GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY.

Evening Post, Volume XXXIV, Issue 80, 1 October 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY.

Towards the close of a spring day, a traveller emerged from a copse bordering the Weßt Comford Eoad, and springing over the stile, took the direction of Aspendalo, a village about two miles distant. His dress was of superior order, but travel-stained and neglected. A few yards behind him, but unobserved by the former, came a pedlar. The two travelled on together some distance, though the podlar, being nn aged man, gradually dropped behind. At last I c turned aside into a lane, and the young man proceeded alone. The day was one of those balmy days they sometimes have in England ; tho sky of that soft blue- white it possesses only in tho early year, whon the spring is just verging into summer ; all was bright and beautiful. Tho sweet, tender green of the trees charmed tho eyo, while the wild notes of tho birds resounding from hill and dale made tho air vocal with sweet sounds. Flowers bespangled tho fields, blossoms hung upon tho trees, and each and all gave forth their perfume to the evening breeze. It was one of those glorious days whon the heart opens, and every vein thrills aa it will with a new existence ; when we feol the Creator in tho glad sunshine, the refreshing breeze- noar Him in the voice of nature, and see his beneficent hand in all His works ; when the heart worships Him under the broad blue heavens, and acknowledges, after all, that the fittest place for our adoration is the temple He Himself has raisid. All was so calm and serene that tho world, its toils, its sufferings, and its crimes, seemed as if they dare not intrude upon such a scene. And that traveller, did he appreciate this? We doubt if ever he even noticed the scene, for his thoughts wore olaowhere. He was a man of about eight or nine and twenty, but looked rather oldor, for his face, though partially concealed by a thick beard, was pale and haggard ; yet for all that ho was handsome. But though there was something in his aspect and carriage that was graceful and easy, there was at the same time something about him repulsive, something almost dangerous in the expression of his dark and partly bloodshot eyes. , There was nothing defiant about him, though, for he seemed broken and sad. Half an hour after he had leaped the stile he entered tho village of Aspendale, and making his way to the Eod Lion, seated himself in the tap-room, and called for some brandy. There were several persons in- the room, who, after their first stare at the Btranger, went ou with their conversation without noticing him. The stranger after eagerly swallowsng the brandy, sat quietly in a corner enjoying the coolness of the •air which was wafted in at the ■open window, and seemed to listenanxiously to the conversation of his companions. " Native good luck that of Daniel Keen's," said the elder of the two countrymen who were conversing, and whom his companion called Jack Fince. " Native good luok I must aay, wasn't it ? " "Wh} r , thoy do toll me as the squire left him a matter of two hundred pounds." " Aye, sure he did such, for I driv liim over t'other day to the bank to got tho brads ; such a lot of yellow boys ! Two hundred golden guineas in a bag all at once ! " " Sovereigns, man, sovereigns ; there ain't no guineas now," interrupted Fince. " "Well, never mind, it's all the same, but 'twas very good o' the squire to think o' him, werry good. I told the old chap as he'd better put it in the Savings Bank, but he said us there wasn t no bank as he'd • trust. It was safe enough with tim." "Well, people has strange notions; Ain't he a living up there by hisself ? 'Taint safe. Why, he might be robbed and murdered, and no one be jiny the wiser." They were interrupted by the entrance of Peter Coombs, the pedlar who, having swung down his pack, turned round and thus addressod the r:ompany : — ''Morning to ye, Muster Fince; morning Muster Brown ! Morning to you, sir." The last observation was addressed to the traveller, who, at the sight of the pedlar, started and muttered a reply which was not distinguishable, and sunk back, as if wishing to avoid observation. "No offence, sir, no offence, I hope," said tho pedlar, and, having called for a pint of beer, he sat himself down. "Now, Petor," said Fince, "hast got any knives ? " " Yes, sure I have," answered the pedlar, producing some from his pack. "Them's the sort, splendidjsteel — •cilts like a razor." "Lot's look," Said Brown, who •commenced trying thoir quality on ,ono of his horny palms. "Have -this one, Jack, t' other's got a flaw in *uo blade close down by the handle, <\o you see ? " "Ah, so it has. Dang it. that's a P\ty» 'cause I like that handle best. " But come, Peter, what's the dama'go, man?" "Two and sixpence." " Well, that ain't dear, as things go, is it Brown ? " " No, I can't say it is ; only I wish, that other one wasn't damaged, I'd have it myself. You ain't got another one, Peter? " " No," roplied the pedlar ; them's the only two I've got o' that sort ; but if you liko I will bring you one over the next time I come." "That will do better; and Peter, old chap, mind and pick us out a nice pne. No flaws, old fellow." Tho pedlar placed the knives back in his pack, and then commenced to dovour huge pieces of beef and bread which he had brought with him. The countrymen having drunk their beer, rose, aud bidding Peter goodbye, and mumbling to themselves .that yon stranger was a mighty un. «iril chap, and they didn't like the looks of him, departed. The pedlar's meal being finished, he lit his pipe And began to smoke, but, fatigued -with a long walk, he soon laid bis &cad ou the table and fell asleep.

About half an Lour after this when the pedlar awoke, the strange: was gone. Strapping his pack, hi procoeded to look for his stick. I was not there. "Well, well," said he, "Icouk have sworn I brought that stick ir with me ; but I suppose I left it uj at Daniel's place; I'll just go bad and see. I wouldn't lose my olt horse for money." Cheerily strode the pedlar up tht hill leading to old Keen's house. lie was an honest, faithful old man, and his occupation led him through al] parts of the country. He had imbibed a strong love for the natural and picturesque The view which spread before him as he rose to the crown of the hill was beautiful. He sat there for some time drinking in its beauties, till the fading light of sunset warned him it was timo to be moving. Arrived at the house, the pedlar knocked -at the door, but, receiving no answer, he pulled the string, as he was wont, and pushed the door to enter, but it was fastened. He topped again and waited, but still no answer came. Daniel Keen's house was situated in a lone place, and was a much larger one than was necessary for a single man. But he was rather a strange old fellow, and though the squire had offered to build him a comfortable cottage and let him live rent free, he had rof used. The house was his, he said, and it would last his timo. He was born in it, and he would die in it. He was at timos straugo in his mannor, and the villagers said ho had nevor been right since his wife died, and that she poor thing, had been killed by the unfilial conduct of their son, who eight years since had loft his home, and had never been hoard of since. All sorts of gossip got about among the villagers — how ho was mixed up with a gang of thieves and plunderers ; and of course none of the tales failed to roach mother's ear. Thoro was a sort of bond between old Keen and the pedlar. For the pedlar's son had been mixed up in the same affair as young Keen, and the two had decamped on the same night, but whether in company none could say. The pedlar waited a few moments, then tapped again. He was beginning to feel uneasy. It was too early, under ordinary circumstances, for "old Keen" to have retired to rest, and he feared he might be ill. When ho knocked again, he istened, for he fancied he heard footsteps descending the stairs. They approached the door softly, and he heard someone breathing shortly and quickly on the other side of the door. In another instant the door was opened, the pedlar entered, and it was quickly closed again and the bar dropped. * * * Towards 10 o'clock the same evening a cottager who lived in the West Comford Road, was aroused by a knocking at the door; first it was faint, and then louder. The cottager, who was in bed, got up. and looked out of the window, and saw a man at his door, pale and trembling. The man, whose name was Blackwell, did not bear the best of characters. He was a notorious poacher, but the peasantry of that district did not look upon that as a crime of so henious a character as to cause a man to bo an outcast, and so down the cottager came. " What's the matter.? " asked the cottager when he had opened the door. " You look as if you had scon a ghost." " Something's wrong up at Keen's, Jack, and if 1 ain't seen a ghost, I've seen something as would scare anybody. Bet my life you'd been scared." " What did you see, mate ? " "I'll tell you. You see, I was just going down to Blisset's bottom to see if I could find a hare or two, when, as I goes past old Keen's, I sees a light moving about. Thinks I that is funny. What's the old fellow adoing at this time of night ? I goes on, but somehow I didn't think it was all right, so goes back, and just as I gets up to the door I sees the light pass from one room to the other. ' Surely,' say I ' that's never old Keen,' and I knocked at the door. The light had come into the Bleeping room just before I knocked. As soon as I had, I heard footsteps go back up the stairs, but nobody came to the door, so then I looked in at the window. The shutters had not been fastened, and there I saw a terrible sight. The candle was on the table, and on the floor lay a man, poor old Daniel, and I think he was dead, for his face was white, aud there was blood on the floor. Jußt as I was looking in there was a noise and a cry, then a groan. I can tell you, mate, I was so scared I didn't stop for nothing, but run off here as fast as I could." " We'll go over," said the cottager, whose name was Berry, " and call up Jaboz Banks as we go along." The two men started for Banks's cottage, and in less than half an hour the three were back at the lone house inhabited by Daniel Keen. All was now dark, and the door resisted all their efforts. They were, therefore, obliged to return and find some moans of opening it. Meantime lot us roturn to the pedlar. No sooner was the door closed and barred than a hand was on his shoulder. His feet were knocked from under him, and he fell heavily on the floor. He attempted to rise, but a blow from an unseen hand laid him prostrate. The next instant a mist floated before his eyes, and the next minute he was unconscious, When he recovered his senses there was a light on the table, and a man with his back towards him was in the act of wrenching open one of the cupboards. The pedlar started as though ho would rise. And the movement caught the ears of the robber, and ho turned suddenly round. As the light flashed on his face, the pedlar uttorod a cry exclaiming, " Heavens have mercy on me, it is my own Fred ! " "Who are you ? " cried the man, springing towards him, but he sudienly recoiled. "My father," he cried. " Oh, Heaven, have mercy ; I did not mean to harm you. What cursed chance has brought you here?" At the sight of his son, the old pedlar closed his eyes and sank back

"•■•™™™""»»^"-"»'-"^"-MWTT»iTnrfnr~'~~ ""■"'"* i, horror- stricken. But in a momeni r ho opened them and fixed thorn or 0 his son. " Oh, Fred, my Bon," Bait t he, "is it thuß wo ment ? Oh would to God that I had never lived il to see this day." a Tho son cowered before tho meek, [i upliftod eyes of tho father. He Ie stood for somo minutes spell-bound, 1 Tho pedlar's lips moved ns if in prayer, a shuddor seemed to past b through his frame, and his eyes b closed. I Relieved of those reproachful eyes, the man's evil passions seemed to return. " It's like my cursed ill-luck," he said seizing: the candle. "Where can tho old fool have storod hia money ? " and proceeded once more to search the house. After a time ho noticed a door which he had not previously opened. There was no key, but a blow from his powerful arm and it flew opon. At first the room soemed empty, but a second glance showed in one corner an iron-bound box. To break open the box was the work of a moment, and the next a heap of shining gold lay before him. With a cry of exultation ho commenced to transfer it to his pockets. When he had secured it all, he seized his candle and descended into tho room below. There lay the bodies of his father and Daniel Keen. He was just looking at the pedlar's body, and thinking he was showing signs of breathing when he was alarmed by a loud knooking at the door. He hastily set down tho candle and rushed upstairs. In a minute or two after there was a cry, a noise as of the falling of some heavy body, and a deep groan ; then all was still. When the three men returned to old Keen's house, they brought with them a lantern and a crowbar. The door was forced, and a sorrowfuj. sight met their view. The room bore evidence of a struggle. Before them lay the two bodies of the two poor old men, weltering in blood. On examining the body of the pedlar it was evident that life was not extinct, and one of the men set off to the village to give the alarm, and to procure medical aid. Iv the meantime the other two proceeded to search the house. As they ascended the stairs they were alarmed by a sound, but from whence it proceeded they could not tell, but it seemed as though it came from an upper room. It was a low, hollow sound, as of someone in pain. They stopped to listen, but all was silent. They advanced slowly and cautiously up the stairs, for now they felt certain that the murderer was in the house ; and though they were not positively cowards, they fearod he might spring upon them unawares at any moment. On they went, now startled by the loud creaking of the stairs, and now alarmed by the echo of thoir own exclamations of terror. Then came a low wailing, as if tho wind was moaning, in melancholy cadence, in the trees outside, and they stopped again Was it the wind, or was it a human cry ? These were the questions they asked each other again and again, as they proceeded, with many stoppings and great excitement, and searched every room in the house. On their return they looked in the room that had been shut up. At one moment they thought they saw a form moving in the dim shade at one end of the room. Just at that moment a gust of wind extinguished the candlo, which one of them had incautiously taken out of the lantern, and they were left in darkness. Without waiting for anything more the two men made their way downstairs and produced another light. At this moment they were joined by the doctor and his assistant, together with the village constable and others ; and now, emboldened by numbers, they searched the house thoroughly, but no trace of tho murderer could be discovered. The doctor pronounced Daniel Keen to be dead. But thore was still life in the pedlar, and he hoped for the best. The excitement was great in Aspendale the next morning, and in the course of the day it reached as far as West Comford, and strange rumours werr circulated. Circumstances also transpired which in the minds of most people, seemed to fix the murder upon the pedlar. The instrument with which the deed was perpetrated proved to be the very knife which the countryman Brown had refused to buy on account of the flaw in the blade, and which was known to have been in his possession a few hours before the murder was discovered. Some said that the pedlar himself was desperately wounded ; but others said that that was no obstacle of his guilt, as the old man might have turned upon him. Another thing which favoured this idea was though the pedlar had partially recovered, he refused to give any account of the transaction. An inquest was held, but nothing transpired to throw any light on the mystery, except that Blackwell affirmed- that ho looked through the keyhole and he fancied he saw the face of a man, and if it was a man he was a stranger, and had a dark beard. This recalled to Mr. Fiuce's mind the person he had seen in the tap-room of the Red Lion, and a search was immediately made, but no trace of such a man could be found ! Nor had anyone seen him after he left the public-house. The search for tho stranger having passed, public suspicion next fell on Blackwell, and he was arrested. On heariug this Petor Coombs was greatly excited, and a report was pirculated that tho pedlar had confessed. In the course of tho following day unfavourable symptoms set in, and before mid-night tho pedlar had breathed his last. The last words that he spoke were in attostation of Blackwell's iuuocence, and his last act to sign a disposition to that effect, but notliing could induce him to say anything more. This was enough ; and in the estimation of everyone Peter Coombs died a murderer. And did the real murderer escape ? Lot us see. Of Daniel Keen's son nothing more was ever heard. In tho old man's will he had forgiven him, and all he had was to have been his son's, but no trace of him could ever be found.

Some monihs after, the House in which this foul deed had been perpetrated was pulled down. It was then discovered that there was a back staircase communicating with an upper room. The stairs, in d cay, had fallen, and at the bottom was discovered the remains of a man in an advanced state of decomposition. On examining the clothes the whole of the two hundred sovereigns, and many other valuables, were found on him, proving his identity. It was the pedlar's dissipatod and long-lost son. Thus, in the moment of his supposed triumph, with the gold which had tempted him in his possession, did the Almighty wreak his vengeance on the murderer and parricide — A.W.