The Man With The Watches
There are many who will still bear in mind the singular
circumstances which, under the heading of the Rugby Mystery,
filled many columns of the daily Press in the spring of the year
1892. Coming as it did at a period of exceptional dullness, it
attracted perhaps rather more attention than it deserved, but it
offered to the public that mixture of the whimsical and the
tragic which is most stimulating to the popular imagination.
Interest drooped, however, when, after weeks of fruitless
investigation, it was found that no final explanation of the
facts was forthcoming, and the tragedy seemed from that time to
the present to have finally taken its place in the dark catalogue
of inexplicable and unexpiated crimes. A recent communication
(the authenticity of which appears to be above question) has,
however, thrown some new and clear light upon the matter. Before
laying it before the public it would be as well, perhaps, that I
should refresh their memories as to the singular facts upon which
this commentary is founded. These facts were briefly as follows:
At five o'clock on the evening of the 18th of March in the year
already mentioned a train left Euston Station for Manchester. It
was a rainy, squally day, which grew wilder as it progressed, so it
was by no means the weather in which anyone would travel who was
not driven to do so by necessity. The train, however, is a
favourite one among Manchester business men who are returning from
town, for it does the journey in four hours and twenty minutes,
with only three stoppages upon the way. In spite of the inclement
evening it was, therefore, fairly well filled upon the occasion of
which I speak. The guard of the train was a tried servant of the
company--a man who had worked for twenty-two years without a
blemish or complaint. His name was John Palmer.
The station clock was upon the stroke of five, and the guard
was about to give the customary signal to the engine-driver when he
observed two belated passengers hurrying down the platform. The
one was an exceptionally tall man, dressed in a long black overcoat
with astrakhan collar and cuffs. I have already said that the
evening was an inclement one, and the tall traveller had the high,
warm collar turned up to protect his throat against the bitter
March wind. He appeared, as far as the guard could judge by so
hurried an inspection, to be a man between fifty and sixty years of
age, who had retained a good deal of the vigour and activity of his
youth. In one hand he carried a brown leather Gladstone bag. His
companion was a lady, tall and erect, walking with a vigorous step
which outpaced the gentleman beside her. She wore a long, fawn-
coloured dust-cloak, a black, close-fitting toque, and a dark veil
which concealed the greater part of her face. The two might very
well have passed as father and daughter. They walked swiftly down
the line of carriages, glancing in at the windows, until the guard,
John Palmer, overtook them.
"Now then, sir, look sharp, the train is going," said he.
"First-class," the man answered.
The guard turned the handle of the nearest door. In the
carriage which he had opened, there sat a small man with a cigar in
his mouth. His appearance seems to have impressed itself upon the
guard's memory, for he was prepared, afterwards, to describe or to
identify him. He was a man of thirty-four or thirty-five years of
age, dressed in some grey material, sharp-nosed, alert, with a
ruddy, weather-beaten face, and a small, closely cropped, black
beard. He glanced up as the door was opened. The tall man paused
with his foot upon the step.
"This is a smoking compartment. The lady dislikes smoke," said
he, looking round at the guard.
"All right! Here you are, sir!" said John Palmer. He slammed
the door of the smoking carriage, opened that of the next one,
which was empty, and thrust the two travellers in. At the same
moment he sounded his whistle and the wheels of the train began to
move. The man with the cigar was at the window of his carriage,
and said something to the guard as he rolled past him, but the
words were lost in the bustle of the departure. Palmer
stepped into the guard's van, as it came up to him, and
thought no more of the incident.
Twelve minutes after its departure the train reached Willesden
Junction, where it stopped for a very short interval. An
examination of the tickets has made it certain that no one either
joined or left it at this time, and no passenger was seen to alight
upon the platform. At 5:14 the journey to Manchester was resumed,
and Rugby was reached at 6:50, the express being five minutes late.
At Rugby the attention of the station officials was drawn to
the fact that the door of one of the first-class carriages was
open. An examination of that compartment, and of its neighbour,
disclosed a remarkable state of affairs.
The smoking carriage in which the short, red-faced man with the
black beard had been seen was now empty. Save for a half-smoked
cigar, there was no trace whatever of its recent occupant. The
door of this carriage was fastened. In the next compartment, to
which attention had been originally drawn, there was no sign either
of the gentleman with the astrakhan collar or of the young lady who
accompanied him. All three passengers had disappeared. On the
other hand, there was found upon the floor of this carriage--the
one in which the tall traveller and the lady had been--a young man
fashionably dressed and of elegant appearance. He lay with his
knees drawn up, and his head resting against the farther door, an
elbow upon either seat. A bullet had penetrated his heart and his
death must have been instantaneous. No one had seen such a man
enter the train, and no railway ticket was found in his pocket,
neither were there any markings upon his linen, nor papers nor
personal property which might help to identify him. Who he was,
whence he had come, and how he had met his end were each as great
a mystery as what had occurred to the three people who had started
an hour and a half before from Willesden in those two compartments.
I have said that there was no personal property which might
help to identify him, but it is true that there was one peculiarity
about this unknown young man which was much commented upon at the
time. In his pockets were found no fewer than six valuable gold
watches, three in the various pockets of his waist-coat, one in his
ticket-pocket, one in his breast-pocket, and one small one set
in a leather strap and fastened round his left wrist. The obvious
explanation that the man was a pickpocket, and that this was his
plunder, was discounted by the fact that all six were of American
make and of a type which is rare in England. Three of them bore
the mark of the Rochester Watchmaking Company; one was by Mason, of
Elmira; one was unmarked; and the small one, which was highly
jewelled and ornamented, was from Tiffany, of New York. The other
contents of his pocket consisted of an ivory knife with a corkscrew
by Rodgers, of Sheffield; a small, circular mirror, one inch in
diameter; a readmission slip to the Lyceum Theatre; a silver box
full of vesta matches, and a brown leather cigar-case containing
two cheroots--also two pounds fourteen shillings in money. It was
clear, then, that whatever motives may have led to his death,
robbery was not among them. As already mentioned, there were no
markings upon the man's linen, which appeared to be new, and no
tailor's name upon his coat. In appearance he was young, short,
smooth-cheeked, and delicately featured. One of his front teeth
was conspicuously stopped with gold.
On the discovery of the tragedy an examination was instantly
made of the tickets of all passengers, and the number of the
passengers themselves was counted. It was found that only three
tickets were unaccounted for, corresponding to the three travellers
who were missing. The express was then allowed to proceed, but a
new guard was sent with it, and John Palmer was detained as a
witness at Rugby. The carriage which included the two compartments
in question was uncoupled and side-tracked. Then, on the arrival
of Inspector Vane, of Scotland Yard, and of Mr. Henderson, a
detective in the service of the railway company, an exhaustive
inquiry was made into all the circumstances.
That crime had been committed was certain. The bullet, which
appeared to have come from a small pistol or revolver, had been
fired from some little distance, as there was no scorching of the
clothes. No weapon was found in the compartment (which finally
disposed of the theory of suicide), nor was there any sign of the
brown leather bag which the guard had seen in the hand of the tall
gentleman. A lady's parasol was found upon the rack, but no other
trace was to be seen of the travellers in either of the sections.
Apart from the crime, the question of how or why three
passengers (one of them a lady) could get out of the train, and one
other get in during the unbroken run between Willesden and Rugby,
was one which excited the utmost curiosity among the general
public, and gave rise to much speculation in the London Press.
John Palmer, the guard was able at the inquest to give some
evidence which threw a little light upon the matter. There was a
spot between Tring and Cheddington, according to his statement,
where, on account of some repairs to the line, the train had for a
few minutes slowed down to a pace not exceeding eight or ten miles
an hour. At that place it might be possible for a man, or even for
an exceptionally active woman, to have left the train without
serious injury. It was true that a gang of platelayers was there,
and that they had seen nothing, but it was their custom to stand in
the middle between the metals, and the open carriage door was upon
the far side, so that it was conceivable that someone might have
alighted unseen, as the darkness would by that time be drawing in.
A steep embankment would instantly screen anyone who sprang out
from the observation of the navvies.
The guard also deposed that there was a good deal of movement
upon the platform at Willesden Junction, and that though it was
certain that no one had either joined or left the train there, it
was still quite possible that some of the passengers might have
changed unseen from one compartment to another. It was by no means
uncommon for a gentleman to finish his cigar in a smoking carriage
and then to change to a clearer atmosphere. Supposing that the man
with the black beard had done so at Willesden (and the half-smoked
cigar upon the floor seemed to favour the supposition), he would
naturally go into the nearest section, which would bring him into
the company of the two other actors in this drama. Thus the first
stage of the affair might be surmised without any great breach of
probability. But what the second stage had been, or how the final
one had been arrived at, neither the guard nor the experienced
detective officers could suggest.
A careful examination of the line between Willesden and Rugby
resulted in one discovery which might or might not have a bearing
upon the tragedy. Near Tring, at the very place where the train
slowed down, there was found at the bottom of the embankment a
small pocket Testament, very shabby and worn. It was printed
by the Bible Society of London, and bore an inscription: "From
John to Alice. Jan. 13th, 1856," upon the fly-leaf. Underneath
was written: "James. July 4th, 1859," and beneath that again:
"Edward. Nov. 1st, 1869," all the entries being in the same
handwriting. This was the only clue, if it could be called a clue,
which the police obtained, and the coroner's verdict of "Murder by
a person or persons unknown" was the unsatisfactory ending of a
singular case. Advertisement, rewards, and inquiries proved
equally fruitless, and nothing could be found which was solid
enough to form the basis for a profitable investigation.
It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that no theories
were formed to account for the facts. On the contrary, the Press,
both in England and in America, teemed with suggestions and
suppositions, most of which were obviously absurd. The fact that
the watches were of American make, and some peculiarities in
connection with the gold stopping of his front tooth, appeared to
indicate that the deceased was a citizen of the United States,
though his linen, clothes and boots were undoubtedly of British
manufacture. It was surmised, by some, that he was concealed under
the seat, and that, being discovered, he was for some reason,
possibly because he had overheard their guilty secrets, put to
death by his fellow-passengers. When coupled with generalities as
to the ferocity and cunning of anarchical and other secret
societies, this theory sounded as plausible as any.
The fact that he should be without a ticket would be consistent
with the idea of concealment, and it was well known that women
played a prominent part in the Nihilistic propaganda. On the other
hand, it was clear, from the guard's statement, that the man must
have been hidden there BEFORE the others arrived, and how
unlikely the coincidence that conspirators should stray exactly
into the very compartment in which a spy was already concealed!
Besides, this explanation ignored the man in the smoking carriage,
and gave no reason at all for his simultaneous disappearance. The
police had little difficulty in showing that such a theory would
not cover the facts, but they were unprepared in the absence of
evidence to advance any alternative explanation.
There was a letter in the Daily Gazette, over the signature
of a well-known criminal investigator, which gave rise to
considerable discussion at the time. He had formed a
hypothesis which had at least ingenuity to recommend it, and I
cannot do better than append it in his own words.
"Whatever may be the truth," said he, "it must depend upon some
bizarre and rare combination of events, so we need have no
hesitation in postulating such events in our explanation. In the
absence of data we must abandon the analytic or scientific method
of investigation, and must approach it in the synthetic fashion.
In a word, instead of taking known events and deducing from them
what has occurred, we must build up a fanciful explanation if it
will only be consistent with known events. We can then test this
explanation by any fresh facts which may arise. If they all fit
into their places, the probability is that we are upon the right
track, and with each fresh fact this probability increases in a
geometrical progression until the evidence becomes final and
"Now, there is one most remarkable and suggestive fact which
has not met with the attention which it deserves. There is a local
train running through Harrow and King's Langley, which is timed in
such a way that the express must have overtaken it at or about the
period when it eased down its speed to eight miles an hour on
account of the repairs of the line. The two trains would at that
time be travelling in the same direction at a similar rate of speed
and upon parallel lines. It is within every one's experience how,
under such circumstances, the occupant of each carriage can see
very plainly the passengers in the other carriages opposite to him.
The lamps of the express had been lit at Willesden, so that each
compartment was brightly illuminated, and most visible to an
observer from outside.
"Now, the sequence of events as I reconstruct them would be
after this fashion. This young man with the abnormal number of
watches was alone in the carriage of the slow train. His ticket,
with his papers and gloves and other things, was, we will suppose,
on the seat beside him. He was probably an American, and also
probably a man of weak intellect. The excessive wearing of
jewellery is an early symptom in some forms of mania.
"As he sat watching the carriages of the express which were
(on account of the state of the line) going at the same pace as
himself, he suddenly saw some people in it whom he knew. We will
suppose for the sake of our theory that these people were a
woman whom he loved and a man whom he hated--and who in return
hated him. The young man was excitable and impulsive. He opened
the door of his carriage, stepped from the footboard of the local
train to the footboard of the express, opened the other door, and
made his way into the presence of these two people. The feat (on
the supposition that the trains were going at the same pace) is by
no means so perilous as it might appear.
"Having now got our young man, without his ticket, into the
carriage in which the elder man and the young woman are travelling,
it is not difficult to imagine that a violent scene ensued. It is
possible that the pair were also Americans, which is the more
probable as the man carried a weapon--an unusual thing in England.
If our supposition of incipient mania is correct, the young man is
likely to have assaulted the other. As the upshot of the quarrel
the elder man shot the intruder, and then made his escape from the
carriage, taking the young lady with him. We will suppose that all
this happened very rapidly, and that the train was still going at
so slow a pace that it was not difficult for them to leave it. A
woman might leave a train going at eight miles an hour. As a
matter of fact, we know that this woman DID do so.
"And now we have to fit in the man in the smoking carriage.
Presuming that we have, up to this point, reconstructed the tragedy
correctly, we shall find nothing in this other man to cause us to
reconsider our conclusions. According to my theory, this man saw
the young fellow cross from one train to the other, saw him open
the door, heard the pistol-shot, saw the two fugitives spring out
on to the line, realized that murder had been done, and sprang out
himself in pursuit. Why he has never been heard of since--whether
he met his own death in the pursuit, or whether, as is more likely,
he was made to realize that it was not a case for his
interference--is a detail which we have at present no means of
explaining. I acknowledge that there are some difficulties in the
way. At first sight, it might seem improbable that at such a
moment a murderer would burden himself in his flight with a brown
leather bag. My answer is that he was well aware that if the bag
were found his identity would be established. It was absolutely
necessary for him to take it with him. My theory stands or falls
upon one point, and I call upon the railway company to make strict
inquiry as to whether a ticket was found unclaimed in the local
train through Harrow and King's Langley upon the 18th of March. If
such a ticket were found my case is proved. If not, my theory may
still be the correct one, for it is conceivable either that he
travelled without a ticket or that his ticket was lost."
To this elaborate and plausible hypothesis the answer of the
police and of the company was, first, that no such ticket was
found; secondly, that the slow train would never run parallel to
the express; and, thirdly, that the local train had been stationary
in King's Langley Station when the express, going at fifty miles an
hour, had flashed past it. So perished the only satisfying
explanation, and five years have elapsed without supplying a new
one. Now, at last, there comes a statement which covers all the
facts, and which must be regarded as authentic. It took the shape
of a letter dated from New York, and addressed to the same criminal
investigator whose theory I have quoted. It is given here in
extenso, with the exception of the two opening paragraphs, which
are personal in their nature:
"You'll excuse me if I'm not very free with names. There's
less reason now than there was five years ago when mother was still
living. But for all that, I had rather cover up our tracks all I
can. But I owe you an explanation, for if your idea of it was
wrong, it was a mighty ingenious one all the same. I'll have to go
back a little so as you may understand all about it.
"My people came from Bucks, England, and emigrated to the
States in the early fifties. They settled in Rochester, in the
State of New York, where my father ran a large dry goods store.
There were only two sons: myself, James, and my brother, Edward.
I was ten years older than my brother, and after my father died I
sort of took the place of a father to him, as an elder brother
would. He was a bright, spirited boy, and just one of the most
beautiful creatures that ever lived. But there was always a soft
spot in him, and it was like mould in cheese, for it spread and
spread, and nothing that you could do would stop it. Mother saw it
just as clearly as I did, but she went on spoiling him all the
same, for he had such a way with him that you could refuse him
nothing. I did all I could to hold him in, and he hated me for my
"At last he fairly got his head, and nothing that we could do
would stop him. He got off into New York, and went rapidly
from bad to worse. At first he was only fast, and then he was
criminal; and then, at the end of a year or two, he was one of the
most notorious young crooks in the city. He had formed a
friendship with Sparrow MacCoy, who was at the head of his
profession as a bunco-steerer, green goodsman and general rascal.
They took to card-sharping, and frequented some of the best hotels
in New York. My brother was an excellent actor (he might have made
an honest name for himself if he had chosen), and he would take the
parts of a young Englishman of title, of a simple lad from the
West, or of a college undergraduate, whichever suited Sparrow
MacCoy's purpose. And then one day he dressed himself as a girl,
and he carried it off so well, and made himself such a valuable
decoy, that it was their favourite game afterwards. They had made
it right with Tammany and with the police, so it seemed as if
nothing could ever stop them, for those were in the days before the
Lexow Commission, and if you only had a pull, you could do pretty
nearly everything you wanted.
"And nothing would have stopped them if they had only stuck to
cards and New York, but they must needs come up Rochester way, and
forge a name upon a cheque. It was my brother that did it, though
everyone knew that it was under the influence of Sparrow MacCoy.
I bought up that cheque, and a pretty sum it cost me. Then I went
to my brother, laid it before him on the table, and swore to him
that I would prosecute if he did not clear out of the country. At
first he simply laughed. I could not prosecute, he said, without
breaking our mother's heart, and he knew that I would not do that.
I made him understand, however, that our mother's heart was being
broken in any case, and that I had set firm on the point that I
would rather see him in Rochester gaol than in a New York hotel.
So at last he gave in, and he made me a solemn promise that he
would see Sparrow MacCoy no more, that he would go to Europe, and
that he would turn his hand to any honest trade that I helped him
to get. I took him down right away to an old family friend, Joe
Willson, who is an exporter of American watches and clocks, and I
got him to give Edward an agency in London, with a small salary and
a 15 per cent commission on all business. His manner and
appearance were so good that he won the old man over at once,
and within a week he was sent off to London with a case full
"It seemed to me that this business of the cheque had really
given my brother a fright, and that there was some chance of his
settling down into an honest line of life. My mother had spoken
with him, and what she said had touched him, for she had always
been the best of mothers to him and he had been the great sorrow of
her life. But I knew that this man Sparrow MacCoy had a great
influence over Edward and my chance of keeping the lad straight lay
in breaking the connection between them. I had a friend in the New
York detective force, and through him I kept a watch upon MacCoy.
When, within a fortnight of my brother's sailing, I heard that
MacCoy had taken a berth in the Etruria, I was as certain as if
he had told me that he was going over to England for the purpose of
coaxing Edward back again into the ways that he had left. In an
instant I had resolved to go also, and to pit my influence against
MacCoy's. I knew it was a losing fight, but I thought, and my
mother thought, that it was my duty. We passed the last night
together in prayer for my success, and she gave me her own
Testament that my father had given her on the day of their marriage
in the Old Country, so that I might always wear it next my heart.
"I was a fellow-traveller, on the steamship, with Sparrow
MacCoy, and at least I had the satisfaction of spoiling his little
game for the voyage. The very first night I went into the smoking-
room, and found him at the head of a card-table, with a half a
dozen young fellows who were carrying their full purses and their
empty skulls over to Europe. He was settling down for his harvest,
and a rich one it would have been. But I soon changed all that.
"`Gentlemen,' said I, `are you aware whom you are playing
"`What's that to you? You mind your own business!' said he,
with an oath.
"`Who is it, anyway?' asked one of the dudes.
"`He's Sparrow MacCoy, the most notorious card-sharper in the
"Up he jumped with a bottle in his hand, but he remembered
that he was under the flag of the effete Old Country, where
law and order run, and Tammany has no pull. Gaol and the gallows
wait for violence and murder, and there's no slipping out by the
back door on board an ocean liner.
"`Prove your words, you----!' said he.
"`I will!' said I. `If you will turn up your right shirt-
sleeve to the shoulder, I will either prove my words or I will eat
"He turned white and said not a word. You see, I knew
something of his ways, and I was aware of that part of the
mechanism which he and all such sharpers use consists of an elastic
down the arm with a clip just above the wrist. It is by means of
this clip that they withdraw from their hands the cards which they
do not want, while they substitute other cards from another hiding
place. I reckoned on it being there, and it was. He cursed me,
slunk out of the saloon, and was hardly seen again during the
voyage. For once, at any rate, I got level with Mister Sparrow
"But he soon had his revenge upon me, for when it came to
influencing my brother he outweighed me every time. Edward had
kept himself straight in London for the first few weeks, and had
done some business with his American watches, until this villain
came across his path once more. I did my best, but the best was
little enough. The next thing I heard there had been a scandal at
one of the Northumberland Avenue hotels: a traveller had been
fleeced of a large sum by two confederate card-sharpers, and the
matter was in the hands of Scotland Yard. The first I learned of
it was in the evening paper, and I was at once certain that my
brother and MacCoy were back at their old games. I hurried at once
to Edward's lodgings. They told me that he and a tall gentleman
(whom I recognized as MacCoy) had gone off together, and that he
had left the lodgings and taken his things with him. The landlady
had heard them give several directions to the cabman, ending with
Euston Station, and she had accidentally overheard the tall
gentleman saying something about Manchester. She believed that
that was their destination.
"A glance at the time-table showed me that the most likely
train was at five, though there was another at 4:35 which they
might have caught. I had only time to get the later one, but found
no sign of them either at the depot or in the train. They
must have gone on by the earlier one, so I determined to
follow them to Manchester and search for them in the hotels there.
One last appeal to my brother by all that he owed to my mother
might even now be the salvation of him. My nerves were overstrung,
and I lit a cigar to steady them. At that moment, just as the
train was moving off, the door of my compartment was flung open,
and there were MacCoy and my brother on the platform.
"They were both disguised, and with good reason, for they knew
that the London police were after them. MacCoy had a great
astrakhan collar drawn up, so that only his eyes and nose were
showing. My brother was dressed like a woman, with a black veil
half down his face, but of course it did not deceive me for an
instant, nor would it have done so even if I had not known that he
had often used such a dress before. I started up, and as I did so
MacCoy recognized me. He said something, the conductor slammed the
door, and they were shown into the next compartment. I tried to
stop the train so as to follow them, but the wheels were already
moving, and it was too late.
"When we stopped at Willesden, I instantly changed my carriage.
It appears that I was not seen to do so, which is not surprising,
as the station was crowded with people. MacCoy, of course, was
expecting me, and he had spent the time between Euston and
Willesden in saying all he could to harden my brother's heart and
set him against me. That is what I fancy, for I had never found
him so impossible to soften or to move. I tried this way and I
tried that; I pictured his future in an English gaol; I described
the sorrow of his mother when I came back with the news; I said
everything to touch his heart, but all to no purpose. He sat there
with a fixed sneer upon his handsome face, while every now and then
Sparrow MacCoy would throw in a taunt at me, or some word of
encouragement to hold my brother to his resolutions.
"`Why don't you run a Sunday-school?' he would say to me, and
then, in the same breath: `He thinks you have no will of your own.
He thinks you are just the baby brother and that he can lead you
where he likes. He's only just finding out that you are a man as
well as he.'
"It was those words of his which set me talking bitterly. We
had left Willesden, you understand, for all this took some time.
My temper got the better of me, and for the first time in my
life I let my brother see the rough side of me. Perhaps it would
have been better had I done so earlier and more often.
"`A man!' said I. `Well, I'm glad to have your friend's
assurance of it, for no one would suspect it to see you like a
boarding-school missy. I don't suppose in all this country there
is a more contemptible-looking creature than you are as you sit
there with that Dolly pinafore upon you.' He coloured up at that,
for he was a vain man, and he winced from ridicule.
"`It's only a dust-cloak,' said he, and he slipped it off.
`One has to throw the coppers off one's scent, and I had no other
way to do it.' He took his toque off with the veil attached, and
he put both it and the cloak into his brown bag. `Anyway, I don't
need to wear it until the conductor comes round,' said he.
"`Nor then, either,' said I, and taking the bag I slung it with
all my force out of the window. `Now,' said I, `you'll never make
a Mary Jane of yourself while I can help it. If nothing but that
disguise stands between you and a gaol, then to gaol you shall go.'
"That was the way to manage him. I felt my advantage at once.
His supple nature was one which yielded to roughness far more
readily than to entreaty. He flushed with shame, and his eyes
filled with tears. But MacCoy saw my advantage also, and was
determined that I should not pursue it.
"`He's my pard, and you shall not bully him,' he cried.
"`He's my brother, and you shall not ruin him,' said I. `I
believe a spell of prison is the very best way of keeping you
apart, and you shall have it, or it will be no fault of mine.'
"`Oh, you would squeal, would you?' he cried, and in an instant
he whipped out his revolver. I sprang for his hand, but saw that
I was too late, and jumped aside. At the same instant he fired,
and the bullet which would have struck me passed through the heart
of my unfortunate brother.
"He dropped without a groan upon the floor of the compartment,
and MacCoy and I, equally horrified, knelt at each side of him,
trying to bring back some signs of life. MacCoy still held the
loaded revolver in his hand, but his anger against me and my
resentment towards him had both for the moment been swallowed up in
this sudden tragedy. It was he who first realized the situation.
The train was for some reason going very slowly at the moment,
and he saw his opportunity for escape. In an instant he had the
door open, but I was as quick as he, and jumping upon him the two
of us fell off the footboard and rolled in each other's arms down
a steep embankment. At the bottom I struck my head against a
stone, and I remembered nothing more. When I came to myself I was
lying among some low bushes, not far from the railroad track, and
somebody was bathing my head with a wet handkerchief. It was
"`I guess I couldn't leave you,' said he. `I didn't want to
have the blood of two of you on my hands in one day. You loved
your brother, I've no doubt; but you didn't love him a cent more
than I loved him, though you'll say that I took a queer way to show
it. Anyhow, it seems a mighty empty world now that he is gone, and
I don't care a continental whether you give me over to the hangman
"He had turned his ankle in the fall, and there we sat, he with
his useless foot, and I with my throbbing head, and we talked and
talked until gradually my bitterness began to soften and to turn
into something like sympathy. What was the use of revenging his
death upon a man who was as much stricken by that death as I was?
And then, as my wits gradually returned, I began to realize also
that I could do nothing against MacCoy which would not recoil upon
my mother and myself. How could we convict him without a full
account of my brother's career being made public--the very thing
which of all others we wished to avoid? It was really as much our
interest as his to cover the matter up, and from being an avenger
of crime I found myself changed to a conspirator against Justice.
The place in which we found ourselves was one of those pheasant
preserves which are so common in the Old Country, and as we groped
our way through it I found myself consulting the slayer of my
brother as to how far it would be possible to hush it up.
"I soon realized from what he said that unless there were some
papers of which we knew nothing in my brother's pockets, there was
really no possible means by which the police could identify him or
learn how he had got there. His ticket was in MacCoy's pocket, and
so was the ticket for some baggage which they had left at the
depot. Like most Americans, he had found it cheaper and easier to
buy an outfit in London than to bring one from New York, so
that all his linen and clothes were new and unmarked. The bag,
containing the dust-cloak, which I had thrown out of the window,
may have fallen among some bramble patch where it is still
concealed, or may have been carried off by some tramp, or may have
come into the possession of the police, who kept the incident to
themselves. Anyhow, I have seen nothing about it in the London
papers. As to the watches, they were a selection from those which
had been intrusted to him for business purposes. It may have been
for the same business purposes that he was taking them to
Manchester, but--well, it's too late to enter into that.
"I don't blame the police for being at fault. I don't see how
it could have been otherwise. There was just one little clue that
they might have followed up, but it was a small one. I mean that
small, circular mirror which was found in my brother's pocket. It
isn't a very common thing for a young man to carry about with him,
is it? But a gambler might have told you what such a mirror may
mean to a card-sharper. If you sit back a little from the table,
and lay the mirror, face upwards, upon your lap, you can see, as
you deal, every card that you give to your adversary. It is not
hard to say whether you see a man or raise him when you know his
cards as well as your own. It was as much a part of a sharper's
outfit as the elastic clip upon Sparrow MacCoy's arm. Taking that,
in connection with the recent frauds at the hotels, the police
might have got hold of one end of the string.
"I don't think there is much more for me to explain. We got to
a village called Amersham that night in the character of two
gentlemen upon a walking tour, and afterwards we made our way
quietly to London, whence MacCoy went on to Cairo and I returned to
New York. My mother died six months afterwards, and I am glad to
say that to the day of her death she never knew what happened. She
was always under the delusion that Edward was earning an honest
living in London, and I never had the heart to tell her the truth.
He never wrote; but, then, he never did write at any time, so that
made no difference. His name was the last upon her lips.
"There's just one other thing that I have to ask you, sir, and
I should take it as a kind return for all this explanation, if you
could do it for me. You remember that Testament that was
picked up. I always carried it in my inside pocket, and it
must have come out in my fall. I value it very highly, for it was
the family book with my birth and my brother's marked by my father
in the beginning of it. I wish you would apply at the proper place
and have it sent to me. It can be of no possible value to anyone
else. If you address it to X, Bassano's Library, Broadway, New
York, it is sure to come to hand."
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