Three millions! or, The way of the world
The landlord, the clerk, the chambermaids, the hall girls, the porter,
the hostlers--all knew Mr. Buckstone; but not one of them had seen him
on the day of the murder. Those who had the means of knowing were very
sure he had not entered the hotel. It was probable that the murdered
man had arrived at the Mills by the afternoon train--the same in which
the Hungerford family had come; but no one had seen him. The station
agent knew him, but he was no wiser than others.
Mr. Buckstone and the stranger had gone over to The Great Bell in a
boat--it was not possible to go in any other way, for, though some
of the enthusiasts, who believed Poppleton would, at some indefinite
future time, rival New York in commercial grandeur, when every foot of
land would be wanted, islands included, thought that a bridge over the
channel was practicable, the structure had not yet even been proposed;
therefore Mr. Buckstone and the stranger must have gone over to The
Great Bell in a boat. This was a logical conclusion, and Mr. Birch
believed in it with all his might. Then, as it was one of the customs
of society that boats should be owned by somebody, it followed, by a
course of reasoning equally accurate and logical, that the boat in
which Buckstone and the stranger had crossed to the island, belonged to
somebody.
Fortunately the problem of the ownership of this boat had already been
solved, and it only remained for Mr. Birch to see the owner. He did see
him; but the proprietor of the small craft was as lamentably ignorant
as the rest of the world. He kept his boat on the beach about half
way between the Point and the Port. He had not even missed it, for he
seldom used it, until the sheriff had spoken to him about the matter.
The boat contained two fifty-six pound weights, used as ballast, one of
which was missing; and the painter, a piece of whale line, sixty feet
in length, had been cut from the stem, and taken away; but he had not
seen Mr. Buckstone, and did not even know him by sight.
“When did you use your boat last?” asked Mr. Birch, who had made a
memorandum of the missing fifty-six and the sixty feet of whale line.
“I used it looking after the body of Goodwin the afternoon before the
murder,” replied the owner.
“What time did you go home?”
“I hauled up the boat just before dark.”
“Did you leave the sail in the boat?”
“No; I always carry that up to the house.”
“Where do you keep the oars?”
“They are not worth much; I always leave them in the boat.”
“Don’t you suppose the fifty-six was stolen by some loafer from the
Settlement?”
“I don’t know but it was; but it seems to me, if any one stole it, the
thief would have taken the other one. He might as well be hung for an
old sheep as a lamb.”
Though the sheriff had been informed of the loss of the rope and the
weight, nothing could be made of the fact, and no significance was
attached to it. Mr. Birch felt that he had gained something, though he
knew not what. He left the owner of the boat, and examined the shore.
There might be some person who had been on the beach between nine
and ten on the night of the murder; some one who had been a fishing
that day, and returned late; some one whose boat needed attention, or
some uneasy individual whose wife did not allow him to smoke in the
house. There was a current rumor in the Port that somebody had seen
two persons get into a boat, and push off about nine o’clock in the
evening; but Mr. Birch did not find this person till nine o’clock. It
was a man who caught fish for the hotels, and often came in late at
night. His name was Josiah Hubbard, and the patient inquirer was quite
sure this man would give him a clew to the mysterious stranger.
“Hubbard, they say you were on the beach here the night of the murder,”
began the lawyer.
“Yes, sir; that’s so. I was there, and I told Dr. Bilks I was there,”
replied the man, who apparently did not mean to have it appear that he
had attempted to conceal his knowledge.
“Did you, indeed!” exclaimed Birch, disgusted with this acknowledgment.
“I did; and I was ready to go on the stand and tell ’em all I knowed
about it. ’Twan’t much; but I don’t want to keep nothin’ back. I did
see them men, and I jest as lief tell you on’t as the next man.”
“What time was it?”
“Well, it was hard on to nine o’clock, I should say.”
“Did you know either of the men?”
“I cal’late I did.”
“Was either of them Mr. Buckstone? Did you know Mr. Buckstone?”
“I cal’late I did; he went down a fishing with me times enough for me
to know him.”
“Was either of them Mr. Buckstone?” asked Birch, with no little
eagerness.
“I cal’late one on ’em was Mr. Buckstone.”
“Could you swear to it?”
“I cal’late I shouldn’t want to swear to it, exactly; but I hain’t much
more doubt on’t than I had o’ t’other man--Mr. Birch. I don’t reckon
you’ll want me to swear to’t.”
“Why not?”
“Well, Mr. Birch, you ’n’ I hes allers been good friends. When you
boarded to the Bell River, you did me one or two good turns, and I
ain’t the man to forgit a favor. I kind o’ kept out of the way, and
didn’t say much about what I’d seen, ’cause I thought ’twouldn’t do you
no good.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I cal’late you know what I mean, Mr. Birch,” said Hubbard, with
an expressive grin.
“Who was the man with Buckstone?” asked Birch, as a matter of form, for
he knew what the answer would be, and was satisfied that Dr. Bilks had
already tampered with the man.
“I cal’late ’twas you, Mr. Birch.”
“You saw me?”
The man “cal’lated” that he did see him; that he knew him; was
perfectly satisfied, at the time, that Mr. Birch was the person with
Buckstone. It was not an afterthought; it was not something which Dr.
Bilks had put into his head; he “knowed it all along.”
“Hubbard, has Dr. Bilks given you any money?”
“Not the first cent!”
“If he has, I am willing to give you twice as much more.”
“Do you think I would lie for money, Mr. Birch?” demanded the
fisherman, indignantly.
“I don’t believe you would, Hubbard. I want the truth. If you know
anything which you haven’t told, you ought to let it out. If any one
has paid you to keep back the truth, or any part of it----”
“No one has paid me a red cent, Mr. Birch,” protested Hubbard, who
doubtless intended to tell the truth.
Mr. Richard Birch believed in the truth; but he was willing to
neutralize the cupidity of base men by paying more for the truth than
his enemies would for lies. So far he was content to “fight the devil
with his own weapons”--no farther. He knew that testimony thus obtained
was worth nothing in a court of justice; but he hoped thereby to obtain
a clew which would enable him to unravel the tangled skein, and obtain
reliable evidence.
He questioned Hubbard with the utmost minuteness in regard to his
interview with Dr. Bilks; but the fisherman still persisted that he
knew the stranger was Mr. Birch before the doctor said a word to him.
It was possible. They were both of the same height. Both wore light
spring overcoats in the evening and on cool days. Hubbard might be
perfectly honest, but it was more than probable that his opinion had
been fortified by Dr. Bilks’s carefully-made suggestions.
Mr. Birch left the fisherman, almost prepared to believe that he was
himself the “stranger;” that he had been with Buckstone just before the
murder. The man was very positive, but he hoped Mr. Birch would not
be injured by the truth. He didn’t want any man’s money when he did
not earn it. If Mr. Birch had got into any “scrape,” he was sorry for
it, and was willing to do anything he could to help him out, but he
wouldn’t lie on the stand.
Hubbard was a hard customer, in popular parlance. What he believed, he
believed with all his might. He would do anything in reason to help a
friend out of trouble; but his “nateral” conscience would not let him
go on the stand and tell what was not true. Dick Birch left him with a
higher respect for his integrity than he had ever entertained before,
though it was none the less evident that the fisherman was mistaken. He
was not willing to swear that the stranger was Mr. Birch, but to the
best of his knowledge and belief such was the fact.
As the lawyer walked through the principal street of the Port, he saw
a light in the office of Dr. Bilks. He had done all he could do that
night on the beach, and round the streets, and he was disposed to look
into the eye of the doctor, and to hear what he had to say. He entered
without the preliminary of ringing or knocking. Dr. Bilks sat in his
easy chair reading, not The Lancet, but the last new novel. He jumped
out of his chair when Mr. Birch entered, and walked towards him with
extended hand.
“I am glad to see you, Birch,” exclaimed he, heartily. “I was afraid I
shouldn’t see you again.”
“Why were you afraid of that?” demanded Dick, coldly enough, but as
warmly as he could speak to such a man.
“Because, for some inexplicable reason, you seem to have raised your
back against me,” replied the doctor, with an injured air. “But I am
glad to see you. Have a cigar? they are not your favorite brand, but
they are the best I have.”
“I was not aware that I had raised my back against you in any manner to
which you could take exception,” answered Dick, as he lighted the cigar.
“But what an infernal scorching you gave me in the court this morning!”
exclaimed the doctor, laughing.
“That was merely professional. The blue pill you gave me a month ago
was not pleasant to take, but I didn’t blame you.”
“But the point on which you drove me to the wall was of no importance.
I never felt so bad before in my life. I had forgotten all about this
affair at the Settlement, and to save my life, I couldn’t call up a
single circumstance, except what was strictly professional. You placed
me in an awkward position; and I came very near fainting away under
it.”
“I am sorry you suffered so much, doctor.”
“I did suffer a great deal. When a man means to tell the whole truth,
and is trying to do it, it is hard to be driven up on points of no
consequence.”
“I did not regard the point as of no consequence.”
“Birch, you and I have been the best of friends since I came to
Poppleton. Your influence gave me a position at once, and I am very
grateful to you for all you did. But, Birch, you placed me in the
ugliest situation I ever was in, to-day. I don’t think it was the
least matter to you or to the court who or what my patient was. I
feel aggrieved by what you did. You made me appear ridiculous, if not
untruthful.”
Dr. Bilks looked hurt and indignant. He acted like a man who had been
injured by his best friend.
“Doctor, I have only one face. We will not quarrel,” said Dick.
“We will not; but I think it is no more that just that you should
explain your extraordinary conduct. Let us be frank and candid, as
between friend and friend.”
“I will, with all my heart,” said Birch, who found it practically
impossible to conceal himself, even from the man he regarded as his
enemy.
“I assure you that no amount of candor would offend me. Keep nothing
back, Birch!”
“I shall not. Dr. Bilks; you have taken a great deal of pains to make
it appear that I am the person who was with Blackstone on the night he
was murdered.”
“I deny it; I have taken no pains to do so.”
“You mentioned my name to Ross.”
“I did.”
“And to Hubbard.”
“I did not. He was sure you were the person.”
“Was he sure without any suggestion from you?”
“He was; his first remark to me was to the effect that the person with
Buckstone looked like Mr. Birch.”
“Did you do anything to lead him away from this conclusion?”
“I did not. I will be as candid as I wish you to be. I could not do
anything to lead him away from such a conclusion, Birch. I believe you
were the person.”