CHAPTER XVII.

THE RESULT.

Had it pleased Heaven To try me with afflictions; had He rained All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head; Steeped me in poverty to the very lips; Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes, I should have found, in some part of my soul, A drop of patience; but, alas! to make me A fixéd figure for the hand of scorn To point her slow, unmoving finger at! SHAKESPEARE.

Come! Rouse thee now! I know thy mind, And would its strength awaken! Proud, gifted, ardent, noble, kind— Strange thou shouldst be so shaken! ANNA PEYRES DINNIES.

Valdimir Desparde arose, bowed slightly and said:

“Squire Gatton, I have really scarcely given this accusation any serious attention. Terrible as it certainly is, it seems much too preposterous, as applied to myself, to be entertained for a single instant.

“I know nothing whatever of this unfortunate girl whom I am accused of having murdered, never having seen her face, to my knowledge, in the whole course of my life.

“I have been in the United States for the last seven months and returned to England only yesterday. I had best perhaps give you a succinct account of my movements from the hour of my landing.

“I landed by the steamer _Colorado_, from New York on the third, at Southampton, at five o’clock yesterday morning. Immediately after leaving the ship I went to a telegraph office and dispatched a telegram to my cousin here to send some vehicle to meet me at the Miston Station at seven this morning.”

“Which I duly received and acted upon. Little time left for him to plan and execute a midnight murder, I should judge!” put in Lord Beaudevere.

“I did not lose more than an hour in the town; but after a hasty breakfast at the counter of the refreshment-room, I took the six-seven train of the London and Southwestern Railway with a through ticket in conjunction with the Northwestern, and came straight on until I reached the Grand Junction.”

“Where that _other_ fellow, the real assassin—perdition catch him—jumped off the _other_ train and made his escape, leaving his trap empty for Desparde to run his unlucky head into?” exclaimed the baron.

“I think my cousin, Lord Beaudevere, is quite right in his theory of this case, Squire Gatton and gentlemen. At any rate I got out of my train at the Grand Junction, and in crossing over to the other one I certainly met a party dressed exactly as I was dressed, in the same sort of long, black ulster, down to his heels, with its high collar turned up to his temples, and the same sort of black, slouched hat pulled down over his eyes. Casting the eyes of my memory back upon this man, I see that he was of the same height and figure as myself, and might, by a casual observer, have been mistaken for me. He was hurrying towards the Southampton down train that was just in.”

“_That_ was the very fellow. He had done his dastardly deed, and was just making his escape to the seaport to get out of the country!” triumphantly exclaimed the baron.

His theory seemed to strike the magistrate and his assistants favorably. They looked at each other and nodded.

“Go on, if you please, Mr. Desparde,” said Squire Gatton.

“As I approached the Northwestern train I perceived a guard, whom I knew by sight—Thomas Potter, who has testified against me in this case—standing by the door of the middle compartment in a first-class carriage, precisely as though he were waiting for some one to come up—”

“Waiting for that other fellow, of course,” put in the irrepressible baron.

“He hailed me somewhat familiarly, as though he expected me, or some one whom he took me to be.”

“Of course he did! took you to be the other fellow, confound them both!” interpolated the excited baron.

“What did he say to you? How did he address you—by your own or any other name?” inquired Mr. Gatton.

Valdimir Desparde reflected for a moment, and then answered, though with some hesitation still:

“N-no, I think he used no name. He hailed me, I think, with ‘All right, sir! Here you are! Look sharp, sir, if you please! She’s off,’ or words to that effect. I, thinking the man had either recognized me, as I certainly had him, or else that he was taking unusual pains to secure a passenger his seat, hastened my steps and got into the compartment. Then the guard added these words—very significant to me, in the light of what has happened since, though at the moment I supposed he merely referred to his catching sight of me coming towards the train, recognizing me as an old acquaintance and being anxious to secure me a seat—he said, in fact, this: ‘All right _now_! I waited here for you; but I really was afraid you would miss it this time!’ And he shut the door and the train started.”

“Of course, he waited for the other fellow who had committed the crime in that compartment and run away! He took you for the other fellow. It is all as clear as daylight! Or else—or else—and by my life, the point is worth considering—he was in complicity with the other, and caught you in this trap to favor his escape!” exclaimed the baron.

All within hearing were quite startled by this new view of the case.

The magistrate and his colleague whispered together.

Things were beginning to look shady for the principal witness in this case.

In fact, Valdimir Desparde’s clear and simple story of his own movements since he arrived in England, together with the running comments of Lord Beaudevere, had made an impression on all present, which was much deepened by the last weighty suggestion of the baron.

Squire Gatton and Burke of Burkehurst continued to converse for a few minutes longer, though in so low a tone that no one could hear the purport of their conversation.

At length, however, the magistrate straightened himself up and said:

“Will Mr. Desparde now proceed with his narrative?”

Valdimir Desparde bowed and continued:

“I come now to the most important part of my story. I entered the compartment, as I said, just as the train started. I observed that the light of the lamp was turned down. At first, in the gloom, I saw no one, and naturally supposed that I was alone. I reached to put up the light, and, in doing so, heard something drop. I stooped to see what had fallen, but could not find anything; raised myself again to put up the light, but was arrested by the sight of a woman, wrapped closely up in a dark cloak, and reclining in a corner. Her face was turned sidewise, and covered with a thick, black vail. She was apparently sound asleep. Thinking that this woman had turned down the light to favor her own slumbers, I left it as she had put it, and took my seat on the opposite side in the corner diagonally across from her own, so that I might not in any way disturb her repose. I forebore to search for what I had dropped, putting off doing so for a more convenient time, when my unknown companion should be awake. Then I forgot all about it, having more important subjects to think of. Afterwards I missed my gold pencil-case, which had become in some way detached from my chain. This would seem a trifling detail, Squire, but that it accounts for my pencil-case being found in that compartment.”

“Of course it does. Mark that, gentlemen,” observed the baron.

“The woman continued to sleep, and I, never suspecting that hers was the sleep of death, lapsed into reverie until the train stopped at one of the principal stations, where the guard came to the door and civilly offered his services to fetch anything from the refreshment-room that I wished. I told him that I wanted nothing. He then asked if the ‘lady’—meaning my fellow-passenger—would like anything. I replied that she appeared to be asleep.”

“While the guard yet stood at the door of the compartment a party came up to get on the train, and asked if it was engaged. He answered ‘Yes,’ shut the door quickly, and conveyed them off to some other carriage before I could call after him to tell him that there was a plenty of room inside, and the train started again.”

“That infernal scoundrel had entrapped _you_ into that compartment, and he meant to take every precaution to fix the murder on you in order to secure the escape of the real assassin! Squire, I hope you will issue a warrant for the arrest of Thomas Potter!” exclaimed Lord Beaudevere, growing more excited.

“I will consider your counsel, my lord, and, in the meantime, we would like to hear Mr. Desparde go on with his statement,” said the magistrate, by way of a gentle reminder that the accused man had the floor for the present.

“The woman slept on and I relapsed into thought. The train stopped at several more stations. I got out at one or two to stretch my limbs, but my companion never awoke, nor ever changed her position.”

Here Squire Burke of Burkehurst leaned forward and opened his mouth for about the first time during the examination, and said:

“Excuse me, Mr. Desparde, but by this time did not the long and profound sleep of this woman, who never even once changed her position, as even the soundest sleepers are wont to do, appear unnatural to you, so as to excite some suspicion in your mind?”

“At last it did; but it was a suspicion of alcohol or opium intoxication, or stupor, certainly no suspicion of murder, or even of suicide,” replied Valdimir Desparde.

“That is all. Thanks. Proceed, if you please, sir,” said Squire Burke, sinking back into his easy-chair and easier silence.

Valdimir Desparde resumed:

“This state of things continued in the compartment until daylight, by which time the train had reached the Miston Branch Station, where I got off to take the Miston Special. For the first time since I had taken the train I missed seeing my too attentive guard, who must have been held in temporary thralldom by some exacting passenger, or he would certainly have been on hand. I left the motionless woman in the compartment, wondering carelessly how long she would sleep, and I hurried across the platforms to take the other train, which I secured just as it steamed out of the station. I came on to Miston without adventure of any sort, and was met at that place by my cousin here.”

“Yes, sir; and he looked as little like a man who had just committed a midnight murder as it is possible to conceive,” added Lord Beaudevere.

“That is all I have to tell—all, indeed, that there is to be told of my movements since my return from abroad. And now I would like to have Thomas Potter, the railway guard, recalled and confronted with me here,” concluded Mr. Desparde, as he bowed and resumed his seat.

“Officer, call Thomas Potter,” said the magistrate.

“THOMAS POTTER!” called the bailiff, in a stentorian voice.

The railway guard, who had been in the “justice room” all the time, and had heard every word that had been said in his disfavor, now came forward, not a whit discomposed by the suspicion that had been cast upon him. He was an honest and a fearless man, as times go. At least he had nothing to do with the assassination in the railway carriage, and the consciousness that he had not supported him.

The guard stoutly adhered to the testimony already given that he recognized the companion of the murdered woman to be Valdimir Desparde. No cross-examination could shake him.

In the face of the evidence so far given, Judge Gatton was obliged, much against his wish, to commit the unfortunate young man for trial at the assizes, without bail.

Then our hero was hurried off to a cell. Lord Beaudevere followed, explained that as his young relative was only waiting trial, he wished to have him made as comfortable as possible, and that they were willing to pay for all lawful accommodations.

The warden replied that he would be glad to talk to his lordship on the subject next morning, but that now the hour had come when the prison doors were about to be closed for the night.

Lord Beaudevere bowed to the inevitable, wrung his young cousin’s hand, and departed.

[Illustration: [Fleuron]]