The Man with the Watches
There are many who will still bear in mind the singular circumstanceswhich, under the heading of the Rugby Mystery, filled many columns ofthe daily Press in the spring of the year 1892. Coming as it did at aperiod of exceptional dullness, it attracted perhaps rather moreattention than it deserved, but it offered to the public that mixtureof the whimsical and the tragic which is most stimulating to thepopular imagination. Interest drooped, however, when, after weeks offruitless investigation, it was found that no final explanation of thefacts was forthcoming, and the tragedy seemed from that time to thepresent to have finally taken its place in the dark catalogue ofinexplicable and unexpiated crimes. A recent communication (theauthenticity of which appears to be above question) has, however,thrown some new and clear light upon the matter. Before laying itbefore the public it would be as well, perhaps, that I should refreshtheir memories as to the singular facts upon which this commentary isfounded. These facts were briefly as follows:
At five o'clock on the evening of the 18th of March in the year alreadymentioned a train left Euston Station for Manchester. It was a rainy,squally day, which grew wilder as it progressed, so it was by no meansthe weather in which anyone would travel who was not driven to do so bynecessity. The train, however, is a favourite one among Manchesterbusiness men who are returning from town, for it does the journey infour hours and twenty minutes, with only three stoppages upon the way.In spite of the inclement evening it was, therefore, fairly well filledupon the occasion of which I speak. The guard of the train was a triedservant of the company--a man who had worked for twenty-two yearswithout a blemish or complaint. His name was John Palmer.
The station clock was upon the stroke of five, and the guard was aboutto give the customary signal to the engine-driver when he observed twobelated passengers hurrying down the platform. The one was anexceptionally tall man, dressed in a long black overcoat with astrakhancollar and cuffs. I have already said that the evening was aninclement one, and the tall traveller had the high, warm collar turnedup to protect his throat against the bitter March wind. He appeared,as far as the guard could judge by so hurried an inspection, to be aman between fifty and sixty years of age, who had retained a good dealof the vigour and activity of his youth. In one hand he carried abrown leather Gladstone bag. His companion was a lady, tall and erect,walking with a vigorous step which outpaced the gentleman beside her.She wore a long, fawn-coloured dust-cloak, a black, close-fittingtoque, and a dark veil which concealed the greater part of her face.The two might very well have passed as father and daughter. Theywalked swiftly down the line of carriages, glancing in at the windows,until the guard, John Palmer, overtook them.
"Now then, sir, look sharp, the train is going," said he.
"First-class," the man answered.
The guard turned the handle of the nearest door. In the carriage whichhe had opened, there sat a small man with a cigar in his mouth. Hisappearance seems to have impressed itself upon the guard's memory, forhe was prepared, afterwards, to describe or to identify him. He was aman of thirty-four or thirty-five years of age, dressed in some greymaterial, sharp-nosed, alert, with a ruddy, weather-beaten face, and asmall, closely cropped, black beard. He glanced up as the door wasopened. The tall man paused with his foot upon the step.
"This is a smoking compartment. The lady dislikes smoke," said he,looking round at the guard.
"All right! Here you are, sir!" said John Palmer. He slammed the doorof the smoking carriage, opened that of the next one, which was empty,and thrust the two travellers in. At the same moment he sounded hiswhistle and the wheels of the train began to move. The man with thecigar was at the window of his carriage, and said something to theguard as he rolled past him, but the words were lost in the bustle ofthe departure. Palmer stepped into the guard's van, as it came up tohim, and thought no more of the incident.
Twelve minutes after its departure the train reached WillesdenJunction, where it stopped for a very short interval. An examinationof the tickets has made it certain that no one either joined or left itat this time, and no passenger was seen to alight upon the platform.At 5:14 the journey to Manchester was resumed, and Rugby was reached at6:50, the express being five minutes late.
At Rugby the attention of the station officials was drawn to the factthat the door of one of the first-class carriages was open. Anexamination of that compartment, and of its neighbour, disclosed aremarkable state of affairs.
The smoking carriage in which the short, red-faced man with the blackbeard had been seen was now empty. Save for a half-smoked cigar, therewas no trace whatever of its recent occupant. The door of thiscarriage was fastened. In the next compartment, to which attention hadbeen originally drawn, there was no sign either of the gentleman withthe astrakhan collar or of the young lady who accompanied him. Allthree passengers had disappeared. On the other hand, there was foundupon the floor of this carriage--the one in which the tall travellerand the lady had been--a young man fashionably dressed and of elegantappearance. He lay with his knees drawn up, and his head restingagainst the farther door, an elbow upon either seat. A bullet hadpenetrated his heart and his death must have been instantaneous. Noone had seen such a man enter the train, and no railway ticket wasfound in his pocket, neither were there any markings upon his linen,nor papers nor personal property which might help to identify him. Whohe was, whence he had come, and how he had met his end were each asgreat a mystery as what had occurred to the three people who hadstarted an hour and a half before from Willesden in those twocompartments.
I have said that there was no personal property which might help toidentify him, but it is true that there was one peculiarity about thisunknown young man which was much commented upon at the time. In hispockets were found no fewer than six valuable gold watches, three inthe various pockets of his waist-coat, one in his ticket-pocket, one inhis breast-pocket, and one small one set in a leather strap andfastened round his left wrist. The obvious explanation that the manwas a pickpocket, and that this was his plunder, was discounted by thefact that all six were of American make and of a type which is rare inEngland. Three of them bore the mark of the Rochester WatchmakingCompany; one was by Mason, of Elmira; one was unmarked; and the smallone, which was highly jewelled and ornamented, was from Tiffany, of NewYork. The other contents of his pocket consisted of an ivory knifewith a corkscrew by Rodgers, of Sheffield; a small, circular mirror,one inch in diameter; a readmission slip to the Lyceum Theatre; asilver box full of vesta matches, and a brown leather cigar-casecontaining two cheroots--also two pounds fourteen shillings in money.It was clear, then, that whatever motives may have led to his death,robbery was not among them. As already mentioned, there were nomarkings upon the man's linen, which appeared to be new, and notailor's name upon his coat. In appearance he was young, short,smooth-cheeked, and delicately featured. One of his front teeth wasconspicuously stopped with gold.
On the discovery of the tragedy an examination was instantly made ofthe tickets of all passengers, and the number of the passengersthemselves was counted. It was found that only three tickets wereunaccounted for, corresponding to the three travellers who weremissing. The express was then allowed to proceed, but a new guard wassent with it, and John Palmer was detained as a witness at Rugby. Thecarriage which included the two compartments in question was uncoupledand side-tracked. Then, on the arrival of Inspector Vane, of ScotlandYard, and of Mr. Henderson, a detective in the service of the railwaycompany, an exhaustive inquiry was made into all the circumstances.
That crime had been committed was certain. The bullet, which appearedto have come from a small pistol or revolver, had been fired from somelittle distance, as there was no scorching of the clothes. No weaponwas found in the compartment (which finally disposed of the theory ofsuicide), nor was there any sign of the brown leather bag which theguard had seen in the hand of the tall gentleman. A lady's parasol wasfound upon the rack, but no other trace was to be seen o
f thetravellers in either of the sections. Apart from the crime, thequestion of how or why three passengers (one of them a lady) could getout of the train, and one other get in during the unbroken run betweenWillesden and Rugby, was one which excited the utmost curiosity amongthe general public, and gave rise to much speculation in the LondonPress.
John Palmer, the guard was able at the inquest to give some evidencewhich threw a little light upon the matter. There was a spot betweenTring and Cheddington, according to his statement, where, on account ofsome repairs to the line, the train had for a few minutes slowed downto a pace not exceeding eight or ten miles an hour. At that place itmight be possible for a man, or even for an exceptionally active woman,to have left the train without serious injury. It was true that a gangof platelayers was there, and that they had seen nothing, but it wastheir custom to stand in the middle between the metals, and the opencarriage door was upon the far side, so that it was conceivable thatsomeone might have alighted unseen, as the darkness would by that timebe drawing in. A steep embankment would instantly screen anyone whosprang out from the observation of the navvies.
The guard also deposed that there was a good deal of movement upon theplatform at Willesden Junction, and that though it was certain that noone had either joined or left the train there, it was still quitepossible that some of the passengers might have changed unseen from onecompartment to another. It was by no means uncommon for a gentleman tofinish his cigar in a smoking carriage and then to change to a cleareratmosphere. Supposing that the man with the black beard had done so atWillesden (and the half-smoked cigar upon the floor seemed to favourthe supposition), he would naturally go into the nearest section, whichwould bring him into the company of the two other actors in this drama.Thus the first stage of the affair might be surmised without any greatbreach of probability. But what the second stage had been, or how thefinal one had been arrived at, neither the guard nor the experienceddetective officers could suggest.
A careful examination of the line between Willesden and Rugby resultedin one discovery which might or might not have a bearing upon thetragedy. Near Tring, at the very place where the train slowed down,there was found at the bottom of the embankment a small pocketTestament, very shabby and worn. It was printed by the Bible Societyof London, and bore an inscription: "From John to Alice. Jan. 13th,1856," upon the fly-leaf. Underneath was written: "James. July 4th,1859," and beneath that again: "Edward. Nov. 1st, 1869," all theentries being in the same handwriting. This was the only clue, if itcould be called a clue, which the police obtained, and the coroner'sverdict of "Murder by a person or persons unknown" was theunsatisfactory ending of a singular case. Advertisement, rewards, andinquiries proved equally fruitless, and nothing could be found whichwas solid enough to form the basis for a profitable investigation.
It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that no theories were formedto account for the facts. On the contrary, the Press, both in Englandand in America, teemed with suggestions and suppositions, most of whichwere obviously absurd. The fact that the watches were of Americanmake, and some peculiarities in connection with the gold stopping ofhis front tooth, appeared to indicate that the deceased was a citizenof the United States, though his linen, clothes and boots wereundoubtedly of British manufacture. It was surmised, by some, that hewas concealed under the seat, and that, being discovered, he was forsome reason, possibly because he had overheard their guilty secrets,put to death by his fellow-passengers. When coupled with generalitiesas to the ferocity and cunning of anarchical and other secretsocieties, this theory sounded as plausible as any.
The fact that he should be without a ticket would be consistent withthe idea of concealment, and it was well known that women played aprominent part in the Nihilistic propaganda. On the other hand, it wasclear, from the guard's statement, that the man must have been hiddenthere BEFORE the others arrived, and how unlikely the coincidence thatconspirators should stray exactly into the very compartment in which aspy was already concealed! Besides, this explanation ignored the man inthe smoking carriage, and gave no reason at all for his simultaneousdisappearance. The police had little difficulty in showing that such atheory would not cover the facts, but they were unprepared in theabsence of evidence to advance any alternative explanation.
There was a letter in the Daily Gazette, over the signature of awell-known criminal investigator, which gave rise to considerablediscussion at the time. He had formed a hypothesis which had at leastingenuity to recommend it, and I cannot do better than append it in hisown words.
"Whatever may be the truth," said he, "it must depend upon some bizarreand rare combination of events, so we need have no hesitation inpostulating such events in our explanation. In the absence of data wemust abandon the analytic or scientific method of investigation, andmust approach it in the synthetic fashion. In a word, instead of takingknown events and deducing from them what has occurred, we must build upa fanciful explanation if it will only be consistent with known events.We can then test this explanation by any fresh facts which may arise.If they all fit into their places, the probability is that we are uponthe right track, and with each fresh fact this probability increases ina geometrical progression until the evidence becomes final andconvincing.
"Now, there is one most remarkable and suggestive fact which has notmet with the attention which it deserves. There is a local trainrunning through Harrow and King's Langley, which is timed in such a waythat the express must have overtaken it at or about the period when iteased down its speed to eight miles an hour on account of the repairsof the line. The two trains would at that time be travelling in thesame direction at a similar rate of speed and upon parallel lines. Itis within every one's experience how, under such circumstances, theoccupant of each carriage can see very plainly the passengers in theother carriages opposite to him. The lamps of the express had been litat Willesden, so that each compartment was brightly illuminated, andmost visible to an observer from outside.
"Now, the sequence of events as I reconstruct them would be after thisfashion. This young man with the abnormal number of watches was alonein the carriage of the slow train. His ticket, with his papers andgloves and other things, was, we will suppose, on the seat beside him.He was probably an American, and also probably a man of weak intellect.The excessive wearing of jewellery is an early symptom in some forms ofmania.
"As he sat watching the carriages of the express which were (on accountof the state of the line) going at the same pace as himself, hesuddenly saw some people in it whom he knew. We will suppose for thesake of our theory that these people were a woman whom he loved and aman whom he hated--and who in return hated him. The young man wasexcitable and impulsive. He opened the door of his carriage, steppedfrom the footboard of the local train to the footboard of the express,opened the other door, and made his way into the presence of these twopeople. The feat (on the supposition that the trains were going at thesame pace) is by no means so perilous as it might appear.
"Having now got our young man, without his ticket, into the carriage inwhich the elder man and the young woman are travelling, it is notdifficult to imagine that a violent scene ensued. It is possible thatthe pair were also Americans, which is the more probable as the mancarried a weapon--an unusual thing in England. If our supposition ofincipient mania is correct, the young man is likely to have assaultedthe other. As the upshot of the quarrel the elder man shot theintruder, and then made his escape from the carriage, taking the younglady with him. We will suppose that all this happened very rapidly,and that the train was still going at so slow a pace that it was notdifficult for them to leave it. A woman might leave a train going ateight miles an hour. As a matter of fact, we know that this woman DIDdo so.
"And now we have to fit in the man in the smoking carriage. Presumingthat we have, up to this point, reconstructed the tragedy correctly, weshall find nothing in this other man to cause us to reconsider ourconclusions. According to my theory, this man saw the young fellowcros
s from one train to the other, saw him open the door, heard thepistol-shot, saw the two fugitives spring out on to the line, realizedthat murder had been done, and sprang out himself in pursuit. Why hehas never been heard of since--whether he met his own death in thepursuit, or whether, as is more likely, he was made to realize that itwas not a case for his interference--is a detail which we have atpresent no means of explaining. I acknowledge that there are somedifficulties in the way. At first sight, it might seem improbable thatat such a moment a murderer would burden himself in his flight with abrown leather bag. My answer is that he was well aware that if the bagwere found his identity would be established. It was absolutelynecessary for him to take it with him. My theory stands or falls uponone point, and I call upon the railway company to make strict inquiryas to whether a ticket was found unclaimed in the local train throughHarrow and King's Langley upon the 18th of March. If such a ticketwere found my case is proved. If not, my theory may still be thecorrect one, for it is conceivable either that he travelled without aticket or that his ticket was lost."
To this elaborate and plausible hypothesis the answer of the police andof the company was, first, that no such ticket was found; secondly,that the slow train would never run parallel to the express; and,thirdly, that the local train had been stationary in King's LangleyStation when the express, going at fifty miles an hour, had flashedpast it. So perished the only satisfying explanation, and five yearshave elapsed without supplying a new one. Now, at last, there comes astatement which covers all the facts, and which must be regarded asauthentic. It took the shape of a letter dated from New York, andaddressed to the same criminal investigator whose theory I have quoted.It is given here in extenso, with the exception of the two openingparagraphs, which are personal in their nature:
"You'll excuse me if I'm not very free with names. There's less reasonnow than there was five years ago when mother was still living. Butfor all that, I had rather cover up our tracks all I can. But I oweyou an explanation, for if your idea of it was wrong, it was a mightyingenious one all the same. I'll have to go back a little so as youmay understand all about it.
"My people came from Bucks, England, and emigrated to the States in theearly fifties. They settled in Rochester, in the State of New York,where my father ran a large dry goods store. There were only two sons:myself, James, and my brother, Edward. I was ten years older than mybrother, and after my father died I sort of took the place of a fatherto him, as an elder brother would. He was a bright, spirited boy, andjust one of the most beautiful creatures that ever lived. But therewas always a soft spot in him, and it was like mould in cheese, for itspread and spread, and nothing that you could do would stop it. Mothersaw it just as clearly as I did, but she went on spoiling him all thesame, for he had such a way with him that you could refuse him nothing.I did all I could to hold him in, and he hated me for my pains.
"At last he fairly got his head, and nothing that we could do wouldstop him. He got off into New York, and went rapidly from bad toworse. At first he was only fast, and then he was criminal; and then,at the end of a year or two, he was one of the most notorious youngcrooks in the city. He had formed a friendship with Sparrow MacCoy,who was at the head of his profession as a bunco-steerer, greengoodsman and general rascal. They took to card-sharping, and frequentedsome of the best hotels in New York. My brother was an excellent actor(he might have made an honest name for himself if he had chosen), andhe would take the parts of a young Englishman of title, of a simple ladfrom the West, or of a college undergraduate, whichever suited SparrowMacCoy's purpose. And then one day he dressed himself as a girl, andhe carried it off so well, and made himself such a valuable decoy, thatit was their favourite game afterwards. They had made it right withTammany and with the police, so it seemed as if nothing could ever stopthem, for those were in the days before the Lexow Commission, and ifyou only had a pull, you could do pretty nearly everything you wanted.
"And nothing would have stopped them if they had only stuck to cardsand New York, but they must needs come up Rochester way, and forge aname upon a cheque. It was my brother that did it, though everyoneknew that it was under the influence of Sparrow MacCoy. I bought upthat cheque, and a pretty sum it cost me. Then I went to my brother,laid it before him on the table, and swore to him that I wouldprosecute if he did not clear out of the country. At first he simplylaughed. I could not prosecute, he said, without breaking our mother'sheart, and he knew that I would not do that. I made him understand,however, that our mother's heart was being broken in any case, and thatI had set firm on the point that I would rather see him in Rochestergaol than in a New York hotel. So at last he gave in, and he made me asolemn promise that he would see Sparrow MacCoy no more, that he wouldgo to Europe, and that he would turn his hand to any honest trade thatI helped him to get. I took him down right away to an old familyfriend, Joe Willson, who is an exporter of American watches and clocks,and I got him to give Edward an agency in London, with a small salaryand a 15 per cent commission on all business. His manner andappearance were so good that he won the old man over at once, andwithin a week he was sent off to London with a case full of samples.
"It seemed to me that this business of the cheque had really given mybrother a fright, and that there was some chance of his settling downinto an honest line of life. My mother had spoken with him, and whatshe said had touched him, for she had always been the best of mothersto him and he had been the great sorrow of her life. But I knew thatthis man Sparrow MacCoy had a great influence over Edward and my chanceof keeping the lad straight lay in breaking the connection betweenthem. I had a friend in the New York detective force, and through himI kept a watch upon MacCoy. When, within a fortnight of my brother'ssailing, I heard that MacCoy had taken a berth in the Etruria, I was ascertain as if he had told me that he was going over to England for thepurpose of coaxing Edward back again into the ways that he had left.In an instant I had resolved to go also, and to pit my influenceagainst MacCoy's. I knew it was a losing fight, but I thought, and mymother thought, that it was my duty. We passed the last night togetherin prayer for my success, and she gave me her own Testament that myfather had given her on the day of their marriage in the Old Country,so that I might always wear it next my heart.
"I was a fellow-traveller, on the steamship, with Sparrow MacCoy, andat least I had the satisfaction of spoiling his little game for thevoyage. The very first night I went into the smoking-room, and foundhim at the head of a card-table, with a half a dozen young fellows whowere carrying their full purses and their empty skulls over to Europe.He was settling down for his harvest, and a rich one it would havebeen. But I soon changed all that.
"'Gentlemen,' said I, 'are you aware whom you are playing with?'
"'What's that to you? You mind your own business!' said he, with anoath.
"'Who is it, anyway?' asked one of the dudes.
"'He's Sparrow MacCoy, the most notorious card-sharper in the States.'
"Up he jumped with a bottle in his hand, but he remembered that he wasunder the flag of the effete Old Country, where law and order run, andTammany has no pull. Gaol and the gallows wait for violence andmurder, and there's no slipping out by the back door on board an oceanliner.
"'Prove your words, you----!' said he.
"'I will!' said I. 'If you will turn up your right shirt-sleeve to theshoulder, I will either prove my words or I will eat them.'
"He turned white and said not a word. You see, I knew something of hisways, and I was aware of that part of the mechanism which he and allsuch sharpers use consists of an elastic down the arm with a clip justabove the wrist. It is by means of this clip that they withdraw fromtheir hands the cards which they do not want, while they substituteother cards from another hiding place. I reckoned on it being there,and it was. He cursed me, slunk out of the saloon, and was hardly seenagain during the voyage. For once, at any rate, I got level withMister Sparrow MacCoy.
"But he soon had his revenge upon me, f
or when it came to influencingmy brother he outweighed me every time. Edward had kept himselfstraight in London for the first few weeks, and had done some businesswith his American watches, until this villain came across his path oncemore. I did my best, but the best was little enough. The next thing Iheard there had been a scandal at one of the Northumberland Avenuehotels: a traveller had been fleeced of a large sum by two confederatecard-sharpers, and the matter was in the hands of Scotland Yard. Thefirst I learned of it was in the evening paper, and I was at oncecertain that my brother and MacCoy were back at their old games. Ihurried at once to Edward's lodgings. They told me that he and a tallgentleman (whom I recognized as MacCoy) had gone off together, and thathe had left the lodgings and taken his things with him. The landladyhad heard them give several directions to the cabman, ending withEuston Station, and she had accidentally overheard the tall gentlemansaying something about Manchester. She believed that that was theirdestination.
"A glance at the time-table showed me that the most likely train was atfive, though there was another at 4:35 which they might have caught. Ihad only time to get the later one, but found no sign of them either atthe depot or in the train. They must have gone on by the earlier one,so I determined to follow them to Manchester and search for them in thehotels there. One last appeal to my brother by all that he owed to mymother might even now be the salvation of him. My nerves wereoverstrung, and I lit a cigar to steady them. At that moment, just asthe train was moving off, the door of my compartment was flung open,and there were MacCoy and my brother on the platform.
"They were both disguised, and with good reason, for they knew that theLondon police were after them. MacCoy had a great astrakhan collardrawn up, so that only his eyes and nose were showing. My brother wasdressed like a woman, with a black veil half down his face, but ofcourse it did not deceive me for an instant, nor would it have done soeven if I had not known that he had often used such a dress before. Istarted up, and as I did so MacCoy recognized me. He said something,the conductor slammed the door, and they were shown into the nextcompartment. I tried to stop the train so as to follow them, but thewheels were already moving, and it was too late.
"When we stopped at Willesden, I instantly changed my carriage. Itappears that I was not seen to do so, which is not surprising, as thestation was crowded with people. MacCoy, of course, was expecting me,and he had spent the time between Euston and Willesden in saying all hecould to harden my brother's heart and set him against me. That iswhat I fancy, for I had never found him so impossible to soften or tomove. I tried this way and I tried that; I pictured his future in anEnglish gaol; I described the sorrow of his mother when I came backwith the news; I said everything to touch his heart, but all to nopurpose. He sat there with a fixed sneer upon his handsome face, whileevery now and then Sparrow MacCoy would throw in a taunt at me, or someword of encouragement to hold my brother to his resolutions.
"'Why don't you run a Sunday-school?' he would say to me, and then, inthe same breath: 'He thinks you have no will of your own. He thinksyou are just the baby brother and that he can lead you where he likes.He's only just finding out that you are a man as well as he.'
"It was those words of his which set me talking bitterly. We had leftWillesden, you understand, for all this took some time. My temper gotthe better of me, and for the first time in my life I let my brothersee the rough side of me. Perhaps it would have been better had I doneso earlier and more often.
"'A man!' said I. 'Well, I'm glad to have your friend's assurance ofit, for no one would suspect it to see you like a boarding-schoolmissy. I don't suppose in all this country there is a morecontemptible-looking creature than you are as you sit there with thatDolly pinafore upon you.' He coloured up at that, for he was a vainman, and he winced from ridicule.
"'It's only a dust-cloak,' said he, and he slipped it off. 'One has tothrow the coppers off one's scent, and I had no other way to do it.'He took his toque off with the veil attached, and he put both it andthe cloak into his brown bag. 'Anyway, I don't need to wear it untilthe conductor comes round,' said he.
"'Nor then, either,' said I, and taking the bag I slung it with all myforce out of the window. 'Now,' said I, 'you'll never make a Mary Janeof yourself while I can help it. If nothing but that disguise standsbetween you and a gaol, then to gaol you shall go.'
"That was the way to manage him. I felt my advantage at once. Hissupple nature was one which yielded to roughness far more readily thanto entreaty. He flushed with shame, and his eyes filled with tears.But MacCoy saw my advantage also, and was determined that I should notpursue it.
"'He's my pard, and you shall not bully him,' he cried.
"'He's my brother, and you shall not ruin him,' said I. 'I believe aspell of prison is the very best way of keeping you apart, and youshall have it, or it will be no fault of mine.'
"'Oh, you would squeal, would you?' he cried, and in an instant hewhipped out his revolver. I sprang for his hand, but saw that I wastoo late, and jumped aside. At the same instant he fired, and thebullet which would have struck me passed through the heart of myunfortunate brother.
"He dropped without a groan upon the floor of the compartment, andMacCoy and I, equally horrified, knelt at each side of him, trying tobring back some signs of life. MacCoy still held the loaded revolverin his hand, but his anger against me and my resentment towards him hadboth for the moment been swallowed up in this sudden tragedy. It washe who first realized the situation. The train was for some reasongoing very slowly at the moment, and he saw his opportunity for escape.In an instant he had the door open, but I was as quick as he, andjumping upon him the two of us fell off the footboard and rolled ineach other's arms down a steep embankment. At the bottom I struck myhead against a stone, and I remembered nothing more. When I came tomyself I was lying among some low bushes, not far from the railroadtrack, and somebody was bathing my head with a wet handkerchief. Itwas Sparrow MacCoy.
"'I guess I couldn't leave you,' said he. 'I didn't want to have theblood of two of you on my hands in one day. You loved your brother,I've no doubt; but you didn't love him a cent more than I loved him,though you'll say that I took a queer way to show it. Anyhow, it seemsa mighty empty world now that he is gone, and I don't care acontinental whether you give me over to the hangman or not.'
"He had turned his ankle in the fall, and there we sat, he with hisuseless foot, and I with my throbbing head, and we talked and talkeduntil gradually my bitterness began to soften and to turn intosomething like sympathy. What was the use of revenging his death upona man who was as much stricken by that death as I was? And then, as mywits gradually returned, I began to realize also that I could donothing against MacCoy which would not recoil upon my mother andmyself. How could we convict him without a full account of mybrother's career being made public--the very thing which of all otherswe wished to avoid? It was really as much our interest as his to coverthe matter up, and from being an avenger of crime I found myselfchanged to a conspirator against Justice. The place in which we foundourselves was one of those pheasant preserves which are so common inthe Old Country, and as we groped our way through it I found myselfconsulting the slayer of my brother as to how far it would be possibleto hush it up.
"I soon realized from what he said that unless there were some papersof which we knew nothing in my brother's pockets, there was really nopossible means by which the police could identify him or learn how hehad got there. His ticket was in MacCoy's pocket, and so was theticket for some baggage which they had left at the depot. Like mostAmericans, he had found it cheaper and easier to buy an outfit inLondon than to bring one from New York, so that all his linen andclothes were new and unmarked. The bag, containing the dust-cloak,which I had thrown out of the window, may have fallen among somebramble patch where it is still concealed, or may have been carried offby some tramp, or may have come into the possession of the police, whokept the incident to themselves. Anyhow, I have seen nothing about itin the Lond
on papers. As to the watches, they were a selection fromthose which had been intrusted to him for business purposes. It mayhave been for the same business purposes that he was taking them toManchester, but--well, it's too late to enter into that.
"I don't blame the police for being at fault. I don't see how it couldhave been otherwise. There was just one little clue that they mighthave followed up, but it was a small one. I mean that small, circularmirror which was found in my brother's pocket. It isn't a very commonthing for a young man to carry about with him, is it? But a gamblermight have told you what such a mirror may mean to a card-sharper. Ifyou sit back a little from the table, and lay the mirror, face upwards,upon your lap, you can see, as you deal, every card that you give toyour adversary. It is not hard to say whether you see a man or raisehim when you know his cards as well as your own. It was as much a partof a sharper's outfit as the elastic clip upon Sparrow MacCoy's arm.Taking that, in connection with the recent frauds at the hotels, thepolice might have got hold of one end of the string.
"I don't think there is much more for me to explain. We got to avillage called Amersham that night in the character of two gentlemenupon a walking tour, and afterwards we made our way quietly to London,whence MacCoy went on to Cairo and I returned to New York. My motherdied six months afterwards, and I am glad to say that to the day of herdeath she never knew what happened. She was always under the delusionthat Edward was earning an honest living in London, and I never had theheart to tell her the truth. He never wrote; but, then, he never didwrite at any time, so that made no difference. His name was the lastupon her lips.
"There's just one other thing that I have to ask you, sir, and I shouldtake it as a kind return for all this explanation, if you could do itfor me. You remember that Testament that was picked up. I alwayscarried it in my inside pocket, and it must have come out in my fall.I value it very highly, for it was the family book with my birth and mybrother's marked by my father in the beginning of it. I wish you wouldapply at the proper place and have it sent to me. It can be of nopossible value to anyone else. If you address it to X, Bassano'sLibrary, Broadway, New York, it is sure to come to hand."