edward hazeldine and mr. prestwich retired to a private room in the hotel, while john brancker walked back to the bank like a man utterly dazed and confounded. he could not help noticing how the crowd that lingered about the hotel divided and made way for him, nor how they stared at him and broke into eager whisperings the moment he had passed. to his excited fancy it seemed as if everybody shrank from him. how could strong swear as he had sworn! and yet there seemed the ring of truth in all he said. and those mysterious blood-stains! it was all a terrible mystery at present, but one which a few days at the most would surely unravel.
john brancker paused on the steps outside the bank, feeling utterly sick at heart. not again to-day could he set foot inside those walls. the man whom he had respected and looked up to for so many years lay there dead, and he, john brancker, was actually suspected of---- great heavens! could it be anything more than a horrible nightmare? he turned and set off homeward at a rapid pace. awaiting him there were two loving hearts into which no vile breath of suspicion, not even if the evidence against him were an hundredfold stronger than it was, would ever find a moment's harborage. never had his humble home seemed so sweet and dear to him as that afternoon.
it was in no very enviable frame of mind that ephraim judd quitted the jury-room and made his way towards the river-bank. he was in no mood for business; he felt the need of being alone. how he despised himself for what he had done! and yet he felt that, in similar circumstances, he should be driven to do the same again. how was it possible for him to tell the truth, when to do so meant ruin to himself? not one day longer would mr. avison retain him in his service if he were to become aware of his practice of prying into other people's affairs, and, in that case, what would become of him and his widowed mother?
to do ephraim justice, in giving his evidence as he had given it, he had thought only of screening himself, never dreaming that by so doing he would be strengthening the web of suspicion which seemed to be closing slowly round mr. brancker. with all his petty, tortuous ways and crooked modes of reasoning, he shrank from doing anyone a direct injury. if, in his dealings with others, however simple those dealings might be, a roundabout course was sweeter to him than a straightforward one--that was a little weakness which he shared in common with many men far more highly placed than himself.
truth to tell, ephraim was not framed in the mould out of which your more robust villains are turned out. it might be said of him that, while to serve his own ends he would not have shrunk from pricking anyone with a pin in the dark, had a dagger been thrust into his hand he would have dropped it in terror and slunk away.
he had perjured himself to save himself, but nothing had been further from his intention than to do john brancker an injury. no one had been more surprised than he at the turn strong's evidence had taken; he was utterly at a loss how to reconcile the statements of the two men.
as soon as edward hazeldine and mr. prestwich were alone, the latter said:
"i wish you had heard the evidence this afternoon; it has taken quite an unexpected turn."
"an unexpected turn! in what way?" asked edward, with a quick, suspicious glance at his companion.
"as tending to fix a shadow of suspicion on mr. brancker."
"on mr. brancker! what nonsense that must be!" exclaimed edward, impatiently.
"i should probably have been as sceptical as you are, had i not heard the evidence in question," remarked mr. prestwich dryly.
he then went on to enlighten his companion, detailing the different points of evidence as deposed to by each witness in turn. edward listened with growing wonder and uneasiness.
"that man strong must have sworn to a lie," he said impetuously, when mr. prestwich had done.
"i don't think so, and i watched him narrowly. the fellow may be something of a dunderhead, but he seemed very much in earnest in what he said."
"then you mean to imply that john brancker has not told the truth?"
"i imply nothing. i only take the evidence as it stands, and try to consider it dispassionately. it seems to be fully understood that mr. brancker called at the bank about half-past ten last evening, and he himself admits that he did not get home till midnight. it would appear certain that mr. hazeldine came by his death within those two periods of time. the nightwatchman is positive that he did not hear mr. brancker enter the bank, which is accounted for by the latter making use of his pass-key. both the murder and robbery would seem to be the work of someone well acquainted with your father's habits, and who knew in which particular safe the bullion was kept, and where to find the key of it; and who also possessed the means of getting quietly away after the deed was done. mr. brancker says that he knocked several times at strong's door; strong says that no one knocked; mr. brancker has a contusion over his left eye, which he accounts for by saying that a woman hit him with a stone. finally, how are we to account for the blood-smears with which mr. brancker's drawer is marked both inside and out, as well as the floor in front of it?"
"for all that you have said i do not care one jot," was edward hazeldine's answer. "i am perfectly convinced that john brancker had no more to do with the death of my father than i had."
"i am not saying that he had. i am only showing you which way the evidence is tending. in all probability the researches of the police during the next few days will put an entirely different complexion on the affair."
edward hazeldine went his way, a thoroughly unhappy man. it is not too much to say that the horror with which he had first heard of his father's death was now to a certain extent overshadowed by the grief and shame caused him by the reading of his father's letter. under his cold, practical, matter-of-fact exterior lay hidden a proud and, in some things, a very sensitive nature, which was far more easily wounded than anyone knew of, and very deep was the wound made in it today. he prided himself on being a thoroughly just man, and it was essential to his happiness that all his actions should meet with the approval of his own conscience. but still more essential was it that he should stand well in the eyes of the world, and be one of whom his fellow-townsmen might have just reason to feel proud. hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind lay the half-formed hope of one day being able to represent his native town in parliament. it was a hope of which he had never spoken to anyone, but none the less was it secretly cherished. from the time when he was a boy of twelve, he had set himself steadily to regard his advancement in life, and the acquisition of wealth and social position, as the great ends for which he must never cease to strive.
but what would lord and lady elstree think and say, and in what way would they act, should he ever be compelled to reveal to the world the real facts connected with his father's death? in such a case he knew full well that the doors of seaham lodge would be closed to him forever, and that he must give up all hope of ever winning the hand of miss winterton. goshope grange, one of the earl's country seats, to which he had been invited for a week's shooting last september, and where he had for fellow-guests two lords, three baronets, and a host of minor celebrities, would know him no more. social extinction would be the fate of him and his, should the contents of his father's letter ever become known. after such an exposure, how could he bear to look his fellow-townsmen in the face? he would have to give up his business, if indeed, his partners did not insist on his seceding from it; all his ambitious projects would fall in ruins around him, and he would have to seek another home in some place where he was known to none.
"and as matters were now turning out, it seemed only too probable that he would feel himself compelled to reveal the contents of the letter. it would never do to let an innocent man suffer under the stigma of so terrible a crime. whatever the cost to him and his might be, that man's innocence must be proclaimed aloud on the housetops. very bitter were his thoughts as he walked slowly through the town, with his hat pulled over his brows and his eyes bent on the ground, towards his father's house. a chill shot through his heart as his fingers touched the muffled knocker. the servant who let him in burst out crying afresh the moment she set eyes on him, and he needed all his nerve to enable him to retain his outward composure as he opened the drawing-room door and went in. clement was sitting on one side of the fireplace, fanny on the other. edward touched his brother lightly on the shoulder, and then the hands of both met in a long, affectionate grip.
"where is my mother?" asked the elder man.
"she is lying down in her own room," answered fanny. "when i went to her, a few minutes ago, she was asleep."
"sleep is the best thing for her just now. i must leave it to you, clem, to induce her to keep up her strength as much as possible."
"you may rely upon it that i will look after her."
presently edward took his leave. he was restless and anxious to get home. he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. the company of anyone would have been distasteful to him just then. he shut himself up in his study as soon as he reached home.
next day mr. avison, who had been telegraphed for, arrived from paris, and he and john brancker at once set to work to ascertain to what extent the bank was a sufferer by the recent robbery. the result was that gold and notes to the amount of about three thousand one hundred pounds proved to be missing, together with the twelve hundred pounds which the dead man had brought with him from london.
the investigation served to bring to light one singular fact which puzzled mr. avison and john brancker not a little. mr. hazeldine's private ledger was missing, as were also a number of check slips on which the undercashiers entered the numbers of the notes which they paid over at the close of each day's business.
"it certainly looks," said mr. avison, "as if the thief or thieves were intimately acquainted with the ins and outs of our business, or else why should they have taken away with them the only evidence by means of which we should have been able to trace the missing notes?"
but john brancker could only profess himself to be as utterly puzzled over the affair as mr. avison was.
although mr. avison had read the evidence taken at the inquest, he had hitherto attached no importance to the fact that certain portions of it seemed to point the finger of suspicion at john brancker. john was such an old and tried servant, and he had such implicit confidence in his integrity, that he had only smiled to himself, as he thought how wide of the truth people are often led by circumstantial evidence.
but now the case began to put on a very different complexion. a grave suspicion was taking root in his mind, that no one but a man thoroughly acquainted with the inner working of the bank could be at the bottom of the mystery. it troubled him more even than the loss of the money troubled him, to think that his faith in human nature should be so rudely shaken. but mr. avison was by nature a very reticent man, a man who thought much but said little, and john had not the faintest notion of the feelings at work in his employer's mind. the banker said to himself that some further evidence would probably be forthcoming at the adjourned inquest, and that he could afford to wait till then.
obed sweet was another person who was considerably troubled in the article he called his mind. that mr. hazeldine had come by his death between half-past ten and half-past eleven o'clock, everybody seemed fully agreed. yet was obed quite aware that during the greater portion of the time in question, he had been asleep in his room downstairs. this it was that troubled him. if he had only kept awake, as he ought to have done, might he not have heard someone come in, or go out, or have been alarmed by the noise of a struggle, or by some cry for help? unfortunately, he had heard nothing. he tried to argue himself into the belief that he was a remarkably light sleeper. "why, a mouse could hardly scamper across the floor without my hearing it," he said to himself again and again. still he wished most fervently that he had not fallen asleep on that fatal night.
meanwhile, the needful authority having been granted by the coroner, mr. hazeldine's funeral took place. it was attended by nearly half the population of ashdown, either as followers or onlookers. a day or two later, the jury met again for the adjourned inquest.
