lines of the North that trains passed through tunnels of ice, and
towns were isolated for days, a gruesome incident happened.
The Earl of Balcarres died at Florence, and the body, having been
embalmed, was conveyed by tedious stages to Aberdeen, thence to
be consigned to the mausoleum which formed part of the magnificent
mansion at Dunecht, upon which the deceased Earl had spent twenty
years of thought and "tons of money."
A hearse, of the lugubrious type one is accustomed to see in country
towns, had been sent to await the belated train at Aberdeen, and the
body was duly transferred, not without difficulty, for the bulk of the
suite of coffins was a little greater than village hearses are made
to meet. The weary ten mile journey was undertaken in the dark, amid a
downfall of snow, over the bleak road that leads from the granite city
to the village of Skene. Progress was slow, the night grew darker
and stormier; the snow drifted in wreaths across the road; the horses
became exhausted; the men in charge did their utmost for a time, but
it seemed as if, in the words of the national poet, "the De'il had
business on his hand." Hearse and horses became embedded in a bank of
snow, and further effort was futile; the body had to be abandoned for
the night.
On the following day the storm abated, assistance arrived, the vehicle
was extricated, and the body was conveyed to Dunecht. There the
funeral service was conducted in the chapel which is built over the
family vault, and with little ceremony and few attendants the body was
deposited on one of the shelves of the underground structure which was
intended to be the tomb of the family to which its first tenant, the
noble Earl, belonged.
The weird circumstances attending the Lord Balcarres' death and
funeral were almost fittingly followed by events of unparalleled
mystery. Twelve months almost to a day had transpired when a heavy
odour of spices attracted the attention of the servants moving about
the mansion. On examination it was found that the huge slab of stone
which covered the doorway leading into the vault had been disturbed.
The stone--seemingly heavy enough to require the strength of a dozen
men to move it--had been lifted, the vault had been entered, the
coffin "pinched" forward till it rested on the floor, the lid had been
torn off, the two inner cases had been rent, the body removed, and
the floor of the vault was strewn with the red sawdust by which the
embalming fluid had been absorbed. Here was a mystery indeed.
The first hint of what had happened appeared in the papers on
Saturday. The young Earl was telegraphed for, and outposts of police
were established round the house, with instructions that no one was to
be admitted, and no information was to be vouchsafed. One enterprising
young journalist--Mr. W. D. Ross--who at that time was editing the
principal evening paper in Aberdeen, resolved to break the silence by
which his contemporaries were baffled. He secured the co-operation of
one of the servants on the estate to whom he was known, and, deeming
boldness best, found his way to the house, and demanded an audience of
the Earl. The housekeeper, after some demur, consented. Plain-spoken
tact was necessary in dealing with so delicate a matter; so when
the Earl appeared, the young man explained that he was there as the
representative of the _Times_ (of which he was then the correspondent)
to consult the young peer's wishes as to what should be said about
this mysterious matter, with a view to obviate malicious and mistaken
versions.
[Illustration: A CORNER OF MESSRS. W. H. SMITH AND SON'S HEADQUARTERS
IN LONDON AT 3.30 A.M.]
Lord Balcarres wisely accepted this considerate method, and, despite
the orders that had been issued, gave special facilities to the
pressman to examine the vault and obtain the facts so far as they
could be obtained at the time. The first result was that Mr. Ross
secured the monopoly of information, and also the monopoly of the
telegraph wires at Aberdeen, and on Monday morning all the papers
throughout the country published columns on the Dunecht mystery. It
was this publicity that eventuall resulted in the partial elucidation
of the mystery.
[Illustration: REPORTERS GLEANING "FULLEST DETAILS OF THE CRIME."]
For days and weeks the telegraph officials at Aberdeen were kept
busy transmitting the reams of "copy" which, in his capacity of half
detective and half reporter, this young man had prepared. Mr. Ross
probed the matter minutely, and, apart from his important police work,
so thoroughly was his newspaper task accomplished, that over thirty
leading daily papers passed their correspondence into his hands.
Through the various phases of the mystery, ample orders and handsome
revenue poured into him, since sub-editors put no stint on the
quantities of matter of vital interest furnished for the public under
the heading of "The Dunecht Outrage." The sensation was kept up by
speculation, searches by bloodhounds, police investigations, arrests,
body-snatching theories, suggestions of black-mail, of malice, and
every kind of motive, for twelve months.
During this time, the newspaper man, whose detective work was
considered of the greatest value by the police, became an important
medium between the parties supposed to be concerned and the detective
staff of the city, a position of very considerable personal danger.
Then the interest died away, till in July of 1882, eighteen months
after the rifling of the tomb, the body was found buried in the leaf
mould that lay in the dry bed of a little rivulet that at one time had
run through the grounds at Dunecht.
Public interest was again kept at high tension by the curiosity of
the people to account for the motive of the outrage. Then came the
apprehension of suspected persons, afterwards liberated, and finally
of one named Souter, who was convicted in the High Court at Edinburgh
and sentenced to penal servitude. The conviction hardly met the
justice of the case, for it was obvious that there must have been a
group of grave-robbers at work.
One of the most curious things about the case was that the police
informed Mr. Ross that they believed it was the intention of the
guilty parties to make a confession, and that they had elected to make
him the medium of it. It was actually arranged that the parties were
to travel to Aberdeen by a certain train to reveal the whole mystery,
but for reasons that have never transpired this plan was subject to
sudden eclipse, and to this day the mystery remains as much a mystery
as ever. The unfortunate man Souter, whose actual guilt was greatly
doubted, called upon Mr. Ross the moment he was set at liberty, and
through him communicated to the Press a circumstantial repudiation of
his own responsibility, and promised that what he knew about the crime
and the criminals would ultimately be revealed when considerations of
honour which had kept him silent could be removed.
This is the story of the famous mystery which formed one of the most
thrilling newspaper sensations of modern times, and which created for
the present manager of _Black and White_ a reputation for enterprise
which has lasted till to-day.
[Illustration: IN THE EDITOR'S PRIVATE OFFICE--"I HAVE AN IMPORTANT
SECRET TO SELL!"]
Of a hundred interesting sides of newspaper life I have been unable
to say anything. The dangers of war correspondents--the humours of the
society column, and the people who want to get into it--the financial
editor--the lady journalist--the parliamentary staff--the descriptive
reporter--the newspaper artist--the _£ s. d._ of journalism--each
and all of these, and many more, would make a paper of considerable
interest; and Mr. Joseph Hatton should write his "Journalistic London"
anew, for the whole newspaper position has changed since his last
edition.
The sub-editor and the descriptive reporter appear to me to be the men
upon whom the chief work of the journalism of the future will fall.
In France, where they do many things well, such masters as Zola have
raised descriptive newspaper writing to the level of an art. Here,
save in the case of war correspondence and parliamentary work, we have
not specialised much as yet. A descriptive reporter, as one of the
artists who has illustrated this little chat of mine suggests, may
be sent out to describe a murder trial, a fire, an execution, or
interview a great novelist!
We shall improve by-and-by. The old verbatim reporter will always
remain, but he must give way to the descriptive writer in many
matters.
Touching the question of the publishing of great secrets--such as that
of Mr. Gladstone's retirement already referred to--I claim for the
newspaper press of Britain that it refrains from publishing news
calculated to needlessly injure or offend. How well do we know the
fair visitant who comes to us with some great scandal to sell, and
who becomes almost indignant when she is politely shown out. Women, I
fear, are more versed in this matter than men.
[Illustration: SOME DAYS IN THE LIFE OF A NEWS-GATHERER.
_Out with the River Police._
A murder trial.
A railway accident.
A political meeting.
An execution.
A colliery disaster.
Interviewing a distinguished novelist.
A fire.
]
THEIR MOTOR-CAR ELOPEMENT,
AND HOW IT ENDED.
BY EDGAR JEPSON.
_Illustrated by H. R. Millar._
[Illustration]
The atmosphere of the room was charged almost with storm; there was a
thrill upon its air, the thrill of pent emotion. Jack stood gazing out
of the window; Kitty sat by the fire looking at his broad back almost
hungrily, a craving for the clasp of his arms rending her, her hands
clenched to the whitening of her finger-nails in the effort to keep
control of her feelings.
"What's the use of having fifty thousand a year, if I can't marry the
man I want!" she cried, fiercely.
At her words a sudden spasm of pain caught his breath, and twisted his
averted face; but he made shift to say in his usual drawl--
"It does seem rather hard lines, little girl. Who is it?"
"Don't call me little girl! I believe you think I'm still a child!"
said Kitty.
"Very well, very well--madam. Who is the man? Young Malmesford?"
"As if I should tell you!" cried Kitty.
"Well, you sent for me. I thought you wanted my advice or help, or
something, don't you know!" said Jack.
"I want help badly enough," said Kitty; and he turned sharply at her
tone to see that her face was very pale in the frame of her black
hair. "But how could you help me in this? How could anyone help me? I
oughtn't even to talk about it to you!"
"Oh, yes; you ought!" he said, quickly. "You've always talked about
everything to me!" He paused awhile, then added, and he could not keep
the sadness out of his voice, "So you want someone else to talk to
about everything? Who is it? I'll deal with him all right." The last
words came savagely.
"Oh!" cried Kitty, "I believe you'd order him to marry me, and thrash
him if he refused!"
"I'd see that he did it!" said Jack, with the same savage earnestness.
A silence fell upon them; Kitty's thoughts seemed to grow more
distressful, for now and again she sighed; Jack stared out of the
window, and watched the deepening twilight blacken the park; it seemed
to him that this confession of Kitty's was so blackening his life; the
night was settling down upon it.
"Jack--do you--do you remember--about two years ago--you stopped
kissing me. Why--why did you do it?" said Kitty, softly; she seemed to
have wandered from the point. He turned to her; the glow of the fire
alone lit the room now; and she was sitting full in it. Her face was
still pale.
[Illustration: "CLENCHING HIS FIST AND BANGING IT ON THE TABLE."]
"Oh," he said, in discomfort, "you weren't a child any more. And you
were a great heiress--and I was your friend and guardian--and all that
sort of thing, don't you know!"
"Poor Jack! You're very poor, aren't you, Jack?"
"No, I'm not! I'm rolling in riches! I've four hundred a year!" said
Jack, bitterly. "Besides, there's the Colonial Land Agency; I made
twenty pounds out of that last year."
"What's four hundred a year with your tastes?" queried Kitty.
"Look here! don't let's talk about me. What about this fellow?" said
Jack, clenching his fist and banging it on the table.
"You should never have left Westralia. You kept your horses, you
got your sport; you were on the way to becoming the big man of the
district," said Kitty, not to be diverted from her theme. "Do you
remember what a swell you were when you first found me, six--no,
seven--I'm always forgetting that I'm nineteen--years ago, and how
poor father and I were? Do you know I should never have been anything
but a wild bush-girl if you hadn't taken me in hand and looked after
me? Really you taught me everything! I believe that but for that I
might have worn the wrong clothes!"
"Oh, nonsense! You were _born_ all right," said Jack.
"Oh, yes, you did," said Kitty. "And when three years ago the gold
was found, and father made his million, and died, appointing you my
guardian, and you thought I ought to come to England and have some
schooling, I believe you left Westralia just for my sake, to look
after me."
"One always comes back to England," said Jack, quickly.
"You wouldn't have come but for that," said Kitty.
"Oh, yes, I should. Of course I should."
"I always thought it strange that father didn't leave you a few
thousands a year for your trouble in looking after me and my fortune,"
said Kitty.
"He knew jolly well I shouldn't have taken it," said Jack, hotly.
There was a pause; and then she said thoughtfully--
"Do you know I believe father thought you would fall in love with me
and marry me? Wasn't it a funny idea?" said Kitty.
"Oh, v--v--very funny! Very funny!" said Jack, grinding his teeth
softly.
"Yes; just think of your age. Why, you'll be twenty-eight on the tenth
of March," said Kitty.
"Oh! So it's that young fool Malmesford, is it?" said Jack, viciously.
"What's that young fool Malmesford?" asked the innocent Kitty.
"Look here," said Jack, in a quiet, strained voice, "we're getting
away from the point. You want to marry a man; and I'm to make him
marry you. Who is he?"
"Ah," said Kitty, plaintively, with a long-drawn breath, "now I see
why you're so keen about it. You want to get rid of me. You are tired
of the trouble of looking after my stupid investments. Well, I'm sure
I don't wonder at it. You want to marry me off, and have done with
it. I wouldn't have sent for you if I'd known; I've only added to your
trouble."
"Well," said the goaded Jack, "thank goodness you'll be of age in two
years; and then I sha'n't be plagued like this."
[Illustration: "SHE SET DELIBERATELY TO WORK TO FILE THROUGH THE
HANDLE."]
"Plagued," said Kitty, "how plagued? I'm so sorry. How was I to know
you wanted to be rid of the trouble of me and my fortune? You never
grumbled before."
"Oh, your fortune! I tell you I've wished a thousand times that every
investment of yours went to smash, and you lost every penny of it!
So there! I'll just leave you for awhile to make up your mind whether
you're going to tell me who the man is, or not!" He flung out of the
room in a heat, and banged the door.
Kitty laughed a little low laugh of extreme relief; but her eyes
were all shining; and she said with a little shiver, "He loves me--he
does--he does--he does!!!"
Presently she rose, with a very resolute face, took a hat and coat
from a peg in the hall, went out of the back-door, and down to the
stables. She went into a coach-house, switched on the electric light
above her motor-car, and considered it thoughtfully. It was a big car,
with something of the air of a trap, built to hold two. Then she went
to the box of tools used for its machinery, and selecting a fine file
stepped into the car, and set deliberately to work to file through the
handle of the lever which started and stopped it. Her Australian life
had made her a capital work-woman, and she did it neatly; but it was
a long piece of work, and now and again she stopped to test it. She
wished to file through it, so that she could break it with a jerk.
All the while she worked she whistled softly. Something about her task
seemed to amuse her.
At last she completed it to her liking, and then sat back in the
car, weighing, with a face that grew very serious, the risks of the
dangerous game she had resolved to play. After a long while she rose
and said between her teeth, "I don't care if we are smashed, Jack and
I, together."
She came back to the house, went to him in the billiard-room, and
said, "We're going to dine at the Hall to-night. Aunt will go in the
brougham, and you and I in the motor-car."
"I hate the beastly thing. I know there will be a smash some day," he
said. His temper was still ruffled.
"Very well," said Kitty, gently. "You go with aunt, and I will go in
the car by myself."
"I'll be shot if I do!" said Jack; then he said, "I suppose Malmesford
will be there?"
"I suppose he will," said Kitty, very demurely. "But why do you speak
so contemptuously of your cousin?"
"I didn't choose my cousins, did I?" said Jack.
"You're very irritable to-day," said Kitty, severely, and she left
him.
[Illustration: "KITTY AND THE MARQUIS WERE PLAINLY GREAT FRIENDS."]
Later, as they were settling themselves in the motor-car, Jack, still
captious, said, "How many more rugs? are we going to the North Pole?"
Kitty's heart jumped: they might be going a good deal further: she
only said, "There are ten degrees of frost already; and it isn't like
a closed carriage."
She handled the lever very gingerly, and brought them to the Hall
safely. Jack did not enjoy the dinner. Kitty and the Marquis of
Malmesford were plainly great friends: she had never, indeed, been so
nice to him before. Jack tried to regard their friendship with the
eye of an indulgent guardian, hardened, as he believed himself, to
the thought of her marrying; he made a very poor hand at it. He had
accustomed himself, indeed, to looking at her across the great gulf of
her wealth; but the sight of another man making fortunate love to her
awoke in him a desperate jealousy.
They were late leaving the Hall; and it was a bitter black frost. Aunt
Anne started first in her brougham, and then Kitty, in a long sealskin
jacket and sealskin cape, walked down between Jack and Malmesford to
the stables, where the motor-car awaited them. Jack wrapped the rugs
round her very carefully, and took his seat at her side; she cried a
careless "Good-night!" to Malmesford, and started the car gently. As
they turned into the road at the end of the drive, she moved the lever
nearly to full speed, and with a sharp jerk of her strong little wrist
snapped off the handle.
[Illustration: "SHE MOVED THE LEVER NEARLY TO FULL SPEED."]
"What's that?" said Jack.
"Oh, Jack!" she cried, with an odd, excited thrill in her voice, "I've
smashed the handle, and we can't stop!"
"Good Heavens!" cried Jack, and threw his arm around her.
The speed began to quicken.
"The lever's nearly at full speed," said Kitty, quietly. "What are we
to do?"
His arm tightened round her, and the alternatives raced through his
mind. "We must strike the Great North Road at Anderfield, and heaven
forgive any one who gets in our way!" he said.
"Six miles and two turns," said Kitty; "but it's our only chance."
The hedges were flying past. The first turn was two miles away, and
they were very soon on it. Kitty put on all the brake she could; and
they came round it safely. They came down hill to the second turn:
fortunately it was not sharp: a long hill fairly steep, and, for all
the brake, the machine went quicker and quicker until it seemed almost
to fly, scarcely touching the ground. The hedge of the other side
of the Great North Road sprang suddenly up before them: they seemed
almost on it; Jack, with his heart in his mouth, lifted Kitty half out
of her seat as they whizzed round the corner on two wheels: the car
settled with a jerk that proved the strength of its springs, and they
ripped down the Great North Road.
Kitty laughed a short hysterical laugh.
"I thought we'd gone to glory together!" she said: and they both lay
back panting.
"How far are we going?" said Jack.
"It won't stop for fifty miles," said Kitty.
"Good Lord!" said Jack. "Can't I do anything? Let me get at the
machinery."
"You can do nothing!" said Kitty, sharply.
For a long while neither said a word. The car sped along with a
querulous, eerie whirr that rose to a clattering snarl as it hurtled
down hill. The cold air stung their faces; the hedges were level,
black walls on either side; now and again they flew through a sleeping
village; and the dogs who ran out to bark, turned and fled yelping
from this sinister, rushing monster. Kitty's firm hand steered them
steadily, save when the car jerked snarling down hill, out of control;
now and again she set the whistle hooting. Jack sat with his mind in
a whirl of fears of what might befall her. Little by little the
oppression of a nightmare began to weigh upon them as a binding spell.
Jack broke it by withdrawing his arm from around her, and lighting a
cigar; he did not slip his arm back.
Presently she said softly, "Hold me again, Jack, I feel safer"--his
arm slipped round her--"I feel--I feel--as if some dreadful beast were
carrying us away."
She looked infinitely childlike; and he gripped her closer.
"Poor aunt Anne, she'll think we've had a smash, as indeed we may,"
she said presently.
"By Jove, yes; they'll be hunting the neighbourhood for us!" said
Jack.
"As for Lord Malmesford, he'll think you've run away with me," said
Kitty.
"Oh, nonsense!" said Jack, uneasily.
"He will though. Juliette Halliwell will tell him so. I saw her get
very angry at the affectionate way you were looking at me at dinner,"
said Kitty.
"I wasn't!" said Jack.
"Oh, yes, you were; ever so affectionately. What kind of affection was
it, Jack--paternal?"
"Talk of something else!" said Jack, in a thick voice; and nestling
against him, she felt him quiver and his heart shake him at each
thumping beat.
Some miles further on the lights of a town rose suddenly a little way
ahead. Kitty set the whistle hooting, and slowed the car as much as
she could, but even then they dashed down the long silent street at a
very dangerous pace. It was fortunate that it was empty. They were
a mile beyond it before they breathed easily again, and Kitty said,
"What town was that?"
"I don't know," said Jack. "We're five-and-twenty miles from home."
The road stretched far away ahead, very white in the moonlight; and
the feeling that the car was a malignant living creature came upon
them more oppressively than ever, wearing their nerves.
[Illustration: "THEY RUSHED TOWARDS THE WAGGON."]
Kitty nestled closer to him--a fear that her desperate freak would
have a tragic end invading and filling her heart. They rushed up a
long hill--the car seemed to breast it like a strong demon--and at the
top saw before them a long steep descent.
"Now the brute's going to have all its own way," said Kitty, between
her clenched teeth.
"Never mind, little girl," said Jack, cheerily, "sit tight." If she
had not been there, he felt that he would have enjoyed the danger; as
it was, he sat in torture.
"It is out of control!" cried Kitty; and, peering ahead:
"There's--there's a waggon at the bottom of the hill!"
The whistle hooted and hooted; she gave the car the brake; and at each
leap it jarred every bone in her body. They rushed towards the
waggon; if the waggon was not on its right side of the road, they were
smashed: they were upon it; Kitty screamed out; there was a snapping
crash; then they were rushing along the empty road with the left
splash-board torn off. Kitty lay back in a dead faint. Jack caught the
steering-gear in his right hand, raised Kitty with his left arm, and
twisted into her place, holding her on his knees. The car began to
slacken and go smoother up the opposite hill; in three minutes it was
steady again. Kitty lay heavy and still in his arms, her face very
white in the moonlight; her faint breathing scarce parted her lips.