CHAPTER XV. " MURDERER THE MIND."

Waikato Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2221, 2 October 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XV. " MURDERER THE MIND."

Very curious aro the ripples cist on life's stream by a great criuio ; as the circles thrown upDn the stream by the sudden plungo of the bis? stouo you have thrown in widens, and get gradually fainter, so docs the suddenly anal died life, especially if one amount the middle or higher classes, move men more or less as their connection with tho de.id man win small or great ; whether they move in the more immediate radius or the outer circles of tho fped man's exi-tence, so aie they affected by his untimely end. Philip Soamcs was withiu the inner radiu", and so much affected by the Bnnbury murder as to bo quito incapable of paying ordinary attention to business. The dead man und his wife had not ouly, as before said, been very groat friends of his family for a long while, but ho had taken it into his head to connect Bessie's secret somehow with the catastrophe. What connection the two could have even Phil could hazard no opinion about ; but he could not forget the expression that escaped her when he broke the murder of John Fossdyko to her. 'It only wanted this,' she had murmured, half unconsciously. Also she had asked him at the Theatre if Mr Fossdyke had s.iid anything about her to him. He utterly discredited the scandalous tattle which Mr Todderdell had circulated concerning Miss Hyde in Baumborough, and it was well for that familiar old gentleman that he was as old as inquisitive, or else it was quite likely ho might have met rough chastisement at Phil\s hands ; but he had come to the conclusion that Mr Fossdyke knew something of Miss Hydo previous to her appearance in B.iumborough, something more a good deal than Bessie had acknowledged to. Looking back coolly over the past, Philip called to mind that Miss Hyde had undoubtedly made her debut among them as Mrs Fossdyke's companion ; that her brightne s, good looks, <md the way the Fossdykes tied ted her had made people forgot this and gradually suppose her a relation. He further remembered that neither Mr nor Mrs Fossdyke had ever endorsed this assumption. 110 was firmly convinced, as men are at time*, that with the investigation of this murder would also be dn-cio-ed this secret of Bessie's which so disties'od her, and which he veiily believed to be a mere bugbear; that there was something about the sill's relatives or autecedi nts, to which <ho attached a di.sgrace, in all piobability much overestimated, lie thought probable; but that any disgrace attached to Bessie on her own account ho would have scorned to believe. The consequence was that Phil Soames listened to every scrap of gossip, and read tho different versions of the event in tho papers with feverish interest. And the reading, although this was- iv the first forty cght hours since the discovery of the crime, already waxed considerable ; tins was a murder that had attracted t e pipers, and had also excited the publir Tlio local position of the murdered m in, tho status of the supposed murdered ; and, moreover the extraordinary audacity of the affair if Mr Foxborough really was the murderer. To ask an excessively well-known man to dine at a first-class hotel, stab him during the night time, nay the bill, and quietly depart by the first train in tho morning, was a cynicism of crime that made people shiver. Under such circumstances wh.it life was cafe ? Auother thing which still more inflamed public curiosity concerning tho business was that, despite the usual stereotyped phrase that ' the police are understood to bo iv possession of information of a clue to tho whereabouts of the supposed criminal,' it was quite patent that they had as yet laid no hand upon him, and some outspoken sceptical journals, which maintained their footing chiefly by taking up bold and startling views about most things, did not hesitate to avow that they had failed to discover tho slightest traoe of him. Bft this as it might, it was quite clear that Mr Foxborough had not as yet come to the front, loudly protesting his innocence as might be looked for in an innocent man. Il was true there were a far smaller but more logical section of the public who agreed it looked very much more like suicide than murder ; only to meet with the vehement retort from their excited fellows : ' If it's not murder, where is Foxborough ? Why doesn't he come forward and tell his story like a man ?' To which the logical minority contending for suicide, retorted, of course, he would come forward at the proper time, which would be at the inquest. These last arguments pro and con were in meu's mouths and not in the papers, not but what plenty of rhetoricians would have been glad to see them there had time or editors permitted. Another atom of humanity, who, although he has never seen John Fossdyke, yet finds himself involved in the swirl occasioned by his tumultuous plunge into the waters of Lethe is Mr Sturton, the eminent Bond-street tailor. He, it may be remembered, assisted Mr Cudemore to provide money tor the presumed murderer's necessities on the security of the Syriuga Music Hall. It is no anxiety about his money, it is tho curious fascination cast over people by an extraordinary murder, intensified ten-fold if connected, indirectly even, with one of the actois in the tragedy. Mr Sturton almost felt compelled to apologise for taking interest in such a plebeian murder ; grand democrat though he was, and useless as in his speech he professed the House of Peers to be, in lu3 heart he 1 giovelled at a coronet. And yet these objects of his reverence tried him hard at times. One of his noble customers only lately in ordering a suit of clothes had expressed his approbation of a certain material. ' You'll find it charming, my lord,' said Mr Sturtou, an answer for it, because I have tried it myself.'

•You !' replied the ruthless young Baron. ' You have ! damme, show me something else ; you don't suppose I want to dross like my tailor, do you V Candour compels me to add that that young nobleman would have been infinitely better dressed if ho had. But Mr Sturton was more impressed that night than ever with the necessity of disestablishing the House of Lords. Still he also has caught the epidemic, the fascination of crime, and hurries down to j Bunbury to be present at the inquest. All Baumborough and Bunbury have caught the infection and talk of nothing else, every rumour is listened to with feverish impatience, the railway bookstall is stripped of the evening papers in less than half an hour, and the proprietor writes for a double supply for the morrow. All London trains are waylaid as they pass through to know 1 if they bring any news about the murder, and the question on all men's lips in those parts is, ' Have they taken Foxborough ?' Still, though the papers all concur in representing him as unheard of so far, whatever information the police may have they keep strictly to themselves. Mr Totterdoll, as might be supposed, is a sight to behold ; he haunts the station and buys papers with utter recklessness ; he reads them, he recapitulates every rumour, and he pretends to be in posses- • sion of the most astounding information if he were only permitted to divulge it. He writes letter after letter of suggestions to Sergeant Usher at Scotland Yard, and is no whit discouraged at getting no replies. lam afraid at this time he might have been not inaptly described as going about with his mouth full of lies and his pockets full of halfpence ; these latter for the purchase of journals. The first day of the inquest is over, and as was generally understood, only the preliminaries were got through, such as viewing tho body, the identification of the deceased, &c. ; the leal interest was to centre on the second day's proceedings whnu some important evidence would be probably produced, and all Baumborough had made up its mind to be present. Another person too who took an absorbing interest in the proceedings, as may well bo supposed, was Dr. Ingleby. He had been one of tho deceased's most intimate friends, and was the first to becomes acquainted with the tragic death that had befallen him. It was only natural that he should be influenced by the weird fascination of this mysterious crime, for, granting it was conclusively proved that James Foxborough was tho criminal, where had the two men met, and what deadly quarrel was there between them to provoke Foxborough to commit such a old-blooded murder ? Another thing, too, calculated to excite any person's curiosity was a short conversation lie (the Doctor) had held with Sergeant U&her on their return from Dyke. ' IN'ow, Dr. Ingleby,' said the detective, ' I am not going beating about the bush with you. I'm nitur.illy a candid man.' The Doctor's eye twinkled. 1 Well,' continued Sergeant Usher, with a chuckle quite as cindid as is good for people, ' but you can keep your mouth shut, and I can't do without your help. First, I want to ask you a question. Did you ever hear a rumour of Mr Foasdykc having an intrigue with any woman either before or since his marriage ?' 1 Certainly not ! Why?' 1 Yju se> this murder looks uncommon like n piece of bitter revenge. What do you know about Mis? Hyde, sir? I heard in the town there was a mystery about her ?' 'She came here as Mrs Fossdyke's companion, and I don't believe there i« any mystery about her at all. That old fool Totterdcll .set that story afWt, simply because the girl declined to recite her biography to him.' 'Now. Doctor, I want you to move the lidies at Dyke to search high and low for that letter.' ' The letter which took poor Fos3dyke to Bun bury ?' ' Just so. I have an idea that letter might change the whole aspect of the case. I take, it Mr Kossdyke kn^w the writing and the writer, and if the handwriting is that of James Foxborough it will begin to look excessively awkward for that gentleman. If he is innocent he will most likely give himself up after the inquest, and in any case we shall hear of him in two or three days, I fancy ; but mark me, Dr. Ingleby, if by any chance it should turn out that James Foxborough is not guilty, then tho murderer is a real artist, and lias left a blind tiack and not a trace of his own footsteps. He will be difficult to lay hold of. Goodbye, sir, for the present. I may see you at the inquest perhaps,' and so saying, Sergeant Usher took his departure.