THE NOVELIST. The MORNINGTON MYSTERY.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 4180, 13 December 1884, Page 5 (Supplement)

THE NOVELIST. The MORNINGTON MYSTERY.

A STORY OF THE THUS ASD THE TREACHEROUS. Li* Sylva. us Coiiu. Jr. CHAPTER IV. WHAT Tlll'l* FOr.N'D I.N* THE PARK. Upon reaching the street they were met by a mm coining at a run from the direction of the Mornington mansion. By the bright moonlight he recognised the sheriff, and stopped. ' Mr Worthing, you're the man I'm after. You are wanted in the park. Mr Ycorcroft sent me in (jite_t of you.' ' What is it, my good man ? What is the occasion of all this disturbance ?' 'I don't know, sir—only Lliat they've found something in the park, and have sent for the coroner. And— Ah!—here he is ! Doctor '1 revelyan was wanted, too.' ' Let's hurry on, Doctor. They may have found—l dure not say what!' Theooctordid not speak, but walked swiftly on by Worthing's side. .Arrived in the neighborhood of the park gate they encountered a vast assemblage of people, old and young, male anil female — pushing, crowding, and wildly vociferating. 1 What is it ?' ' What is it ?' ' What have they found ?' was the burden of the shouting. At the gate they found Ivan Ycercroft. the chief of police, with a squad of volunteer officers — a posse-comitatm, — which had been raised by the sheriff's authority, busily engaged in keeping buck the surging multitude. Yeercroft was a physically powerful man, of middle-age, who had, aforetime, been a detective officer iv Baltimore. He was Worthing's ri"ht-hund man in all matters requiring energy, decision, and tact, and an ability to control a mob. Ho possessed one of those peculiar electric organisations both lo command and to be obeyed. ' Ah ! MrShei'iff,l am glad you havecome. Ua !—Good! Hero comes-"rnslee,also. Now we arc all right.' 'What is it, Ivan?' ' Wait till we get, inside, sir. We'll have the gate opened as soon as Arnslee comes up. "There ! Now, John,—you may open. Puck ! Back ! You will gain nothing by pushing «nd crowding in this fashion. You shall know tho result just as soon us we have opportunity to discover it, Mr Winship,— will you stand here, after I have gone in, and take command of the posse. Let no one enter, under any pretext whatever. Go on, gentlemen, I will follow.' Mr Chester Arnslee was the coroner of the county —a man of fifty, or thereabouts —a gentleman, educated and intelligent. He erected the officers as became up, and then, as they passed into tlio park, ho took the arm of Dr. Ti'cvclyun. Mornington Park was a broad enclosure, containing not far from twenty acres of land, in a hi"h state of cultivation aud ornamentation, with shrubs, and trees and flowers, mounds and lakelets, walks bordered by blooming hedge-rows, arbors and trellises, together with all else that refined tusto could suggest and unlimited wealth supply. A considerable stream of pure fresh water ran through the centre of the grounds, the declivity of the bay did not throw their saline flood above is lower fall. The mansion house was away in an upper corner of the park, while its lower margin was washed by the waters of the Chesapeake. The sheriff and Mr Yeercroft took the lead, while, arm-in-arm, the doctor and the coroner followed, Trevclyan had not dared to put the question, that was uppermost in his mind, and it was as well, for Arnslee spoke of his own accord. De had no information to give. ' I declare, Doctor, I havo not the least idea of what, is wanted of me, though I suppose it must be a dead body. A young man came and turned mo out of bed, informing me that the sheriff wanted me immediately, but ho couldn't tell me what for; only that something had been found in Mornington Park. Have you any idea what it is ?' ' No more than you have.' 'What a pity that there should be trouble on such a beautiful night as this ! I declare, I did not know it could bo so entirely lovely at this strange hour —an hour strange forme to be out, at all events. To me the atmosphere is one mass of sweetness.' It was as he had said, though at that particular time Doctor Trevclyan had not thought of it. The dew was distilling almost like rain, and the moist atmosphere was holding its utmost fill of fragrance from the ton thousand flowers and blossoms that bloomed on every hand. Veercroft was leading trie way by the main ceirtrnl avenue of the park, and moving diagonally towards the shore of the bay, and also towards the puzzling stream before spoken of. At length our party reached a point where the path, as a central path, came to an end, branching off on cither hand into two narrower walks that eliirted a grove of beautiful maples. Towards the centre of this grove, by the right bank of the stream, tho course of which lay directly through it, they saw several persons standing with a lighted lantern on the ground in their midst, The sward of the grove was smooth and level, and the trees grew far enough apart to allow people to pass to and fro in any direction with freedom and ease.

As they came nearer to where the lantern stood —a spot where an enormous grape-vino, enveloping in its ample folds half a dozen or more of the tail maples, formed an extensive natural arboi —Dr. Trevclyan saw something upon the ground that had the appearance of a human body. Nearer, and nearor still, and he saw that it was a body lying prono upon tho sward, very near the bank of the stream. The coroner and the sheriff saw, and hastened forward. ' Has ihe body been moved ?' was Arnslee's first question. One of the men whohadbcen left in charge replied thatit had, but that it now lay exactly as it did originally, before it had been touched. Arnslee then called upon Dr. Tre- \ el van to come to his assistance.

'''There may be life,' he said. ' It is young Mornington, I am very sure.' ' Yes,' volunteered the man who had before spoken. ' It's Edgar Mornington ; but precious little life I guess you'll find, with half his head shot away.' No need to tell Herbert Trevelyan whose form that was, nor whose tho exquisitely fashioned garb. There was no other form like it anywhere. No need to turn upward the face. He knew it, lying there prone upon the green and gory earth, as though it bad lain supine. It was Edgar Mornington, habited in full evening dress. He knew it before he had reached the spot- before a word bad been spoken. He had felt it since entering th 3 park. Reverently they lifted the lifeless corpse, and turned it with its face to the moonlit heavens, and, as they did so, a cry of horror burst from the lips of all who saw. It was a ghastly sight indeed. Tho manly face, so exquisitely beautiful only a few short hours before, was now mangled in a manner terrible to behold, It-was mangled,but not beyond recognition. The hair, and the fair open brow and the delicate ears, were intact. '1 he clothing upon the body tho doctor knew at a glance. It was a new suit, EPiit to him from Annapolis only a fortnight before, and the first occasion of his wearing it had been his putting it on—o !so proud and so happy ! — and coming in for Viola to see. How well ho remembered. Ah! how well!

The bosom of tho shirt, usually so spotless and so pure, gleaming liko highly polished ivory, was now all bedabbled with blood, and instinctively Herbert's eye sought the sparkle of the diamond. He had just started forward to take a clossr survey, when tho coroner spoke : ' Incversawhim without his diamond stud. Did be not always wear it ?'

' Always,' said the doctor, lie had come v.cry near adding that he had seen it on his bosom during the evening last past, but he cbe'cke'cl himself in time.

They found the little neatly wrought, hole, where the stud had been held by its spiral of gold wire, but. the stud was not there. 'Mr Worthing,' said Arnslee, addressing that oflieer,' if you will give your attention, I will remove whatever property there may be on his person, and you shall take charge of it,'

'Certainly,' responded the sheriff, drawing nearer.' ' You pronounce life extinct ?' 'Yes. He has been dead for several hours We will have the autopsy later.'

The coroner then, while Dr. Trevclyan held the lantern—for the dense foliage of the grape-vine threw a heavy shadow over the scene—proceeded to examine the pockets. In I the breaat pocket of the superfine dress coat | was found a small blank book in which a few accounts of personal expense had been kept, a private affair for his own eye. In one of the pockets of the skirts was a fine white linen' handkerchief, with the owner's initials, wrought with floss silk. O ! how well the doctor remembered when Viola, with love in every gleam of the eye as she worked, wrought those letters. In the other skirt pocket were a pair of white kid gloves, with Edgar's monogram on the edge of the wrist. In the pockets of the white vest-—while once, but now so awfully discolored —were found a few trilling things, not worth making a note of. But where was the watch? the Dent chronometer, bought in London two Tears before, and always worn upon his person. What had become of it ? And the gold chain, with its onyx charm ? They were not upon the body. Two of Mornington. servants were present, his black boy, Charles, who had served him as valet, or' body servant, for several years, and his groom, also black, named Cffisar. 'He had his watch, sir, when ho went out,' said the first named. ' lie nebber went away but ho hub it on, an' ho nebber sot in do house 'thoutit. An', gen-pl'men, he had 'is dimun on, too, an' he hub heaps of money in his pockets. Hehabgold in one pocket, an' paper in hi* pocket-book, dat ho tillers carried inside—dar.' And the valet pointed to the left side of the breast, of the vest.

Upon examination, it was found that there was a broad, deep pocket- on the inside of the vest, at that place, now empty, while on the opposite side was a wadding of cotton to counterbalance it. As the vest sat now, there was more fulness upon one side than upon the other, which the presence of the pocketbook would have equalized. The pocket-book was gone, as was the watch and chain. Next they examined tho pockets of the pantaloons, which they found to have been rilled completely. The silk purse, with gold beads interwoven, in which he usually carried his gold —another of Viola's gifts, and the work of her deft fingers—was gone, as wore his pocket-knife and keys. In the fobpocket were found two crumpled notes, laid away there as though for safe keeping. They were tiny, dainty letters, directed simply ' Edgar,'' As the doctor's eyes rested upon them, he recognised Viola's hand. Quickly grasping them, he turned to the sheriff. ' Worthing, you will let me take these ?' Tlio officer shook his head. It would be more than he dared.

' You may look them over,' he said, ' but I must retain them.'

Trevclyan, with trembling hands, removed the sheets from the dainty envelopes, and, by tho light of the lantern, read them. The heart of the writer wa«, in every word, tender, loving and true ; but, upon mature consideration, he saw nothing which he would shrink from showing to tho world, or, at least, to all his trusty friends. So ho gave them up to the sheriff, simply saying:

* You will keep them safely. Let them not be road by those who have no legal necessity so to do. * My daughter wrote them.' Worthing said ho had thought so ; and he promised that ho would hold them sacred, and that Viola should have- them back again as soon as they could be spared.

Further search revealed nothing more of property on or about the body. Every article of value, even to the pocket-knife, tho gold pencil-case, the keys, and so forth, had been taken.

' Clearly,' said the coroner, ' a case of murder and robbery.' ' Yes ; an' a mitty digwobberwy, too,'ventured the valet. He said he know that, his master had * morc'nafowz'ndollars, Yaas,' he went on,' ' he hab all dat in gold ; an' den he hab all de bank bills 'sides dat at\ In all, he hab—an' ho got it out'r de bank dis berry day—he hab as much as ten fowz'n dollars, suah.' ' We can easily find that out at tho bank, 1 said the sheriff. 'And now, Arnslee, what will you do ?' 'We will see the body taken to the house, where it must remain until morning in its present condition. At as early an hour as possible I will summons a jury, and the cause shall be looked into. But before we make any further movement, I wish you, Doctor, would examine the wounds, and tell us what you think of them—tell us how the deed was done, and with what. Has any search been made for a weapon ?'

Yes, search had been made in every direction : but a more effective search might be made by daylight. Caesar, who had been the first to discover tbe body, had brought out the lantern for that purpose.

Dr. Trevelyan would have begged off from the terrible ordeal, but ho could not. do it. He dared not. So he took the lantern and made as critical an examination as the nature of the case would allow.

He found, first, tha f , the white silk of the narrow neck-tie, and the curling locks upon the temples, had been scorched—tho hair to a crisp—by burning powder. Next, the terrible wound of tbe face must have been made by many largo-sized leaden shot, and not by abullct, and, he should judge, discharged from a musket or fowling-piece. No ordinary pistol would carry such a charge of shot. Ah ! in the torn and singed knot of the cravat he found one of the missiles—a common duck-shot. And it must have been a charge nearly as large as a sportsman would have used in shooting at ducks. One thing alone puzzled him at this point: A charge of duck-shot, with an ordinary charge of powder, discharged from the barrel of a common fowling-piece, would have literally blown the head in pieces at such close range. But tho charge of powder may have been short.

However, there were the facts, as they plainly appeared, and the coroner made a note of them: after which the body was borne to the house, and laid upon a suitable bier in the great front hall, with faithful servants to keep watch until the officers should relievo them, Worthing detailing one of his deputies to take charge. At Veercroft's suggestion they called upon the boy, Charles —a ' boy ' of cight-and-twenty years —to conduct them to the private apartments of his young master. They went first to his sleeping-room, then to his dressingroom, then to his smoking-room, then to the library, and so on into every room where he could possibly have been tempted to lounge or occupy himself in any way, and thero search was made for the missing property ; but nothing was found. Watch, chain, money-all, everything—gone! Before separating in that grand old hall, where four generations of Morningtons had gone in and out before the coming of age of him who now lay cold and dead so near at hand, Mr Arnslee gave notice that he should hold an inquest at nine of the clock next following. At all events, they would meet at that lime, and he would empanel a jury; and then, it being the Sabbath, he might adjourn to tho day following should it bo thought best. And ho warned all present to be in attendance promptly. And with that his services for the fimo were at an end. The sheriff merely repeated theordcr given by Arnslee, and then turned his authority over to his deputy, and, taking the doctor's arm the twain left the house together. It was but a short distance to Trevelyan's door, and but littlo was said on the way. The only thing of importance was a remark by tho sheriff, to the effect that he would, if possible, find the dentist, Milliard, and question him, and if bo Bhould deem it necessary, subpama him to appear at tho'forthcoming inquest. "What did the doctor think of it ?

Trevelyan hardly knew what to think. If> the man's tattle was to have any influence, he should certainly wish him to be brought up publicly and put under oath. On the whole, he thorn-lit tlio mm had better be found and notified to appear. Arrived at the doctor's door, (he sheriff kindly bade him good night, 'or good moming,' and went, his way. As he entered the hall of his own dwelling, where the hanging'lamp burned, Trevelyan

looked up at the old clock, and found the hands pointing at the figures 10 and 3. It lacked only ten minutes of three o'clock on that Sabbath morning. He removed his overcoat and hat, and went info his sanctum and lighted his table lamp, after which he threw himself into bis great easy-chair.

It was the darkest, the most dismal and agonising hour Herbert Trevelyan had ever known. He sat for a time in painful thought; then went and turned the key in his door ; and then resumed his seat, and drew forth Arthur's letter and read it. again. ' A chance to leave sin and sorrow behind inn,'' he read. Then, further, on: ' More m.mey, which, qf course, I hid to have, I have managed to raise — never mhid how.' The next paragraph was terrible to him at that moment: «« * * Forgive me the sorrow I leave behind. I cannot, help it. Tin-: spun or tut' itojrENT is a great inntivepo>r,<r tr/th mc,' etc. At the next sentence ("real- drops of sweat stood on his brow, and his eyes crow dim. ' /'// tell i/oii. //'■''' / settled the. business irith luhjur in a manner irliiah I had not un/ieiixilc.d. Ftmr Edgar ! But never mind nmv. I can't "WTtITR IT.' And then—ho hoard Viola's sweet voice in the chamber above, aod br cried out : ' O, for one dear hiss .' But. I dure, not r With eyes now wild and slaving, Herbert sat and gazed upon the written page—written by a hand all tremulous and unnerved—a hand— bloody .'

What could lie tllink ? He got up and look a turn across the room. Then he went to Ihe sideboard, where stood many phials and bottles, and took one bearing the label ' 7>V-7».///,' and he poured out, a tumbler almost full and drank it. off. 'I hen he resumed his walk, and very soon the strong liquor bad tbe effect of quieting his overstrung nerves. 1 Surely,' he said to himself, 'that, mass of shot must, have been discharged from a largo barrel, and Arthur had no—' Ah :'

He had spoken slowly and meditatively, and, at this point, had started as though a sudden and unexpected blow had fallen. Like a flash—ns tho reflection of the camera casts a new picture, with every detail instantaneously perfect, upon the canvas—so now appeared upon the tablets of his memory a certain story—the story of a pistol.

He remembered an old sailor who, in the years long agone, had sailed in one of his father's ships to India ; the sailor—' Old Jack ' —he never ]enevf any other name as applied to him—had brought home from one of his voyages, a large boarding-pistol, one of the largest over usedin the British navy ; a pistol with a barrel as large as the barrel of a common musket; and this strange toy Old Jack had given to Arthur, then a boy of only four years of age. As the little fellow grew older, and could realise the full signification of his mighty weapon, ho had persuaded Herbert, to have the old flint lock altered info a percussion, which had been done. And from that clay the old boarding-pistol had been among Arthur's chief treasures, the move especially as there was a thrilling story conncctod with it. With that self-same weapon, Old Jack— grand Old Jack ! —had defended himself against bloodthirsty pirates, and one of the villainous crew ho had killed.

Such was the story that (lashed back upon the doctor's mind. He had not seen that old pistol for —he could not tell bow long,—only he was sure that Arthur had carefully preserved it. Aye,—and he knew where it had been Kept. Several years before hohad owned a saddle wth holsters largo enough to admit, that, weapon, aad, on dark nights, at a time when there had been a gang of pirates cruising on the shore, he had carried it, loaded.

Every incident —every item—connected with that old pistol came back to him. Where was it. now ? That he must know. Hastily removing his boots, and lighting a small handlamp that, stood on his table, ho went upon the search.

Away to Arthur's chamber, —to hi* lounging room, —to all the apartments heoccupied, —to every closetand cupboard, —to every nook and corner, —even into the drawers of his privatedesk, and secretaire, —he looked ; he ransacked ; he overhauled ; but to no purpose The pistol was not to be found. The pistol was gone ! He stood, with clenched hands and blanching cheeks, and reflected deeply. By and by theso words dropped, slowly, and painfully, from his lips :

'That pistol is the only weapon I know that could have done the work exactly as that was done!'

(TO BE COXTIJf-ED.)