NIGHT IN DEERING WOODS.
I had a twofold object in going to Glasserton. In the first place I
wished to see for myself the original record of the marriage in the
register book; in the second place I wished to obtain from the
registrar's servant, Jane Seebold, a description of the visitor she
allowed to remain in the office while her master was absent from the
house. It was evident that she had no knowledge of the purpose of the
visit which M. Bordier and his son Julian paid to the registrar in the
morning; and it was equally evident that the man who bribed her to
silence was the man who erased the signature. I had no doubt that it
was either M. Felix or Dr. Peterssen, who by this artful trick hoped
to pave the way to a doubt of the genuineness of Emilia's marriage
with Gerald Paget. The scoundrels had no idea that the copy of the
marriage certificate had been found, or that M. Bordier and his son
were in the village on the same day as themselves. All that they
wished to do was to make some provision for a possible contingency in
the future. If, as was very likely, they read the case in the
newspaper, they must have been confounded by the conviction that they
were hoist with their own petard. Another thing, I was now satisfied
that when I left Bob I had started on a true trail, despite the
knavish devices of Dr. Peterssen's tool, Crawley.
The walk through Deering Woods was a dreary one, but it would have
been much more dreary had it not been for Sophy, who was always
entertaining and original, and never more so than on the present
occasion. I let her partly into my confidence, and she was delighted
to know that she had been the direct means of throwing light on a
cruel injustice. We trudged along side by side, the most amicable and
agreeable of companions.
"It'll wake aunty tip when she 'ears everything," said Sophy. "She'll
think me good for something now."
"You are the best and brightest little girl in my acquaintance,
Sophy," I said.
"I didn't take _you_ in, did I?" she asked.
"No, indeed," I replied. "It was a lucky day for me when I first met
you."
"Not so lucky for you as for me," she said. "I've got a silver watch."
"It will turn into a gold one by the time you're a woman."
"Will it?" she exclaimed. "Shan't I be proud!"
About half way through the woods I saw the cliffs of which the
landlord's daughter had warned me. In the dark they would have been
dangerous indeed to one unfamiliar with them. At some time or other
there had been a great landslip, which had opened up a chasm of great
depth; in parts slight fences had been put up, but there were spaces
entirely unprotected, and I was thankful we had been warned of the
danger. It was half-past seven by my watch when we reached Glasserton,
and I had no difficulty in finding the registrar's house. He was at
home when I called, and did not receive me too cordially. He had been
upset by the trial, and it was with the greatest difficulty I
succeeded in obtaining a glance of the original entry of the marriage.
It was only by bribery and threats that I effected my purpose, and I
had to use extreme persuasion to induce him to grant me an interview
with Jane Seebold. I elicited very little from her in consequence of
the state of confusion she was in, but I was satisfied in my own mind
that it was M. Felix who had tampered with the book. From her
imperfect description of the man I judged that he must in some way
have disguised himself for the purpose of the visit, and I was
assisted to this conclusion partly by the height of her visitor, who
she said was not a tall man. Dr. Peterssen was not less than six feet,
and having to decide between him and M. Felix I decided unhesitatingly
in favor of the latter. The registrar had been in Glasserton but three
or four years, whereas Jane Seebold had been in it all her life, and I
learned from her that two of the three witnesses to the marriage, the
doctor and the old wagoner, had long been dead. At nine o'clock my
inquiries were ended, and Sophy and I started back for the inn.
"Tired, Sophy?" I asked.
"Not a bit," she answered, cheerfully, "I could walk all night."
Still we did not get along so fast as in the early part of the
evening; it would have been cruel to take unfair advantage of Sophy's
indomitable spirit; the girl would have walked till she dropped, and I
had some consideration for her. Therefore it was that we did not reach
the middle of Deering Woods till past ten, by which time the moon had
risen. When I was not talking to Sophy my mind was occupied by the
task upon which I had been engaged. Since my first introduction to the
Mystery of M. Felix a great deal had been accomplished. The mystery
has been practically solved, although the public were not yet in
possession of the facts. Emilia's agony was over, as I believed, for
my wildest dreams would not have compassed what was to occur during
the next few weeks; she had been fortunate in gaining a champion so
noble and generous as M. Bordier, and her daughter's happiness was
assured. I could understand now her anxiety as to M. Bordier's silence
since his discovery of the copy of the marriage certificate, and I
divined his reason for it. With a horror of publicity, and out of
regard for her, he did not wish her to become acquainted with his and
his son's arrest until he himself informed her of it, and he
entertained a hope that the report of the case would not get into the
London papers. I also now understood her anxious references to M.
Julian's state of health; they bore upon his failing sight, to restore
which he and his father had come to London. The young man had been
imprudent, but I trusted to Mr. Wordsworth's assurances that he could
make a cure of him if Julian would abide by his instructions. I had no
doubt, now that Emilia's good name was established, that Julian would
submit to the guidance of this eminent oculist, whose heart was as
kind as his skill was great.
So far, all was well, but I was not satisfied; I could not consider my
task accomplished till I had brought Dr. Peterssen and M. Felix to the
bar of justice and restored to Emilia's arms the husband she believed
she had lost in Switzerland.
Sophy broke in upon my musings.
"Is there a man in the moon?" she asked.
"They say so," I answered, lightly.
"I see 'is face," said Sophy, "as plain as plain can be."
We were near the fallen cliffs as these words passed between us, and
before I had time to utter another my attention was arrested by the
sound of a shot.
"What's that?" cried Sophy.
"A gun or pistol fired," I replied, "and not far off."
"I don't mean the firing," said Sophy, "I mean the scream. Didn't yer
'ear it?"
"No, Sophy, no scream reached my ears."
"It reached mine. I can 'ear anything, if it's in the next street."
"Was it after or before the shot?" I asked.
"About the same time, I think. They come both together."
"Let us go and see what it is, if you're not afraid."
"Me afraid," she said contemptuously, and she ran before me in the
direction from which the sounds had proceeded. We had not gone fifty
yards before we both stopped simultaneously, with an exclamation of
horror on our lips. On the ground before us lay the body of a man,
pressing his hand to his heart, from which the blood was flowing. He
struggled into a sitting posture, and was endeavoring to rise to his
feet, when he fell back with a groan, and moved no more.
I rushed to his side and bent over him.
"There has been murder done," I said. "He is dead."
"Yes," said Sophy in a low tone, as she stooped over the body. "He's
dead this time, and no mistake.
"Dead this time!" I repeated in wonder.
"Don't yer see who it is?" she asked. "It's Mr. Felix!"
M. Felix! This, then, was the end of the ill-spent life. The evil
record was thus suddenly snapped, and the man who was supposed to have
died in Gerard Street, Soho, on the night of the 16th of January, lay
dead before me in the lonely Deering Woods, his last breath but just
drawn.
"Are you sure, Sophy?"
"Ain't _you_ sure?"
"I cannot be. I never saw him in life."
"I can't be mistook. It's Mr. Felix--but oh, ain't it orfle! who could
'ave done it?"
"Who, Sophy? Who but his companion in crime, Dr. Peterssen?"
At this moment, from an unseen hand behind, Sophy was struck to the
ground. Her scream of pain was frozen on her lips, and she lay prone
before me.
"You infernal villain," I cried, and turned.
The moon was shining brightly, and by its light I saw the form of Dr.
Peterssen. In his upraised hands he held a heavy stake. I strove to
avoid the blow, and received it on my arm. Before I could recover
myself the stake was raised again, and again it descended upon me,
this time upon my head. The earth swam round. Again I was struck with
savage violence, and as I fell the last thing I saw was the moon with
a face in it which smiled upon me in the likeness of Dr. Peterssen.