Three millions! or, The way of the world
“Is it the name by which you have called yourself, and by which you
were known in New York?”
“It is not.”
“By what name were you known?”
“Mary K. Buckstone.”
“Were you the wife of Mr. Buckstone?”
“I was not.”
“Were you not married to him?”
“I do not know that I was, or was not.”
“Was a ceremony performed?”
“There was; but Mr. Buckstone assured me I was not his wife.”
“You intended to marry him at the time the ceremony was performed?”
“I did.”
“And he intended to marry you?”
“I suppose he did not, as he repudiated the marriage, and declared that
I was not his wife.”
“It is important to know whether the man who was murdered was your
husband or not. The court will instruct you that you were legally the
wife of Buckstone, if any ceremony was performed, and you believed that
it was real; that the fictitious character of the marriage does not
affect its legality.”
“Was the marriage otherwise legal?” asked the magistrate.
“I don’t know,” replied Mary.
“Have you any certificate--was there any record made of the marriage?”
“None, sir.”
“Is there any evidence that the marriage ceremony was performed?”
“I know of none.”
The magistrate did not presume to decide upon the validity or
invalidity of the marriage; it was sufficient for the present purpose
that the witness did not regard herself as the wife of the deceased.
Mary then gave her testimony, as already indicated. It is probable that
she was aware how much might depend upon her marriage; that Ross’s very
life might hang on this question, for it was one thing to kill his
sister’s husband, and quite another to kill her betrayer and seducer.
The issue with the jury at the trial must lie between these two points.
She was a well-informed person; had always read the newspapers; and
understood the merits of the case as well as any man who would sit upon
the jury. Ross had told her that, while he acknowledged the fact of
the killing, it was not murder; the deed was a justifiable one, and no
jury would convict him. Her testimony, so far as it could be without
distorting the simple truth, was based upon this view. Hence she called
herself Mary Kingman, honestly believing that she was not legally a
wife; and hence she did not attempt to conceal or mitigate the facts
contained in her brother’s confession to her.
Dr. Bilks was called. He had been summoned to attend Mary Kingman--as
she chose to call herself--though he was still of the opinion that
she was Mrs. Buckstone--a legal venture which produced a smile on the
almost impassible face of the magistrate. Going to and returning from
the residence of his patient, he had been accompanied by the prisoner,
who had told him what he had done, substantially as related by the last
witness; but with the additional fact that Buckstone was not alone just
before the murder.
“Who was the person with him?” asked the government attorney.
“I do not know who he was,” replied the doctor.
“Did the prisoner tell you who he was, or give you any description of
him?”
“A meagre description--simply that he wore an overcoat, and was about
my size;” and the doctor smiled as he mentioned the last item.
“Did he say it was you?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, did he say who he was?”
“He did not; that is, he didn’t say in so many words who the person
was.”
“Go on, Dr. Bilks.”
“I think I mentioned the names of several persons.”
“Whose names did you mention?” demanded the attorney, impatiently.
“I mentioned Mr. Hungerford’s first.”
“Well?”
Dr. Bilks was a slow witness. It was evident that he did not like
to implicate any person in the business of making a contract with
Buckstone, which must soon be apparent.
“The prisoner was positive that Mr. Hungerford was not the person,”
added the doctor.
“What other name did you mention?”
“I mentioned Mr. Birch’s;” and the doctor gave a very elaborate
explanation of the reasons which had led him to use Dick’s name in this
connection, which, of course, included the whole matter of the plan by
which Buckstone was to be induced to marry Mary in Poppleton. “For the
reason that Mr. Birch intended to do what the stranger on the island
appeared to be doing, I concluded the person must be Mr. Birch.”
“What did the person on the island appear to be doing?”
Dr. Bilks related what Ross had reported to him about the “intentions”
of Buckstone, and the “consideration” which the stranger offered.
It looked like a plain case, and everybody was fully satisfied that
Dick Birch was the mysterious personage who had gone to The Great Bell
with the murdered man.
“What did the prisoner say when you mentioned the name of Mr. Birch?”
continued the attorney.
“He was satisfied that Mr. Birch was the person;” which was quite true.
Other evidence of less importance was elicited from Dr. Bilks, and when
the “direct” was finished, he was turned over to the prisoner’s counsel
for cross-examination. The doctor had certainly behaved like an honest
witness. He had exhibited a great deal of delicacy and sensitiveness
when compelled to use the names of those who were understood to be his
friends, and the impression produced by him thus far was decidedly
favorable. To the surprise of many, and of none more than Dr. Bilks
himself, Mr. Birch was intrusted with the task of cross-examining him.
Dick was courteous, and the doctor was steady, so that the questions
and answers flowed very smoothly for some time, without disclosing
anything new or startling.
“You were at home, Dr. Bilks, when the prisoner came for you to attend
his sister?” said Dick.
“I was.”
“What time was it?”
“About two o’clock in the morning, or a little later.”
“You were in bed then?”
“No, sir.”
“Were you up at that hour in the morning?”
“I was.”
“Do you usually sit up all night?” asked Dick, facetiously.
“Not usually.”
“Did you on this occasion?”
“I did--until about five o’clock.”
Dr. Bilks barely answered the questions proposed to him. He was a
prudent witness--careful not to prove too much.
“Why did you sit up on this particular night, if it is not your usual
custom?”
“Professional duties required it,” replied the doctor, crisply; and
though the examination seemed to be of no possible moment, a close
observer might have detected a slight pallor in the face of the witness.
“Ah, you had been out professionally, when the prisoner called for you?”
“I had.”
“Where had you been?”
“Over beyond the Point.”
“Will you be a little more definite, if you please?” said Dick, in the
blandest of tones, and with the softest of smiles.
“I do not know that I can describe the locality; I believe it is within
the corporate limits of Poppleton,” replied Dr. Bilks, with a smile
apologetic for his ignorance of mere roads and boundaries.
“Who was sick?”
“It was an obstetric case.”
“By whom were you called?”
“By a man--I don’t know who he was. He was an Irishman.”
“Did he tell you where to go?”
“He did.”
“How did he describe the locality?”
“What has all this to do with the murder on the island?” demanded the
attorney for the government.
Mr. Birch, without precisely stating his object, made it appear that
the matter was proper--that it was not new matter, and that it was
relevant.
“I do not remember what his description was,” replied the doctor, when
the question had been repeated.
“But you went to the place indicated--did you?”
“I did.”
“What was the name of the lady whom you attended?”
“I do not remember; I have forgotten the name. Possibly I have it in my
book;” and he examined his pockets, and produced his case-book; but the
name of the sick lady did not appear.
“Didn’t you put the name down?”
“I supposed I put the name down, but it appears that I did not,”
replied Dr. Bilks, who had now become quite pale.
“Are you not usually spoken to some weeks or months in advance, in such
cases?”
“Usually, but not in this instance.”
“Did you visit this patient yesterday, or this morning?”
“I did not.”
“Do you leave them with only one visit, in such cases?”
“Never!”
“Why have you not called upon this patient then?”
“I did not consider it as regularly a case of mine. The family were
evidently in very indigent circumstances; and I concluded, if there was
any further need of my attendance, I should be called.”
“Is this your custom with poor people?”
“It is not,” said the doctor, sweating like a day laborer under the
cross-examination, for it was evident to all in the court-room, that
there was something wrong, somewhere, though what or where it was, they
could not tell.
“Can you describe the house to which you went, Dr. Bilks?”
“I could not.”
“Did you find it readily when you went that night?”
“I did not, very readily.”
“Did you inquire?”
“I did not; the man who came for me gave me such directions as enabled
me to find the house.”
“Could you go to it again?”
“I doubt if I could.”
“Have you any intention of calling upon this patient again?”
“Not unless I am sent for.”
“How will you collect your bill?”
“I shall make no charge; I never do, when people appear to be as poor
as they were.”
The doctor looked magnanimous, and glanced languidly at the spectators,
as if for their approval of his professional generosity.
“What time did you start, Dr. Bilks?”
“About eleven, I think.”
“Where did you spend the early part of the evening?”
“I visited a patient at eight o’clock--shall I give you the name, and
describe the house?” asked the doctor.
“It is hardly necessary in this instance,” replied Dick, not at all
moved by the witty charge. “You visited a patient at eight o’clock: go
on, if you please.”
“I returned to my office at nine, and read till eleven. The book was
‘The Lancet’--a medical periodical published monthly, in New York, at
two dollars a year. The article in which I was particularly interested
was a----”
“Never mind the article, doctor,” interrupted the lawyer.
“I beg your pardon; I thought you wanted all the particulars.”
“I do in regard to the patient you visited beyond the Point. That is
the only case of yours in which the court is at all interested. You
read ‘The Lancet’?”
“I did; and was about to retire at eleven, when the man came for me. I
went to the hotel stable for my horse, and started immediately.”
“What road did you take?”
“The road to the Point.”
“Describe your route till you reached the house where you found your
patient.”
“I drove down the Point Road, by the salt works.”
“Go on, if you please.”
“I came to the house, and went in.”
“Where was the house?”
“I cannot describe its locality,” replied Dr. Bilks, the cold sweat
standing visibly on his forehead.
“Did you go beyond the road leading from the Point Road to the Mills?”
“I think I did.”
“Did you pass any houses before you came to the one you wished to find?”
“Possibly I did; I don’t remember.”
“You stopped--did you?”
“Of course I did.”
“What induced you to stop?”
“The expectation of finding the patient to whom I had been called.”
“Did you get the right house the first time trying?”
“I did.”
“That was fortunate! What was the condition of the woman when you saw
her?”
Dr. Bilks described her condition.
“Was she an old woman or a young one?”
“About thirty, I should say.”
“At what time was the child born?”
“About half past one o’clock.”
“You were there two hours at least?”
“About two hours.”
“Was there a nurse?”
“There were a couple of women there.”
“Was the child a boy or a girl?”
“A girl.”
“I pray your honor’s judgment,” said the government attorney. “Mr.
Birch evidently intends to treat us to a complete view of obstetrical
science.”
“I have done with the witness, may it please your honor,” interposed