Guy Livingstone Part 30

I exulted too, but I confess a certain repugnance and nervousness mingled with that feeling: it was a new thing to me to stand face to face with a murderer.

Neither of us gave as much attention as it deserved to the narrative with which the officer favored us _en route_, of how he had been gradually getting the clew to the fugitive's many doublings and disguises till he came upon his retreat at last. "They mostly make for home when they're dead beat," he remarked, alluding to Bruce's having selected London as his final hiding-place.

We soon reached the spot--one of those dreary by-ways that trend westward out of the Waterloo Road. As we drew up, the outline of a figure revealed itself out of the darkest nook of the dim street, and a man came forward and opened the door of the cab, interchanging a word or two with our companion.

As we got out, the detective laid his hand on Guy's arm. "Gently, sir,"

he said. "You must be careful. We've not quite so much proof as I could wish. It would be straining a point to arrest him as it stands. I'd do it though--_for you_. Get him to talk, and don't hurry him; he's safe to commit himself; and we'll nail him at the first word. My comrade says he has not left his bed since yesterday. Perhaps he's ill. All the better.

We can frighten him if we get his man out of the way."

Guy's hand was on the bell before the last words were said, and he rang it sharply. The two officers drew back into the shadow.

In a few moments an old man opened the door, whom we guessed to be Bruce's attendant. He had one of those stubborn, rough-hewn faces that even white hair can not soften any more than h.o.a.r-frost can the outline of a granite crag.

"What's ye're wull?" he drawled out, in the rugged Aberdeen Doric.

"I wish to see Mr. Bruce."

"No sic a pairson here," was the reply, accompanied by a vigorous effort to close the door.

A heavy groan, proceeding from a room on the ground floor, gave him the lie as he spoke. Guy threw up his head like a hound breaking from scent to view, and thrust Macbane back violently. The old man staggered and fell; but he clung round Livingstone's knees, as he groveled, till he was actually trampled down. There was a difficulty in the lock somewhere; but bolt and staple were torn away in an instant by the furious hand that grasped the handle, and so at last we stood in the presence of the man we had sought so long.

Do you remember that hideous picture in Hogarth's "Two Apprentices,"

where the sleeping robber is alarmed by the crash in the chimney? That was exactly Bruce's att.i.tude. He had started into a sitting posture, and was braced up on his hands, his face thrust forward, half covered by the straight unkempt hair. What a face it was! White and flecked with sweat-drops, marbled here and there with livid stains, the lips quivering and working till they twisted themselves sometimes into a ghastly mockery of a smile, the long teeth gleaming more wolfish than ever. The iris of the prominent eyes had grown yellowish, and the whites were bloodshot, so that the light seemed to flash from them _tawnily_.

Bruce had always been very much afraid of Livingstone. His terror had gone on increasing during months of relentless pursuit; it had reached its climax now. Guy stood at the foot of the bed, contemplating the unhappy wretch with a cruel calmness that seemed to drive him wild. He writhed and cowered under the fixed gaze, as if it gave him physical pain.

"What are you here for?" he screamed out at last.

In strong contrast to the shrill, strained voice, the answer came slow and stern. "To arrest Charles Forrester's murderer."

Then Bruce seemed to lose his head all at once, and began to rave. It is impossible to transcribe the string of protestations, prayers for mercy, and horrible blasphemies; but there was enough of self-betrayal to complete the proof we wanted ten times told. The detective chuckled more complacently than ever as he insinuated the handcuffs round Macbane's wrists. Over all Bruce's cries, I remember, the old man's harsh voice made itself heard, "Whisht, whisht, I tell ye, and keep a quiet tongue; they canna harm ye." The other did not seem to hear him, or to notice his removal by the officers, muttering, as he went, that "we had driven his master mad, and were killing him."

Livingstone waited patiently till the outbreak had spent itself; then he said, "Get up, and come with us instantly. You shall finish your night in Newgate."

Tho sick man lay back for some moments with his eyes closed, panting and evidently quite exhausted. When he opened his eyes there was a steadiness in them which surprised us. He spoke, too, quite calmly. "I do not mean to deny any thing, nor to resist, even if I could. I am tired of running away; it is as well over; but I was taken by surprise at first. Guy Livingstone, do you choose to listen to me for five minutes? My head is clear now. I do not know how long it will last; but I do know that, after to-night, I will never speak about Forrester's death one word."

"Will you tell me how you killed him?" Livingstone asked, controlling his voice wonderfully.

"That is what I wish to do," Bruce said. I believe he was glad of the opportunity of showing us how much we had misjudged him in thinking him harmless, for a curious sort of grin was hovering about his mouth. Guy, whose eyes were bent down at the moment, did not see it, or the tale would never have been told.

"You know how you were all against me at Kerton," he began. "She did not care for me then, perhaps; but I would have been so patient and persevering that she must have loved me at last--only you never gave me fair play. Ah! do you think, because I was ugly and awkward, I had no chance?"

"No; but because she knew you were a coward," Guy said.

There was something grand in the utter indifference with which Bruce met the insult.

"You are wrong," he replied, coolly; "she did not know it. You all did, and reckoned on my being long-suffering and inoffensive. I saw, at last, what Forrester had done; yet I never guessed but that she would marry me. I trusted to her father and her own fears for keeping her straight.

After marriage I would have tried still what great love and tenderness could do. I meant--never mind what I meant--it's all over now. I was nearly mad for a week after their flight. Then I became quite cool, and I said, 'I will kill him myself.' And so I did. Mind, I swear, Allan knew nothing of it till all was done. I thought I should be brave enough for that. Fifty times during the months that I tracked them, always changing my disguise, I nearly caught him alone; but each time I was balked. Wherever they went, I watched under their windows for the chance of his coming out; but I only saw--"

He gnashed his teeth, and rolled over and over in a paroxysm of jealous recollection. We guessed what he meant. Then he went on: "That night he sauntered backward and forward for some time. I thought he would not go far enough away, and I called to the devil to help me. He did; for, very soon, Forrester walked straight down the path. I crept after him till he had gone some hundred yards--my heart was beating so quickly that I could hardly breathe--then I ran forward and stood before him. I had taken off the black wig and beard that I always wore, and he knew me directly.

"'Mr. Bruce, I believe?' he said, raising his hat, just as if he had met me by appointment.

"'Yes,' I said. 'I have got you at last, as I wished.' I tried to speak as steadily as he had done; but, as the moment for action came near, my d----d cowardice made me stammer.

"'I am not invisible, as a rule,' he replied. 'You, or any friend of yours, might have found me long ago. You have been some time making up your mind. It's that unfortunate const.i.tutional--caution, I suppose.

Well, I'll meet you in Rome: it's more than you deserve.'

"'You'll fight me here--now,' I said.

"'I shall do nothing half so melodramatic,' he answered. 'I'll give you a fair chance on the ground; but, if you do not move out of my path now, I'll shoot you as I would any other disagreeable ruffian,' and he put his hand into his breast, where, I knew, he carried a pistol.

"I _was_ brave then. I sprang in upon him all at once. 'You may shoot now, if you like,' I said. 'I swear I am quite unarmed. But show _that_ to your wife when you go back,' and I struck him with my open hand."

(I remembered the mark on the corpse's cheek, and looked at Guy eagerly.

I could not see his face, which was hidden by the curtain, but all his lower limbs were shaking and quivering.)

"I thought how it would be," Bruce went on; "he drew his hand out with the pistol in it, but he only flung it over the bank--one barrel went off in the fall--then we grappled. After wrestling for a minute or two on the narrow path, we lost our footing and rolled down the rocks; neither quitted his hold, but I fell uppermost and kept him down. He struggled desperately at first; but when he found that I was much the stronger, he lay quite still, looking up into my face. I said, 'It's my turn at last. Do you think I'll let you off?'

"He did not answer at first. I believe he would not till he had quite recovered his breath; then he said, coolly, 'No, I don't. Finish it quickly, if you can, that's all.' I would have delayed a little, to enjoy my triumph, but I thought the pistol-shot might bring some one; so I tightened my gripe on his throat, and looked round for a weapon. I found none at first, and my purpose actually began to soften when I saw him so helpless; but, as I relaxed my fingers, I heard him whisper to himself, 'Poor Bella! we have been very happy: I wish we had more time--' I got mad again directly. 'D--n you!' I cried out, 'I'll kill you now, and marry her some day.' His old insolent smile came on his lip. 'No you won't,' he said; 'you don't know how she hates you, and how we have laughed--' He had no time to say more, for I found my weapon then--a stone triangular and sharp-pointed like a dagger--and I struck him over the temple with all my force. He gave one convulsive spring that threw me clear of him, and never stirred again.

"I did not repent when it was done; I have never repented since; I do not now. I only thought how best to escape the consequences. I took his watch and purse, that brigands might be suspected, and threw them into the river a mile off. I robbed him of one thing more--this!" All his haggard face was transfigured with a ghastly triumph as he opened a small leathern case that hung round his neck, and held up before us two locks of hair.

There they were--the love-gift and the death-spoil--the memorials of defeat and of victory, of foiled affection and of gratified hate--the one, beguiled from Isabel by Bruce himself, with many earnest pleadings, in the early days of their engagement; the other, torn from her husband's temples before they were cold. The long light brown tress was scarcely more soft and satin-smooth than the chestnut curl; but one end of the last was matted, and discolored by a dark rusty stain--the stain that, the Greek poet said, all the rivers of earth flowing in one channel could never wash away--the testimony, to our ears mute enough now, but which, perhaps, will make itself heard above the Babel of all other cries at the Day of Judgment.

The two tokens were twined together lovingly, as if they were sensitive and conscious still. Bruce plucked them asunder: "I never can keep them apart," he said, querulously. Then he put them back into the case separately, and began to mutter to himself many words that I could not distinguish.

"Have you any thing more to say?" Livingstone asked. His lips were rigid and compressed like a steel-trap, opening and closing mechanically. As he spoke, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the leathern bag from Bruce's hand and threw it into the blazing fire.

A sharp howl, like a flogged hound's, broke from the sick man as he saw his treasure shrivel up in the flame. Then he began to whimper out all sorts of incoherent supplications, crying "that we did not know how much he had suffered before he killed Forrester, and since too; that he had been cruelly used from the beginning; that he was very, very ill now; would not we let him die in peace?" The tears were streaming down his face. It was a sight of abas.e.m.e.nt that sent a s.h.i.+ver through one's veins.

Guy laid his hand on the miserable creature's shoulder. Though he scarcely touched it, I saw the great muscles starting out on his arm like ropes from the intensity of his suppressed emotion; his lower lip trembled, but his tones did not in the least. I can give no idea of their pitiless, deliberate ferocity.

"Listen!" he said. "I told you before to get up and come with us--that is my answer now. If you have life enough left to be carried to the gallows-foot, you shall never cheat the hangman."

Bruce looked up into the speaker's face for some moments. Gradually the agonized appeal in his wild eyes died away into vacancy; an expression, half cunning, half amused, stole over his face; and, leaning gently back, he began pulling threads out of the coverlet, laughing low.

The blood gushed from Guy's clenched hand as he struck it furiously against the stone mantel.

"By ----," he said, with a fearful oath, "he has escaped me, after all."

It was so. The mind, worn and strained by the terrors of the long pursuit, perhaps by remorse not acknowledged even to himself; and by the last great effort at self-control, had given way at last--forever. G.o.d had recorded his verdict, and no earthly court could try the criminal again. Bruce is living now (and I dare say will outlive most of us, for his bodily health is perfect), vicious sometimes, but never conscious; hard to please, but easy to manage, so long as his attendant is a man, and a strong one; accessible only to the one emotion which drove him mad--physical fear.

Livingstone called the officers; they came in with Macbane. The old man pretended to be very wroth when he saw his master's state, but I believe he rejoiced secretly. The credit of the family, with him, outweighed all considerations of personal attachment, and he would think public disgrace cheaply averted at any price.

On our poor detective, perhaps, the blow fell heaviest; for, after some time, Guy did come round to my idea, that no punishment we could have brought about would have been so ample and terrible; but Mr. Fitchett could not see it in that light at all. Not only was the termination of the affair dreadfully unprofessional, but the little triumph he had antic.i.p.ated at the trial was spoiled. If human weakness ever could touch this great man, it was when he heard the judge pay a compliment to "the sagacity and zeal of that most efficient officer." On such occasions, his bow of conscious merit abnegating praise was, I am told, wonderful to see. After a few words of explanation, he glanced wistfully at Bruce, and shook his head, like a broken-hearted Lord Burleigh. Then he unloosed the handcuffs from Macbane's wrists, whistling all the while softly a popular air, lively in itself, with a cadence so plaintive that it might have been a penitential psalm. No romantic school-girl opening the cage to her pet starling ever displayed more hesitation and reluctance than Mr. Fitchett setting that grim old bird free.

In truth, there was no evidence to attach to the servant, so we left him and his master together. I could not have stood that room much longer.