner.
"Certainly not, Doc. I wanted to feel, if I could, whether those side
chambers had been discharged or not. You see," he added, rising to his
feet, "when we saw this, we knew what we had to do, and it has been
'hands off.' We've only used our eyes so far forth."
"And that I wish to do now with more calmness," said Robert Brierly,
coming close to the body and kneeling beside it.
It lay less than six feet from the very water's edge, the body of a
tall, slender young man, with a delicate, high-bred face that had been
fair when living, and was now marble-white, save for the blood-stains
upon the right temple, where the bullet had entered. The hair, of that
soft blonde colour, seen oftenest upon the heads of children, and rarely
upon adults, was thick and fine, and long enough to frame the handsome
face in close half rings that no barber's skill could ever subdue or
make straight. The hands were long, slender, and soft as a woman's; the
feet small and arched, and the form beneath the loose outlines of the
blue flannel fatigue suit in which it was clad, while slender and full
of grace, was well built and not lacking in muscle.
It lay as it had fallen, upon its side, and with one arm thrown out and
one limb, the left, drawn up. Not far from the outstretched right arm
and hand lay the pistol, a six-shooter, which the brother at once
recognised, with two of the six chambers empty, a fact which Mr. Doran
had just discovered, and was now holding in reserve.
The doctor, upon his discovery of the second bullet-wound, had at once
flung his own handkerchief over the prostrate head, and called for the
carriage robe from his own phaeton, which, fortunately for the wind and
legs of the black pony, had stood ready at his office door, and was now
in waiting, the horse tethered to a tree at the edge of the wood not far
away.
This lap robe Robert Brierly reverently drew away as he knelt beside the
still form, and thus, for some moments remained, turning his gaze from
right to left, from the great tree which grew close at the motionless
feet, and between the group and the water's edge, its branches spreading
out above them and forming a canopy over the body to a dead stump some
distance away, where a small target leaned, its rings of white and black
and red showing how often a steady hand had sent the ball, close and
closer, until the bull's eye was pierced at last.
No word was uttered as he knelt there, and before he arose he placed a
hand upon the dead man's shoulder with an impulsive caressing motion,
and bending down, kissed the cold temple just above the crimson
death-mark. Then, slowly, reverently, he drew the covering once more
over the body and arose.
"That was a vow," he said to the doctor, who stood close beside him.
"Where is--ah!" He turned toward the group of men who, when he knelt,
had withdrawn to a respectful distance.
"Which of you suggested that he had fallen--tripped?"
Doran came forward and silently pointed to the foot of the tree, where,
trailing across the grass, and past the dead man's feet, was a tendril
of wild ivy entangled and broken.
"Oh!" exclaimed Brierly. "You saw that too?"
"It was the first thing I did see," said the other, coming to his side,
"when I looked about me. It's a very clear case, Mr. Brierly.
Target-shooting has been quite a pastime here lately. And see! There
couldn't be a better place to stand and shoot at that target, than right
against that tree, braced against it. It's the right distance and all.
He must have stood there, and when he hit the bull's eye, he made a
quick forward step, caught his foot in that vine and tripped. A man will
naturally throw out his arm in falling so, especially the right one,
and in doing that, somehow as he lunged forward it happened."
"Yes," murmured Brierly, "it is a very simple theory. It--it might have
happened so."
"There wasn't any other way it could happen," muttered one of Doran's
companions. And at that moment the wheels of an approaching vehicle were
heard, and all turned to look toward the long black hearse, divested of
its plumes, and with two or three thick blankets upon its velvet floor.
It was the doctor who superintended the lifting of the body, keeping the
head covered, and when the hearse drove slowly away with its pathetic
burden, he turned to Doran.
"I'll drive Mr. Brierly back to town, Doran," he said, "if you don't
mind taking his wheel in charge;" and scarcely waiting for Doran's
willing assent, he took Richard Brierly's arm and led him toward his
phaeton.
The young man had picked up his brother's hat, as they lifted the body
from the ground, and he now carried it in his hand, laying it gently
upon his knees as he took his seat.
When the doctor had taken his place and picked up the reins he leaned
out and looked about him. Two or three horsemen were riding into the
wood toward them, and a carriage had halted at the side of the road,
while a group of schoolboys, headed by Johnny, the bell ringer, were
hurrying down the slope toward the water's edge.
"They're beginning to gather," the physician said, grimly. "Well, it's
human nature, and your brother had a host of friends, Mr. Brierly."
Robert Brierly set his lips and averted his face for a moment.
"Doran," called the doctor. "Come here, will you."
Doran, who had begun to push the shining wheel up the slope, placed it
carefully against a tree and came toward them, the doctor meanwhile
turning to Brierly.
"Mr. Brierly, you are a stranger here. Will you let me arrange for you?"
The other nodded, and then said huskily: "But it hurts to take him to an
undertaker's!"
"He shall not be taken there," and the doctor turned to Doran, now
standing at the wheel.
"Mr. Doran, will you take my keys and ride ahead as fast as possible?
Tell the undertaker, as you pass, to drive to my house. Then go on and
open it. We will put the body in the private office. Do not remonstrate,
Mr. Brierly. It is only what I would wish another to do for me and mine
in a like affliction." And this was the rule by which this man lived his
life, and because of which death had no terrors.
"I am a bachelor, you must know," the doctor said, as they drove slowly
in the wake of the hearse. "And I have made my home and established my
office in a cosy cottage near the village proper. It will save you the
ordeal of strange eyes, and many questions, perhaps, if you will be my
guest for a day or two, at least."
Robert Brierly turned and looked this friend in need full in the face
for a moment; then he lifted his hand to brush a sudden moisture from
his eye.
"I accept all your kindness," he said, huskily, "for I see that you are
as sincere as you are kind."
When the body of Charles Brierly had been carried in and placed as it
must remain until the inquest was at an end, and when the crowd of
sorrowing, anxious and curious people had dispersed, the doctor, who was
masterful at need, making Doran his lieutenant, arranged for the
securing of a jury; and, after giving some quiet instructions, sent him
away, saying:
"Tell the people it is not yet determined how or when we shall hold the
inquiry. Miss Grant, who must be a witness, will hardly be able to
appear at once, I fear," for, after looking to his guest's bodily
comfort, the doctor had left him to be alone with his grief for a little
while, and had paid a flying visit to Hilda Grant, who lived nearly
three blocks away.
When at length the little house was quiet, and when the doctor and his
heavy-hearted companion had made a pretence of partaking of luncheon,
the former, having shut and locked the door upon the elderly African who
served him, drew his chair close to that of his guest, and said:
"Are you willing to take counsel with me, Mr. Brierly? And are you quite
fit and ready to talk about what is most important?"
"I am most anxious for your advice, and for information."
"Then, let us lose no time; there is much to be done."
"Doctor," Robert Brierly bent toward the other and placed a hand upon
his knee. "There are emergencies which bring men together and reveal
them, each to each, in a flash, as it were. I cannot feel that you know
me really; but I know you, and would trust you with my dearest
possession, or my most dangerous secret. You will be frank with me, I
know, if you speak at all; and I want you to tell me something."
"What is it?"
"You have told me how, in your opinion, my poor brother really met his
death. Will you put yourself in my place, and tell me how you would act
in this horrible emergency? What is the first thing you would do?"
The doctor's answer came after a moment's grave thought.
"I am, I think, a Christian," he said, gravely, "but I think--bah! I
know that I would make my life's work to find out the truth about that
murder, for that it was a murder, I solemnly believe."