Collected works of j s f.., p.11
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 11
“That was very wise, Leonard,” said Martin Aylmer.
“Well, I need not trouble you with a lot of details,” continued Leonard. “Cadd and I penetrated to a district near Denver where miners were not plentiful. I suggested to him that it might be wiser to go where there were more of our own species, but he laughed, and said that he liked solitude; and as I felt sure that I knew nothing about it, and that he knew a great deal, I let him have the say in the matter.
“We found our way to a spot called Dead Man’s Flat, a wild, lonely, savage-looking place, shut in by great mountains. There we staked out a claim and set to work.”
“And found gold?” asked the merchant eagerly. “No,” said Leonard, “we didn’t. Not a shilling’s worth. We toiled for weeks and did no good, and finally decided that we had lighted on a bad bit of ground. As I have told you already, there was scarcely any one to interfere with us there, so we moved to another claim and recommenced operations. “In the new location we had somewhat better luck; but after two months’ hard toil we had got very little together. I felt, Uncle Martin, that I was wasting my time, and I said so to Cadd. He agreed with me, and we decided to move. But oh, Uncle Martin, that was sooner said than done! You have no idea what that gold-fever is. It’s like gambling — you feel that you must, that you will keep on till you come out on top! That’s how I felt. We used to say at night as we curled up in our blankets that we’d move in the morning, but when morning came we used to say that we’d try just one day more. And so it went on for many a day. I tell you it was a regular fever, that excitement.”
“I understand it,” said Martin Aylmer. “Go on, Leonard.”
“Well, a day came when we made up our minds fully and definitely that we would go back to Denver on the morrow. We were at work that day in a little gulch, and at noon we sat down to eat our luncheon in the shadow of some rocks. There was a wind blowing at the time, and Cadd, wanting to smoke, had some bother to light his pipe. He struck two or three matches, and then we found we had only one match left. He went amongst the rocks to light it, so as to be out of the wind.
“I heard him strike the match and saw the puffs of smoke come sailing away out of the cleft he had gone into; and then, all of a sudden, I heard him give a short, sharp exclamation. 'What is it?’ I said, and followed him. He was standing in a sort of hollow, looking at something beneath his feet — at something which his boot had struck against as he crouched down to light his pipe. It was an iron ring, set firmly in a rough square stone!
“Cadd and I stood staring at the ring and at each other for what seemed an age. And then, with one common consent, we looked round us. Not a soul was in sight. It would have been a wonder if there had been, for we hadn’t seen anybody for a week. We clutched the ring, and, with a tremendous effort, pulled up the stone. Beneath it yawned a dark flight of rude steps, cut out of the hard rock.
“Uncle Martin, we stood and stared at this as if we were petrified. Cadd took up a stone and let it roll down the step. We heard it bound from one to the other and quickly touch the bottom, “All this time we had spoken no word, but now with a quick intelligence, I dashed away to our shanty and brought a lamp and matches. We lighted the lamp and went cautiously down. There were twelve steps, and they terminated in a narrow passage. We went along the passage, and then—”
“Yes,” said Martin Aylmer, carried away with excitement, “and then, Leonard, and then?”
“We found ourselves in a little square chamber, Uncle Martin, lined with virgin gold from floor to ceiling! Nuggets piled on nuggets, lumps—”
Leonard, in his excitement, had risen, and was walking away from his uncle’s desk, his hands raised as if to point out the sight he was describing. Suddenly Martin Aylmer rose from his chair, his face ghastly, his eyes starting. “The hoist!” he screamed; “Leonard, mind the hoist!”
It was too late. Behind Leonard, as he retired from his uncle, yawned the opening to a hoist communicating with the cellars. The young man tried to spring forward as the warning words fell on his ears; he missed his footing, and fell back with a sickening thud.
CHAPTER III.
MURDER.
THE WHOLE THING had taken place so suddenly that Martin Aylmer had no time to cry out after that first warning to Leonard. He saw the young man step back, sent out the alarming word too late, and watched the victim fall headlong down the open hoist, and now he stood panting at his desk, almost too frightened and shocked to move.
Simon Murgatroyd, too, waiting at the door, had seen the accident. If he had chosen, he could have prevented it, for he had noticed that Leonard, in his excited description of the treasure vault, was retreating towards the dangerous spot. But Simon made no sign, gave no caution. He saw the young man fall, and then, without waiting to see what Martin Aylmer would do, he hurried away along a passage leading towards the cellars.
Martin stood by his desk a full minute, his hand convulsively clutching his side. He was not strong, and anxiety had made him subject to attacks of pain at the heart. He was struggling now with palpitation, and he felt as if a single movement on his part would kill him.
A decanter full of water stood on the desk behind him. His eye, wandering away from the hoist, caught sight of it. He poured out a glassful and put it to his lips. The cold draught revived him. He walked across the floor; and, peering into the well of the hoist, called his nephew’s name in faint accents.
No answer came.
The perspiration broke out in great beads on Martin Aylmer’s forehead as he stood looking down the gloomy opening through which Leonard had fallen. He knew that it was almost impossible for any one to survive the shock of such a fall. The hoist penetrated deep into the extensive cellarings of the warehouse, and Leonard must have fallen a distance of thirty feet at least.
Martin Aylmer, making a desperate effort to recover himself, hurried out of his private room and went along the passage by which Simon Murgatroyd had fled a moment earlier. It led towards the back of the building, and terminated in a wide flight of steps leading to the cellars. Half-way along the passage the merchant remembered that the door of the staircase would be locked. He went back to his desk for the key, and, returning to the staircase, unlocked the door and went quickly down. He left the door at the head of the stairs open, and he had no sooner disappeared in the gloom than Simon Murgatroyd, emerging from a little room close by, slipped after him quietly, and followed him in the direction of the cellars.
At the foot of the stairs Martin Aylmer struck a match. He was not over familiar with these nether regions of his establishment, and it was a full minute before he was able to make his way to the gas-bracket and throw a flood of light over the place. While he was engaged in feeling along the walls for the bracket, Simon Murgatroyd, who had taken off his shoes and stolen after his master in his stockings, passed behind him quietly, and took up a position beyond some bales of goods piled at the extreme end of the cellar. From this point of vantage the clerk was able to see everything that happened without being seen himself.
Martin Aylmer turned up the gas-jet to its full extent and looked fearfully round. The vast cellar was filled with bales of goods and packing cases, and these objects, together with the iron pillars supporting the roof, threw long shadows across the floor. But Martin’s eyes, disregarding these, went straight to a spot where, at the foot of the opening of the hoist, his nephew’s body lay still and apparently-lifeless.
He made his way across the floor, and dropped on one knee at Leonard’s side. The young man had evidently fallen on his head, and was now lying with his neck half-bent under his chest, while little streams of blood, slowly oozing from nose and mouth and ears, gave evidence that some terrible internal injury had befallen him, and probably caused instantaneous death. He lay perfectly still, not a muscle of his body quivering.
Martin Aylmer took Leonard’s hand in his own, and rapidly felt the pulse. There was no movement to be detected. He dropped the hand with an exclamation of horror, and began to tear open the young man’s coat and waistcoat. But when he had done this, and put his ear to Leonard’s chest, he could detect no sign of life there. He turned the face round to the light. The mouth was partly open; the eyes, fixed and staring, bore a horror-struck expression. To look at his face there was no doubt that Leonard Aylmer was dead.
Simon Murgatroyd, peeping through a convenient opening in the bales, watched all this with eager eyes. He saw his master approach the body and examine it hastily. He saw the expression of horror which came into Martin’s face as he found that his nephew was lifeless. But he kept still within his hiding-place, and made no effort to go to the merchant’s assistance.
Martin’s first impulse on finding that Leonard was dead was to rush away for the nearest surgeon. He started to his feet, and went hastily towards the stairs; but at the door he stopped and hesitated, Simon watched him curiously, divining the object of his speedy retreat, and wondering what made him stop; but he himself remained perdu behind the bales of goods.
Martin Aylmer stopped at the foot of the steps, and put his hand to his head with a hesitating, doubtful gesture. He stood in the same attitude for a moment, and then, coming back to Leonard’s side, he knelt down again and began to examine the motionless body with greater care and exactitude.
First he took Leonard’s wrist between his fingers and felt, during what seemed several minutes to Simon Murgatroyd, for any sign of the pulse. At last he shook his head and let the nerveless hand fall again. Then he listened a long time for the beating of the heart, the watcher behind the bales meanwhile following his every movement with eager eyes and craning neck in his anxiety to lose nothing of what was taking place. A look of satisfaction spread over Simon’s face when he saw Martin Aylmer at last lift his head from his nephew’s chest and shake it again despairingly.
But the merchant had not quite exhausted his method of ascertaining whether all life had fled from the still body. He drew from his pocket a small mirror, and held it over Leonard’s mouth. At the end of quite three minutes he raised the mirror to the light. From his hiding-place Simon Murgatroyd could see that it was undimmed, and so he had no more doubt that Leonard was dead indeed.
Martin Aylmer put the mirror in his pocket again, and, rising from the dead body, began to pace up and down the floor. Once, twice, thrice he passed and repassed the pile of bales behind which stood Simon Murgatroyd, and every time the gloom on his face grew deeper. His arms were folded across his chest, his head sank forward; he looked as if he were endeavouring to think out some knotty problem. Simon began to wonder what occupied his master’s thoughts.
At the end of ten minutes Martin Aylmer again approached his nephew’s body. He knelt down at its side, and, feeling in the breast-pocket of the coat, drew forth Leonard’s pocket-book, he laid it down beside him, and began to search the other pockets. Out of one he took a purse, from another some papers. He put the purse back, took the papers and the pocket-book, and carried them over to the gas-bracket.
From his hiding-place Simon Murgatroyd was able to follow Martin Aylmer’s every movement as the latter opened the pocket-book. He saw him take out a thick wad of bank-notes and count them over. He saw him search the pocket-book for any further contents.
Of these there were nothing more than half a sheet of notepaper covered over with letters and figures. Simon was not near enough to make these out, but he could see, beyond doubt, that the letters and figures formed a list of the numbers of the bank-notes.
Martin Aylmer read the list through, and compared it with the packet of notes. This done, he held the list in the gas-flame for an instant, and, throwing it to the floor, watched it burn away, “Good!” said Simon to himself; “that is a good stroke of policy. I begin to see what he is after.”
He followed his master’s movements with renewed interest. Martin, having burnt the halfsheet of notepaper, turned his attention to the packet of letters and papers which he had taken from Leonard’s pockets. Some he burnt, some he laid by the side of the bank-notes; and it was evident that he was all the time revolving some plan in his mind.
When he had finished looking through the papers, he put them in the pocket-book, and restored the bank-notes to the same receptacle. As he unbuttoned his coat in order to put Leonard’s property in a safe place, Simon Murgatroyd stepped out from his hiding-place, and coming softly across the floor, planted himself exactly behind his master. The movement, silent as it was, attracted Martin Aylmer’s attention. He turned sharply round, and found himself face to face with Simon.
For a full minute neither of the two spoke, Martin Aylmer, surprised in the very instant that he was placing the pocket-book in his breast, remained as though transfixed, his eyes staring at Simon, his jaw dropped in confusion, his whole attitude that of guilt. Simon, on the contrary, was cool and self-possessed. There was an evil smile on his face, and his eyes looked cruel and crafty. He folded his arms and looked inquiringly at Martin.
Simon spoke first. “What,” he said in a low, confidential tone, “what am I to have, Mr. Aylmer?”
Martin stared at him. “What are you to have?” he repeated as soon as speech came to him, “What do you mean, man? How came you here?”
“Never mind that,” said Simon, with a wave of the hand. “Here I am, and that’s enough for you, I repeat it — what am I to have?”
“What are you to have for what?”
Simon nodded significantly at the figure lying on the floor, and then pointed to the pocket-book, which the merchant still held in his hand.
“For keeping a quiet tongue in my head,” he said meaningly, Martin Aylmer sank down on one of the bales and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
“Great heavens!” he cried hoarsely. “You — you don’t think I killed him, do you?”
“No,” said Simon, with another evil smile; “I know you didn’t. I saw the fall.”
“You saw the fall?”
“Yes, and I’ve watched you since. You’ve robbed the body, Mr. Aylmer, and I guess you’ve some plan behind that. Now then, what am I to have? — quick!”
Martin Aylmer rose from his seat and put the pocket-book in his breast. While Simon spoke his face had grown composed.
“You’re going to have nothing, Simon,” he said quietly. “As to robbing the body, that is all nonsense. Who has more right to take charge of my nephew’s effects than myself? Stand out of my way.”
Simon stepped aside. His master passed him and walked towards the body.
“I have yet to learn,” he said, turning suddenly to Murgatroyd, “what brought you back to the counting-house at this time? That, however, we will settle to-morrow. At present you will help me.”
Simon bowed his head. He saw the mistake he had made, and was already thinking how he could repair it.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he began. “The suspicious—”
“That will do,” said Martin Aylmer. “My nephew is quite dead, and we must have the body removed. You had better go out for help. Don’t make any fuss about it. I would not have my daughter hear of it suddenly. Fetch Dr. Roberts, and let Inspector Robson know at the police-office.”
Simon Murgatroyd bowed again, watching his master with stealthy eyes.
“Very well, sir,” he said, going towards the door of the staircase.
He went up the steps, and Martin Aylmer sat down on a bale of goods close by the dead body, and looked sadly at it. He was wondering how he would be able to break the news to Rose.
At the head of the stairs, Simon Murgatroyd stopped, and remained in silence for a minute or two. His face twitched, his hands worked convulsively. He was cursing his stupidity for not waiting longer before speaking to Martin Aylmer. Suddenly he started forward, and went rapidly along the passage to his master’s private room. He crossed the floor to the desk, and, turning the key of a small drawer, drew it out, and looked with staring eyes at an object lying within it.
The object was a small revolver. Simon Murgatroyd took the weapon out and examined it. He looked at the chambers; they were all loaded. And he shut the drawer again, and put the revolver in his pocket and went out of the room. In the hall outside he paused an instant and bent his head as if in thought. He walked across to the entrance door and opened it, letting it fall to again with a loud noise, and then he very carefully drew a heavy bolt across it. “He will think I have gone out,” he muttered to himself. “And nobody can get in now that the door is bolted. And now for it.”
He went, picking his steps, along the passage towards the cellar-stairs. His stockinged feet made no sound on either stairs or passage, and he was in the cellar again, and close behind Martin Aylmer without the merchant knowing it.
Martin Aylmer still sat on the bale near his nephew’s body, his elbows resting on his knees, his face propped up by his hands. He had heard the sound of the street door closing, and was now waiting patiently until Simon should enter with help. And at that very moment Simon was creeping cautiously towards him with the revolver extended, and every nerve on the alert to prevent a sound. He came nearer and nearer, every footfall like a feather, until he was directly behind his master, and could touch him. And then, without the ghost of a sound, he pressed the muzzle of the revolver close to Martin Aylmer’s ear and fired. The merchant sprang up, beat the air with his arms, and fell forward at his nephew’s side, dead.
Simon Murgatroyd remained leaning towards his victim’s body, his eye fastened on it, till the report of the shot had died away. Then he bent down and put his hand on Martin’s heart. There was no movement; the revolver had done its work too well.
A sound startled him. He sprang up and looked at the other inanimate figure. And suddenly he became aware that Leonard Aylmer was not dead, but alive, and was regarding him with eyes full of horror and amazement.
