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Witness to the Deed, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 47. Flashing Back To Life |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. FLASHING BACK TO LIFE Brettison leaped from his chair, and Stratton literally staggered back against a glass case so violently that a figure upon it toppled over and fell with a crash, as if emblematic of another downfall of all hope. For it seemed incredible. Little more than an hour before they had left this man apparently a helpless imbecile, unable to concentrate his mental faculties save upon one point, and only at certain times upon that, at all others hopelessly blank. While now the vacuity had apparently departed, his face looked eager and animated, and the helpless log had turned into a dangerous enemy, whose fresh coming upon the scene completely upset all calculations, and the question staring them in the face was how to act next. For it was quite plain; so long as the man had gone on in his quiet, regular track, with his nurse in attendance, and his invalid-chair waiting to take him a short distance every morning, his mind had remained blank; but though he had made no sign--though he had apparently not been in any way impressed by Stratton's company--beneath the calm, dreamy surface the old man had been evoked, the thoughts lying dormant had suddenly been awakened; and with the last scene of which he was conscious, before the shot had prostrated body and mind at one blow, once more vividly before his mind, he had risen from his seat during his nurse's absence, and made straight for the chambers, bent upon finishing the task upon which he had set his mind. As he mounted the stairs, nearly everything was as clear as on the day when he had presented himself. Only one matter was confused, and, strangely enough, that was the point upon which, during his imbecile condition, he had been able to dwell--to wit, his wound. One set of ideas swept away the other, and he could only go back to the moment when he had presented that revolver at Stratton. And now, as he entered the room and spoke, it was to him the same day and the continuation of his interview with Stratton. It puzzled him a little that he should have had to come through the streets to continue that scene, but not much, for his mind had been gradually opening out from the time he left Queen Charlotte Road, and it was only when he reached Stratton's door that he had gained its full expansion. He was a little surprised, too, at seeing Brettison there. The latter had come in suddenly like one in a dream, but he did not let it trouble him. If Stratton was willing to let a third person share the secret, that was his lookout. Brettison was evidently not connected with the police, and he felt that the power he held made him more than a match for both. He smiled as he saw the effect his arrival had produced on the occupants of the chambers, and looked sharply from one to the other before turning, and turning the bolt of the inner door into its socket. Then his hand went suspiciously to his pocket and then to his breast. Not finding what he sought, he looked at the table and the floor in search of it. He shook his head then as if to clear his mind, and turned to Brettison. "Who are you?" he said sharply. "Friend of his--a friend of the lady? Why have you come? Don't matter. If he doesn't mind, it's nothing to me. Get the old man and the aunt, and my wife too, if you like, for she is my wife, mind. You can't get out of that--my wife, Mrs James Barron. Do you hear, Stratton?--Mrs James Barron." Stratton uttered a peculiar sound, between a groan and a cry of rage, and he took a step toward the man, who drew himself up threateningly. "No nonsense," he said, with a fierce snarl. "No games, or you'll repent it. I'm playing high, and I'll stand no humbug. Look here, old man," he continued, turning to Brettison, "you sit down there, whoever you are. I don't want to hurt you. I warn you, for I may turn rusty. What you've got to do is to take a sensible view of the case, and advise him to do the same. Sit down." He spoke as fiercely as if it were to an obstinate dog, and Brettison sank back in an easy-chair, looking stunned. "That's right. Now you, Stratton, you'd better squat down, too. I've come on particular business. I expected you to turn nasty, and I'm quite prepared." He tapped his breast where he had felt for the revolver, and a look of low cunning crossed his heavy face. Stratton also sank into a chair--not so much in obedience to the man's words as to gain time and settle upon some plan of action. "Come, that's sensible," said the man, smiling. "I see we shall come to good terms suitable to all parties. I hate quarrelling, specially when all the good cards are in my hand. It's like being forced to take a cowardly advantage of the other side." Brettison turned a hopeless look upon Stratton, and the man saw it and said sharply: "Never mind him. I'll tell you, as you were not here. I propose a handsome sum down. Hallo! he has pocketed those notes that were on the table. But it doesn't matter, they're easily brought out. A handsome sum down, and a regular quarterly payment. He has only to agree to that, and James Barron goes about in the dark and he never sees him. It'll be just as if James Barron was shot and drowned, as the papers said, in an attempt to escape off The Foreland one dark night about a year ago. Ugh! it was rough work," he added, with a shudder, "and I deserve a little extra for leaving the lady alone for so long. Now, then, isn't that a fair offer?" Brettison's lips moved as he sat there perfectly prostrated, wishing that in his zeal he had not interfered; for had he not, the man before them would have been dead and powerless to work all this evil--unless discovery had made him a more deadly enemy still. "I say, isn't that a fair offer?" he repeated. "Silence gives consent. There we are, then. Come, Stratton. They must be ready to start for the church by this time, so look alive and let's get the business done. Just a few strokes of the pen, the handing over of some filthy lucre in the shape of notes--Bank of England, mind," he said with a peculiar laugh, "none of your Russian roubles. By jingo, what notes those were, though. They didn't find 'em out for years. Well?" He looked from one to the other as they sat watching him in helpless dismay. "Come; don't fool. You are keeping the lady waiting, and old Jerrold is a regular Tartar, I can tell you. He will not stand any nonsense. I know him of old. Come, what is it to be?" He looked fixedly at Stratton, as if urging him to speak, but no words came. "I say, what is it to be?" cried the man fiercely. "No shilly-shally! Don't put me out, or I shall be more nasty than you like. There, there, don't let's quarrel, gentlemen," he cried, changing his tone. "We're all men of the world, and we've got to deal with an ugly difficulty. Let's settle it sensibly. I'm sorry for you, Stratton. It's disappointing for you to have a dead man come to life and claim his wife just as you are going to take the pretty widow to the church; but these accidents will occur, and when they do let's repair damages the best way we can. Well; why don't you speak; don't let me do all the talking." Stratton drew a deep breath. "Oh, it's of no use to sigh over it, sir, not a bit. Nothing to sigh for. Come, hang it all, Myra Barron's worth a few hundreds down, and a little income for her lawful lord. I don't want her, but I can't afford to sell her too cheaply--hang the thing!" He gave his head an uneasy jerk, and his hand played about his neck and the back of his right ear for a few moments, as if something troubled him. But it passed off directly, and he looked from one to the other again as he took a chair, turned it, and supported himself by propping himself with the back. "Now then: the parson's waiting, and the carriages and the people. Drink my health after its all over, and think to yourself I've behaved like a trump. Write out a cheque, and send the old man here to cash it, only look here, old fellow, no games, no tricks. You'll play fair--or I shall make it pretty unpleasant for all concerned, I can tell you. All right, you'll be square. You can't afford to play tricks. Now, then, we are agreed, eh? That's right. Better than having a furious row about nothing. What do you say?" "I was about to speak to my friend, sir," said Stratton quietly. Then turning to Brettison--"Now what do you think; we must completely alter our plans." "Yes," said Brettison, with a sigh. "Make your plans, gentlemen, when you've settled with me," said the man sternly, and he jerked one hand up to his neck again, and withdrew it with a gesture of annoyance. "Come, Stratton, it's only a few lines written with a pen, and you win all you want. Where do you keep your cheque-book? In your table-drawer." "There is only one way out of the difficulty, Brettison," said Stratton with a sigh. "Only one," said the old man sadly. "Bravo, that's common-sense," cried the man. "Sound wisdom. I told you so. Out with that cheque-book at once." "I'm afraid, sir," said Stratton sternly, "that we are at cross purposes." "What do you mean?" "That no money would ever buy your silence, even if I were disposed to play the part of scoundrel. You will get no hush money from me." "What?" "There is only one way out of this difficulty." "Oh, indeed!" said the man sarcastically; "and that is--" "To hand you over to the police." "What?" "You heard my words, sir! I need not repeat them. The prison is the only place for such as you, where the power of doing mischief is beyond you. Brettison, go down and fetch a policeman--two--at once." "Let him stir, and I'll send a bullet through his skull," cried the man fiercely, as his hand was thrust behind him beneath his coat. "Go at once, Brettison, I'll take care he does not harm you." "Don't listen to him, you, sir," cried the scoundrel. "I warn you; you stir from that chair and you're a dead man!" "My dear Stratton," said Brettison, rising from his sea. "Go at once! Never mind his threats," said Stratton fiercely. "All right, I've warned you," said the man, drawing back his lips from his teeth like some wild animal about to bite, and, stepping quickly to the door, he stood near it with his hand behind him still, as if about to draw a revolver from his hip pocket. Brettison did not stir. "He has a pistol there," he whispered. "Of course. Suppose I was coming on a job like this, to make my gentleman there disgorge, and not have a mate to back me? Now, then, both of you; it's of no use to get into a passion. You threaten police. I checkmate you with the little tool I have here--my reserve force. There, you had better take it quietly, Stratton. What are a few hundreds to you? I give up the girl and her fortune; what more do you want? As for myself, I only wish for enough to live comfortably and in peace without troubling anybody. There, let's talk again like men of the world. You put my back up when you begin talking all that nonsense about the police. Be sensible, Mr Stratton. I've had one dose of over yonder that was not pleasant. I don't want to get on trial for shooting you--if caught." He said the last words with a forced laugh, and took a step or two forward in a jaunty fashion, in wonderful contrast with his manner an hour or so before. "Now, then, Mr Stratton, we'll forget all that, please. Sit down, as I said before, and write that cheque." Stratton stood motionless in the middle of the room, with his eyes fixed upon his visitor; and his strength of mind and determination seemed to grow rapidly. The old nervous horror was gone, and, quite equal to his task, he never for a moment removed his eyes from his adversary. "Come, we're wasting time, Mr Stratton. You're wanted yonder. No more shilly-shallying, please; that cheque." "Fetch the police, Brettison," said Stratton sternly; and, in obedience to the order, Brettison took a step forward, while the savage aspect came again into the ex-convict's countenance as he took a step back and covered the door. "No, you don't," he said, making a gesture as if tugging a pistol from his pocket. "I warn you both, I'm a desperate man. I've been skulking about for over a twelvemonth now, waiting for my chance, and it's come. I'll have that money before I go. Write out that cheque, and get it cashed. Send him, I say again, to get the money; and as for you," he snarled, as he turned his eyes on Brettison, "you play any games, you so much as look at a policeman while you are out, and I warn you he'll suffer for it before you can break in here with any of your cursed hounds." "It's of no use," said Brettison hoarsely. "Let him say how much he wants, and I'll write a cheque and get the money." "Hah! That's talking sense," said the man exultantly, but never for a moment relaxing his watchfulness--keeping his eyes upon Stratton, but noting as well Brettison's actions as he took out his pocketbook and drew a blank cheque from one of the folds. "How much must I draw this for, Mr Cousin?" he said hurriedly. "Cousin? Who's Mr Cousin? Draw it to James Barron, Esquire. No. What for? Draw it to yourself. Five hundred pounds, now." Brettison shrugged his shoulders, and moved toward the table. "Stop!" cried Stratton firmly. "What are you going to do?" "Give him the money," said Brettison. "You see; we must." "Fetch the police," repeated Stratton. "I cannot leave you and go myself." "But the man is armed," said Brettison. "My dear boy, he is desperate." "I tell you, I will protect you, man. Now, come on." He took a step forward, and the ex-convict gave a fierce tug to draw his weapon, but stopped, for Brettison seized his friend, and held him back. "The pistol! Mind!" he cried. "He has no pistol," roared Stratton, dragging himself free; and, seizing the man by the collar with both hands, he flung him aside. "Now, then, the police at once." Brettison rushed to the door; but stopped short to gaze in wonder at the group before him. For as if Stratton's touch had discharged all power from the man he had seized, the fierce look faded from his face, which grew heavy, vacuous, and dull; his legs trembled beneath him, and he lurched forward, and was only saved from falling by a rapid movement on Stratton's part as he swung him into an easy-chair, where his enemy sank back with his head lying over on one shoulder, and his leaden eyes staring heavily at the floor. The strength which had animated him with the flush of memory which had come back, had passed away, and he was once more the feeble imbecile, slowly raising his hand to his neck, where his fingers wandered about the scar of his wound; while at that moment there was faintly heard on the staircase the cheery humming-over of a scrap from an opera, followed by voices and steps on the stone landing, which halted at the door. Then came a long, rolling knock, followed by a merry laugh, and Stratton, with a quick movement, raised his hand and whispered: "Hush!" _ |
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