Three millions! or, The way of the world
evidently streaming through his mind. “I only want to think what the
trudth is.”
“It is that for which you can get the most money,” said Dick,
facetiously, as he walked out of the house.
Eugene was intensely amused as he got into the buggy. Five thousand
dollars was a large sum of money; but he seemed to be delighted with
the idea of parting with it, if he had such an idea.
“I’m rather sorry you didn’t make it ten thousand,” chuckled Dick, as
he joined Hungerford.
“Well, I will go in and change the paper.”
“Never mind; it will do just as well as it is. I don’t think Dr. Bilks
can afford to pay out more than five thousand.”
“Has he much money?”
“He seems to be pretty well supplied with the article. He has several
thousand dollars in the Poppleton Bank.”
“Good! We can find out at the bank whether he pays Sandy his price. I
am rather sorry I did not make it ten thousand. If Dr. Bilks wants to
dance, he ought to pay the fiddler,” laughed Eugene.
“It may turn out that you will be called upon to pay it yourself.”
“There is no possibility of such a contingency. His reputation is now
in the hands of Sandy McGuire, and the rascal will have no more mercy
upon him than upon the eel he skins for his dinner.”
“I hope he will skin him close. If I had reached the Settlement half an
hour before the doctor, I should have headed him off.”
“Then you fully believe that he bargained with McGuire and his wife to
tell this story?”
“I have no doubt of it. He was the person with Buckstone that night;
and I shall not leave a stone unturned till I prove it.”
“But, Dick, you have no case. You are lame in the first and most
essential point; you cannot prove his motive in being there.”
“If we prove the fact, the motive may be apparent.”
“There is no earthly reason why Dr. Bilks should have had anything to
do with Buckstone.”
“There is a reason, though you may not see it.”
“Do you see it?”
“I have a theory.”
“What is it, Dick?”
“I say, as I have said before, that I know nothing about it, any more
than yourself. The anxiety of Dr. Bilks to make it appear that I was
the stranger assured me he had a motive for doing so. The doctor and
myself have been quite intimate for the last six months. Of course, my
very occupation, as your agent, led us to talk a great deal about you,
and I think by this time he knows you very well. Still, I never told
him anything about your affair with Mary until I was in a manner forced
to do so, after Ross brought her home from New York. Of course, I spoke
to him in confidence, though what I told him was little more than was
known by everybody in town. I did tell him that you were still deeply
interested in Mary’s welfare, and that I intended to do something to
heal her wounds. I made him my confidant in this matter, because, as
her physician, he could help me in the execution of my plan.”
“There was no harm in this, Dick.”
“There was not then.”
“Nor is there now.”
“Let us see. I told Dr. Bilks what I should propose to you in regard to
Mary, and remarked that you would give her ten, twenty, fifty thousand
dollars, if it would make her happy and contented.”
“That was true, Dick; and if you had said a hundred thousand, it would
have been just as true,” added Eugene. “If she could not be my wife,
I would not weigh money against her happiness as the wife of somebody
else, for I still believe that I am the author of her misfortunes.”
“I told him so.”
“What did he say?”
“He added that you were a remarkable man. He was sure that Buckstone
would marry her, for the money, if for nothing else. If the twenty
thousand dollars which I named were in Mary’s hands, he could still
have the benefit of it.”
“But you don’t show any motive, on the part of the doctor, for meeting
Buckstone.”
“It is a mere surmise; but, as I view it now, Dr. Bilks sent for
Buckstone himself.”
“Why should he do so, if he did?”
“I may as well out with it first as last. I think he and Buckstone
together intended to pluck you,” replied Dick, desperately.
“But the money for Mary’s benefit was to be placed in the hands of
Ross, as trustee.”
“I did not tell the doctor of that. It was an afterthought of mine.”
“It may possibly be,” said Eugene, musing.
“Let us look at it. Bilks writes to Buckstone, who comes to Poppleton
privately, as he is directed to do. Bilks says, ‘If you marry Mary,
you shall have twenty thousand dollars, but half of it shall be mine.’
Bilks makes it appear that it is through his agency that the money is
to be obtained, and that without him it cannot be obtained. I don’t
mean to say I am satisfied with this theory, Hungerford; but it is the
only explanation of his conduct I can offer.”
“I think we must search farther for a solution.”
“It is evident the doctor intends to prove that I was the stranger on
the island. I know I was not the person. Who put my handkerchief and my
cigar into the boat on the Point?” demanded Dick.
“There is no evidence that it was Dr. Bilks.”
“He is the only man who knows anything about my cigars. Any one else
would have used a common cigar. I tell you he was the man, whether we
can prove it or not.”
“I am willing to believe it myself; but I think we had better not say
much about it.”
“Not a word shall be said till the proof comes. In the mean time, we
will treat him as usual, and watch him closely. He is a man of tricks
and subterfuges.”
“You have already declared war against him.”
“He will not so regard it. He hasn’t soul enough to be indignant, and
he will be your best friend, you may depend.”
“I cannot treat such a man as a friend.”
“You need only tolerate him. If you or any of the family are sick, send
for him. I think he is a good doctor.”
“I will be as tolerant as possible; but, after all, it may turn out
that he is an honest and true man.”
“It may, but it will not,” laughed Dick. “I shall have plenty to do in
searching into this matter.”
“I hope you will get at the truth. Dick, I want to go over to the
island. I have not seen Mary, except in the court-room, since my
return. Perhaps she may know what the doctor did at the Settlement.”
“Don’t mention the matter to her. Have you any particular business
there?” asked Dick.
“I have; very important business.”
“Hungerford, I remember what you said last night.”
“What?”
“That you would marry Mary if she were not the legal wife of Buckstone.”
“I did say so; I meant so. As the author of her miseries and
misfortunes, it is my duty, as well as my desire, to give her back the
good name of which the way of the world would deprive her.”
“If she was ever a wife, she is a widow now,” said Dick, suggestively.
“Speak out, Dick, if you have anything to say.”
“Hungerford, do you mean to marry her?”
“I do.”
Dick shook his head.
“I love her, and to me she is the same she always was. I believe she
married Buckstone, without true love, in a frenzy of despair, when she
was driven from her father’s house.”
“But think what she is.”
“You know what she is, Dick. She has violated no law of God or man. She
has not sinned; she has been sinned against. There is no contamination
of impurity about her; if there were, I should spurn her.”
“Without any sin, with nothing worse, at most, than indiscretion, she
has become notorious in connection with these disgusting events.”
“Dick, I would have counted myself happy if I could have married her
at the sacrifice of every dollar of my fortune, real and prospective,
_before_ these events. This was not to be. I have spent months of
misery under the blow. I cannot have her as she was; I will take her
as she is: and a thousand times better to me as she as she is than any
other could be as she was.”
“Hungerford, I have much to say to you about this matter. Don’t be rash
or hasty.”
“I will not.”
“I will ask only one favor of you to-day: do not commit yourself if you
see her.”
“Dick, I have already told my mother and sister what I intended to do.”
“What did they say?”
“They are of your opinion.”
“Then, for their sake, do not be hasty.”
“Dr. Bilks knows my intention.”
“What did he say?”
“He was of my opinion.”
“Of course!”
“Dick, one thing more. When I am married, your position will be
changed.”
“My position?”
“You certainly could not be suspected----”
“Bah!” exclaimed Dick, turning red. “I should not be suspected if you
had a wife. Hungerford, I am unalterably opposed to your marriage with
Mary, whatever may be the result to me. My hopes were exposed to-day
in the court-room, which shows that what did not occur to me till last
night filled the thoughts of everybody else. My duty to Julia requires
me to keep away from her. I shall do so. Never mind me, Hungerford.
Don’t commit yourself to-day.”
“I will remember your wish; but I will not promise.”
They parted at the pier, and Eugene, sending his horse up to the stable
by Dick, pulled over to The Great Bell.
CHAPTER XVIII.
EVIDENCE WANTED.
Mr. Richard Birch was not a philosopher in the worldly sense of the
term. He was too sensitive and high-spirited to be a philosopher.
Undoubtedly he would have been more comfortable and contented if he had
been. The suspicions of Eugene Hungerford had annoyed him almost beyond
endurance; and although common sense assured him that his friend was
still a friend, and that there was abundant cause for doubt, he was
not willing to accept the alternative; he was not willing that any one
should think it possible for him to have selfish motives, and to be
acting an underhanded part.
Mr. Birch, therefore, was not satisfied. Though Eugene had been
convicted of his error, though he had banished every suspicion
that haunted his mind, Mr. Birch felt that he had not yet made the
triumphant vindication of the integrity of his purpose which his
sensitiveness demanded. Not only in the partial eyes of his friend,
but in those of all the world, must he be spotless and unsuspected. If
Mr. Richard Birch had been a philosopher, he might have been content
to believe himself that he was without reproach, and leave to time and
circumstances the work of removing the stain which rested upon his good
name.
He drove Eugene’s horse up to the hotel stable, and left him there. He
was thinking what evidence he could procure to establish the two facts
that he was not the person with Buckstone just before the murder, and
that Dr. Bilks was the person. These two points were as clear in his
own mind as though all the solid men of the county had sworn to them in
open court. It would be very tedious to follow Mr. Birch in his patient
and laborious search after facts during the remainder of that day, and
all of that evening, because he spoke with more than a hundred persons,
and examined every foot of the shore from the Port to the Point.
If Mr. Richard Birch was not a philosopher, he was sometimes a
logician, and he had a prejudice in favor of beginning at the root of
a matter. It was evident to his discerning and logical mind, that Mr.
Buckstone must have come into Poppleton before he was murdered within
its territorial limits; and if he did come into the town, somebody saw
him, or ought to have seen him there. Thus far no such individual had
been seen or heard from. Ross Kingman and Mary appeared to be the only
persons--besides the stranger--to whom the murdered man had manifested
himself. The diligent and interested inquirer into the truth was not
willing to accept this conclusion, which is another proof that he was
not a philosopher.
Buckstone had boarded at the Bell River House during his former visit
to Poppleton. He would be likely to go there on the present occasion.