CHAPTER XIII. THE MURDERER'S DEATH-BED.

Waikato Times, Volume XXIII, Issue 1893, 23 August 1884, Page 5 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XIII. THE MURDERER'S DEATH-BED.

Guided by his perfect knowledge of the locality, and fully aware of the probable danger of pursuit, Edmonds made for an obpcure station some miles distant from Exeter. A sleepy porter, who supplied him with a ticket, was the only person he saw, and in loss than half-an-hour he was whirling along, the up line to London. There was no ono save himself in the carriage ; and he was, therefoie, able to bandage his wound nroperly, find efface the traces of blood from fiis clothes sufficiently to prevent notice. It was daybreak when the train reached the metropolis ; and calling a Oftb, he was driven to his lodgings in the Strand. The first thing to be procured was surgical assistance. Sending for his landlady, he imposed upon her a story o£ his having been wounded, in a duel, and enjoining strict seorecy. A medical man was obtained, who looked grave as he listened Jo the same tale, and examined the wound. Edmonds thrust a liberal fee into his hands, and the doctor promised to keep silence. But aa lie left he muttered, " A duel this morning ? That wound is some hours' old, and his blood must be in a pretty state. No power on earth oould prevent mortification. Well, I can't afford to tell him so, but I wouldn't give one of these sovereigns for his life." And then the murderer's punishment began. Lying there, weakened and helpless, his evil mind feeding upon its black remembrances, his tortures were indeed exquisite. His corrupt blood coursed through his veins like molten lava ; hi* brain throbbad with agony; and the reflection that his schemes had failed nigh frenzied him. His screams and curses became so dreadful that even the moneys he recklessly gave his landlady failed to reconcile her to attend on him ; though she was loth to lose so profitable a lodger, whose friendless death must leave his possessions at her disposal. An old woman was therefore employed, whose deafened ears caught no sound of his frightful ravings, and whose deadened senses were rendered indifferent to their import. And thus five days passed away, at the expiry of which the dying man regained hia senses, and found that £11 pain had ceased. " I have been very bad, haven't I? " he asked, as the doctor paid hia customary morning visit. " But the pain in my shoulder has quite gone, and I suppose I'm getting round." The doctor looked grave, but said nothing. He was a struggling man with a large family ; and knowing that nothing could save the man before him, resolved to keep hi 3 place to the end if possible. " I must owe you something stiff," continued Edmonda. " Here, you old hag, fetch Mrs. Simmons." The landlady waa brought, and Edmonds desired her to procure a blank cheque. At his request the medical man filled it up for £100, and Edmonds, with much difficulty, signed it. The landlady's son was despatched to the bank to cash it, and when he returned with the money, Edmonds thrust half into the doctor's hand. " Take it, 1 ' he said, " I can well afford it. 111 1 will give you as much more on the day I can put a foot out of this cursed hole." Perhaps the knowledge that he had got all the fees he was likely to receive influenced the medical man. It may have been that a better feeling prompted him. Whatever his motives, he said solemnly : " I regret that it is my duty to tell you it is impossible for you to recover. The cessation of pain is caused by mortification. Your bleod was in a dreadful state before you received that wound in the arm, and the fact that you are alive now is owing to your naturally vigorous constitution. You -will suffer no more physical pain ; bat you will never rise from that bed alive ? " Edmonda glared at him as he spoke, but remained silent for some minutes after he had concluded. " And how long do you suppose I have to live? " he asked at length. "Certainly not longer than twenty-four hours," was the reply, " muoh lesa if you do not remain quiet. All the doctors in England could not save you." "Then curse you, be off!" shouted the dying ruffian, with & torrent of frightful oaths, amidst which the doctor took his departure. "And you,"— to the affrighted landlady, " bring me brandy — brandy, do you hear." He raised his voice to a perfect yell as he spoke. The woman attempted to remonstrate with him, end asked him where his friends lived, in order that she might send for them. " Friends I " he howled, foaming at the mouth, " I have no friends, you she devil. Curse you all, I say; Will you bring me the brandy ? " " Anything is better than seeing him go on in that dreadful way," said the woman to the doctor, who had remained below. " Shall I , give him the brandy ? " "You* may as well," he replied, " it may stupify him, and in any case he cannot recover. Has he no relatives ? " "No one that I ever heard of," said the woman. " A chap came here with him a few days ago, and stopped all night, but I've not seen him since." " Well, I can do nothing more," said the medical man, drawing on his gloves. Come to me when he is dead, and I will give you a certificate." The brandy was procured, and he eagerly swallowed the fiery draught. But the potent Spirit increased the activity of his brain, and the past deeds of his ill-spent life thronged in | hideous " procession to his memory. The thought of his baffled hate, the reflection that j ha Ifcy ,th*ra, dying the death ,ot & dog, friendless and onoarad {or, while,' Falkland, secure from bis deadly schemes, had a life of ,happj-' ness before -him, wrung .his; blftck^heart/and

he muttered horrible imprecations o» the joung mans' head. " Safe,'-*, he groaned, "he is safe, to wed that baby-faced girl, while I lie here, never more to strike another blow for vengeance. Oh ! for twenty four honrs to act my will on him— l would gladly welcome the gallows then! » • ] The continual draughts of brandy which ho insisted on taking at length produced their effoct, and he fell into a troubled sleep. The deep boom of St. Paul's striking eight roused him, and he called for water. A hand was silently extended, and a oup held to his lips. As he turned to drink, he saw the face of his attendant, and fell back on his pillow with a shriek like a woman's, and there he remained, his eyes fixed and glaring. John Fowler was seated at his bedside. "What," whispered the wretched man, "am I dead, then ? Has it begun already ? Fowler — the man I murdered thousands of miles from here, is he the -first to haunt mo ? " A convulsive shudder passed through his frame as he npoke ; and he atf ove to turn > hia head, to shut out the horrible apparition. Too late. The ioy hand of the Destroyer was on him. Hia limbs were numbed and motionless ; the clammy dews of death crept over him. All, save his brain and sight, had failed him. And there he lay, with rancour at his heart, tongue-fettered, helples*, dying. Suddenly from the street, through the open window, came the sharp rattle of wheels. It rpached the ears of Fowler, who rose, and went to the window. It penetrated to the brain of the wretched murderer, and his ayes turned towards the door. Too well he guessed that the supreme moment had come when the last drop of bitterness was to be added to his death agony^ — when his fangs were to be drawn, and ihe shadow of disgrace removed from the name he hated. '■■ The door opened, and Falkland appeared, : followed by Cotton and Gurzon. Oh 1 how he longed just for one minute to burst his fettered speech, and curse his enemy ! But the tongue to rave and blaspheme lay mute in its prisoned barriers ; and all the fierce hate he felt flamod out from hia burning eyes. Falkland advanced to the bedside, when Fowler laid his hand upon his shoulder. "Wait,'" he said, "the end is near. Th 6 sight of me— of one whom he had counted amongst the number of his tictims, has paralysed his tongue. The Providence that has brought about his doom has left him eight and hearing— an active mind in a perished frame— to see those living whom he sought to slay, and hear that the name ho purposed staining will be rescued from his menaces. Could all the terrors of tho law , create a more frightful punishment think you, than this wretched homicide Is undergoing, as he liea there, helpless and yet conscious, knowing that we wait but for his death to drag from his person and consign fc> the flames that fatal document which in his I possession has wrought so much misery and death ? " Falkland was 'silent. And thus the group stood round the murderer's death-bed ; while he, with ardent eyes, glared at them from his pillow. At length an ashen shade cafne over his features. A thrill passed through his frame. For one moment his speech returned, and in a loud, hoarse whisper— sudden and startling in that silent ohamber of death — he said, " There is a hell 1 " And with those Words the blood-stained soul of the murderer took its flight. Falkland bent over the dead man, and drew from his breast a chamois-leather hag attached to a heavy gold chain. Taking from the bag a small piece of paper, stained on the back by red blotches resembling finger-marks, he held it in the flame of the lamp until it was consumed. The ashes, stirred by the light breeze from the open window, floated slowly along, until they settled on the dead man's uncovered breast. "So let it be," said Falkland, solemnly, "the token of my father's crime and his murderer, in the sight of Heaven, alike things of the past — ashes to ashes ! "