CHAPTER XXV.
DR. LYNCH.
Dr. Lynch struggled against a bad appearance. He had turned pale; he was shaking in the knees; he did not look his torturer in the face. He knew that all these things were against him. He had seen the woman in the witness seats. Her presence alone had induced him to tell the truth. She had been John Hungerford’s housekeeper, and she knew Tom Lynch as well as she knew the three eminent trustees who had daily visited the _millionnaire_ while he was in the throes of making his will.
By the time the doctor was ready to answer the question relating to his mother’s second husband, he had measured his surroundings; he had weighed Mrs. Black, the housekeeper, and had apparently satisfied himself that she could not turn the scale wholly against him. He had sufficiently explained the reason for adopting a new name--a simple and very satisfactory reason, it seemed to him. Dr. Lynch had decided what course to pursue, and the decision had to a great extent restored his self-possession. He looked around the room, and smiled. It was a rather ghastly smile, and the doctor would have done better not to attempt it.
“Dr. Lynch, had you any personal interest in the marriage of Mr. Eugene Hungerford?” continued Dick, when the sensation attending the last answer of the witness had subsided.
“None whatever,” replied the doctor, promptly, and with an elasticity in his tones which indicated his belief that all his troubles on the stand were ended.
“If Mr. Hungerford should not marry, what effect would it have upon you?”
“I suppose I should come into possession of one sixth part of the late John Hungerford’s property,” answered the doctor, with a cheerful look.
“Have you, at any time, done anything to prevent his marriage--with Miss Kingman, for instance?”
“On the contrary, I have always advised him to marry her, and done what I could to remove certain objections on the part of his mother and his sister.”
This was certainly true, and there was a strong reaction, even in the mind of Eugene, in favor of the doctor. If the witness had been selfishly bent on obtaining the fortune, he would certainly have done what he could to prevent the marriage, which might, and probably would, vitiate his individual claims. The face of the doctor now wore an expression of triumph. He felt that he had nailed to the wall the insinuation implied in the lawyer’s question.
The doctor had apparently made a point, and Dick had lost one.
The cross-examination was continued, and extended over about the same ground as on the former occasion. The witness testified to the old story about the baby, and the woman from Newington. He had paid them no money; he had done nothing to cover up the truth. Other witnesses were called; but nothing essentially different from the evidence given at the examination was elicited; and at six o’clock the court adjourned.
Dr. Lynch, in spite of the point he had made, and in spite of the bold face he had finally assumed on the stand, was nervous and agitated. It was clear to him that he was walking among traps and pitfalls; that he was liable to be tripped up at any moment. He could form no conjecture of what was coming, for Dick Birch had carefully masked his battery, and did not indicate what he intended to do.
“Well, Julia, Dick is beginning to unveil the machine he has been building,” said Eugene, when the court adjourned.
“Do you believe that Dr. Bilks is Tom Lynch?”
“He swears to the fact.”
“What does it all mean?”
“Don’t you see?”
“I can see, but I cannot believe.”
Dick Birch joined them.
“Dick, Julia can see, but she cannot believe,” said Eugene.
“He who runs may read,” laughed Dick, in the best of humor. “Let us walk over to the hotel.”
“Mr. Birch,” asked Julia, timidly, “do you attribute any bad motives to Dr. Bilks?”
“To Dr. Lynch?”
“Dr. Lynch, if that is his name.”
“I do; the very worst of motives. In the course of this trial, if my testimony is not ruled out, I shall prove enough to satisfy all what the doctor is.”
“Don’t be too hard upon him, Dick,” added Julia, with a little of her old playfulness towards him.
“I shall exhibit nothing but the truth.”
“What is the truth, Dick?” asked she.
“I would rather have others tell it.”
“I am under very great obligations to the doctor--I owe my life to him,” added Julia. “I hope you will spare him as much as you can.”
“I cannot spare him at all; or rather he has not spared himself. If he will speak the truth, I will be as gentle with him as possible.”
“That is all I ask.”
“If you will excuse me, Miss Hungerford, I think you had better remain at home to-morrow.”
“Why, Mr. Birch?”
“You may hear something which will not be pleasant. As a friend of the doctor, I think you had better not heal any more of the trial.”
“I thank you for your consideration. I will stay at home. But I would rather know the worst. Your words are really quite terrible to me. Won’t you tell me what you think the doctor’s motives were in coming to Poppleton?” pleaded Julia, who could not resist the painful and shocking conclusion that the demigod of Pine Hill was the cold, calculating villain which Dick had described him to be.
“I am still under the shadow, Miss Hungerford,” replied Dick.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Eugene. “I protest against your shadows. I have never ceased to trust you.”
“But your sister has.”
“I have not, Mr. Birch. I confess that I was vexed at what you said in relation to me in the court. That is all.”
“I could have made Dr. Lynch say all that I said,” added Dick, blushing and confused. “Nothing but regard for your feelings prevented me from doing so.”
“You were very kind,” replied Julia, coloring crimson.
“By the way, Hungerford, Lowe told me last night how he happened to press me so hard on my relations with your family,” continued Dick, trying to laugh off his confusion.
“How was it?”
“The doctor suggested the idea to him.”
“Impossible!”
“Lowe says so; he begins to see through the doctor, which was the reason why he told me of a fact he was asked to conceal. By the way, Ross Kingman has not a better friend than Lowe in the county, though, of course, he must do his duty.”
“The doctor suggested it?” repeated Julia.
“That is but a trifle, Miss Hungerford, compared with other things he has done.”
“You have not answered my question yet, Mr. Birch. What were the doctor’s motives?”
“In my opinion he intended to obtain one third of John Hungerford’s money!”
“One third!”
“One sixth in his own right, one sixth in yours,” replied Dick.
“But he advised Eugene to marry Mary Kingman; and he overcame all my mother’s and my own objections to the marriage.”
Mary had gone to the jail with Dr. Lynch to see Ross, or, of course, this could not have been said.
“I do not know by what means he intended to effect his purpose; but I am satisfied that I have correctly stated his design.”
“It is quite impossible, Mr. Birch,” persisted Julia. “He has labored to bring about the very event which would deprive him of his own share of my uncle’s property.”
Dick could not answer this obstinate objection to his belief. Here was an obstacle to his theory which all his investigations could not explain away. So there was a saving element which still redeemed the doctor from condemnation. Julia went home almost convinced that Dick Birch was again mistaken, and the crown was not yet wrested from the head of the demigod.
The carriage was driven over to the jail for Mary. Dr. Lynch had important business, which would detain him in Summerville for an hour, but he would call at Pine Hill on his return. Eugene offered to wait, but the doctor would ride back with a friend. The party left him, and Dr. Lynch hastened to the hotel, where they had just parted with Dick Birch. He wished to see the lawyer, and he did see him. Might he beg the favor of half an hour’s private conversation with Dick, who, feeling that he was now on the winning side, was magnanimous enough to grant it. They took a private parlor up stairs.
“You have begun to thorn me again, Mr. Birch,” the doctor said, with a smile.
“No; the truth begins to thorn you.”
“We used to be friends, Mr. Birch.”
“That was before I knew you.”
“You are harsh.”
“I am only just.”
“What do you intend to prove?”
“That’s my business.”
“You understand my position in Poppleton?”
“Perfectly.”
“You have already placed me in an awkward situation.”
“You placed yourself there.”
“I took my mother’s name, instead of my father’s, for the reason I mentioned. That is not a very heinous sin; but it will create very strong prejudices against me.”
“I know it.”
“Groundless prejudices.”
“No.”
“Why should I suffer for so trivial an offence? My name wrongs no man. Lynch is an Irish name.”
“It has been naturalized.”
“The name injured me in my profession, and I was about to take the proper legal steps to have it changed,” whined the doctor.
“Why did you come to Poppleton, Dr. Lynch?”
“Why?”
“That’s the question.”
“To practise my profession, of course.”
“You were doing remarkably well in Dayton.”
“Dayton?”
The doctor was quite sure he had never mentioned the name of this place to the lawyer, or any other person in Poppleton.
“Dayton, Ohio,” added Dick. “You had a large practice there, and everybody was surprised when you abandoned it.”
“The climate did not agree with my health,” replied the doctor, with a ghastly smile. “I find it necessary to keep near the salt water.”
“Precisely so; and you chose Poppleton.”
“I liked the place. I went there, as you are aware, to spend a month in the summer. The locality suited me, and I decided to settle.”
“Of course your decision had nothing to do with the fact that Eugene Hungerford lived there?”
“None.”
“Wasn’t it a little singular you never mentioned the circumstance that you were one of John Hungerford’s contingent legatees?”
“I deemed it best not to mention the fact; it might have bred suspicion, and deprived me of the good will of Mr. Hungerford and the family. I have done what I could to serve them.”
“You have done well for them; you saved Julia’s life, Dr. Lynch. She is lost to me, but I am unselfish enough to be grateful for this, though you may have done it for your own purposes.”
“It was not for me to save her; God only could do that.”
“None of that, if you please. When the devil quotes Scripture, I am not one of his congregation. No cant.”
“I only intended to say that I did what any physician should have done. No human hand could have saved her; though I think her life was preserved by careful nursing, and, if you please, skilful medical attendance.”
“I believe it; and I am willing to grant that she owes her life to you.”
“But you say I labored for my own purposes.”
“In a word, you intend to marry her.”
“I have never spoken to her on that subject. I will not deny that I cherish a very warm regard for her; and herein I have crossed your path, and excited your wrath against me.”
“I have nothing to say upon that point. The lady shall speak for herself. On account of what you have done for her, I am disposed to let you down as easily as possible, consistently with truth and justice.”
“Let me down?” said the doctor, curiously.
“If you will confess your agency in the events which have transpired in connection with the murder of Buckstone, I will do all that I can to save you from disagreeable consequences, and even to protect your good name,” said Dick, in a serious tone.
“Confess?”
“Why do you repeat my words after me? You know what I mean?”
“I have nothing to confess,” replied Dr. Lynch; but awful forebodings were apparently creeping through his mind.
“If you have not, let us waste no more time.”
Dick rose from his chair, as if to terminate the interview.
“What could I have to confess?”
“First, that you sent for Buckstone, and that you went over to the island with him.”
“But I did not.”
“We waste time; I have business with Mr. Darling to-night. You must excuse me if I decline to say anything more about it.”
“Don’t be harsh, Mr. Birch.”
“I am not harsh. Confess, and I will spare you as much as I can.”
“I have nothing to confess. You are laboring under some mistake, Mr. Birch.”
“Perhaps I am,” sneered Dick. “To-morrow will show whether I am or not.”
“To-morrow?”
“Don’t repeat my words, doctor.”
“You threaten me.”
“Did I seek this interview, or did you?”
“I did, of course, and I am grateful to you for your kindness in granting it.”
“What do you want of me?” demanded Dick, impatiently.
“I wished merely to explain the matter about the name.”
“Well, you have done so.”
“But that opened other matters.”
“I do not wish to say another word. I prefer to let the trial take its course. For your sake, I proposed that you should make a clean breast of it.”
“Why for my sake?”
“Because we may be able to temper the facts so that they will not bear so hard upon you.”
“What facts?”
“All the facts.”
“Mr. Birch, you assume that I have not told the truth.”
“I distinctly say that you have not.”
“That I have perjured myself?”
“You have.”
“Very well, Mr. Birch; and I thank you for your candor in stating just what you mean. Now, grant for a moment that I have been base enough to falsify the truth--assume it for a moment.”
“Assume it for a moment,” repeated Dick, with a significant smile.
“Should you expect a man who had made and sworn to certain statements, to retract them, merely upon your invitation to do so?”
“Not unless he were to obtain some advantage by doing so.”
“Precisely, Mr. Birch. Now, assuming still that I have not told the truth, what advantage should I gain by retracting?”
“Now I understand you, Dr. Lynch; and I am ready to meet your views.”
“Of course we only assume that I have not told the truth.”
“Of course; but I shall take the liberty to answer your question just as though it were an actual state of things. What are you to gain?”
“What should I gain, if the case were real, instead of supposed?”
“Not much, perhaps. I must be vindicated; therefore you must confess, on the stand, that you were the person with Buckstone just before he was killed.”
“That would ruin me.”
“It will ruin me if you don’t. If you were there for a good purpose, it will not injure you any more than it has me.”
“I should gain nothing by this.”
“If you tell the whole truth, voluntarily, you will gain much in the estimation of honest men. And the lawyers will spare you. All this matter is really foreign to Ross Kingman’s case. It has nothing whatever to do with it.”
“Why was it brought in, then?”
“Because the person with Buckstone is an important witness. If I had testified that I was the man, I should simply have been required to tell what I knew of the murder. If I had known nothing, that would have been the end. If you were the stranger, you can tell what you know about it. If it implicates you in the murder, you need not criminate yourself.”
“We are only assuming a case,” interposed the doctor.
“Certainly--if you please.”
“What questions would be asked of me?”
“Were you the person with Buckstone?”
“I was,” replied the doctor, with a sickly smile. “Let us suppose we are in court; I am on the stand, and you are Mr. Lowe.”
“Did you see the murder committed?”
“I did not.”
“Did you know a murder had been committed?”
“I did. Of course you understand, Mr. Birch, that we are merely supposing a case.”
“What did you do?”
“I went down to the cliff in the boat, and found the body.”
“Was life extinct?”
“It was.”
“What did you do with the body?”
“I took it back to the beach.”
“Did you remove the head?”
“I did.”
Dick Birch began to be very much excited, when the doctor again called his attention to the fact that they were merely supposing a case.
“Why did you remove the head?” continued Dick.
“I wanted it for dissection. One of my patients was sick with brain fever, and I wished to study the case with a real brain.”
“Did you dissect it?”
“I did.”
“Where?”
“In my office, that night.”
“Where is the head now?”
“I have the skull.”
“Who was your patient?”
“Mr. John Dunbar.”
So far the case was real, for such a person had been sick with brain fever at the time.
“What did you do with the body?”
“Sunk it in the channel, as the witnesses have described.”
“For what purpose?”
“That I might reclaim it for dissection. I spoke about a ‘subject’ to Dr. White, and invited him to assist me; but I had no opportunity to recover the body before it was found by the sheriff.”
“When did you make the acquaintance of Mr. Buckstone?”
“I never saw him till after dark on the night he was murdered.”
“Did you send for him?”
“I did.”
“Did you write the letter signed Richard Birch?”
“I did.”
“Where did you get the old envelope?”
“Am I to answer all these questions in court?” demanded the doctor.
“No, not all of them; in fact, not many of them.”
“Why do you put them, then?”
“Because I wish to know how the affair was managed.”
“We are only supposing a case,” added Dr. Lynch, with a hideous grin.
“Very well; let us go on supposing the case a little longer. Where did you get the old envelope?”
“It is hardly necessary to be so minute.”
“Quite necessary; answer, if you please.”
“I found it on the body.”
“Where did you write the letter with the signature of Mr. Birch?”
“In my office. I went up with the head, and wrote the letter. On my return, I threw away the original letter, and put the one I had written in its place.”
“Then you intended that Mr. Birch should be compromised?”
“I did.”
“You intended to recover the body, but you prepared it to be found by others.”
“I was afraid it would be found.”
“Why did you intend to implicate Mr. Birch?”
“There was good reason why he should be with Buckstone--there was none to explain why I should be his companion.”
“Why did you send for him?”
“I will not answer another question!” exclaimed Dr. Lynch. “I have been a fool.”
“We were only supposing a case.”
“We have supposed enough, until you can satisfy me what I am to gain by supposing more.”
“Are you willing to answer the questions up to the point where you secured the body for dissection.”
“No; the friends of Buckstone, if he has any, would murder me for what I did.”
“It was in the cause of humane science. For aught we know, you saved Mr. Dunbar’s life by dissecting that head.”
“I think I did; but a man’s friends would not consider this a good excuse for dissecting his brain.”
“Perhaps you are right; and as no truth or principle will be sacrificed, we had better keep these facts out of the case. Besides, what doctors do in the cause of science and humanity is hardly a fit theme for public comment. In a great murder case, within my knowledge, some of the strongest evidence in regard to the identification of the victim was withheld to spare the feelings of a witness, and to avoid low remarks in public. It is a safe precedent, and I think Mr. Lowe will consent to keep this evidence out of court, especially as it proves nothing. It was wrong in you to mutilate the corpse; but to expose you would do a greater wrong by lacerating the feelings of the dead man’s friends, if they should hear of it, and by outraging the delicacy of the community generally. Pass this by; we will arrange it by and by.”
“Is the suppression of this evidence all I am to gain?” asked the doctor.
“No; here is the deposition of Sandy McGuire,” replied Dick, taking the document from his pocket. “I shall rebut your evidence with it, if necessary, and prove that ‘Dr. Bilks’s baby’ was a myth. You will save this.”
“My God!” groaned the doctor.
“You will be proved to be a liar in all this story.”
“Where did you get this?”
“It was done in due form, you perceive, before a magistrate, and has the seal of a commissioner for this state in New York upon it. Sandy McGuire spent and lost all the money you paid him, and then got into a fight, killed his man, and was sent to the state prison for life. I was in New York city at the time, looking up Buckstone’s affairs. I went to him; did what I could for him. As his money was all gone, he had no incentive to keep your secret any longer. Here is the whole truth in this paper; and I can support it with other witnesses. Unless you make it necessary, the document need not be used.”
Dr. Lynch paced the room in violent agitation. This time he was defeated. It was useless to contend. Dick had him in his toils.
“One thing more, doctor; I have the original letter which I wrote to Buckstone, and which you threw away upon the beach.”
“I threw it overboard with a stone in it.”
“It was found on the rocks, by a witness who will testify to the fact, if called upon.”
“Mr. Birch, I am in your power. Do with me as you will,” groaned the doctor. “I will confess whatever you say.”
“Confess the truth. I have three or four letters written by you to Buckstone.”
“Spare me, if you can! Let me leave the town at once.”
“No; now sit down, and write a full confession of your agency in the affair; tell the whole truth; and I pledge you my honor, that, beyond the simple facts necessary to vindicate my good name, none of it shall be made public.”
Dr. Lynch sat down at the table, and commenced writing, and Dick went down to his supper.