Dead Man's Love Page 11

  CHAPTER XI.

  UNCLE ZABDIEL IN PIOUS MOOD.

  Dr. Bardolph Just, big, powerful man though he was, seemed practicallyhelpless in the grasp of William Capper, who hung on to him, and worriedhim as some small terrier might worry a dog of larger size. Moreover,the doctor was hampered with his broken wrist; while George Rabbit andmyself, for the matter of that, were so thunderstruck by the suddenonslaught of that mild, quiet, little creature, who had hitherto seemedso harmless, that we stood staring and doing nothing. And the doctorbattled with his one free arm, and shouted to us for help.

  "Pull him off, can't you?" he shouted. "Devil take the man! what is heat? Let go, I say; do you want to kill me?"

  By that time I had recovered my senses so far as to fling myself uponCapper, and to drag him off by main force. So soon as I had got hold ofhim, he seemed to collapse in the strangest way--dropped into my arms,and shuddered, and stared from one to the other of us, as thoughawakening from some terrible nightmare. His teeth were chattering, andhe looked wildly round, as though wondering what had been happening.

  The doctor was arranging his collar and tie, and looking amazedly atCapper. "What's the matter with the fellow?" he panted. "What set himoff like that?" He stamped his foot, and looked at the trembling man."Answer me--you! What roused you like that?"

  Capper shook his head in a dull way; then pressed the palms of his handsto his forehead. "I--I don't know," he answered, in something of thesame fashion in which I had always heard him answer questions; "I didn'tmean--"

  His voice trailed off, and he stood there, a drooping, pathetic figure,staring at the floor. For my part, I could not take my eyes from theman. I found myself wondering whether that outburst had been the merefrenzy of a moment, or whether behind it lay something I did not thenunderstand. In the silence that had fallen upon us the doctor looked atthe man in a queer, puzzled way; I thought he seemed to be askinghimself the same questions that were in my own mind. After a moment ortwo he turned his glance resentfully on me, seeming to become aware, forthe first time, of my presence.

  "And what brings _you_ here?" he demanded. I was at a loss how to answerhim. I had had a vague hope that I might be able to see Capper alone,or, at all events, only in the company of George Rabbit; I could not nowdeclare my intention of questioning the man. I resorted to subterfuge; Ishrugged my shoulders and made what reply I could.

  "What is a poor wretch to do who has no home, no money, and noprospects? You turn me out of one place, so I come to the other."

  "Well, you can leave this one, too," he replied sourly. "How did you getback from Essex? Did you tramp?"

  I saw at once that he must have left the place and come to London on theprevious day; it was obvious that he knew nothing of Debora'sdisappearance. Nor had he yet discovered the theft of that old-fashionedwatch. He could have no suspicion that I had money in my pockets. Ianswered as carelessly as I could.

  "Yes," I said, "I tramped most of the way. I should not have come innow, but that I saw some trouble going on with Rabbit here, and thoughtI might be of use."

  "I can look after meself, thank you for nothink," retorted Mr. Rabbitpolitely. "Seems to me that I'm given all the dirty work to do, an' Idon't git nuffink but thumps for it. If it 'adn't bin fer that pluckylittle chap there, I shouldn't 'ave stood much charnce," he added,scowling at the doctor. "He went for you a fair treat, guv'nor."

  "You must have made him precious fond of you, to take your part likethat," said the doctor, with a glance at Capper. "Did he think I wasgoing to kill you?"

  I saw that Capper was standing in the old attitude, with his handshanging beside him, and his eyes cast to the floor; then I had a curiousfeeling that he was listening. So still was he, and so meek and broken,that it seemed incredible that but a minute or two before he had beentearing like a demon at the throat of the doctor. Now, while he stoodthere, he suddenly began to speak, in a quiet, level voice, but littleraised above a whisper.

  "I hope, sir, that you won't send me away," he said. "I forgot myself; Iwouldn't harm you for the world, sir. If you will let me stay--if youwill let me keep near you--if I might even be your servant? I don't wantto be sent away from you, sir."

  All this without raising his head, and with the air of a shamed boypleading for forgiveness. It was the more pitiful because of themeekness of the figure, and of the thin grey hair that covered theman's head. To do him justice, the doctor behaved magnanimously.

  "Well, we'll say no more about it, Capper," he replied. "Perhaps you'renot quite yourself. We'll overlook it. For the rest, you shall remainhere, if you behave yourself. You seem a good, faithful sort of fellow,but you mustn't fly into passions because rogues like this get what theydeserve." He pointed sternly to George Rabbit.

  "Rogues!" Mr. Rabbit looked properly indignant, and lurched forward fromthe window towards the doctor. "I ain't so sure as you've put that booton the right leg, guv'nor," he said. "I've 'ad enough of this 'ere--thiskeepin' me mouf shut, an' not gettin' anyfink for it. Wot's the good offive quid--you can on'y dream abaht it w'en it's gorn. I'm goin' to takewot I know w'ere I shall git summink for it--w'ere I shall be paid'andsome, an' patted on the back, an' told I'm a good boy. I'm a honestman--that's wot I am; an' I've 'ad enough of seem' jail-birds walkingabout in good clobber, an' 'ighly respectable gents givin' 'em shelter,an' payin' me not 'alf enough not to blab. Yus, Mr. Norton 'Yde, it'syou what I'm talkin' about--an' 'ere goes to make an endin' of it!"

  Before anyone could stop him he had made a run for the window, and hadvaulted over the sill, and was gone. I made a step to go after him, butthe doctor detained me with a gesture.

  "It's no use; if he has made up his mind to speak you can't stop him.Take my advice, and keep away from here, and away from Green Barn, too.There's a chance, of course, that the man will say nothing; he may comewhining back here, to try and get money out of me. In any case, Mr.Norton Hyde, I've had enough of the business; you can shift foryourself. It may interest you to know that I am winding up my affairs,and I'm going abroad. And in this instance I shall not go alone."

  I could afford not to notice that sneer, because I knew that I held thewinning hand, and that Debora was mine. So I made no answer; I knew thatthere were cards I could play when the time came--cards of which he knewnothing. My only doubt was as to the man Capper; because, if Debora'ssuspicions were true, it was vitally necessary that we should get holdof the man, and should question him. More than that, I knew that Deborahad in her the spirit to move heaven and earth over the matter of herdead friend, Gregory Pennington, to discover the manner of his death.

  Yet here was William Capper, for some strange reason, swearing devotionto the doctor, and begging to be allowed to remain with him. Even if Icould get hold of the man, I knew that in his present state of mind Icould do no good with him; he might in all innocence go to the doctor,and tell him what my questions had been. There was nothing for it but toleave the matter alone, and to return to Debora. Accordingly I took myleave, if such a phrase can be used to describe my going.

  "I shan't trouble you again," I said to Bardolph Just. "For your ownsake, I think you will do your best to ensure that the secret of GregoryPennington's death is kept." I glanced quickly at the man Capper as Ispoke; but my words seemed to have no effect upon him, save that onceagain I thought he seemed to be listening, and that, too, with someintentness. But I felt, even in that, that I might be wrong.

  "What do you mean by that?" snapped the doctor, turning upon me inanswer to my remark.

  "You told me once that you were anxious to keep the matter a secret, inorder to avoid giving pain, and to prevent any scandal touching yourhouse," I answered steadily. "What other meaning should I have?"

  "None, of course," he answered, and looked at me broodingly for amoment, as though striving to see behind my words. "However, in thatmatter you are right; I don't want that business all raked over again.For both our sakes, you'd better keep out of the way of Mr. GeorgeRabbit."

  There was nothing els
e to be done, and without any formal words I turnedand walked out of the house by the way I had come. I felt that I hadfinished with Dr. Bardolph Just; I could afford to laugh at him, andcould leave him to settle matters with George Rabbit.

  I went back to that hotel near the Charterhouse in which I had leftDebora; there were many things about which I must talk to her. In thefirst place, we had to consider the great question of ways and means;above all, we had to remember--or perhaps I should say that _I_ had toremember, for she was utterly trustful of me--that she was in my hands,and that I had to be careful of her until such time as I could make hermy wife. I had a sort of feeling that I could not go on in thisindefinite way, leaving her in hotels and such-like places. Besides, Ifelt absolutely certain that the one person to whom in my dilemma I mustapply was my Uncle Zabdiel, for had I not already prepared him for hercoming?

  While I had no great faith in Uncle Zabdiel, I yet felt that, from sheerdread of me, he would hesitate before playing tricks. In his eyes I wasa most abandoned villain, capable of anything; he had hanging over himthat threat of mine to kill him--a threat which would remain a threatonly, but a very powerful deterrent if he had any hopes of betraying me.

  This scheme I now laid before Debora, telling her the pros and cons ofit all, and trying to induce her to see it as I saw it. There was butone flaw in it, and that was that Martha Leach had been to my uncle, andwould therefore know where he was to be found. Yet, on the other hand, Ifelt that that made for safety, because the very daring of the schemegave it the greatest chance of success. No one would dream that I shouldgo back to the house that had seen the beginning of all my misfortunes,still less would anyone dream of looking for Debora Matchwick there.

  "You see, my dearest girl," I pointed out to Debora, "my money won'tlast for ever; already it is dwindling alarmingly. I see no prospect ofgetting any more at present, unless I hold horses, or sell matches inthe street. More than that, I believe that I have my uncle so much undercontrol, and so much in dread of me, that he will do nothing against me;and that great house of his is a very warren of old rooms, in which youcan safely hide. More than that, I think there is a prospect that UncleZabdiel will help me; he seemed to regard me in quite another light whenI saw him recently."

  In all this it will be seen, I fear, that my original simplicity had notentirely been knocked out of me by rough contact with the world; it willalso be seen that I had a colossal belief in my own powers ofpersuasion, moral and otherwise. Perhaps also it is scarcely necessaryfor me to say that Debora very willingly believed in me, and seemed toregard my uncle as a man who might be won round to a better belief inthe goodness of human nature. I did not contradict that suggestion, butI had my doubts.

  I thought it best, however, to let Uncle Zabdiel know of his intendedvisitor; it would never do to take him by surprise. With many promisesof speedy return I set off then and there for that house near Barnet,wherein so many years of my own life had been passed. I was feelingmore cheerful than I had done for many a long day; I began to realisethat perhaps, after all, my troubles were coming to an end, and somesmall measure of happiness was to be mine. Moreover, despite all mydifficulties, it has to be remembered that I was young and in love; and,I suppose, under those circumstances mere outside troubles sit lightlyon one's shoulders.

  I rang at the bell for a long time before anyone answered, and then itwas the grim old woman who came in by the day to look after my uncle whoanswered it. I feared for a moment that she might recognise me, but shewas evidently one of those people to whom the mere duties of the day areeverything; it is probable that had I been the Archbishop of Canterburyin full rig she would have taken no notice of my appearance. I asked forMr. Blowfield, and was left in the dark hall while she went in search ofhim. I gave my name as John New.

  In a minute or two she came back, and beckoned to me in a spiritlessway, and without speaking. I went at once by the way I knew so well intomy uncle's room--that room that was half sitting-room and half office,and there discovered him standing before the empty fireplace waiting forme. He was not alone in the room; that unfortunate youth, Andrew Ferkoe,was seated in my old place, at my old desk, scribbling away as if fordear life. Even before my uncle spoke I intercepted a furtive look outof the tail of the youth's eye; I strove to give him a warning glance inresponse.

  "Good morning, Mr. New," said my uncle, with a touch of sarcasm in histone. "Glad to see you, I'm sure. Do you object to the presence of myclerk?"

  "It is a matter of indifference to me, Mr. Blowfield," I replied. "Ofcourse I should have preferred to have had a private interview with you,but if any words of mine on a previous occasion have made you cautious,by all means let him remain."

  I saw that the old man was absolutely afraid of me; I guessed that hemeant to keep Andrew Ferkoe there, to save even a threat of violence. Atthe same time I was relieved to see what I thought was a new and morekindly light in his eyes. I felt that he might, after all, prove to havea heart of flesh and blood, and that Debora might move it.

  "Then you can go on with your work, Ferkoe," snapped my uncle; and theboy, whose pen had been straying, started violently, and went on writingagain.

  It was curious to note during our interview how frequently AndrewFerkoe's pen stopped, and how his eyes slowly turned round to feast onme, and how, at a movement from his master, he brought the pen back toits proper place and started writing again. I became quite fascinatedwith watching him.

  "Sit down, my dear New, sit down," said my uncle smoothly. "Tell me whatI can do for you; I've been expecting to see you."

  I sat down, and asked permission to smoke. My uncle grunted in response,and frowned; but I took the grunt for permission, and lighted a cigar.The old man gave a plaintive cough, as though suggesting that this was amartyrdom to which he must submit, and subsided into his own chair. Ianswered his question.

  "I want you to do what you promised to do, Mr. Blowfield," I said.

  "I promised under threats," he broke in grudgingly. "And a promiseextorted under threats isn't binding."

  "This one's got to be," I intimated sharply. "I want the young lady ofwhom I spoke to come here, and to find a refuge in this house; I wanther to come to-day. I have not the means to keep her, and she is indanger of being traced by those who are her enemies. I have chosen you,"I added, with a touch of sarcasm I could not avoid, "because I know yourkindness of heart, and I know how eager you are to do me a service."

  He grinned a little maliciously, then chuckled softly, and rubbed hisbony hands together. "Very well, call it a bargain," he said. "Afterall, I'm quite pleased, my dear boy, to be able to help you; if I seemto have a gruff exterior, it's only because I find so many people tryingto get the better of me."

  I saw Andrew Ferkoe slowly raise his head, and stare at my uncle with adropping jaw, as though he had suddenly discovered a ghost. My uncle,happening to catch him at it, brought his fist down with a bang upon thedesk that caused the youth to spring an inch or two from his stool, andto resume his writing in such a scared fashion that I am convinced hemust have written anything that first came into his mind.

  "And what the devil is it to do with you?" roared my uncle, quite in hisold fashion. "What do you think I pay you for, and feed you for, andgive you comfortable lodging for? One of these days, Ferkoe, I'll turnyou out into the world, and let you starve. Or I'll have you locked up,as I once had a graceless nephew of mine locked up," he added, with acontortion of his face in my direction that I imagine to have beenintended for a wink.

  The boy stole a look at me, and essayed a grin on his own account;evidently he congratulated himself on his secret knowledge of who Ireally was. Uncle Zabdiel, having relieved himself with his outburst,now turned to me again, still keeping up that pretty fiction of my beingbut a casual acquaintance, knowing nothing of any graceless nephew whohad been very properly punished in the past.

  "He's a thankless dog, this clerk of mine," he growled, with a viciouslook at the boy. "He must have starved but for me, and see wha
t thanks Iget. Well, as I was saying, I shall be very pleased--delighted, infact--to welcome the young lady here. I've got a soft corner in my heartfor everybody, Mr. New, if I'm only treated fairly. I don't like girlsas a rule; I've no place for 'em in my life; but I've made up my mind tomake the best of it. You see, I haven't very long to live--not as longas I should like; and I understand you've got to be so very particularin doing the right sort of thing towards the end. Not that I've doneanything particularly to be ashamed of," he added hastily, "but a greatmany people have made it their business to speak ill of me."

  "It's a censorious world," I reminded him.

  "It is, my dear boy, it is," he replied. "Besides," he went on, loweringhis voice a little, "I've dreamt three nights running that I went upinto my old room, and saw myself lying dead--not dead as youdescribed--but all broken and bloody." He shuddered, and sucked in hisbreath hard for a moment, and glanced behind him.

  I did not mind encouraging that thought, because it was all to myadvantage; I knew that unless he remained properly frightened therewould be small chance of his keeping faith with me in the matter ofDebora. Therefore I said nothing now. But once again I saw the youth atthe desk raise his head, and stare at the old man in that startledfashion, and then drop his eyes suddenly to his work.

  "Not a pleasant dream--not a pleasant dream, by any means," muttered myuncle, getting up and striding about. "I lay on the floor, with the bedclothes pulled across me, as if to hide me. And I was all broken andbloody!"

  "And you've dreamed that three times?" I asked mercilessly. "That'sunlucky."

  "Why, what do you mean?" he whispered in a panic, as he stopped andlooked round at me.

  "Oh! they say if you dream a thing three times, it's bound to cometrue," I said.

  "Stuff and nonsense!" he ejaculated. "Dreams go always by contraries;everybody knows that. I shouldn't have mentioned the thing, only I can'tsomehow get it out of my head. It was just as though I were anotherperson; I stood there looking down at myself. There, there, let's forgetit. In all probability, if I do this thing for you, out of pure kindnessof heart, I shall live quite a long time, and die naturally a good manyyears hence. Now, when is the young lady coming?"

  He seemed so perturbed by the recollection of his dream that he listenedonly in a dazed fashion while I told him that I intended to bring herthere that day; he might expect her some time that evening. AndrewFerkoe seemed interested at the news that anyone was coming to thatdreary house; he kept on glancing up at me while I spoke. And it wasnecessary, too, for me to say all over again, because my uncle hadevidently not been listening.

  "Yes, yes, yes, I understand!" he said, rousing himself at last."Besides, it'll be better to have someone else in the house--safer forme, you understand. Nobody will dare come to the place if they know thatI'm not a lonely old man, with only a fool of a boy in the house withhim--a boy that you can't wake for love or money."

  I suppressed a grin. My experience of Andrew Ferkoe had been that hewoke rather too easily. I rose to take my leave, and Uncle Zabdiel, inhis anxiety to please me, came out into the hall with me, and seemedinclined to detain me even longer.

  "I'll be very good to her," he said; then, suddenly breaking off, hegripped my arm, and pointed up the dark, uncarpeted stairs behind us."You remember my old room," he whispered. "Well, I saw the room, andeverything in it, quite clearly, three separate times, and I lyingthere----"

  "You're thinking too much about it," I broke in hastily. For his facewas ghastly. "You be kind to Debora, and you'll find she'll soon laughsome of your fears out of you. Good-bye for the present; you'll see usboth later in the day."

  He shook my hand quite earnestly, and let me out of the house. I sawhim, as I had seen him before, standing in the doorway, peering out atme; in that moment I felt a little sorry for him. So much he hadmissed--so much he had lost or never known; and now, towards the end ofhis days, he was racked by fears of that death that he knew must beapproaching rapidly.

  I started back for London, meaning to fetch Debora to my uncle's housethat night. I was fortunate enough not to have to wait long at thestation for a train, and I presently found myself in an emptycompartment. I was tired out, and excited with the events of the day. Isettled myself in a corner, and closed my eyes, as the train sped on itsway. And presently, while I sat there, I became aware of a mostextraordinary commotion going on in the compartment on the other side ofthe partition against which I leaned. There was a noise as of thestamping of feet, and shouts and cries--altogether a hideous uproar.

  I thought at first that it must be some drunken men, uproarious after adebauch; but I presently came to the conclusion that some severestruggle was going on in the next compartment; I distinctly heard criesfor help. I leaned out of the window, in the hope that I might be ableto see into the next carriage; then, on an impulse, I opened the door,and got out on to the footboard. It was not a difficult matter, becausethe train was travelling comparatively slow. I closed the door of thecompartment I had been in, and stepped along the footboard to the next.Clinging on there, I looked in, and beheld an extraordinary sight.

  Two men were battling fiercely in the carriage; and I saw that thefurther door of the carriage was open. As the men wrenched and tugged ateach other, I could not for a moment or two see their faces; but I couldmake out clearly that the smaller man of the two was working strenuouslyto force the other man out on to the line through the open door. I saw,too, that the bigger man appeared to be using only one arm to defendhimself; and it was suddenly borne in upon me that I knew with certaintywho the two men were. I tore open the door on my side, and slipped intothe carriage, and shut the door again. Then I flung myself upon thesmaller man, who was no other than William Capper.

  As it happened, I was only just in time. The other man had been drivento the open door, until he was absolutely half in and half out; he haddug his nails into the cushions on one side, in a desperate effort tosave himself from falling. And as I pulled Capper off, and flung him tothe other end of the carriage, I naturally pulled his intended victimwith him--and that intended victim was Dr. Bardolph Just!

  How narrow his escape had been was brought home to me the next moment,when, as I leaned out to close the door, another train tore past on thenext track, going in the opposite direction. I banged the door, andstood against it, and looked at the two men.

  The doctor had sunk down into a corner, and was nursing his wounded arm,and staring in a frightened way at Capper. Capper, I noticed, hadsuddenly lost all his frenzy, precisely in the same fashion as he hadlost it on that other occasion when he had attacked the same man. He nowsat in the corner into which I had flung him, with his head bowed, andhis hands plucking at his lips, exactly in the attitude of a naughty boywho had been caught in some wickedness and stopped. He glanced at mefurtively, but said nothing.

  "He--he tried--tried to kill me!" panted the doctor. "He tried--tried tothrow me out of the train! You saw for yourself!"

  "But why?" I asked. "What had you done?"

  "Nothing--absolutely nothing!" he stammered, striving to rearrange hisdress and to smooth his hair. "He suddenly said something--and thenopened the door--and sprang at me."

  "But what did he say?" I insisted. And it was curious that we both spokeof the man at the other end of the carriage as someone not responsiblefor what he had done.

  "Never mind what he said!" exclaimed the doctor pettishly. "You justcame in time. He'd have had me out in another moment."

  In the surprise of his escape, the doctor did not seem astonished atfinding me there so opportunely he merely looked at the dejected Capperin that frightened way, and kept the greatest possible distance fromhim.

  "Why do you take the man about with you, if he's liable to these fits?"I asked.

  "I don't take him about!" he exclaimed. "He follows me. I can't get ridof him. He sticks to my heels like a dog. I don't like it; one of thesedays it may happen that there's no one there in time--and that'll be theend of the matter." All this in a whisper, as
he leaned forward towardswhere I sat.

  "Give him the slip," I suggested; and now I watched the doctor's faceintently.

  "Don't I tell you I can't," he snapped at me. "Besides, I don't want tolose sight of him; I'm sorry for the poor old fellow. He'd only driftinto some madhouse or workhouse infirmary. I don't know what to do."

  The doctor was dabbling nervously at his forehead with a handkerchief;he was in a very sweat of terror. And at the further end of thecarriage--huddled up there, listening--sat the little grey-haired man,like some grim Fate that must dog the steps of the other man to an endwhich no one could see. A sudden ghastly theory had entered into mymind; I determined to probe the matter a little further.

  "You suggest," I said in a whisper, "that he has twice tried to killyou; surely it is an easy matter to give him into the hands of thepolice? If he's insane, he'll be properly looked after; if he is not, hewill be properly punished. And you will be safe."

  Bardolph Just looked out of the window, and slowly shook his head. "Youdon't understand; I can't do that," he replied. "I can't explain;there's a reason."

  We left the matter at that, and presently, when the train drew into theLondon station, we all got out. The doctor and I walked away side byside, and I knew that Capper was following. I knew something else,too--that I must get away as quickly as possible, back to Debora. For Irealised that as yet the doctor had not been informed that Debora wasmissing from Green Barn.

  "Well, you don't want me any more," I said to him, stopping and turningabout. "I'll take my leave."

  "Look here!" he exclaimed, suddenly seizing me with his uninjured hand,and giving a sideways glance at Capper, "I'll forget everything andforgive everything if you'll only stick to me. I don't want to be leftalone with this man."

  "I have work of my own to do," I answered him, "and my way is not yourway. Pull yourself together, man; you're in London, among crowds. Whatharm can a feeble old creature like that do to you?"

  "You've seen for yourself--twice," he whispered. "I'll do anything youlike--pay you anything you like!"

  I shook myself free. "It's impossible," I said; and a moment later I waswalking rapidly away; I had no desire that the doctor should follow me.

  Looking back, I saw the man with his arm in a sling going at a greatrate across the station, and as he went he glanced back over hisshoulder. And always behind him, going at a little trot to keep up withhim, went William Capper, not to be shaken off.

  I found Debora awaiting me, but I said nothing to her of my startlingencounter in the train. I only told her that all was ready for herreception at the house of Uncle Zabdiel, and we set off at once, aftersettling the score at the hotel. Our journey was without incident, andin due course I rang the bell at my uncle's gate, and saw the door openpresently to receive the girl. I went in with her for the necessaryintroductions.

  To my delight I found Uncle Zabdiel rubbing his hands, and evidentlypleased to have her there. He went so far as to imprint a cold salute onher cheek, and even to touch her under her soft rounded chin with hisbony finger.

  "It's a pretty bird you've captured," he said, grimacing at me. "I'lltake care of her, never fear."

  I thanked him, and then told him of my intention to seek a lodgingelsewhere. He seemed surprised, as did Debora. I merely told him that Ihad business to attend to, and that I could not very well be so far fromLondon for the next few days at least. My real reason was, however, avery different one.

  I had made up my mind to pursue this matter of Capper to the very end;the thing fascinated me, and I could not let it alone. So that, after Ihad seen the dark house swallow up my darling, I went off, designing tofind a lodging for myself between that house and the one in whichBardolph Just lived. It was very late, but I was not over particular asto where I slept, and I knew that I could easily find a room.

  But I was restless, and had many things to think about; so that it endedfinally in my walking that long distance back to the doctor's house, andfinding myself, something to my surprise, outside its gates at a littleafter two o'clock in the morning. All the house was silent, and thewindows darkened. I was turning away, when I almost stumbled oversomeone sitting on the high bank at the side of the road opposite thegate. As I drew back with a muttered apology the man looked up, and Iknew him.

  It was William Capper. In the very instant of his raising his head I hadseen a quick bright look of intelligence come over his face, but now themask he habitually wore seemed to be drawn down over his features, andhe smiled in that vacuous way I had before noted.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  "He's turned me out," he said, in the old feeble voice. "I don't knowwhy." I saw his plucking fingers go up to his lips again, as he feeblyshook his head.

  "Yes, you do," I said sternly. "Come, Capper, you've nothing to fearfrom me; why don't you speak the truth? You've twice tried to kill theman. What is your reason?"

  He shook his head, and smiled at me in the same vacant fashion. "I don'tknow--I don't understand," he said. "So much that I've forgotten--somuch that I can't remember, and never shall remember. Somethingsnapped--here."

  He touched his forehead, and shook his head in that forlorn way; andpresently sank down on the bank again, and put his head in his hands,and seemed to go to sleep.

  When I came away at last, in despair of finding out anything from him,he was sitting in the same attitude, and might have appeared, to anycasual observer, as a poor, feeble old creature with a clouded mind. YetI knew with certainty that something had happened to the man, and thathe was alive and alert; I knew, too, that grimly enough, and for somereason unknown to me, he had set out to kill Dr. Bardolph Just. And Iknew that he would succeed.