TRAGEDIES OF THE NIGHT

Evening Star, Issue 11896, 26 May 1903, Page 8

TRAGEDIES OF THE NIGHT

By Edgar Pickering. Author of ‘After Sedgmoor,’ ‘The Dogs of War,’ etc. VH—DEAD BODY FOUND. There were two people scanning the notice which a few moments before had been' put up on the police office board. One of these was a woman—the other ft grizzled old man, and they read together the items of the description that was concise and businesslike, giving the sex, height,’ and presumed age of a dead body which had been found, an inventory of its clothing being appended. As she read, the woman turned deathly pale, and became oblivious to everything but the bald statement ou which her eyes rested. As for the old man, the announcement was nothing different from many he had read before, and he turned away with a sort of resentment against the monotony of the thing. But suddenly he caught sight of the woman’s face, and his dull old eyes brightened. " Miss Rachel Fleming, ’tis surely,” he exclaimed. “ But you’ve changed since the last time I saw you.” “ And you are George Williams,” was the quick answer. “You have not changed since I spoke to you last. It is a strange thing that you and I should be here reading that,” and she pointed to the notice, “at the same moment. The dead man was my husband." “Your husband! You were married, then ?” “You ask as if you doubted. Not that it matters. The man I monied is dead Read again; the description is exact.” , H° r face had flushed, and something of its old beauty which George Williams remembered came back to it. There was a light in the eyes, and a note in the voice, that he recollected in the merry-hearted girl of five years ago. Then its accustomed hardness returned, as they went through the gnm details of the notice once more. The body of a man had been found stranded on the mud about a mile below London Bridge. There were tatoned on the arms the letters A.8., and the clothing was that of a fashionably-dressed man. " They have guessed Ambrose Bradford’s ago well," said the woman, coldly. “He would have been thirty-five to-morrow—-see, his age is given at about that.” You take his death cosily enough,” chuckled the old man. “You had a soft heart, too, once.” “ Until I married Ambrose Bradford. He made me the hard woman I am. He left me to fight for a living by myself, but I can forgive him now that he is dead. It is two years since he deserted me.” “ Maybe it’s your duty to identify his body,’ remarked the old man as they moved awav side by side. “Why should Ido that? Why -should I trouble about him ! He never gave a thought to me. When he had spent’all the fortune I brought him, and poverty came, bo left me. No. I won’t pretend to lie grieved. Isn’t it more natural for me to be heartily thankful, knowing that Ambrose Bradford is dead?” The old man chuckled again. “ It's a strange world—a very strange world, my sear,” he answered. “I wish you well, and I’m glad to have met you.” With this he made an- awkward apology for a bow, and turned down a side street. Rachel Bradford had been above him in the social scale five years ago, and George Williams, now an inmate of the Stevedores’ Almshouses, was not one to forget that. Rachel continued her way towards home, which formed one of a Tow of small, oldfashioned houses that were scarcely more than cottages, and only to be discovered after a sinuous walk from Blackfriars road. There was an ancient, out-of-tbe-world air about the little bouses, as though they bad been overlooked or forgotten by the march of the century; and it was there that Rachel Bradford had found refuge, and the means to earn a scant livelihood, after being left penniless and desolate by her husband.

Night had settled down over the quiet house, and Rachel sat listening to the moan of tbe rising wind as it swept past the little latticed window. Then, suddenly, she started to her feet, .pressing her hand to her breast, and gazing with staring eyes towards the casement. Something had come out of the blackness beyond and showed up ghastly grey against the glass; the face of a living man, for the lips moved as though whispering,, and the eyes shone in the Tight of the lamp, moving slowly from left to right, searchingly. And with hers fixed on his, passing through an eternity of deadliest horror, though the time was scarce a minute, the woman gazed at the grey face which seemed unconscious of her mpt scrutiny. Then the lattice was wrenched open, falling back with a crash, and a man forced himself through the narrow opening.

“My God!” The ejaculation came like a prayer from Rachel’s parted lips. “Stand away—don’t touch me—don’t touch me!” she cried.

“ Shut the window, and draw the curtain over it," he answered ; " there may be prying eyes about. Why are you surprised at seeing me? It’s two years since we saw each other, though ” —he gave a little laugh —“ and perhaps you thought I was dead !” “ I read that you were dead,” she replied, hoarsely. “ There was a dead body found in the river. The description convinced me that it was yoU.” He laughed again, the sound being almost like the snarl of an angry dog. “It will be well if others believe I am dead,” he replied. “I’ve planned (hat they shall, but there’s no time for me to explain, nor need, either. Hark!” and be held up his hand wamingly, as the sound of footsteps came past the window. “ Do you fear that anyone may know of you being here?” she asked dully, for all power to fear or care was numbed. “Tell me how you discovered me.”

“ Not now—l’ll tell you the history of the past two years presently. There’ll be time for that, perhaps,” he replied. “It’s enough that I’ve found you. Shall T le safe here?” “From what?”

“You have no gossiping neighbor who may come in?” he answered, reassured by her manner. “I shall be safe from being seen ?”

“ I know no one. No one will come," she replied, carelessly. “Yes, you will be safe,” and she began setting some food and drink before him.

“I must leave London by daybreak,” he told her. “I can trust you not to betray me?” and the question came fiercely. Rachel shook her head gravely. If the man sitting at the table could have guessed half the mute passion rioting in her heart, the fervid longing to rid herself of his hateful presence, the loathing she felt for the man who had treated her with the refinement of cruelty, he would not have eaten nor drunk so calmly as he was doing. “ There is only one person I’m afraid of.” he went on. “He knows the reason why I must put the sea between myself and England. It’s to do with the dead man, whose body was found in the river. The person I speak of would accuse me of that man’s murder. We three were friends, and—no, I won’t tell you any more. But my life is in danger. Rachel, and I must hide here to-night. What money have you in the house?”

“ Enough to nay my rent and buy me a week’s food only,” she answered. “Give me ail vou have. The landlord can wait, and I daresay you won’t starve. Get it me quickly—yon understand. It will be better than my forcing you to part with it, but you know me, I think?” and he snarled at her again.

“Yes; only too well,” she replied, shrinking instinctively from bis gesture. He had struck her too often in days pone by for his movement to be misunderstood. Then she went to a cupboard, and, taking out a little purse, emptied the contents on to the table.

“It’s little enough,” he growled. “Tell she said very quietly ;. “ take it, as you have taken the rest.” He swept the coins into his hand, she watching him with bitter hatred such as no words could have expressed. “ It’s little enough,’ ’he growled. “ Tell me where your other money is hidden,” and he gripped her wrist so tightly that the flesh was bruised and discolored. How she hated and loathed him!

“ It will hardly be safe for you to strike me as yon have done before. You may want my help,” she said, looking him fearlessly in the face. At this he flung her off.

he said. “Wake me in two hours, for 1 must get some rest before starting. If anyone should come to the house refuse to admit him.” \ou are afraid the man of whom you v now may follow you here?” . . es :, that I should come eiu. lie will betray me—give mo up to m. muice—do anything to destroy me, cm so hm.—he and I quarrelled. It’s life £L death , Wlth me, Rachel—life or death. Ihe dead man resembled me—the thing p Y,' j jlaune d— he. was murdered.” & d r W £? m 111111 shudderingly and he laughed. “You shall hear the whole story some day,” he told her. «You wouldn t care to be known -as the widow of a man who was hanged, so it will be ifLTr T,/ akc , that y° u kee P the secret lye told you.” He quitted the room, going into one above, where he Hung himself on a bad. He was wora and slc Pt heavily. Suddenly he started, sitting up in bed listening. gazing mto the darkness, whence the murmur of voices came. Then he crept to the door in tip-toe. It was a man’s voice which he heard coming from the room below—the voice ° f *j u Sene Temple, the man whom he dreaded ; who had it in his power to destroy him, and the will, moreover. Rachel was speaking now, and’Bradford descended three or four stairs, bending over the banisters, straining his oar to catch the conversation.

u * 0U J « m me more than this, Mrs Bradford, ’ he heard Temple saving. lour husband is known to be lurking in the neighborhood.”

If I tell you more, what will it mean to him?”

His arrest and conviction for murder. It was Ambrose Bradford who brought about the death of .'tho man whose body was taken out of the Thames.” there was silence for a moment or two after Temple bad spoken, and Bradfordcrept down the stairs, reaching the narrow pas-age. There was a recess near the door of the sitting room, into which he drew himself, standing pressed against the wall, listening to the voices that now came distinctly. f read the description of the body,” he heard Rachel answer. “You know what my life has beeu—the misery and injustice of it. \ou can guess what mv feelings were as I read " “You were glad?” “So glad that it seemed as if sunshine had come into my life again. So glad that now I know Ambrose Bradford is alive—that this dead man was cunningly caused to resemble him—nil the wretchedness of the past seems doubled, and the future something too horrible to be borne. Mv hmhand was here, in this room, to-night.” The man crouching in tbe darkness without shivered with a spasm of fear, and then grew rigid. He had drawn a longbladed dagger from beneath his coat, and was testing its keenness as he stood in the dense blackness of the passage waiting for the fateful words to come. ° “Was here, you say,” he heard Temple ask. “And now?” If Ambrose Bradford is discovered, will it mean that he and 1 would never see each other again?” He would be hanged.” was the curt reply. Htill the fateful words lingered in their coning from Rachel’s lips, and Bradford waited for them with an agony of suspense. There was only the thought of his escape—his passionate rage at his betrayal was overmastered by the stronger feeling. Hanged ! Yes, he knew that would be his fate, unless lie silenced the man whose evidence could convict him. Eugene-Temple must never leave that house alive. Then he listened again—would the woman betray him? “ Come with me.” he heard her tell Teinple, and there was a movement in the little room. Rachel had come out holding the lamp above her head, and behind her was Eugene Temple. For a moment the glare of the lamp shone on the white face of the man crouched against the wall. Then, with a quick action that sent Rachel backward, he had dashed the lamp from her Landj and the place was in darkness. Temple gave a little cry of satisfaction, and rushed forward. “Run to earth at last, Ambrose Bradford,” he exclaimed, seizing him by the arm; but with a swinging blow Bradford had buried the keen blade in his opponent’s shoulder, and there was a gasp of pain. Then, striking out, Teinple struck him fairly between the eyes, and the two men fell together against the banisters. “Loose your hold on mo,” hissed Bradford, groping for the dagger which had fallen from iiis grasp. “Though you have the strength of two men 111 keep you until the police come,” panted the other, feeling the blood pouring from his wounded shoulder. “Open the front door, for God’s sake, Mrs Bradford. I'm dying for air—get help—get help—quickly,” he cried. Bradford had torn himself free at last, and was at the door. As he reached it Rachel turned the lock and withdrew the key, feeling his hot breath on her face in the darkness. “Give me the key,” he said hoarsely. “ Look to your accomplice, Temple, He’s dying.” He waited an instant for her to answer him, but not a sound came from her lips Putting out his hand it touched her marble face, and, as if assured of his aim, he .struck down at her with the dagger. Hark! Were they footsteps without? Only the moan of the night wind. Had he been memento or hours in that awful black stiHiiess’ It was time to go, time to escape; the sleepers at his feet will not hinder him—for theirs is a. slumber from which there i-s no waking!