The up-train from Holyhead was a few minutes behind time at Chester,
and the travellers who awaited its arrival manifested that mixture of
impatience and anxiety which in our railroad age is inseparable from all
delay. One stranger, however, displayed a more than ordinary eagerness
for its coming, and compared the time of his watch repeatedly with the
clock of the station.
At length from the far-away distance the wild scream of the engine was
heard, and with many a cranking clash and many a heavy sob the vast
machine swept smoothly in beneath the vaulted roof. As the stranger
moved forward to take his place, he stopped to hear a few words that met
his ear. It was a railroad official said: “Mr. Davenport Dunn delayed
us about a quarter of an hour; he wanted to give a look at the new
pier, but we have nearly made it up already.” “All right!” replied the
station-master. The stranger now moved on till he came in front of a
coupé carriage, whose window-blinds rigidly drawn down excluded all
view from without. For an instant he seemed to fumble at the door, in
an endeavor to open it, but was speedily interrupted by a guard calling
out, “Not there, sir,--that's a private carriage;” and thus warned,
the traveller entered another lower down the line. There were two other
travellers in the same compartment, apparently strangers to each other.
As the stranger with whom we are immediately concerned took his place,
he slipped into his pocket a small latch-key, of which, in the
very brief attempt to try the door of the private carriage, he had
successfully proved the utility, and, drawing his rug across his knees,
lay calmly back.
“Here we are, detained again,” grumbled out one of the travellers. “I
say, guard, what is it now?”
“Waiting for a telegram for Mr. Davenport Dunn, sir. There it comes! all
right” A low bell rings out, a wild screech following, and with many a
clank and shock the dusky monster sets out once more.
“Public convenience should scarcely be sacrificed in this manner,”
grumbled out the former speaker. “What is this Mr. Dunn to you or to me
that we should be delayed for his good pleasure?”
“I am afraid, sir,” replied the other, whose dress and manner bespoke a
clergyman, “that we live in an age when wealth is all-powerful, and its
possessors dictate the law to all poorer than themselves.”
“And can you tell me of any age when it was otherwise?” broke in the
last arrival, with a half-rude chuckle. “It's all very fine to lay the
whole blame of this, that, and t' other to the peculiar degeneracy
of our own time; but my notion is, the world grows neither worse nor
better.” There was that amount of defiance in the tone of the speaker
that seemed to warn his companions, for they each of them maintained
a strict silence. Not so with him; he talked away glibly about the
influence of money, pretty plainly intimating that, as nobody ever met
the man who was indifferent to its possession, the abuse showered upon
riches was nothing but cant and humbug. “Look at the parsons,” said he;
“they tell you it is all dross and rubbish, and yet they make it the
test of your sincerity whenever they preach a charity sermon. Look at
the lawyers, and they own that it is the only measure they know by which
to recompense an injury; then take the doctors, and you 'll see that
their humanity has its price, and the good Samaritan charges a guinea a
visit.”
The individuals to whom these words were addressed made no reply;
indeed, there was a tone of confident assumption in the speaker that was
far from inviting converse, and now a silence ensued on all sides.
“Do either of you gentlemen object to tobacco?” said the last speaker,
after a pause of some duration; and at the same time, without waiting
for the reply, he produced a cigar-case from his pocket, and began
deliberately to strike a light.
“I am sorry to say, sir,” responded the clergyman, “that smoking
disagrees with me, and I cannot accustom myself to endure the smell of
tobacco.”
“All habit,” rejoined the other, as he lighted his cigar. “I was that
way myself for years, and might have remained so, too, but that I saw
the distress and inconvenience I occasioned to many jolly fellows who
loved their pipe; and so I overcame my foolish prejudices, and even took
to the weed myself.”
The other travellers muttered some low words of dissatisfaction; and the
clergyman, opening the window, looked out, apparently in search of the
guard.
“It's only a cheroot, and a prime one,” said the smoker, coolly; “and as
you object, I 'll not light another.”
“A vast condescension on your part, sir, seeing that we have already
signified our dislike to tobacco,” said the lay traveller.
“I did not remark that _you_ gave any opinion at all,” said the smoker;
“and my vast condescension, as you term it, is entirely in favor of this
gentleman.”
There was no mistaking the provocation of this speech, rendered actually
insulting by the mode in which it was delivered; and the traveller to
whom it was addressed, enveloping himself in his cloak, sat moodily
back, without a word. The train soon halted for a few seconds; and,
brief as was the interval, this traveller employed it to spring from his
place and seek a refuge elsewhere,--a dexterous manouvre which seemed
to excite the envy of the parson, now left alone with his uncongenial
companion. The man of peace, however, made the best of it, and, drawing
his travelling-cap over his eyes, resolved himself to sleep. For a
considerable while the other sat still, calmly watching him; and at
last, when perfectly assured that the slumber was not counterfeited, he
gently arose, and drew the curtain across the lamp in the roof of the
carriage. A dim, half-lurid light succeeded, and by this uncertain glare
the stranger proceeded to make various changes in his appearance. A
large bushy wig of black hair was first discarded, with heavy eyebrows,
and whiskers to match; an immense overcoat was taken off, so heavily
padded and stuffed that when denuded of it the wearer seemed half his
size; large heels were unscrewed from his boots, reducing his height
by full a couple of inches; till, at length, in place of a large,
unwieldy-looking man of sixty, lumbering and beetle-browed, there came
forth a short, thick-set figure, with red hair and beard, twinkling eyes
of a fierce gray, and a mouth the very type of unflinching resolution.
Producing a small looking-glass, he combed and arranged his whiskers
carefully, re-tied his cravat, and bestowed a most minute scrutiny on
his appearance, muttering, as he finished, to himself, “Ay, Kit, you 're
more like yourself now!” It is, perhaps, unnecessary to say this speech
was addressed to our acquaintance Grog Davis, nor was it altogether what
is called a “French compliment;” he _did_ look terribly like himself.
There was in his hard, stern face, his pinched-up eyes, and his puckered
mouth, an amount of resolute vigor that showed he was on the eve of some
hazardous enterprise. His toilet completed, he felt in his breastpocket,
to assure himself that something there was not missing; and then, taking
out his watch, he consulted the time. He had scarcely time to replace
it in his pocket, when the train entered a deep cutting between two high
banks of clay. It was, apparently, the spot he had waited for; and in
an instant he had unfastened the door by his latch-key, and stood on the
ledge outside. One more look within to assure himself that the other was
still asleep, and he closed the door, and locked it.
The night was dark as pitch, and a thin soft rain was falling, as Davis,
with a rapidity that showed this was no first essay in such a walk,
glided along from carriage to carriage, till he reached a heavy luggage
van, immediately beyond which was the _coupé_ of Mr. Davenport Dunn.
The brief prayer that good men utter ere they rush upon an enterprise
of deadly peril must have its representative in some shape or other with
those whose hearts are callous. Nature will have her due; and in that
short interval--the bridge between two worlds--the worst must surely
experience intense emotion. Whatever those of Davis, they were of the
briefest. In another second he was at the door of Dunn's carriage, his
eyes glaring beneath the drawn-down blind, where, by a narrow slip of
light, he could detect a figure busily employed in writing. So bent was
he on mastering every portion and detail of the arrangement within, that
he actually crept around till he reached the front windows, and could
plainly see the whole _coupé_ lighted up brilliantly with wax candles.
Surrounded with papers and letters and despatch-boxes, the man of
business labored away as though in his office, every appliance for
refreshment beside him. These Davis noted well, remarking the pistols
that hung between the windows, and a bell-pull quite close to the
writing-table. This latter passed through the roof of the carriage,
and was evidently intended to signalize the guard when wanted. Before
another minute had elapsed Davis had cut off this communication, and,
knotting the string outside, still suffered it to hang down within as
before.
All that _precaution_ could demand was now done; the remainder must be
decided by _action_. Noiselessly introducing the latch-key, Davis turned
the lock, and, opening the door, stepped inside. Dunn started as the
door banged, and there beheld him. To ring and summon the guard was the
quick impulse of his ready wit; but when the bell-rope came down as
he pulled it, the whole truth flashed across him that all had been
concerted and plotted carefully.
“Never mind your pistols. I'm armed too,” said Davis, coolly. “If it was
your life I wanted, I could have taken it easily enough at any minute
during the last ten or twelve.”
“What do you mean, then, sir, by this violence? By what right do you
dare to enter here?” cried Dunn, passionately.
“There has been no great violence up to this,” said Davis, with a grin.
“As to my right to be here, we'll talk about that presently. You know
_me_, I believe?”
“I want to know why you are here,” cried Dunn, again.
“And so you shall; but, first of all, no treachery. Deal fairly, and a
very few minutes will settle all business between us.”
“There is no business to be settled between us,” said Dunn, haughtily,
“except the insolence of your intrusion here, and for that you shall pay
dearly.”
“Don't try bluster with me, man,” said Grog, contemptuously. “If you
just stood as high in integrity as I know you to stand low in knavery,
it would n't serve you. I've braved pluckier fellows than ever you
were.”
With a sudden jerk Dunn let down the window; but Grog's iron grip held
him down in his place, as he said sternly, “I 'll not stand nonsense.
I have come here for a purpose, and I 'll not leave it till it's
accomplished. You know _me_.”
“I do know you,” said Dunn, with an insolent irony.
“And I know _you_. Hankes--Simmy Hankes--has told me a thing or two; but
the world will soon be as wise as either of us.”
Dunn's face became deadly pale, and, in a voice broken And faint, he
said, “What do you mean? What has Hankes said?”
“All,--everything. Why, bless your heart, man, it was no secret to me
that you were cheating, the only mystery was _how_ you did the trick;
now Hankes has shown me that. I know it all now. You had n't so many
trumps in your hand, but you played them twice over,--that was the
way you won the game. But that's no affair of mine. 'Rook' them all
round,--only don't 'try it on' with Kit Davis! What brought me here is
this: _my_ daughter is married to Annesley Beecher that was, the now
Viscount Lackington; there's another fellow about to contest the title
and the estates. _You_ know all about his claim and his chances, and you
can, they tell me, make it all 'snag' to either party. Now, I 'm here to
treat with you. How much shall it be? There's no use in going about the
bush,--how much shall it be?”
“I can be of no use to you in this business,” said Dunn, hesitatingly;
“the papers are not in my keeping. Conway's suit is in the hands of the
first men at the bar--”
“I know all that, and I know, besides, you have an appointment with
Fordyce at Calvert's Hotel, to arrange the whole matter; so go in at
once, and be on the square with me. Who has these papers? Where are
they?”
Dunn started at the sudden tone of the question, and then his eyes
turned as quickly towards a brass-bound despatch-box at the bottom of
the carriage. If the glance was of the speediest, it yet had not escaped
the intense watchfulness of Davis, who now reiterated his question of
“Where are they?”
“If you 'd come to me after my interview with Fordyce,” said Dunn, with
a slow deliberation, as though giving the matter a full reflection, “I
think we might hit upon something together.”
“To be sure, we might,” said Grog, laughing; “there 's only one obstacle
to that pleasant arrangement,--that I should find an inspector and two
constables of the police ready waiting for my visit. No, Master Dunn,
what we 're to do we 'll do _here_ and _now_.”
“You appear to measure all men by your own standard, sir,” said Dunn,
indignantly; “and let me tell you that in point of honor it is a scant
one.”
“We're neither of us fit for a grenadier-company of integrity, that's a
fact, Dunn; but, upon my solemn oath, I believe I 'm the best man of the
two. But what's the use of this 'chaff'? I have heard from Hankes how it
stands about that Irish estate you pretended to buy for the late
Lord, and never paid for. Now you want to stand all square upon that,
naturally enough; it is a pot of money,--seven-and-thirty thousand
pounds. Don't you see, old fellow, I have the whole story all correct
and clear; so once more, do be business-like, and say what's your
figure,--how much?”
Again did Dunn's eyes revert to the box at his feet, but it was
difficult to say whether intentionally or not Davis, however, never
ceased to watch their gaze; and when Dunn, becoming suddenly conscious
of the scrutiny, grew slightly red, Grog chuckled to himself and
muttered, “You're no match for Kit Davis, deep as you are.”
“Until we learn to repose some trust in each other, sir,” said Dunn,
whose confusion still continued, “all dealing together is useless.”
“Well, if you mean by that,” retorted Davis, “that you and I are going
to start for a ten years' friendship, I declare off, and say it's no
match. I told you what brought me here, and now I want _you_ to say how
I 'm to go back again. Where are these same papers?--answer me that.”
“Some are in the hands of Conway's lawyers; some are in the Crimea,
carded away surreptitiously by a person who was once in my confidence;
some are, I suspect, in the keeping of Conway's mother, in Wales--”
“And some are locked up in that red box there,” said Grog, with a
defiant look.
“Not one. I can swear by all that is most solemn and awful there's not a
document there that concerns the cause.” As Dunn spoke these words, his
voice trembled with intense agitation, and he grew sickly pale.
“What if I wouldn't believe you on your oath?” broke in Grog, whose keen
eyes seemed actually to pierce the other's secret thoughts. “It was n't
to-day, or yesterday, that you and _I_ learned how to dodge an oath.
Open that box there; I 'll have a look through it for myself.”
“That you never shall,” said Dunn, fiercely, as he grasped the bundle of
keys that lay before him and placed them in his breast-pocket.
“Come, I like your pluck, Dunn, though it won't serve your turn this
time. I 'll either see that box opened before me now, or I'll carry it
off with me,--which shall it be?”
“Neither, by Heaven!” cried Dunn, whose passion was now roused
effectually.
“We 'll, first of all, get these out of the way; they're ugly
playthings,” said Davis, as with a spring he seized the pistols
and hurled them through the open window; in doing so, however, he
necessarily leaned forward, and partly turned his back towards Dunn.
With a gesture quick as lightning, Dunn drew a loaded pistol from his
breast, and, placing the muzzle almost close to the other's head, drew
the trigger. A quick motion of the neck made the ball glance from the
bone of the skull, and passing down amongst the muscles of the neck,
settle above the shoulder. Terrible as the wound was, Davis sprang upon
him with the ferocity of a tiger. Not a word nor a cry escaped his lips,
as, in all the agony of his suffering, he seized Dunn by the throat
with one hand, while, drawing from his breast a heavy life-preserver, he
struck him on the head with the other. A wild scream,--a cry for help,
half smothered in the groan that followed, rang out, and Dunn reeled
from his seat and fell dead on the floor! Two fearful fractures had rent
the skull open, and life was extinguished at once. Davis bent down, and
gazed long and eagerly at the ghastly wounds; but it was not till he
had laid his hand over the heart that he knew them to be fatal. A
short shudder, more like the sense of sudden cold than any sentiment of
horror, passed over him as he stood for a few seconds motionless; then,
opening the dead man's coat, he drew forth his keys and searched for
that one which pertained to the red box. He carefully placed the box
upon the table and unlocked it The contents were title-deeds of the
Glengariff family, but all in duplicate, and so artfully imitated that
it would have been scarcely possible to distinguish original from copy.
Of the Lackingtons there was nothing but a release of all claims against
Davenport Dunn, purporting to have been the act of the late Lord, but of
which the signature was only indicated in pencil.
“The discovery was n't worth the price,” muttered Davis, as he turned a
half-sickly look upon the lifeless mass at his feet. “I 'm not the first
who found out that the swag did n't pay for the smash; not,” added he,
after a moment, “that I was to blame here: it was he began it!”
With some strange mysterious blending of reverence for the dead, with
a vague sense of how the sight would strike the first beholders, Davis
raised the corpse from the floor and placed it on the seat He then
wiped the clotted gore from the forehead, and dried the hair. It was a
gruesome sight, and even he was not insensible to its terrors; for, as
he turned away, he heaved a short, thick sigh. How long he stood
thus, half stunned and bewildered, he knew not; but he was, at length,
recalled to thought and activity by the loud whistle that announced the
train was approaching a station. The next minute they glided softly in
beside a platform, densely crowded with travellers. Davis did not wait
for the guard, but opened the door himself, and slowly, for he was in
pain, descended from the carriage.
“Call the station-master here,” said he to the first official he met
“Let some one, too, fetch a doctor, for I am badly wounded, and a
policeman, for I want to surrender myself.” He then added, after a
pause, “There's a dead man in that carriage yonder!”
The terrible tidings soon spread abroad, and crowds pressed eagerly
forward to gaze upon the horrible spectacle. No sooner was it announced
that the murdered man was the celebrated Davenport Dunn, than the
interest increased tenfold, and, with that marvellous ingenuity
falsehood would seem ever to have at her disposal, a dozen artfully
conceived versions of the late event were already in circulation. It
was the act of a maniac,--a poor creature driven mad by injustice and
persecution. It was the vengeance of a man whose fortune had been ruined
by Dunn. It was the father of a girl he had seduced and abandoned.
It was a beggared speculator,--a ruined trustee,--and so on; each
narrative, strangely enough, inferring that the fatal catastrophe was an
expiation! How ready is the world to accept this explanation of the sad
reverses that befall those it once has stooped to adulate,--how greedily
does it seek to repay itself for its own degrading homage, by maligning
the idol of its former worship! Up to this hour no man had ever dared to
whisper a suspicion of Dunn's integrity; and now, ere his lifeless clay
was cold, many were floundering away in this pseudo-morality about the
little benefit all his wealth was to him, and wondering if his fate
would not be a lesson! And so the train went on its way, the _coupé_
with the dead body detached and left for the inspection of the inquest,
And Davis on a sick-bed and in custody of the police.
His wound was far more serious than at first was apprehended; the
direction the ball had taken could not be ascertained, and the pain was
intense. Grog, however, would not condescend to speak of his suffering,
but addressed himself vigorously to all the cares of his situation.
“Let me have some strong cavendish tobacco and a pint of British gin,
pen, ink, and paper, and no visitors.”
The remonstrances of the doctor he treated with scorn.
“I'm not one of your West-end swells,” said he, “that's afraid of a
little pain, nor one of your Guy's Hospital wretches that's frightened
by the surgeon's tools; only no tinkering, no probing. If you leave me
alone, I have a constitution that will soon pull me through.”
His first care was to dictate a telegraphic despatch to a well-known
lawyer, whose skill in criminal cases had made him a wide celebrity. He
requested him to come down at once and confer with him. His next was to
write to his daughter, and in this latter task he passed nearly half the
night. Written as it was in great bodily pain and no small suffering of
mind, the letter was marvellously indicative of the man who penned it.
He narrated the whole incident to its fatal termination exactly as it
occurred; not the slightest effort did he make at exculpation for his
own share in it; and he only deplored the misfortune in its effect upon
the object he had in view.
“If Dunn,” said he, “hadn't been so ready with his pistol, I believe we
might have come to terms; but there's no guarding against accidents. As
matters stand, Annesley must make his own fight, for, of course, I can
be of little use to him or to any one else till the assizes are over.
So far as I can see, the case is a bad one, and Conway most likely to
succeed; but there's yet time for a compromise. I wish you 'd take the
whole affair into your own hands.”
To enable her to enter clearly upon a question of such complication,
he gave a full narrative, so far as he could, of the contested claim,
showing each step he had himself taken in defence, and with what object
he had despatched Paul Classon to the Crimea. Three entire pages were
filled with this theme; of himself, and his own precarious fortunes, he
said very little indeed.
“Don't be alarmed, Lizzy,” wrote he; “if the coroner's inquest should
find a verdict of 'Wilful Murder' against me, such a decision does not
signify a rush; and as I mean to reserve all my defence for the trial,
such a verdict is likely enough. There will be, besides this, the
regular hue and cry people get up against the gambler, the leg, and who
knows what else they 'll call me. Don't mind that, either, girl. Let the
moralists wag their charitable tongues; we can afford to make a
waiting race, and, if I don't mistake much, before the trial comes off,
Davenport Dunn himself will be more ill thought of than Kit Davis. Above
all, however, don't show in public; get away from Rome, and stay for a
month or two in some quiet, out-of-the-way place, where people cannot
make remarks upon your manner, and either say, 'See how this disgraceful
affair has cut her up,' or, 'Did you ever see any one so brazen under an
open shame?'
“I have sent for Ewin Jones, the lawyer, and expect him by the down
train; if he should say anything worth repeating to you, I 'll add it
ere I seal this.”
A little lower down the page were scrawled, half illegibly, the
following few words:--
“Another search for the ball, and no better luck; it has got down
amongst some nerves, where they 're afraid to follow it,--a sort of
Chancery Court Jones is here, and thinks 'we 'll do,' particularly if
'the Press' blackguards Dunn well in the mean time. Remember me to A.
B., and keep him from talking nonsense about the business,--for a while,
at least,--that is, if you can, and
“Believe me, yours, as ever,
“C. Davis.”