CHAPTER CXXXIX.

THE MISER ALONE IN HIS DWELLING.

Having carefully barred and bolted the street-door, Percival entered the front room, and assured himself that the shutters were safely fastened.

He then returned to the back parlour; and, seating himself at the table, proceeded to examine the contents of his cash-box.

He looked at the note of hand which he had received that night, and which bore the signature of _Marston_--for, in compliance with the suggestion of Mrs. Fitzhardinge, the infatuated Charles Hatfield had signed the document with the name to which he believed himself to be entitled.

The first sensations of the miser, as he fixed his eyes on the “promise to pay” at a specific date the sum of _one thousand guineas_, were of pleasure: for he calculated the profit he had derived from the transaction--and he flattered himself that he had gained seventy guineas in a single hour.

“And with so little trouble, too,” he muttered to himself.

But, in the next moment, a gloomy shade began to cross his countenance: for the thought stole upon him that perhaps he had acted too precipitately--that the women might have forged a number of papers to delude him--that, after all, there might be no such person in existence as Charles Hatfield, or Viscount Marston.

“Pshaw!” he exclaimed emphatically, as he endeavoured to banish these unpleasant reflections from his mind; “it is all right--and I am a fool thus to yield to misgivings. Why should not Tom Rain be the rightful Earl of Ellingham? Things more strange and improbable have occurred in this world. And if he be really the elder brother of the nobleman now bearing the title, why should he not have a son who is the heir to that title and likewise to the estates? Yes--yes: it is all feasible enough! Besides, amongst those papers were the marriage certificate of the late Earl and Octavia Manners--and the baptismal certificate of their child. Well, then--granting that there is a Charles Hatfield,--or, in other words, a Viscount Marston,--what is less extraordinary than that so beautiful a creature as this Miss Fitzhardinge should have captivated the young noble? She is a splendid girl--a very splendid girl! Even in the plain garb which she wore this evening--a sort of disguise, no doubt--she looked truly bewitching. What eyes!--what a profile!--what teeth!--what hair! Ah! I wish that I was a young man now--that I had not these sixty-five winters on my head: I would even yet endeavour to rival Viscount Marston! But, no--no: that were impossible! These young girls are smitten with titles more than with money: and, on my honour, Miss Fitzhardinge will become the rank of Viscountess full well. She has the dignity--the stateliness--and yet the grace and elegance of a woman of fashion! All this, doubtless, must be the work of nature: for where could she have become familiar with the manners and customs of the drawing-room? Ah! was not that a noise?”

And the miser, hastily shutting up his cash-box, started to his feet.

He listened--but all was still!

“A false alarm,” he murmured to himself--and resumed his seat.

But the incident had completely disturbed the current of his thoughts which were flowing into a more voluptuous channel than for years and years they had done,--the beauty of Perdita having made a deep impression upon the mind of the miser, and for a few minutes weaned away his attention from the hitherto all-absorbing gold that he worshipped so devotedly.

And now that alarm,--whether false or real, we cannot as yet determine,--recalled his errant thoughts to the one engrossing subject: and carefully depositing his cash-box in the safe, he next secured the safe itself.

Then, having placed the key in his pocket, he took the candle in his hand, and once more inspected the street-door--the shutters in the front-room--and the bolt of the back-gate.

He descended into the kitchen,--that kitchen which no domestic occupied, and the hearth of which so seldom sparkled or shone with blazing coal or wood,--a cursed hearth which, even in the very midst of summer, seemed cheerless and cold! The area that gave light to the kitchen-window was strongly barred over: the window itself was likewise barred;--and the door opening into the area was well secured with bolts and chains.

All these multiplied precautions were duly inspected by the miser. Forgotten now was the image of Perdita:--gold--gold--_his_ gold,--this was the one absorbing idea!

No--not the only _one_: for with the thought of possessing gold is ever associated the dread of losing it;--and at this moment the man’s mind was a prey to vague fears--undefined alarms--gloomy misgivings.

He did not like that noise which he had heard:--it haunted him like a spectre;--it was something that weighed upon his soul like lead.

He felt--he knew that he was really _alone_ in that house,--aye, and that the house was lonely in situation likewise: for he could not count for aid, in case of need, on the elderly widow next door and her two or three poor female lodgers. Thus, the fact that there _was_ a house adjoining did not detract from the sense of utter loneliness awakened in his mind respecting his own abode.

But were not the bolts secure--the chains fastened--the bars all firm and strong? Oh! he had not spared his money to obtain the best iron and the best work when those precautions were adopted: and, since he had become a miser, he had never paid a bill so cheerfully as that which the defences of his dwelling had incurred.

Yes:--the bolts _were_ secure--the chains _were_ well fastened--and the bars _were_ all firm and strong;--and yet Percival was not at ease in his mind.

That unknown, unaccountable noise had alarmed him. It was a noise the nature of which he could scarcely explain to himself,--nor whether it had occurred inside or outside the house: no--nor whether it were the creaking of timber--or the shaking of the shutters--or the sound of a human voice speaking low, hoarse, and in a disguised tone.

Having convinced himself that all was secure in the kitchen and the little scullery at the back, Percival once more ascended to his back parlour. He looked at his watch, and found it was half an hour past midnight:--still he felt no inclination to sleep! Vague and oppressive fears continued to haunt him;--and the more he essayed to wrestle with his reflections, the more intolerable did they become,--till at last horrible ideas were forced upon his imagination,--of how misers had been murdered for their gold--how their blood had been poured out even on the very treasure-chests to which they clung with desperate tenacity while the blows of the assassins rained down upon their heads!

Of all these things he thought; and his brain appeared to whirl. He cast his eyes around: objects of terror seemed to encounter them in all directions--for his fevered, excited imagination conjured up the most horrifying phantoms.

Suddenly taking his head as it were in his hands, and pressing it violently, he exclaimed aloud. “Perdition take this cowardly nervousness! What have I to fear to-night--more than any other? I need rest--repose--slumber;--and when I awake in the morning, I shall laugh at myself for the absurd terrors to which I have yielded now!”

Taking the light in his hand, he was about to quit the room and seek his chamber up stairs, when a sound, as of the back door slowly opening, fell upon his ears;--and so great was the alarm with which this circumstance filled him,--striking him as it were with a sudden paralysis,--that he let the candle fall upon the floor--and the light was immediately extinguished.

Then there was the rush of a man up the stairs leading from the back door to the parlour;--and in another moment Percival was assailed in the dark, and in a desperate manner. A heavy blow, as with a bludgeon, felled him to the ground,--not quite stunning him, but so far depriving him of his physical energies that he could not even cry out. But he grasped the murderer by the throat; and a short struggle ensued. The assassin, however, was armed with the determination, if not with the strength, of a demon;--and, dashing the miser back on the floor again with all his force, he seized the bludgeon and wielded it with such fearful effect, that in a few instants the victim lay motionless and silent beneath him!

This fearful crime was accomplished in the dark; and yet the murderer appeared not to be afraid--nor to lose his presence of mind. It would also seem that he was acquainted with the nook where the miser’s gold was concealed: yes--even circumstances more minute still were known to him. For, stooping down, and passing his hand over the corpse, he felt in the very pocket where Percival had placed the key of the cupboard enclosing the iron safe;--and then, groping his way to that cupboard, he opened it,--opened likewise the iron safe,--and drew forth the tin case containing the miser’s gold and bank-notes. Breaking open the lid of the box, the miscreant secured all the coin, notes, and papers about his person, and then stole away from the dwelling by means of the back-gate, which he closed behind him.

* * * * *

At half-past seven o’clock in the morning, Mrs. Dyer knocked at the door of the miser’s house, and was somewhat surprised when, five minutes having elapsed, her summons remained unanswered.

“Perhaps he has over-slept himself,” she muttered to herself: “I will come back again presently;”--and the woman returned to her own abode.

But something like a misgiving had stolen into her mind,--a vague and indefinable fear--a presentiment against which she could not wrestle. A gloom had fallen on her spirits: she was in that humour when people who are in any way superstitious, expect bad news. Not that she had heard any noise in the course of the night, or that she had any motive for suspicion:--the feeling that oppressed her was excited by no accountable and intelligible cause,--unless, indeed, it were that during the five or six years she had waited upon Mr. Percival, this was the very first occasion on which she had failed to find him already up and dressed, and ready to admit her at a stipulated hour.

Having performed a few domestic duties in her own house--but in a strange manner, as if she scarcely knew what she was doing,--Mrs. Dyer returned to the miser’s front-door, at which she knocked again.

But again there was no response: all was silent.

The widow-woman was now seriously alarmed; and, hastening back into her dwelling, she informed her female lodgers that she could not make Mr. Percival hear next door, and was afraid something had happened. The three women, to whom these observations were addressed, accompanied her to the miser’s house; and as all within was still silent as the grave, they proceeded round to the back-door with the intention of looking in through the window shutters, which, as we have before stated, were perforated with many heart-holes. But Mrs. Dyer first happened to try the back-gate, and, to her surprise, found it unfastened. She and the other women then entered the house; and their attention, now rendered keen by dark suspicions, was immediately attracted to the fact that the part of the door-post into which the bolt of the back-gate fitted, had been cut away, _from the outside_, in such a manner that it was an easy affair to slide back the bolt. The females beheld this ominous appearance with dismay;--but how shuddering were the looks of deep apprehension which they rapidly and silently exchanged, when they likewise noticed an old piece of iron still sticking in the lock,--a sure indication of that lock having been picked, also from the outside!

Had either one of the women now manifested the least hesitation to proceed, the others would have gladly followed the example to retreat. But, huddling all together--and in deep silence--they slowly ascended the stairs leading to the back parlour.

The door of this room was half open; and as the widow endeavoured to push it farther back still, it was stopped by something that evidently was not a table nor a chair,--no--nor aught made of wood.

The women slowly entered the parlour:--and then their tongues were suddenly loosened--and piercing shrieks burst from their lips. For the prismatic light which streamed through the heart-holes of the closed shutters, played on the smashed, gory, and disfigured countenance of the murdered man!

Terror for a few minutes rooted to the spot the spectatresses of this horrible spectacle:--and, clinging--hanging to each other, they remained gazing, in terror and dismay, on the remains of him whom they had all seen alive and in health on the preceding day!

At length the female who was nearest to the door seemed suddenly to recover the use of her limbs; and, with another ejaculation of horror, she fled precipitately,--her companions following her with a haste which seemed to indicate that they were afraid lest the murdered man should stretch forth his hand and clutch the hindermost by the garments.

Oh! what terrors are inspired by the cold--inanimate--powerless remains of mortality! And yet men of the strongest minds have had their fears in this respect;--and heroes who would have faced a serried rank bristling with bayonets, or hunted the savage tiger in the jungles of Hindoostan, have feared to remain alone with the corpse of a fellow-creature!

Full soon was the dreadful rumour spread throughout the neighbourhood that the miser Percival had been murdered during the night;--and the police were speedily upon the spot.

The dead body indeed presented a hideous spectacle to the view:--the countenance was so disfigured as to defy recognition;--and the skull was fractured in several places. By the side of the corpse lay a heavy stake; and, as it was covered with blood, and some of the hair from the murdered man’s head was sticking to it, there was no difficulty in pronouncing it to have been the weapon used by the assassin. The candlestick was found on the floor close by;--the cupboard and the iron safe were open;--and the tin-box, emptied of its contents, was stumbled over by one of the officers.

Not the slightest suspicion could possibly be attached to the widow-woman or her lodgers occupying the adjacent house;--but they were necessarily questioned by the inspector, with a view to elicit any particulars that might aid the officers of justice in sifting the most mysterious and horrible affair.

Mrs. Dyer stated that she had heard no disturbance during the night; and her lodgers all made a similar declaration.

“I passed the evening with a neighbour,” said the widow, naming the friend at whose house she had supped; “and I returned home about half-past eleven o’clock. Mr. Percival was at that moment taking leave of some visitors at his own door: and----Oh! I remember now,” exclaimed Mrs. Dyer, a sudden thought striking her,--“there were two women--one apparently young, if I might judge by the hasty glimpse I caught of her figure--for I did not see her face, as she was standing by the gate opening into the road----”

“And the other woman?” demanded the inspector.

“Was old and very ugly,” returned the widow. “I saw her countenance plainly enough; for the light which Mr. Percival held, streamed full upon it;--and I thought at the moment that I had never in my life beheld such a repulsive--horrible-looking creature. I was really frightened--there was something so unpleasant in her looks.”

“And was any man with them?” enquired the officer.

“No: the two women were alone. They took leave of Mr. Percival, and, I suppose, went away. At all events, I know that he closed his door just at the same moment that I shut mine. I said ‘Good night’ to him: and that was the last time I saw the poor gentleman alive.”

“It is highly important,” observed the inspector, “that we should find out these two women of whom you speak--as they were, to all appearances, the last persons who were with the deceased?”

Mrs. Dyer then gave as accurate a description as she could of the personal appearance of the old woman whose countenance had struck her as being so repulsive and sinister;--and the inspector, having left a couple of officers on the premises where the crime had been committed, departed to acquaint the Coroner with the dreadful occurrence.