"The whole thing is shrouded in mystery. Why should Pritchard have left
his box and gone down to the tunnel? Why, having done so, should he have
made a wild attempt to scale the side of the cutting, an impossible feat
at any time? Had danger threatened, the ordinary course of things would
have been to run up the line towards the signal-box. These points are
quite unexplained. Another curious fact is that death appears to have
taken place just before the day-man came on duty, as the light at the
mouth of the tunnel had been put out, and it was one of the night
signalman's duties to do this as soon as daylight appeared; it is
possible, therefore, that Pritchard went down to the tunnel for that
purpose. Against this theory, however, and an objection that seems to
nullify it, is the evidence of Dr. Williams, who states that when he
examined the body his opinion was that death had taken place some hours
before. An inquest was held on the following day, but before it took
place there was a new and most important development. I now come to what
I consider the crucial point in the whole story.
"For a long time there had been a feud between Pritchard and another man
of the name of Wynne, a platelayer on the line. The object of their
quarrel was the blacksmith's daughter in the neighbouring village--a
remarkably pretty girl and an arrant flirt. Both men were madly in love
with her, and she played them off one against the other. The night but
one before his death Pritchard and Wynne had met at the village inn, had
quarrelled in the bar--Lucy, of course, being the subject of their
difference. Wynne was heard to say (he was a man of powerful build and
subject to fits of ungovernable rage) that he would have Pritchard's
life. Pritchard swore a great oath that he would get Lucy on the
following day to promise to marry him. This oath, it appears, he kept,
and on his way to the signal-box on Tuesday evening met Wynne, and
triumphantly told him that Lucy had promised to be his wife. The men had
a hand-to-hand fight on the spot, several people from the village being
witnesses of it. They were separated with difficulty, each vowing
vengeance on the other. Pritchard went off to his duty at the signal-box
and Wynne returned to the village to drown his sorrows at the
public-house.
"Very late that same night Wynne was seen by a villager going in the
direction of the tunnel. The man stopped him and questioned him. He
explained that he had left some of his tools on the line, and was on his
way to fetch them. The villager noticed that he looked queer and
excited, but not wishing to pick a quarrel thought it best not to
question him further. It has been proved that Wynne never returned home
that night, but came back at an early hour on the following morning,
looking dazed and stupid. He was arrested on suspicion, and at the
inquest the verdict was against him."
"Has he given any explanation of his own movements?" I asked.
"Yes; but nothing that can clear him. As a matter of fact, his tools
were nowhere to be seen on the line, nor did he bring them home with
him. His own story is that being considerably the worse for drink, he
had fallen down in one of the fields and slept there till morning."
"Things look black against him," I said.
"They do; but listen, I have something more to add. Here comes a very
queer feature in the affair. Lucy Ray, the girl who had caused the feud
between Pritchard and Wynne, after hearing the news of Pritchard's
death, completely lost her head, and ran frantically about the village
declaring that Wynne was the man she really loved, and that she had only
accepted Pritchard in a fit of rage with Wynne for not himself bringing
matters to the point. The case looks very bad against Wynne, and
yesterday the magistrate committed him for trial at the coming assizes.
The unhappy Lucy Ray and the young man's parents are in a state
bordering on distraction."
"What is your own opinion with regard to Wynne's guilt?" I asked.
"Before God, Mr. Bell, I believe the poor fellow is innocent, but the
evidence against him is very strong. One of the favourite theories is
that he went down to the tunnel and extinguished the light, knowing that
this would bring Pritchard out of his box to see what was the matter,
and that he then attacked him, striking the blow which fractured the
skull."
"Has any weapon been found about, with which he could have given such a
blow?"
"No; nor has anything of the kind been discovered on Wynne's person;
that fact is decidedly in his favour."
"But what about the marks on the rocks?" I asked.
"It is possible that Wynne may have made them in order to divert
suspicion by making people think that Pritchard must have fallen, and so
killed himself. The holders of this theory base their belief on the
absolute want of cause for Pritchard's trying to scale the rock. The
whole thing is the most absolute enigma. Some of the country folk have
declared that the tunnel is haunted (and there certainly has been such a
rumour current among them for years). That Pritchard saw some
apparition, and in wild terror sought to escape from it by climbing the
rocks, is another theory, but only the most imaginative hold it."
"Well, it is a most extraordinary case," I replied.
"Yes, Mr. Bell, and I should like to get your opinion of it. Do you see
your way to elucidate the mystery?"
"Not at present; but I shall be happy to investigate the matter to my
utmost ability."
"But you do not wish to leave London at present?"
"That is so; but a matter of such importance cannot be set aside. It
appears, from what you say, that Wynne's life hangs more or less on my
being able to clear away the mystery?"
"That is indeed the case. There ought not to be a single stone left
unturned to get at the truth, for the sake of Wynne. Well, Mr. Bell,
what do you propose to do?"
"To see the place without delay," I answered.
"That is right; when can you come?"
"Whenever you please."
"Will you come down to Felwyn with me to-morrow? I shall leave
Paddington by the 7.10, and if you will be my guest I shall be only too
pleased to put you up."
"That arrangement will suit me admirably," I replied. "I will meet you
by the train you mention, and the affair shall have my best attention."
"Thank you," he said, rising. He shook hands with me and took his leave.
The next day I met Bainbridge at Paddington Station, and we were soon
flying westward in the luxurious private compartment that had been
reserved for him. I could see by his abstracted manner and his long
lapses of silence that the mysterious affair at Felwyn Tunnel was
occupying all his thoughts.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon when the train slowed down at the
little station of Felwyn. The station-master was at the door in an
instant to receive us.
"I have some terribly bad news for you, sir," he said, turning to
Bainbridge as we alighted; "and yet in one sense it is a relief, for it
seems to clear Wynne."
"What do you mean?" cried Bainbridge. "Bad news? Speak out at once!"
"Well, sir, it is this: there has been another death at Felwyn
signal-box. John Davidson, who was on duty last night, was found dead at
an early hour this morning in the very same place where we found poor
Pritchard."
"Good God!" cried Bainbridge, starting back, "what an awful thing! What,
in the name of Heaven, does it mean, Mr. Bell? This is too fearful.
Thank goodness you have come down with us."
"It is as black a business as I ever heard of, sir," echoed the
station-master; "and what we are to do I don't know. Poor Davidson was
found dead this morning, and there was neither mark nor sign of what
killed him--that is the extraordinary part of it. There's a perfect
panic abroad, and not a signalman on the line will take duty to-night. I
was quite in despair, and was afraid at one time that the line would
have to be closed, but at last it occurred to me to wire to Lytton Vale,
and they are sending down an inspector. I expect him by a special every
moment. I believe this is he coming now," added the station-master,
looking up the line.
There was the sound of a whistle down the valley, and in a few moments a
single engine shot into the station, and an official in uniform stepped
on to the platform.
"Good-evening, sir," he said, touching his cap to Bainbridge; "I have
just been sent down to inquire into this affair at the Felwyn Tunnel,
and though it seems more of a matter for a Scotland Yard detective than
one of ourselves, there was nothing for it but to come. All the same,
Mr. Bainbridge, I cannot say that I look forward to spending to-night
alone at the place."
"You wish for the services of a detective, but you shall have some one
better," said Bainbridge, turning towards me. "This gentleman, Mr. John
Bell, is the man of all others for our business. I have just brought him
down from London for the purpose."
An expression of relief flitted across the inspector's face.
"I am very glad to see you, sir," he said to me, "and I hope you will be
able to spend the night with me in the signal-box. I must say I don't
much relish the idea of tackling the thing single-handed; but with your
help, sir, I think we ought to get to the bottom of it somehow. I am
afraid there is not a man on the line who will take duty until we do. So
it is most important that the thing should be cleared, and without
delay."
I readily assented to the inspector's proposition, and Bainbridge and I
arranged that we should call for him at four o'clock at the village inn
and drive him to the tunnel.
We then stepped into the wagonette which was waiting for us, and drove
to Bainbridge's house.
Mrs. Bainbridge came out to meet us, and was full of the tragedy. Two
pretty girls also ran to greet their father, and to glance inquisitively
at me. I could see that the entire family was in a state of much
excitement.
"Lucy Ray has just left, father," said the elder of the girls. "We had
much trouble to soothe her; she is in a frantic state."
"You have heard, Mr. Bell, all about this dreadful mystery?" said Mrs.
Bainbridge as she led me towards the dining-room.
"Yes," I answered; "your husband has been good enough to give me every
particular."
"And you have really come here to help us?"
"I hope I may be able to discover the cause," I answered.
"It certainly seems most extraordinary," continued Mrs. Bainbridge. "My
dear," she continued, turning to her husband, "you can easily imagine
the state we were all in this morning when the news of the second death
was brought to us."
"For my part," said Ella Bainbridge, "I am sure that Felwyn Tunnel is
haunted. The villagers have thought so for a long time, and this second
death seems to prove it, does it not?" Here she looked anxiously at me.
"I can offer no opinion," I replied, "until I have sifted the matter
thoroughly."
"Come, Ella, don't worry Mr. Bell," said her father; "if he is as hungry
as I am, he must want his lunch."
We then seated ourselves at the table and commenced the meal.
Bainbridge, although he professed to be hungry, was in such a state of
excitement that he could scarcely eat. Immediately after lunch he left
me to the care of his family and went into the village.
"It is just like him," said Mrs. Bainbridge; "he takes these sort of
things to heart dreadfully. He is terribly upset about Lucy Ray, and
also about the poor fellow Wynne. It is certainly a fearful tragedy from
first to last."
"Well, at any rate," I said, "this fresh death will upset the evidence
against Wynne."
"I hope so, and there is some satisfaction in the fact. Well, Mr. Bell,
I see you have finished lunch; will you come into the drawing-room?"
I followed her into a pleasant room overlooking the valley of the
Lytton.
By-and-by Bainbridge returned, and soon afterwards the dog-cart came to
the door. My host and I mounted, Bainbridge took the reins, and we
started off at a brisk pace.
"Matters get worse and worse," he said the moment we were alone. "If you
don't clear things up to-night, Bell, I say frankly that I cannot
imagine what will happen."
We entered the village, and as we rattled down the ill-paved streets I
was greeted with curious glances on all sides. The people were standing
about in groups, evidently talking about the tragedy and nothing else.
Suddenly, as our trap bumped noisily over the paving-stones, a girl
darted out of one of the houses and made frantic motions to Bainbridge
to stop the horse. He pulled the mare nearly up on her haunches, and the
girl came up to the side of the dog-cart.
"You have heard it?" she said, speaking eagerly and in a gasping voice.
"The death which occurred this morning will clear Stephen Wynne, won't
it, Mr. Bainbridge?--it will, you are sure, are you not?"
"It looks like it, Lucy, my poor girl," he answered. "But there, the
whole thing is so terrible that I scarcely know what to think."
She was a pretty girl with dark eyes, and under ordinary circumstances
must have had the vivacious expression of face and the brilliant
complexion which so many of her countrywomen possess. But now her eyes
were swollen with weeping and her complexion more or less disfigured by
the agony she had gone through. She looked piteously at Bainbridge, her
lips trembling. The next moment she burst into tears.
"Come away, Lucy," said a woman who had followed her out of the cottage;
"Fie--for shame! don't trouble the gentlemen; come back and stay
quiet."
"I can't, mother, I can't," said the unfortunate girl. "If they hang
him, I'll go clean off my head. Oh, Mr. Bainbridge, do say that the
second death has cleared him!"
"I have every hope that it will do so, Lucy," said Bainbridge, "but now
don't keep us, there's a good girl; go back into the house. This
gentleman has come down from London on purpose to look into the whole
matter. I may have good news for you in the morning."
The girl raised her eyes to my face with a look of intense pleading.
"Oh, I have been cruel and a fool, and I deserve everything," she
gasped; "but, sir, for the love of Heaven, try to clear him."