The little jockey had ridden his last race!
The blow which had struck him down had been delivered by one who had
been a first-class athlete, and who was still in splendid physical
condition. There had been the stark madness, too, of blind rage behind
Bennet's arm, and the blow had proved fatal.
When the truth was known, there instantly was a great commotion. Bennet
made no effort to get away; if he had attempted to fly he would not have
succeeded, for he was ringed round by hostile and stern faces that
plainly spoke of vengeance. In a moment more hands were laid upon him by
those of the crowd nearest him, but he offered no resistance. Instead,
he stood staring at the motionless body of his victim, and appeared not
to realize what he had done, and the position in which his act had
placed him.
Suddenly from somewhere in the crowd a loud cry went up of "Murder!
Murder!"
The cry seemed to break the fit of stupor in which Bennet was, for his
face was seen to quiver, while a shudder shook his frame.
"What have I done? What have I done?" he said, as if he had just become
conscious of the deed he had committed.
"You have killed him," replied one of those standing by.
"He is not dead?" asked Bennet, wildly.
"Dead! yes; he is dead, and you killed him!" answered the same man.
"I never meant to kill him," said Bennet, looking once more at the
little figure that lay on the ground.
"Why," said a voice, "I heard you say to him, 'I'll kill you!'--I heard
you say those very words!"
"I was in a passion," Bennet declared, "and did not know what I was
doing. I never thought of killing him."
"Then why did you say to him--I heard the words distinctly--'I'll kill
you'?"
But Bennet made no reply. He now comprehended fully the position in
which he stood, and he thought silence his best policy. Those about him,
however, were far from silent. He could not help hearing what was being
said, and he understood that nothing but detestation and execration were
being expressed. The crowd had no sympathy whatever for him. On the
contrary, had the crowd not been composed of Englishmen, accustomed to
abide by the law of the land, Bennet would have been given a short
shrift. If what he had done had been perpetrated in America, he would
undoubtedly have been immediately lynched out of hand. But the crowd
waited for the police to come upon the scene.
The crowd, however, talked excitedly, vehemently. The words which had
passed between Bennet and the jockey were repeated from lip to lip. The
statement of Bob Deans that Bennet had tried to bribe him to pull Go
Nap, and that he had refused to do so, was soon known to all; in the
minds of most was the thought that Bennet, in suggesting this course to
the jockey, was guilty of a crime even greater perhaps than murder, and
that no punishment was too heavy for it. Many of them would have
maintained that hanging was too good for him; some of them even said so.
Presently the police came up, and Bennet was arrested and charged with
the murder of Bob Deans.
The affair, as was to be expected, made a tremendous sensation, not only
throughout the world of the turf, but everywhere.
At Doncaster itself reports of what had taken place spread like wildfire
through the place; nothing else was talked of, and but little interest
was taken in the remaining races on the programme that afternoon.
In the whole history of racing never had there been anything so
extraordinary.
The popular victory of Go Nap, the murder of the victorious jockey by
the owner of the horse, the revelation which had been given by the
unfortunate Deans of the reason why Bennet had killed him,--these and
other particulars, which grew and grew as they passed from mouth to
mouth, formed as sensational a set of incidents as could well be
imagined. Brief but lurid accounts of what had occurred at Doncaster
appeared in the London evening papers the same day, and caused the
greatest excitement.
Gilbert Eversleigh, walking about seven o'clock from the Temple to his
club for dinner, his mind occupied and distressed by the difficult
problem of how his father was to escape ruin, received his first
intimation of the tragedy from the placard of one of these journals. In
large, solid black letters he read--
"VICTORY OF GO NAP AT DONCASTER.
MURDER OF ITS JOCKEY, BOB DEANS,
BY ITS OWNER, HENRY BENNET."
"What new calamity is this?" he asked himself, as his thoughts flew to
Kitty. As soon as possible, he procured all the evening papers and read,
with feverish haste, their narratives of the terrible event, from which
the main facts stood out clearly enough.
"What will happen next?" he cried in his heart, overcome with amazement
and horror.
Owing to its being the holiday season of the year, there were but few
men at the Club when Gilbert reached it, but such as were there were
conversing about the murder. Bennet was well known to several of them;
it was recalled that he was a Varsity oar, but what was principally
talked of was his monstrous passion for gambling, which it was guessed
was responsible for his present terrible situation. Gilbert listened,
but took only a small part in the conversation; it was an immense relief
to him to find no reference was made by anybody to Bennet's engagement
to Kitty. He hoped it might be possible to keep the girl's name out of
the business altogether, but in this he was speedily disappointed.
Next morning the papers were full of the affair. Descriptions of what
had taken place at Doncaster were given the utmost prominence, and
nothing was left untold that could be put together about Bennet in a
short space of time. What was known of his career was published; and
amongst other things mention was made of his recent engagement to Miss
Kitty Thornton, daughter of the man whose body had been found a few
weeks ago in such strange circumstances in the rooms of the late Mr.
Cooper Silwood, and much sympathy was expressed for her. This was the
first public announcement of Kitty's engagement to Bennet, and Gilbert,
who noticed it with the greatest pain, wondered how this piece of news
had been conveyed to the Press. He could not know that Joel Levy, the
big money-lender, had talked about it among his friends, through whom it
had got to the ears of the reporters.
The same morning, that is the morning after the death of Bob Deans,
Kitty saw a long account of it in the columns of the Yorkshire paper
that was delivered every morning at Buckhurst House. Prior to reading
this statement, Kitty had deemed herself as unhappy as it was possible
for any one to be, but when she knew what had happened, she was plunged
into deeper misery still. Bennet a murderer, and she engaged to him! It
was the last unkindest stroke of fortune. And yet while she was sorry
for herself, and much as she detested Bennet, she could not help feeling
sorry for him. It did not at first occur to her that he had, by his rash
act, if not crime, put an end, in all probability, to their engagement.
When that thought did come, as it was bound to come, she drearily
speculated what the wretched man in his despair would do; in other
words, she feared that the bargain she had entered into with Bennet for
the salvation of the Eversleighs was a bargain which in these new
circumstances he would not keep.
The papers had announced an inquest was to be held that day, and she
awaited the verdict with sickening apprehension. And what might there
not appear in these journals in addition to the account of the inquest?
Of course, she told herself, it was quite improbable that Bennet would
say anything about the Eversleigh matter at the inquest; but what might
he not say, might he not already have said, to others--to the police,
for instance? She was not long left in doubt as to the line Bennet
intended to take.
The inquest was held in a crowded court which was entirely hostile to
Bennet. And that the jury took the darkest view of Bennet's action soon
was manifest. A local solicitor, called Deakin, had been retained for
him, and he did his best to get a verdict of manslaughter returned, but
even if the evidence had been less convincing than it was, the general
feeling would still have been too strong for him.
There were plenty of witnesses who agreed, with only small verbal
discrepancies which are always a feature of such cases, and confirm
rather than detract from the value of the main volume of testimony, as
to what had passed between Bennet and Bob Deans. The words used by the
two men were quoted by several witnesses with substantial accuracy;
particularly the threat of Bennet to the jockey, "I'll kill you!" was
brought forward by them all, and practically settled in the minds of
coroner and jury the degree of Bennet's guilt.
Bennet, they concluded, had intended killing Bob Deans, and had killed
him. The cause of the murder made Bennet's crime blacker and blacker
still.
His solicitor tried to show there had not been, there could not be, any
premeditation on Bennet's part, and that the deed was done in the heat
of passion without there being any real intention to kill the man. He
urged that the death of the jockey was of the nature of an accident; his
client had certainly struck the blow, but could not know it was likely
to be fatal. The most and worst Bennet was guilty of, Deakin contended,
was manslaughter.
But the jury were of another mind. Without retiring to consider their
verdict, they at once found Bennet guilty of the wilful murder of the
jockey.
It was a verdict which met with general approval. The coroner, in
accepting it, said the case was one of the most painful nature, but as
it would doubtless form matter for the consideration of a higher court,
he would make no further comment upon it.
Like hundreds of thousands of people who were following this dark story
of the turf with the most absorbing interest, both Kitty and Gilbert saw
the finding of the jury, and later that Bennet had been committed for
trial at the next assizes on the capital charge. Kitty, wondering
miserably what Bennet would do, thereafter received from him a letter,
in which he asked her to visit him in prison without delay. By this time
he had been removed from Doncaster to York, and thither Kitty went,
accompanied by her relative, Mrs. Joicey, that very day, though it was
not until the next that she saw him.
Prison life had already told on Bennet, and she observed a marked change
in his appearance, which filled her with pity; but the man was in a
black, reckless, defiant humour, as she soon noticed; even the near
presence of a warder did not deter him from expressing what was in his
mind.
"I'm very, very sorry for you, Harry," she said, and there was the sound
of tears in her voice. It was the first time, too, since their
engagement that she had called him "Harry."
"Sorry!" he cried. "Do you think I believe that? Don't be a hypocrite.
You are glad, you must be glad of my misfortune. You think it will set
you free!"
"Oh, Harry, do not think of me; think of yourself!"
"Think of myself!" said Bennet, fiercely, implacably. "Can I not think
of myself and of others too?"
The girl involuntarily shrank from him.
"Oh, Harry, Harry!" she said piteously.
"I sent for you," Bennet went on without heeding her appeal, "to tell
you that I will not release you. I do not believe that I shall be found
guilty of murder--it was no murder, and I shall not release you from
your engagement to me. But if I am found guilty, you may be sure I shall
not go out of the world without letting it know the truth about Francis
Eversleigh. There! That is all! And now you can go."
"Harry, Harry!" cried Kitty; "how can I touch your heart?"
"Touch my heart! The day has gone past for that. Now go--and go at once;
the sight of you is torture. Go!"