Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1702 page)

Time went on. The clock in the hall had struck — ten or eleven, they were not sure which — when they heard the signal which warned them of the servant’s return from the village. He brought news, and more than news; he brought a letter from Launce.

Natalie read these lines:

“I shall be with you, dearest, almost as soon as you receive this. The bearer will tell you what has happened in the village — your note throws a new light on it all. I only remain behind to go to the vicar (who is also the magistrate here), and declare myself your husband. All disguise must be at an end now. My place is with you and yours. It is even worse than your worst fears. Turlington was at the bottom of the attack on your father. Judge if you have not need of your husband’s protection after that! — L.”

Natalie handed the letter to her aunt, and pointed to the sentence which asserted Turlington’s guilty knowledge of the attempt on Sir Joseph’s life. In silent horror the two women looked at each other, recalling what had happened earlier in the evening, and understanding it now. The servant roused them to a sense of present things, by entering on the narrative of his discoveries in the village.

The place was all astir when he reached it. An old man — a stranger in Baxdale — had been found lying in the road, close to the church, in a fit; and the person who had discovered him had been no other than Launce himself. He had, literally, stumbled over the body of Thomas Wildfang in the dark, on his way back to his lodgings in the village.

“The gentleman gave the alarm, miss,” said the servant, describing the event, as it had been related to him, “and the man — a huge, big old man — was carried to the inn. The landlord identified him; he had taken lodgings at the inn that day, and the constable found valuable property on him — a purse of money and a gold watch and chain. There was nothing to show who the money and the watch belonged to. It was only when my master and the doctor got to the inn that it was known whom he had robbed and tried to murder. All he let out in his wanderings before they came was that some person had set him on to do it. He called the person ‘Captain,’ and sometimes ‘Captain Goward.’ It was thought — if you could trust the ravings of a madman — that the fit took him while he was putting his hand on Sir Joseph’s heart to feel if it had stopped beating. A sort of vision (as I understand it) must have overpowered him at the moment. They tell me he raved about the sea bursting into the church yard, and a drowning sailor floating by on a hen-coop; a sailor who dragged him down to hell by the hair of his head, and such like horrible nonsense, miss. He was still screeching, at the worst of the fit, when my master and the doctor came into the room. At sight of one or other of them — it is thought of Mr. Turlington, seeing that he came first — he held his peace on a sudden, and then fell back in convulsions in the arms of the men who were holding him. The doctor gave it a learned name, signifying drink-madness, and said the case was hopeless. However, he ordered the room to be cleared of the crowd to see what be could do. My master was reported to be still with the doctor, waiting to see whether the man lived or died, when I left the village, miss, with the gentleman’s answer to your note. I didn’t dare stay to hear how it ended, for fear of Mr. Turlington’s finding me out.”

Having reached the end of his narrative, the man looked round restlessly toward the window. It was impossible to say when his master might not return, and it might be as much as his life was worth to be caught in the house after he had been locked out of it. He begged permission to open the window, and make his escape back to the stables while there was still time. As he unbarred the shutter they were startled by a voice hailing them from below. It was Launce’s voice calling to Natalie. The servant disappeared, and Natalie was in Launce’s arms before she could breathe again.

For one delicious moment she let her head lie on his breast; then she suddenly pushed him away from her. “Why do you come here? He will kill you if he finds you in the house. Where is he?”

Launce knew even less of Turlington’s movements than the servant. “Wherever he is, thank God, I am here before him!” That was all the answer he could give.

Natalie and her aunt heard him in silent dismay. Sir Joseph woke, and recognised Launce before a word more could be said. “Ah, my dear boy!” he murmured, faintly. “It’s pleasant to see you again. How do you come here?” He was quite satisfied with the first excuse that suggested itself. “We’ll talk about it to-morrow,” he said, and composed himself to rest again.

Natalie made a second attempt to persuade Launce to leave the house.

“We don’t know what may have happened,” she said. “He may have followed you on your way here. He may have purposely let you enter his house. Leave us while you have the chance.”

Miss Lavinia added her persuasions. They were useless. Launce quietly closed the heavy window-shutters, lined with iron, and put up the bar. Natalie wrung her hands in despair.

“Have you been to the magistrate?” she asked. “Tell us, at least, are you here by his advice? Is he coming to help us?”

Launce hesitated. If he had told the truth, he must have acknowledged that he was there in direct opposition to the magistrate’s advice. He answered evasively, “If the vicar doesn’t come, the doctor will. I have told him Sir Joseph must he moved. Cheer up, Natalie! The doctor will be here as soon as Turlington.”

As the name passed his lips — without a sound outside to prepare them for what was coming — the voice of Turlington himself suddenly penetrated into the room, speaking close behind the window, on the outer side.

“You have broken into my house in the night,” said the voice. “And you don’t escape
this
way.”

Miss Lavinia sank on her knees. Natalie flew to her father. His eyes were wide open in terror; he moaned, feebly recognising the voice. The next sound that was heard was the sound made by the removal of the ladder from the balcony. Turlington, having descended by it, had taken it away. Natalie had but too accurately guessed what would happen. The death of the villain’s accomplice had freed him from all apprehension in that quarter. He had deliberately dogged Launce’s steps, and had deliberately allowed him to put himself in the wrong by effecting a secret entrance into the house.

There was an interval — a horrible interval — and then they heard the front door opened. Without stopping (judging by the absence of sound) to close it again, Turlington rapidly ascended the stairs and tried the locked door.

“Come out, and give yourself up!” he called through the door. “I have got my revolver with me, and I have a right to fire on a man who has broken into my house. If the door isn’t opened before I count three, your blood be on your own head. One!”

Launce was armed with nothing but his stick. He advanced, without an instant’s hesitation, to give himself up. Natalie threw her arms round him and clasped him fast before he could reach the door.

“Two!” cried the voice outside, as Launce struggled to force her from him. At the same moment his eye turned toward the bed. It was exactly opposite the door — it was straight in the line of fire! Sir Joseph’s life (as Turlington had deliberately calculated) was actually in greater danger than Launce’s life. He tore himself free, rushed to the bed, and took the old man in his arms to lift him out.

“Three!”

The crash of the report sounded. The bullet came through the door, grazed Launce’s left arm, and buried itself in the pillow, at the very place on which Sir Joseph’s head had rested the moment before. Launce had saved his father-in-law’s life. Turlington had fired his first shot for the money, and had not got it yet.

They were safe in the corner of the room, on the same side as the door — Sir Joseph, helpless as a child, in Launce’s arms; the women pale, but admirably calm. They were safe for the moment, when the second bullet (fired at an angle) tore its way through the wall on their right hand.

“I hear you,” cried the voice of the miscreant on the other side of the door. “I’ll have you yet — through the wall.”

There was a pause. They heard his hand sounding the wall, to find out where there was solid wood in the material of which it was built, and where there was plaster only. At that dreadful moment Launce’s composure never left him. He laid Sir Joseph softly on the floor, and signed to Natalie and her aunt to lie down by him in silence. Their lives depended now on neither their voices nor their movements telling the murderer where to fire. He chose his place. The barrel of the revolver grated as he laid it against the wall. He touched the hair trigger. A faint
click
was the only sound that followed. The third barrel had missed fire.

They heard him ask himself, with an oath, “What’s wrong with it now?”

There was a pause of silence.

Was he examining the weapon?

Before they could ask themselves the question, the report of the exploding charge burst on their ears. It was instantly followed by a heavy fall. They looked at the opposite wall of the room. No sign of a bullet there or anywhere.

Launce signed to them not to move yet. They waited, and listened. Nothing stirred on the landing outside.

Suddenly there was a disturbance of the silence in the lower regions — a clamor of many voices at the open house door. Had the firing of the revolver been heard at the vicarage? Yes! They recognised the vicar’s voice among the others. A moment more, and they heard a general exclamation of horror on the stairs. Launce opened the door of the room. He instantly closed it again before Natalie could follow him.

The dead body of Turlington lay on the landing outside. The charge in the fourth barrel of the revolver had exploded while he was looking at it. The bullet had entered his mouth and killed him on the spot.

DOCUMENTARY HINTS, IN CONCLUSION.

FIRST HINT.

(Derived from Lady Winwood’s Card-Rack.)

“Sir Joseph Graybrooke and Miss Graybrooke request the honour of Lord and Lady Winwood’s company to dinner, on Wednesday, February 10, at half-past seven o’clock. To meet Mr. and Mrs. Launcelot Linzie on their return.”

SECOND HINT.

(Derived from a recent Money Article in morning Newspaper.)

“We are requested to give the fullest contradiction to unfavorable rumours lately in circulation respecting the firm of Pizzituti, Turlington, and Branca. Some temporary derangement in the machinery of the business was undoubtedly produced in consequence of the sudden death of the lamented managing partner, Mr. Turlington, by the accidental discharge of a revolver which he was examining. Whatever temporary obstacles may have existed are now overcome. We are informed, on good authority, that the well-known house of Messrs. Bulpit Brothers has an interest in the business, and will carry it on until further notice.”

A SAILOR’S STORY.

I HAVE got an alarming confession to make. I am haunted by a Ghost.

If you were to guess for a hundred years, you would never guess what my ghost is. I shall make you laugh to begin with — and afterward I shall make your flesh creep. My Ghost is the ghost of a Bedroom Candlestick.