Tales of the Wonder Club Volume II Part 35

"Angel or fiend!" he exclaimed. "Whatever thou art, that comest to me in this lovely guise, declare thy mission, unveil to me the future, and spare not mine ears if my doom be sealed. If there be hope----"

Here the figure again put its finger to its lip in token of silence, for Archer, now somewhat over his first surprise, spoke no longer in a husky whisper, but in a loud voice.

"Tell me, tell me," continued the prisoner, lowering his voice, "thou who seemest no being of this world, and who doubtless art cognisant of secrets beyond our ken, tell me in pity how I have deserved this fate.

Say, have these hands really been dyed in the blood of one of my fellow-men during the lapse of some pa.s.sing insanity? Say, why am I here? Dost thou, O spirit, think me guilty?"

The phantom answered not, save by a look of commiseration and a slow shake of the head.

"I see that thou thinkest me not guilty. I thank thee for that. Mine innocence may yet be proved."

The spectre's features lighted up with a look of hope, as if it would answer "I wish it may."

"Angelic being!" he pursued, "vouchsafe me but one word. Say, will the true murderer be found?"

Another look of hope lighted up the spirit's features.

"He will, he will; I feel he will!" exclaimed the prisoner, enthusiastically. "Thank Heaven! But one word more. Dost know the criminal?"

The same look again, accompanied this time by a slight inclination of the head.

"Ah! thou knowest him? His name, his name; tell me!" Here the figure appeared somewhat confused, as if struggling to speak; then gliding rather than walking up to the wall of the cell, it traced with its finger the letters of a name in characters that appeared burnt into the stone, during which operation a crackling sound was heard similar to that before alluded to, and Archer, who had watched the movements of the figure with straining eyeb.a.l.l.s and in breathless silence, gave a yell of surprise and agony as he read the name _Richard de Chevron_, and sank on the floor of his dungeon in a swoon.

A jingling of keys in the pa.s.sage was now audible, and the next moment the jailor had entered the cell. Hearing the voice of the prisoner discoursing loudly, curiosity had led him to the door of his cell, but what was his dismay and consternation at finding the prisoner in a swoon on the floor, whilst over him, as if to protect him, lent the fair youthful form of a maiden, who after fixing her eyes intently for a moment, pointed to the writing on the wall.

The jailor, perfectly dumbfounded, would have asked her in surly tones, how she came there, and who let her in, but the presence of the figure filled him, in spite of himself, with such awe that he could not utter a word. Then glancing at the writing on the wall and then again at the figure of the maiden, who looked at him in a manner that made him feel he knew not how, as he afterwards declared, he observed her rise to her feet, retreat one pace, and pointing once more to the writing on the wall, gradually dissolved herself into a mist and disappeared from his sight.

The jailor's courage now fairly left him, his knees knocked together in a panic, and he dropped his bunch of keys on the ground. At length recovering from his first surprise, he gazed around him, and found himself alone with the prisoner, who was still in his swoon. The first thing that he did was to secure the door of the cell, then walking up to the prisoner, shook him roughly, and a.s.sailed him with questions.

"Beautiful vision!" cried Archer, now awaking from his swoon, "thou has saved my life by denouncing the true murderer. Were it not for thee I might---- But where art thou? Gone--Fled? Has it, then, been all a dream? Oh!" he groaned, as his eyes caught the jailor bending over him.

"Come, be of good cheer, young man," said the jailor, kindly. "It was no dream, or if it was, we have both been dreaming, and had the same dream.

I, too, saw the lady. I'll swear to that in any court of justice. Well, I never believed in ghosts before, young man. I never did, upon my word, but after what I have just seen with these eyes----"

"What! you saw her, too?" interrupted Archer. "You? Then it was no dream, but a divine vision sent by Providence to preserve the innocent.

Look, there is her writing on the wall."

"What means that name, young man?" asked the jailor, gravely.

"She traced it with her own finger. I asked her to reveal to me the name of the true murderer, and that was the name she traced upon the wall."

"You are not imposing upon me, young man?" inquired the jailor, suspiciously.

"Not I," answered Archer, frankly. "Did you not see her yourself?"

"True, true," quoth the jailor; "I remember that she pointed to the writing and then vanished. Well, upon my soul, I do not know what to think of the matter. I have been here thirty years come Michaelmas, but what I have seen to-day pa.s.ses all the experience of Miles Gratelock.

I'll inform the authorities of what has taken place at once, and I'll yet hope to see you out of this place; for to tell you the honest truth, lad, I don't think you capable of the murder, and never did; yet appearances," he added, "appearances, you know, must be taken into consideration, and they are often against us. However, we'll hope for the best."

Here the kindly jailor left the cell, and locking the door after him went straight to the authorities and laid the whole matter of the vision before them. As may be antic.i.p.ated, the story was ridiculed. Some said that the jailor had been bribed by the prisoner to concoct such a narrative; others declared that the jailor must have been drunk, and having forgotten to lock the door of the cell some young female may have found admittance, and to cover his negligence he had trumped up this improbable story.

They, however, took the trouble to visit the cell of the prisoner and to examine the writing on the wall, which they all declared themselves to be at a loss to guess with what material the prisoner himself could have written the name. The prisoner was questioned and cross-questioned, but was not found to contradict himself in anything. A piece of chalk was then put into the prisoner's hand and he was ordered to write the same name underneath that supposed to have been written by the spirit, but the handwriting was perfectly dissimilar. The jailor was then called, and had to do the same, but neither in this case did the writing at all resemble the burnt characters on the wall.

Now, however mysterious this affair might have appeared to the authorities, yet to convict a gentleman of De Chevron's standing, or indeed any man upon such evidence as this, would be as absurd as it would be unfair; nevertheless, the story of the apparition in the prisoner's cell and of the writing on the wall spread like wildfire through the village, and had the effect of shaking the belief of many who had hitherto believed Archer guilty, and confirming more than ever in their previous belief those who still maintained him innocent.

The general currency of this story, too, gave rise to inquiries as to the intimacy that had existed between John Archer and De Chevron. A certain amount of intimacy it was proved had existed between them, but so far the evidence was rather on De Chevron's side, as witnesses came forward to prove that De Chevron had always shown himself most friendly towards young Archer, and had occasionally made him some trifling present.

There was no evidence that they had ever fallen out together, and therefore there was no reason at all to suspect De Chevron of the malicious conduct attributed to him of committing a murder himself in order that an innocent man should be convicted of it. To strengthen the absurdity of the supposition, it was alleged that De Chevron had been absent in London at the time of the murder, thereby proving an _alibi_.

Others not being satisfied with this statement, desired that it should be proved beyond doubt that De Chevron was in London at the time. Upon examination, however, the evidence was not quite so favourable to De Chevron this time. More than one witness deposed to having seen him at the window, although he had not been seen out of doors. It was proved that he had never quitted the village, although he had given out to his friends his intention of going to London; but he sought to exculpate himself by saying that he had announced to his friends his intended departure for London in order that he might avoid visits and enjoy the strictest seclusion for a time, as he was studying for the law.

This excuse was deemed sufficient, and might have satisfied all parties, had not still more startling evidence turned up. In the meantime the all but defunct pedlar had sufficiently recovered in order to give a detailed account of the occurrences on the night of the murder, and of De Chevron's duplicity and treachery, although he owned himself at a loss to conceive the motive of the attempted murder.

He acquitted John Archer of being implicated in any way in the crime, and denounced De Chevron as a double-dealing murderous villain. His evidence was taken down in writing by the surgeon who attended him, in the presence of several witnesses, and it was proposed that both John Archer and De Chevron should be confronted with the dying man.

This was accordingly done. The half-murdered pedlar managed to sustain life by an almost preternatural effort until the arrival of the two individuals. Upon the appearance of De Chevron his eye kindled with an incredible animation, considering his dying state, and although his utterance was now difficult, he succeeded in denouncing him as his murderer in sufficiently plain terms to be understood by all present.

When his eye caught John Archer, the dying man stretched forth his hand to him, craved his pardon for the evil he had done him, but adding that it was all at the instigation of De Chevron, for the carrying out of some private scheme of his own. De Chevron endeavoured to justify himself, alleging that the man raved and that such testimony could not be depended upon. The pedlar, however, had given his evidence so clearly and concisely that it was accounted valid, after which he sank back and expired.

Now, whilst the evidence of the pedlar that had been taken down was being read out mention was made of the bottle of drugged wine said to have been given to the pedlar by De Chevron in order to carry out his base designs. A search was accordingly made for the bottle, which, being found, though empty--or, rather, nearly so--it was taken to a chemist, who found sufficient of the liquor left to a.n.a.lyse, which, when done, it was p.r.o.nounced to contain narcotics of the most potent sort.

The house of De Chevron was next searched, and in a secret drawer of his desk was discovered a powder which upon being examined proved to contain similar ingredients to those discovered in the dregs of the wine at the bottom of the bottle. Besides this powder were found at De Chevron's lodgings sundry bottles of wine, all bearing exactly the same label as that found in the ditch close to the murdered man.

This evidence was considered conclusive, and De Chevron was seized for the purpose of being conducted to prison; but, despairing now of ever getting acquitted, and dreading to fall into the hands of justice, the miserable man suddenly drew out a pistol from his pocket, and holding the barrel to his forehead blew out his brains on the spot.

This last rash deed of De Chevron's caused even more sensation in the village and the parts adjacent than the mysterious murder of the pedlar.

The wretched suicide was interred without obsequies in the centre of two cross roads, with a stake driven through his body, according to the usual custom.

I need not say that John Archer was freely acquitted, and welcomed once more among us with hearty cheers. Even those who had been the most bitter against him at first now came forward to extend to him the hand of friendship.

How the poor lad seemed to enjoy his liberty after his incarceration!

But yesterday imprisoned for murder, shunned by all his friends and hated by everybody, with the prospect of an ignominious death before him. To-day openly acquitted, restored to the bosom of his family, surrounded by his friends, and receiving their congratulations. In an instant he had forgotten all his past woes, and thought himself amply compensated for all his suffering by being again allowed to visit his lady-love.

I will leave you to imagine, gentlemen, the joy of us all, and especially of Claribel, at John's acquittal, as well as the importunate questioning of the neighbours concerning the apparition of Claribel to John within the prison cell.

There are many people who profess to know their neighbours' business better than they do themselves. According to this sort of people--and there are many in the village to this day--John Archer's marriage with Claribel Falkland was a thing already settled. The day had been fixed upon, and all was in order--in fact the kindly neighbours had made everything as easy as possible for the young couple, whereas John had never yet opened his lips in the way of love to the idol of his heart, being, as I have before mentioned, of a shy and reserved temperament.

Yet so sure were the neighbours of John's private affairs, that one of his friends said jocularly that when their banns should be published in church that he would stand up and forbid them, as in marrying Claribel he would be committing bigamy, seeing that she could make herself two persons at once. Would that the neighbours had been in the right as to the future of this pair, for a couple better suited for each other could not have been found; but, alas, who is master of his fate? Who can pry into the secret ways of Providence? It little boots to speculate on what the future of these two amiable and ingenuous natures would have been if everything had gone well, for a dire fate was in store for them. But let me not antic.i.p.ate.

It was a winter morning, but remarkably fine for that time of the year, when Claribel and I went out together for a ramble in an adjacent wood.

We had been laughing and chatting by the way, when suddenly I observed the features of my friend to become overcast. When I inquired the reason of her sadness, she replied,

"I know not how it is, Molly, but somehow or other I feel as if some danger were threatening John."

Now, I had long ceased to laugh at her for what I used to look upon as mere nervous fancies, so many of them having proved well founded, but I merely suggested to her that perhaps she did not feel well, and that we had better return home.

"Yes, yes, Molly," she said; "for Heaven's sake let us return at once, as I feel more and more sure that poor John is in some danger. You remember my presentiment about Richard de Chevron, which you laughed at.

Was that well founded or not? Well, as I felt certain then that some harm was in store for John, so do I now. Come, let us hasten our steps."

"G.o.d forbid," said I, "that poor John should fall a victim a second time to treachery or witchcraft," and we hurried home, never halting until we reached my father's house.

On entering the parlour Claribel gave a hasty glance at the glazed cupboard where she had placed the waxen image intended as a likeness of John Archer, and which she had not looked at for ever so long. It was wanting.

"Molly!" she cried, in great anxiety, "where is the waxen image? What can have become of it? Just ask your father if he has removed it."