THE DOVER EXPRESS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 51, 19 December 1891, Page 694

THE DOVER EXPRESS.

CHAPTER II

THE MADNESS Of DESPAIR.

LIFFORD SEMPLE did not hear the door of the children’s room shut a moment before he house ; he did not hear a hurried step down the stairs. He gave one glance around © 'SgSsP'fj him indeed, before closing the front door be MJ&P 1 hind him ; but the gas had not yet been lit, and into the deep shadows on the staircase his sight did not penetrate. YY ithout another glance behind he hurried along the streets, between rows of little, mean houses, until he reached the station. The day had been dull and foggy, and darkness had closed in early. A tine drizzling rain had just begun to fall when Clifford took up his stand close to the barrier which divided the road from the railway line a little way out of the station. He knew where to place himself so that nobody should notice him.

There was an ‘ island platform ’ in the middle of the station, on the further side of which that portion of the Continental express which came from Victoria would drawup, while the city poition of the same train would draw up on the hither side. The Victoria portion arrived first. As it slackened speed Clifford drew near to the station, watching for the arrival of the train from Holborn Viaduct. Putting his hand in his pocket be drew out a railway key ; then, as the city portion of the express approached, he got over the barrier and on to the down line alongside the train just before it stopped. He had seen an * Engaged ’ label on the window of a first class compartment, and without hesitation he went straight to that carriage, jumped on to the footboard and looked in at the window.

He knew he should see there, snugly wrapped up and safe, as he thought, from intruders, the man who had that afternoon turned a contemptuous ear to his last appeal for work for himself, bread for his children.

Clifford looked in at the window. The fog outside the carriage, the steaming warmth of the foot warmers within, made it difficult to see clearly. But there, indeed, was Samuel Pogson in the middle seat facing the engine, his chin buried in his muffler, his travelling cap drawn over his eyes, a rug over his knees, the picture of selfish, self-ab-sorbed comfort. The guard opened the carriage door, but old Pogson did not condescend to turn his head. He left such paltry cares as the showing of tickets to the assiduous Page, who jumped out of the next carriage at this moment, tickets in band, much shocked at the intrusion upon his illustrious and autocratic master. Clifford saw the guard withdraw, closing the door with the respectful noiselessness expected by the occupants of engaged compartments. No sooner had the guard disappeared than Clifford put his key in the door, unlocked it, opened it, and entered the carriage. He took no precautions ; indeed, what precautions could he take to make such a danng proceeding unremarked But chance favoured him. On the platform he had crossed there were no passengers, as the up train had not long passed through. There was enough fog about for a person climbing up from the line to be mistaken by any one but a near observer for one of the officials of tbe railway.

I’he mad intention of the desperate man, as he got into his compartment, was to meet his late employer face, to pour out reproaches for the ruin he had brought upon him, and then—even in thought he dared go no further : but in imagination he kept seeing the big diamond Mr Pog son wore on his finger, the money he carried in his purse : and his hand still held the loaded revolver.

Now the way seemed to be miraculously cleared for him ; he had got into the carriage unseen by any of the officials he was alone with the man he hated :’the train was moving off, leaving old Pogson, in his rugs and his wraps, completely at his mercy. Yet he sat like a statue in the corner of the opposite seat to that occupied by his enemy, and his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth.

For Samuel Pogson had not noticed his entrance, had not so much as raised his head And the sight of the old man, with his head buried in his mufflers, helpless, unconscious of danger, brought Clifford's reason back immediately with a great shock. YV hat had he done ? What was it he had in his mind to do? In an instant it seemed monstrous, incredible, that he, Clifford Semple, should hai e been on the point of spoiling the record of an honest life by an outrage on a defenceless old man ! Even an outrage of the 'tongue, he suddenly remembered, might, in the case of a man ot' sixtyfive, with a weak heart, cause him either death or serious illness. Sobered and frightened, Clifford staggered to his feet, and would have left the carriage, risking seizure by the officials and the necessity for an awkward explanation : but his limbs shook, he seemed to have lost his activity ; before he could pass the old man, which be was careful to do without noise, so as not to disturb the doze into which he seemed to have fallen, the train had attained a speed which made escape impossible. He was a prisoner with his intended victim.

The next stop was at Canterbury at twenty-seven minutes past nine. More than an hour and a quarter, then, he must remain in this situation, only to find himself at the end of that time fifty miles from home and without the means to return thither. And in the meantime he was exposed every moment to the danger of old Pogson’s awakening. Not for an instant did Clifford entertain the idea of trying to soften his late employer’s heart by another appeal. He had shot his la.~t bolt that afternoon. He had said, not in so many words, yet clearly enough, that his children were in want of bread ; if that would not move the man what more vas there that mortal could say which would have a better chance? Even if there had been a thousand arguments for him to use, indeed, he would still have been unable to utter them ; shame at the mad ideas he had harboured now held him spell bound, so that he could only sit still in his corner, glancing from time to time at old Pogson in mute apprehension.

Half an hour ,>assed ; Clifford, to whom the minutes were months—full of remorse, fear and suffering—thought they

must surely be close to Canterbury. They seemed to have sat like that, still, silent, for years. How could the old man sleep so soundly in a train ? A question riashed through Clifford's mind and his heart leaped up. Was Mr Pogson really asleep at all ? Or had he woke up. taken in the situation at one unseen glance of his shrewd eyes and feigned slumber as the best way to avoid an embarrassing Me a-tete* Clifford could not but feel that this would be a very characteristic manoeuvre on the part of the sly old lawyer, and he grew every moment more sure that this must be the true explanation of his companion s unchanged attitude. This conviction became at last so strong that he was tempted to try the genuineness of the old man’s slumber by tapping on the floor, whistling softly and even by letting down the window. But even the inrush of cold air, curling fog and drizzling rain produced no effort whatever upon the figure in the rug. Clifford began to feel that there was something uncanny in this stolidity ; it seemed to him that since the moment when he himself climbed into the carriage Samuel Pogson had not even moved. He became alarmed. He felt that he would rather be overwhelmed with reproaches, stung by the old lawyer s sarcastic tongue than to bear this statuesque stillness and silence in a human being any longer. Suddenly the train stopped, a signal being seen to be against it, the brake had had to be applied abruptly. Clifford was thrown forward in his seat. When he recovered himself he started up with an irrepressible cry of horror. Samuel Pogson had fallen forward on the opposite seat and lay where he had fallen, without a movement. At first Clifford did not touch him. There was no need. The body lay so limp, so inert that the young man knew at once that he had had for his companion during the whole journey a dead man.

For the first few moments after he had realized this, when he had touched one hand and seen it fall heavily, he was too much shocked to conceive a plan of action. Then rousing himself and remembering that Page, the attendant, was in the next carriage, he decided to call him and also to summon the guard. The story he had to tell was sufficiently incriminating, but it would be better told at once. The signals being still against the train Clifford was able to get out on the footboard without anv difficulty to tap at the window of the next carriage and to beckon to Page, who was one of the occupants. Recognizing the fact that it would be better not to give a general alarm he merely said to the attendant that his master required his service® opened the door with his railway key, and helper! the man to get from one carriage to the other. The next step Clifford took was on the whole an unwise one. Having had the sense to come to the conclusion that he would own to his escapade it would have been better to own to every detail. But the remembrance of the revolver in his possession darted into his mind and he decided that this fact would tell too strongly against him. So, seized by panic, he drew the weapon trom under his coat and tlano it as far as he could from him down the steep embankment’. I nfortunately this action was witnessed by the guard whose approach Clifford s deafness had prevented his hearing. The man’s attention had been attracted bv the sounds of doors being opened and shut and bv the smh’t of the two men on the footboard.

• Hello !’ he cried. And arriving close under the carriage on the footboard of which Clifford stood the guard flashed his lantern up into the man's face. ‘ YVhat are you doin<* And what s that you ve been throwing away,

‘ I’m deaf,' cried Clifford, in a voice which betraved his excitement.

•Deaf: Are you?' retorted the guard suspiciously: * none so deaf as those that won’t hear, they say,' he added to himself.

‘ There's a dead man in that carriage,’ went on Clifford, pointing to the door of the compartment in which he d been travelling.

‘ On ! said the guard, * you’d better come in the van along o me then. There'll be some questions to be asked.' He seized Clifford s arm with a firm grip, but found him quite unresisting. At that moment Page, the attendant looked out of the carriage window above, with his wooden face contorted with excitement.

‘ Guard !’ cried he. ‘Guard! Come here—quick. My master’s been murdered by that fellow there. He’s a discharged clerk and he was threatening my poor master only this afternoon at the office. He’s robbed him and murdered him. Don’t let him go.’ ‘ I'm not going to, never fear.’ Windows were being let down, men’s voices were asking w hat was the matter. The guard looked ahead and saw the signal had been given that the line was clear. He jumped up on the footboard, glanced into the carriage which was tbe scene of the tragedy and saw at once that the passenger was dead.

• We’re going on now. Will you stop in here ?’ began the guard, who had left the passive Clifford standing on the line.

But Page protested vehemently against this arrangement. His master was dead, murdered ; he could be of no use, and he wou.d rather not be left alone with the body. He would rather get into the next carriage again, the" one in which he had travelled down.

The guard shook his head. ‘ I can t allow that I musn t lose sight of you. You must travel in the van with me and the other chap.’ ‘But snrely you don’t suspect me? How can you when ’

* I don t. Bless the man. Only we don’t want any more commotion than we can help. The next carriage is half full of passengers ; they’d send you raving with their questions before we got to Canterbury. Come on.’

The guard s opinion began to be that Clifford and Page were confederates, so he pulled dov*n the blinds of the compartment in which the body lay, locked the door after him and took both men with him into bis van. Clifford seemed dazed and was |>erfectly quiet, but Page was voluble in bis reproaches of the ex clerk, into whose ears he poured a

torrent of abuse so loudly that Clifford, deaf as he was, lost but little of it. The guard's opinion began t*> change. Confederates they certainly were not. As Page's vehemence increased so did also the shame and confusion of the younger man. He made no answer ; he did not attempt to stop the other man s ffow of words : a deprecating shake of the head from time to time was all the protest he made. At last Page asked him a direct question. ‘ YV hen you called me at the carriage window,’ he said abruptly, ‘you had a revolver. I saw it under your coat. What have you done with it *’ At first Clifford could not answer. He saw the guard look a F J 1 * 111 w 'th a keen glance of fresh intelligence and suspicion. He seemed to feel the rope around his neck. Page repeated his question more dictatorially. The guard came close to Clifford and spoke in his tnrn, loudly in the unfortunate man's ear.

* Was it the revolver that I saw you throw away, eh ?’ he asked. Clifford raised his head.

‘ I had a revolver.it is quite true,' he said hoarsely. ‘ And I threw it away. But 1 never used it. If I had used it it would have been on myself—at least I think so,’ he added slowly, almost stammering. ‘ Come, I say, it’s too late in the day, you know, to ask us to believe that,’ said Page roughly, ‘ after robbing my poor master’s dead body, too !’ ‘ I did not,’ said Clifford.

‘ Well, then, you robbed him before he was dead. It's all the same. Why, I missed the big diamond off his finger the moment 1 set eyes on poor Mr Pogson's corpse.’ ‘ No,’ said Clifford, with vehemence, ‘ 1 have not got it.’ ‘ You threw it away, I suppose, with the revolver, trusting to luck to find it afterwards ! Oh, you’re a deep one, you are. To think of poor Mr Pogson's ever having employed such a scoundrel. It’s the old story. Warm a serpent at the fire, and it’ll begin to bite as soon as it’s comfortable.’ * That’ll do,’ interrupted the guard, gruffly. ‘ Don’t bully a man when he’s down. The poor devil don't look as if he'd had much warming to speak of, lately.’ He had gathered enough from the two men to come to the conclusion that it was starvation which had driven the hollow-eyed man to an act for which he was scarcely responsible. And with this came the suspicion that the old man who had treated him so harshly had got no more than nis deserts in being sent to his last account with so much abruptness. Murder was an ugly word, no doubt. But with a ‘ missus and three ‘ kills ’ and an empty larder, why And the guard swore a big oath under his breath —now what should he himself , feel it he were in the deaf man's place ? And it must be all the haruer if you’re a ‘gentleman born.’ The guard had discrimination enough to read the lesson of the shabby clothes and the gentle manners.

‘He looks half starved himself,’ he thought. ‘ Been short commons at home, lately, and the kids had to be helped first. Poor beggar !’ These reflections led him to a change of front which disconcerted Page, who had taken upon himself the office of avenging angel. ‘ Will you take a seat, sir ?’ he said, offering Clifford a box to sit on. ‘ You look tired and it’s best to be fresh as one can when there’s questions to answer. I can’t offer you much in the way of refreshments, but if you could eat a biscuit, and wouldn’t be above taking a pull at this tlask sir ’ ’

Clifford accepted the offer of the biscuits, which he ate hungrily, in his dazed state he did not know how hungrily. Page looked as if he thought |this attention to the suspected man misplaced, but ventured upon no comment. " hen the train arrived at Canterbury all the passengers in that coach of which Samuel Pogson's reserved compartments had formed a part, were requested to change carriages and the coach itself, with the blinds of the reserved compartment still down, was transferred to a siding, pending the arrival of a doctor. There was some little commotion among the passengers, of course, for the rumour of a trageuy had spread quickly. But as no information was forthcoming they nad all to go on their way unsatisfied. Clifford and Page had been at onee taken into the station-masters office and shut in there. The former went submissively, but the latter not unnaturally objected to this proceeding in his own case, pointing out that there could be no possible suspicion .lying upon him. The guard admitted the truth of this, but the stationmaster insisted that it was a case in which he had no alternative but to detain every person who could have the slightest connection with such an affair You are detained as a witness who can give valuable in. formation,’ said he to the disconsolate attendant, in answer to his pleadings that his detention on such an occasion would injure his character with future employers. ‘ You know born the gentleman who has been found head and the man who is suspected.’ ‘ Y es, and suspected with good reason, too And I can prove it,’ said Page, excitedly. ‘ All right. Then you must stay and do so.’ ‘ YY hy, man,’said the guard, who, after giving his account of the circumstances to the station-master, w as preparing to rejoin his train to continue the journey, ‘ what good could you do by going on, now your master’s dead ? It was his journey, not yours, I take it.’ ‘Of course, of course. It’s not the staying I mind. It’s being locked up here with this criminal.’ ‘ Not so fast, mister. No man s a criminal this side the Channel till he's been convicted, remember. I hope it’ll turn out that the poor beggar s innocent, that I do,’ he added beaitily. And raising his voice so as to be heard by the deaf man the guard bade the latter a kindly good-night as he unlocked and opened the door. Before he could pass out a woman, who had evidently been on the watch outside, pushed her way in under his ai m Clifford stared at her as if she had been a ghost. It was Blanche. ‘ Hallo I ma’am, this is private. Very sorry, but you can’t be allowed in here. This way, please.'

And the guard, standing against the door to prevent the ingress of any more intrudeis, beckoned authoritatively to her to come out with him. She looked at Clifford, whow as still gazing at her in amazement, without having uttered a word.

• 1 am his wife, she said. ‘ Let me stay. See, I am quiet. And I can explain a great deal. Let me stay please. Tbe guard would have been obdurate, but the stationmaster was either wiser or more impressionable. The lady

was, as she said, quite quiet. And she was so white, and worn and pinched and sad looking that it was difficult to refuse her the small concession she asked.

* You may stay, ma’am. But you had better not talk, said he.

And be handed her a chair at the opposite corner of the room to that in which < lifford was sitting. Regarding the accorded permission as a precious privilege, and being resolved not to risk it* withdrawal, she contented herself with a mere * Thank you' to the station-master, and then sat quite silent, with her gaze fixed sometimes on her husband, sometimes on the tloor. Clifford showed more emotion than she at this strange meeting ; whenever he looked at her the tears would come to his eyes. He seemed to see suddenly to-night, as if he had been a stranger, all the ravages which anxiety and want and suffering had made in her pretty face. Page ventured upon a remonstrance to the station master. He said it would be kinder to the lady not to let her remain.

* She’s all right now, but when the police come in to take her husband you’ll have her in hysterics directly,’ said he. • There they are !’ he went on, crossing hurriedly to the door.

But the station-master pushed him back and unlocked the door himself.

‘There’s the man we have to give in charge on suspicion,’ said the station-master in a low voice, nodding in the direction of Clifford. *He admits having let himself at Herne Hill into the carriage where the man was found dead. And he admits a grudge against him. And he carried a revolver, which he threw away. It s fair to say he gave the first alarm —to this man, the servant of the gentleman who was found dead. We must hear what the doctor says, of course. In the meantime'

He gave a nod to the elder of the policemen, who was a sergeant —a comprehensive nod which implied that he should like an eye kept during his absence on the other occupants of the room. Then he went out to meet the doctor.

It seemed a long time before the door was opened again. The station-master re entered, followed by the doctor, who had just finished an examination of the body and of the compartment in which it had been found. Dr. Staniland was a short, stout, active man of middle age, with broad features and twinkling, clever black eyes, which looked searchingly, now through and now over a pair of gold rimmed spectacles. • So you’re the man who says you didn’t do it ?’ he asked briskly, addressing Clifford in a tone which even he could hear.

‘ I did not kill him. I believe he was dead when I entered the carriage,’ said Clifford, earnestly. ‘ The revolver ! You threw away a revolver !’ cried Page, loudly and excitedly. Clifford, by watching his lips, caught the sense of these words.

‘ I did get into the carriage with Mr Pogson. I had a revolver, and I got it on purpose to ’ * Stop !’ interposed the doctor, holding up his hand. ‘ You are not obliged to incriminate yourself. As a matter of fact, I have found no bullet wound on the body. But—the deceased gentleman has been robbed.’ • Not by me !’ said, almost shouted, Clifford. ‘ Search me!’

Here Page, the attendant, laughed hoarsely and derisively. ‘ What’s the good of that ’ He had plenty of time to throw away anything he wanted to get rid of. The guard left him standing by himself upon the line while he got into the carriage to look at the body.’ The doctor nodded. ‘ Yes, 1 don't suppose searching him will prove much,' admitted he. ‘ However, if he elects to be searched, search him by all means, especially as it would have to be done in any case before he left here.' The two policemen acted at once on this suggestion, but found nothing with the least bearing upon the case. Page laughed again. ‘ That doesnt’t prove anything,' repeated he. As the last words left his lips all the men in the small room were startled by a high, shrill, woman's voice. Blanche who had uttered no word since the doctor’s entrance, had risen and was pointing a steady finger at Page. ‘Search him,’ she said. The man so singled out not unnaturally fell back a step, unutterably amazed. Still the inexorable finger pointed at him as she repeated her words. There followed a minute of dead silence. Page himself broke it, turning abruptly to the station-master with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘ What did I tell you ?’ said he. ‘ This comes of letting a woman in. She doesn’t care who she attacks ; she’d accuse anybody just to get off her own man. I say it’s a shame she should be allowed to stay here at all.' The doctor had turned his piercing eyes upon Page. ‘ Who is this man ?’ said he. ‘ The deceased man s servant. Oh, I see. Was he alone with his master before or after his death ? Does anybody know ’’ ‘ The suspected man called him in to see his master, I understand,' said the station-master. ‘ But the carriage door was open all the time, and the guard was standing outside,’ put in Page, with great coolness. ‘ Well, the guard himself will be able to bear witness to that, one way or the other.’ ‘ Search him !’ rang out Blanche's high voice once more. Dr. Staniland turned to look at the man again. ‘ I think it would be only courteous to accede to the lady 's wishes,' began he. Page folded his arms coolly and defiantly. • And prove how groundless her suspicions are, went on the doctor. But the attendant was fiercely indignant at the suggestion.

• I will not subject myself to such an affront to suit the whim of any woman living,’said he. The doctor very gently insisted. • Come, be wise,’ said he, coaxingly. * Submit to this of your own tree will—to please the lady. Otherwise —well. The doctor readjusted his glasses. * \\ ell, I should be compelled, you know, to insist on the search, on my own responsibility, to allay the suspicions I can't help beginning to entertain about you, my good sir.' On a sign from Dr. Staniland the two constables seized Page, and in spite of his struggles in spite of a frantic attempt he made to escape by the window, they searched him and found in his pockets not only the diamond ring which

the late Samuel Pogson had always worn but the dead man > purse and pocketbook, containing a considerable sum of money in gold and notes. This discovery pat a different complexion upon the case of the unfortunate Clifford Semple. It did not, however, suffice to set him free from all suspicion. He was, therefore, informed that it would be necessary in consequence of the undeniable rashness of his conduct, to detain him until after the inquest. They permitted the husband and wife a few moments' interview, during which each remained for the most part staring dumb and haggard, into the other’s eyes. • How did you come ’ How did you know ? were Clifford’s only questions. ‘ I heard you come in and go out. I guessed from hearing you come out of Mr Barclay's room, what yon had taken with you. And I was afraid. So—ob, Clifford, it was dreadful to have to do it, but I couldn’t help it. I took the money I had saved for the rent and I followed you. But I was too late to see where you had gone and it was foggy and I missed you. And when the train came in for Dover I began to guess something more and though I couldn't see you I took a ticket. And then—when it happened—l heard —and I knew —who it was they had detained. And I waited outside the station-master’s office—till the door opened.’ He always knew what she said ; she spoke slowly, and be watched her lips. When they parted she whispered a broken word of comfort through the tears that began to flow at last.

‘lt can't be worse than this. Don’t give up hope. Perhaps, perhaps the worst is over. Bear up like a man for the children's sake-’

Then they had to say ‘ Good-bye,' and Blanche went sorrowfully back home. But her words were prophetic—the worst was over. At the porf mortem which the coroner ordered it was proved conclusively that Samuel Pogson had died of long standing heart disease, and from the fact that he never moved when the guard opened the carriage door at Herne Hill it was surmised that he had died before that station was reached. Clifford’s open confession at the inquest of the insanity which prompted him to find out his late employer, his'description of his feelings when he found himself in his presence, his account of the sudden stoppage of the train and of his discovery that Samuel Pogson was dead all bore the impress of truth. The details concerning the history, which had leaked out while the sensation of the death" was at its height, had excited great interest, and some shamefaced remorse not only among his own old friends but those of Blanche. The revolver having been found, loaded in all six barrels, effectually disproved the suggestion that it had been used against Samuel Pogson. At the inquest, therefore, a verdict of ‘ Death from heart disease was returned, and Clifford was a free man. Page was subsequently committed for trial on the charge of theft, and was sentenced to six months’ hard labour. Mr Link now become in his turn senior partner in the old firm of Link and Pogson. lost no time in reinstating Clifford in the office, where, indeed, as he had said, his deafness proved but a slight bar to his usefulness. There was a strong feeling abroad that Samuel Pogson’s treatment had been such as to make the young fellow's short fit of insanity easy to understand and forgive, indeed, the letter he had written to his partner almost acknowledged this. Blanche's relations, ashamed of their cruel neglect, were ready to make much of her again. But although for the sake of her children, she refrained from repelling their advances, her heart never recovered from its bitterness against them, as her cheeks never recovered their lost roundness and colour. All her love was given to the husband who had borne so much, and the children for whose sake they both had suffered so bravely.

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