HOW AND WHY.
Had it not been for the pressure put upon her by Mr. and Mrs. Wingate,
Hermia would have returned to Ashdown by an early train next day, so
disheartened was she by the result of her interview with Richard
Varrel. In deference, however, to the wishes of her friends, she
agreed to extend her stay for three days longer. She had quite made up
her mind that she had seen the last of Varrel; that his path and hers
would never cross each other again. Yet all the while an indefinable
sense of something still to come held her in her own despite. It could
hardly be called a premonition, so shadowy and elusive was it, and yet
it so impressed her that she could not hear a knock at the door
without holding her breath to listen for a summons, for which her
reason told her she might wait till the last day of her life, and
always might be in vain.
However, strangely enough, the summons did come, and that just
forty-eight hours after she had parted from Varrel. Before leaving him
she had laid a card on the table. "Here is my address, in case you
should at any time be desirous of communicating with me," she had
said.
His only answer had been a cynical smile.
Having no cards of her own, she had pencilled her Ashdown address on
the back of one of Mrs. Wingate's cards, which had that lady's address
on the other side, and it was there the messenger came in search of
her. A man of the name of Richard Varrel, who was lying in St.
Gregory's Hospital in a very critical state, earnestly entreated that
Miss Rivers would go to him with the least possible delay, as he had
something of extreme importance to communicate to her. Such was the
message that now reached Hermia.
A cab was at once ordered, and ten minutes later she was on her way to
the Hospital, accompanied, as before, by Mr. Wingate.
Before being admitted to the ward Hermia was shown into an ante-room,
where she was presently joined by a middle-aged, ladylike person, with
a strong yet kindly face, dressed in the usual Hospital uniform, whose
name she afterwards found to be Miss Davis. From her Hermia learned
that in the course of the preceding night Varrel had been brought in
by the police, unconscious and apparently in a dying state. His story
when he came to himself, was to the effect that while on his way to
his lodgings he had been set upon by three men, who had somehow
discovered that he had a considerable sum of money about him, and that
in the fight which ensued he had not only been robbed, but stabbed in
three places. His case was an utterly hopeless one, Miss Davis went on
to say; he might possibly linger for two or three days, but should
internal hemorrhage set in the end would come still more quickly. Then
she went on to ask whether Hermia was a relative of the dying man, and
on receiving a reply in the negative, requested her to make her
interview as brief as possible, and especially to avoid all topics
which would be likely in any way to excite the patient. After that she
led the way into the ward, while Mr. Wingate awaited Hermia's return
in the ante-room.
Varrel's eyes lighted up the moment they rested on Hermia. His face
was the face of one on the verge of the last great change, and the
girl could not keep back her tears. She sat down by the side of his
pallet, after which one of the attendants placed a large screen round
them, so as to shut them in from the other patients.
"You didn't think to see me so soon again, Miss Hermia, I'll be
bound--nor I you!" began Varrel, with a dim smile, but speaking more
clearly and strongly than Hermia would have thought possible for one
in his condition. "However, here I am, and there's no help for it. It
was the money that was the cause of it--the money you brought me. A
sort of Nemesis. They--the men my life has been mixed up with of
late--found out somehow I had it about me. The wonder is they left any
life in me at all. But it's not for long. I know that I'm booked for
the journey for which no return tickets are issued. Well, I'm not
sorry--on my soul, I'm not!--that the end has come. But it was to talk
about something very different that I sent for you, for since I've
been lying here, I've made up my mind to tell all I know."
He ceased, and lay for a little while with shut eyes. When he opened
them it was seemingly to fix them on a flickering shadow flung by the
lamplight on the ceiling. Suddenly a hollow voice spoke,
"Miss Hermia, it was not John Brancker, but the man you see before
you, who killed Mr. Hazeldine."
Hermia's heart gave a great bound, and she caught her breath with a
gasp like a drowning person. It seemed to her as if an ice-cold wind
blew for a minute across her face. She shuddered, and involuntarily
drew a little farther away from the dying man.
"I haven't strength enough left me to go into a lot of details,"
resumed Varrel, after a pause, "but if I'm not hurried, I think it
will last out till I've told you enough to make the whole business
clear, and--and to lift the last shadow of suspicion off John
Brancker."
Again he lapsed into silence, and to Hermia it seemed as if he were
struggling against some inward force which would fain have compelled
him, even at this the eleventh hour, to carry his secret unrevealed to
the grave. She waited in a sort of dread expectancy and with nerves
all a-tremble for his next words.
The statement which follows, although given here in unbroken sequence,
was several times interrupted by a fit of coughing, or by a labored
gasping for breath. More than once, in obedience to his request,
Hermia gave him to drink of a jug of barley-water which stood within
reach of his hand.
"Yes, mine alone is the guilt. I wanted money; I was desperately hard
up, and I made up my mind to rob the Bank, if it was possible anyhow
to do so. I knew that Thursday night, when the gold had been fetched
from London to pay away to market-day customers, was the best time for
my purpose. I was acquainted with all the ins and outs of the place,
and it was a simple matter for me to push open the swing doors and
steal unseen into the building when the day's business was nearly
over. Then up the spiral staircase and so into the book-room, where
snugly hidden in an empty cupboard, I was safe from observation until
the time should have come for me to take my next step, which was to
make my way to Mr. Avison's office--he was abroad, and I knew that it
was never used during his absence--there to bide my time. To reach it
I should have to pass through Mr. Hazeldine's office, the door which
led into it from the lobby being kept locked. I was aware that for
several weeks past Mr. Hazeldine had been in the habit of working till
a late hour, and I calculated that he would most likely do so on this
particular night. Earlier in the day I had watched him start for
London, and I knew that when he returned he would bring with him the
gold he had been there to fetch.
"I waited where I was until the general staff had gone for the night,
but I knew that Mr. Brancker and Mr. Judd often worked after hours,
and it seemed not unlikely that they might still be on the premises.
It was absolutely necessary, however, that I should make my way to Mr.
Avison's office before Mr. Hazeldine's return; and this, after a time,
I succeeded in doing without being seen by anyone. As I crept down the
spiral staircase I could hear the murmur of voices in Mr. Brancker's
office. I had not been long in my second hiding-place, before I heard
the well-remembered voice of Mr. Hazeldine as he spoke with Obed Sweet
in the passage. Then he entered his office and turned up the gas,
which had been previously lighted by Sweet; I had left the door
between the two rooms open about an inch, and through the interstice a
portion of the office was visible to me, including the iron door which
gave admittance to the strong room.
"The first thing Mr. Hazeldine did was to place his black bag,
containing the gold he had brought from London, on a chair, then he
took off his hat and overcoat, and hung them up; and then, presumably,
he seated himself at the table where he worked, but when so seated, he
was out of my line of vision, and on no account durst I open the door
even as much as an inch further. Presently he rose, and having
unlocked the door of the strong-room, went inside. Here was the
opportunity I had been waiting for, which was neither more nor less
than to make a dash from my hiding-place, push to and lock the iron
door, with Mr. Hazeldine on the other side of it, and then make off
with the black bag and its contents. But now the chance was here I was
afraid to take advantage of it. In the passage outside I heard Obed
Sweet's wheezy cough, and as far as I knew, both Mr. Brancker and Mr.
Judd were still at work in the other office. There was nothing for it
but to await a more favorable opportunity.
"In a minute or two Mr. Hazeldine went back to his seat, leaving the
door of the strong-room wide open. Presently the sound of Obed's voice
reached me from the corridor. Evidently there was someone still at
work. I could only grind my teeth and wait.
"After what, alone and in the dark, seemed to me an intolerable
time--but which may have been a few minutes only, or may have been an
hour--I heard the reverberation of the front door. There could no
longer be any doubt that Mr. Hazeldine was now the only official, save
Sweet, left in the building. At last my opportunity seemed at hand.
"Still I waited, hoping minute by minute that Mr. Hazeldine would
again find it necessary to enter the strong room. As I remarked
before, I could not see him, but more than once I heard him groan like
a man in pain. The black bag still remained where he had put it on
coming in. Then, after a time, to my intense surprise, I again heard
the muffled clash of the front door. I could not make it out at all,
neither, apparently, could Sweet, who presently came blundering into
the office without his customary knock, clearly under the impression
that it was Mr. Hazeldine who had just gone, and finely disconcerted
he was on discovering his mistake. 'I shall be about half-an-hour yet,
Sweet, and will let myself out when I'm ready,' said Mr. Hazeldine;
whereupon Sweet made his exit.
"St. Mary's clock had just chimed the half-hour past ten, Mr.
Hazeldine would leave the office about eleven, the London train by
which I hoped to get away with my booty was due at a quarter past that
hour: what I had to do must be done within the next thirty minutes, or
not at all. I said to myself: 'I will wait till St. Mary's chimes the
quarter to eleven, on the chance of Mr. Hazeldine again going into the
strong-room, when I will spring out and shut him in. If the chance
does not come by then, I will present myself before him, revolver in
hand, and compel him on pain of instant death to do my bidding. When
once he is shut up in the strong-room the rest will be easy. He may
shout himself hoarse, but Sweet below stairs will hear nothing till he
comes on his next round, by which time I and the black bag will be far
away.' It is to be borne in mind that I hated Mr. Hazeldine as I hated
no other man in the world. He it was who at my trial had no word of
mercy to urge in my favor; to him, in a great measure, was due my
sentence of penal servitude. But, for all that, I swear I had no more
thought or intention of taking' his life than I had of taking my own.
"Chance favored me at the last moment, or seemed to do so. After a
time Mr. Hazeldine rose, and went once more into the strong-room. Not
a moment did I hesitate. Pushing open the door, behind which I had
been in hiding, I sprang out into the lighted office, and made a dash
for the iron door, but midway on the floor lay a pile of ledgers over
which, in my hurry, I stumbled and fell. Before I could recover myself
Mr. Hazeldine was upon me, and when I struggled to my feet it was with
his clutch at my throat. The instant the light fell on my face he
recognized me. 'Richard Varrel!' he exclaimed, as he let go his hold,
and fell back a step or two in sheer amazement. A second later I had
whipped out my revolver, which, however, was not loaded--but of course
he didn't know that. 'Mr. Hazeldine,' I said, 'thanks to you, I'm a
desperate man. I want the money in that bag, and, at whatever cost,
I'm determined to have it. So, if you value your life----' But at that
moment he made a quick stride forward, and knocked the revolver out of
my hand, and before I could recover it he had sprung at me with a
long-bladed knife, which he snatched off the table, but for what
purpose it happened to be there I cannot even guess. His eyes were as
the eyes of a madman; never have I seen such an expression on the face
of anyone. On the instant I closed with him, and then began a
life-and-death struggle, he trying to stab me, and I trying to wrench
the knife from his grasp. How it all happened I shall never know, but
his foot slipped, and as he fell he dragged me to the ground with him,
and all at once I found the knife in my hand. He struggled desperately
to recover himself, then--my God!--somehow the knife----"
Varrel had been growing weaker for several minutes past, his utterance
more hollow, his breath more labored, and as the last word dropped
from his lips he fainted.
Hermia at once summoned the nurse, who in her turn summoned Miss
Davis. Restoratives were applied, and in a little while their patient
came round. Hermia was on the point of taking her leave, with the
intention of calling again on the morrow; but Varrel motioned that he
had something to say to her. He could only speak in a whisper, and
Hermia had to bend her ear close to him in order to catch what he
said.
"Write down what I have told you--now--at once," he gasped, "and I
will sign it."
So, after a few explanatory words to Miss Davis, Hermia rejoined Mr.
Wingate in the ante-room, and told him as briefly as possible the
particulars she wanted him to set down. Pen, ink, and paper were at
hand, and it did not take him long to draw up a short document, in
which Varrel acknowledged that to him, and him alone, was due the
death of Mr. Hazeldine. When it was finished, Hermia went back to the
ward, accompanied by Mr. Wingate. The statement was read over to
Varrel, who nodded his head in approval of it. Then he was propped up
in bed to enable him to sign it, after which Mr. Wingate and Miss
Davis appended their signatures to the paper as witnesses.
Hermia did not see Richard Varrel again. At daybreak next morning he
died.