“By Jove!” he exclaimed, half to himself. Then, “I’d forgotten about that. But surely Kane wouldn’t—”
The accountant hesitated.
“You don’t hate to think or say it worse than I do,” Williams declared; “why, Russ is practically the only fellow I’ve gone around with, to any extent, in this town.”
That was true; the accountant nodded in silence, and seemed greatly depressed. The teller talked on.
“Ed, whatever you do, don’t hint—not even to the manager—what I’ve told you. If the suspicion ever got out on Russ he’d be as good as done in the bank. You know how expert H.O. is at putting two and two together?”
“Naturally I won’t speak of it,” replied Muir.
Suddenly changing his manner he said: “Well, let’s not think about it until Toronto office writes. There surely must be some mistake.”
In a day or two the Toronto letter came, accompanied by a memo from head office. The branch teller and the man who checked the parcel were to share the loss between them. The manager summoned his ledger-keeper.
“Mr. Kane,” he said, “head office states that an assistant-accountant checked that parcel when it went out, and you and Williams must stand for the shortage at this end.”
Kane reddened.
“Surely I’m not suspected!” he cried.
“I’m afraid they may look at it that way down in Toronto,” said the manager; “but I don’t think you guilty.”
The ledger-keeper’s face lost some of its color.
“I’ll write my father tonight,” he said, quietly. “I don’t think he’ll let me stay in the bank after this.”
After hours Kane did write to his father, and the next afternoon a telegram arrived. It said: “Leave at once—you are your own bondsman. I have a job for you.”
Kane took the telegram to Muir, but the accountant manifested little interest in it. He was not himself, for some reason. The ledger-keeper’s blood rose. He closed his fists and faced Muir.
“By the gods!” he cried, excitedly—
The manager stood in the doorwav leading from his office to the main office.
“A wire from the general manager,” he announced, “instructing Mr. Kane to report at head office for interview.”
The teller had stopped his work and was listening. Kane looked angrily at the manager and answered:
“Telegraph the G.M. that he can go to hell!”
“Easy,” counselled the manager, good-naturedly. “Don’t take it so hard, old man. We don’t—”
“I’m not so sure,” interrupted Kane.
Williams came out of his cage and stood beside the ledger-keeper.
“Well, Russ,” he said quietly, “it’s even worse for me than for you, yon know. I’m dependent on them.”
Kane felt the force of the teller’s argument. He experienced sudden pity for Williams, who, after all, had taken this medicine with better grace than he himself had done.
“I suppose there’s no use getting sore,” he agreed. “But I swear I won’t talk to the G.M. I’m done right now.”
With that he walked away, and went above the bank. After hours the accountant joined him.
“Russ,” he said, apologetically, “I’m sorry if you think I mistrust you.”
Kane looked at him coldly.
“Well, let’s say no more about it,” he answered.
Muir was silent. By and by he looked up from his revery.
“I imagine,” he remarked, “that a sort of suspicion will rest on all of us on account of this affair.”
“That’s the way it goes,” returned Kane, rather indifferently. “Suspicion is a rotten stench that spreads fast and sticks a long while.”
He began to pack his belongings, whistling as he did so. The accountant watched him with a cheerless countenance.
“Russ,” he said, at last, “I do wish this thing hadn’t come about. I hate to see—”
The teller came through the doorway from the hall.
“Not going so soon!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, Walt,” was the reply. “I might as well leave them in the soup while I’m at it.”
And he did. Moreover, he left town without bidding anyone good-bye. He hated, for the time being, everything and everybody that was associated in his mind with clerkship at Mullin branch.
After he had gone the teller and accountant sat talking. Naturally Muir wondered if Williams were not implicated in the loss of money. But he caught himself thus wondering and suspecting, and remembering Kane’s observations on the hatefulness of suspicions, decided to banish them from his mind. There must have been a mistake at the Toronto office, as the manager had said. This was a sample of the drawbacks in the business which a man must, for the sake of contentment, forget.
When head office discovered that Kane had left them without notice they wrote Manager White a letter of congratulation on having lost “an individual who was once before concerned in an affair of this kind.” Another ledger-keeper would be sent along as soon as possible. The manager felt that the reflection on Kane’s character was unjust, but he knew better than to argue with head office. The only thing to do was to let the matter drop.
Until the new man arrived, the teller, Williams, had one of the rooms above the bank to himself. He sat in it now, with a species of grin—no longer guarded—on his face. Two letters absorbed his attention, the latter of which read:
Dear Walt:—Yours to hand. I thought you wouldn’t want me to tell the story of our little affair at —— Branch when I was teller and you were ledger-keeper.
Enclosed find cancelled note. This squares us. So long—and don’t borrow any more money from me to put on skates like Dolly Spavin.
MAX
Still fumbling with the letters and cancelled note, Williams lit a cigarette and sat back to give his conscience the final knockout.
“I did the only thing,” he told it. “Old man Kane will look after Russ. The bank has lots of money. It’s each man for himself in this world. I’m not half as crooked as lots of others.”
The matter thus disposed of, he arose with the intention of destroying by fire two or three slips of paper in his hand which might by accident be used against him some time; but the junior had forgotten to light the vault light, and the shoot-hole in Williams’ room was therefore dark. In his evil preoccupation of mind he forgot the unlighted hole, and in crossing the floor his foot caught. His body was thrown forward and his head struck an iron bedpost.
Before midnight they found him, dead, still clutching the papers that incriminated him.
THE PROBLEM OF DEAD WOOD HALL, by Dick Donovan
(From Riddles Read, 1896)
“Mysterious Case in Cheshire.” So ran the heading to a paragraph in all the morning papers some years ago, and prominence was given to the following particulars:
A gentleman, bearing the somewhat curious name of Tuscan Trankler, resided in a picturesque old mansion, known as Dead Wood Hall, situated in one of the most beautiful and lonely parts of Cheshire, not very far from the quaint and old-time village of Knutsford. Mr. Trankler had given a dinner-party at his house, and amongst the guests was a very well-known county magistrate and landowner, Mr. Manville Charnworth. It appeared that, soon after the ladies had retired from the table, Mr. Charnworth rose and went into the grounds, saying he wanted a little air. He was smoking a cigar, and in the enjoyment of perfect health. He had drunk wine, however, rather freely, as was his wont, but though on exceedingly good terms with himself and every one else, he was perfectly sober. An hour passed, but Mr. Charnworth had not returned to the table. Though this did not arouse any alarm, as it was thought that he had probably joined the ladies, for he was what is called “a ladies’ man,” and preferred the company of females to that of men. A tremendous sensation, however, was caused when, a little later, it was announced that Charnworth had been found insensible, lying on his back in a shrubbery. Medical assistance was at once summoned, and when it arrived the opinion
expressed was that the unfortunate gentleman had been stricken with apoplexy. For some reason or other, however, the doctors were led to modify that view, for symptoms were observed which pointed to what was thought to be a peculiar form of poisoning, although the poison could not be determined. After a time, Charnworth recovered consciousness, but was quite unable to give any information. He seemed to be dazed and confused, and was evidently suffering great pain. At last his limbs began to swell, and swelled to an enormous size; his eyes sunk, his cheeks fell in, his lips turned black, and mortification appeared in the extremities. Everything that could be done for the unfortunate man was done, but without avail. After six hours’ suffering, he died in a paroxysm of raving madness, during which he had to be held down in the bed by several strong men.
The post-mortem examination, which was necessarily held, revealed the curious fact that the blood in the body had become thin and purplish, with a faint strange odour that could not be identified. All the organs were extremely congested, and the flesh presented every appearance of rapid decomposition. In fact, twelve hours after death putrefaction had taken place. The medical gentlemen who had the case in hand were greatly puzzled, and were at a loss to determine the precise cause of death. The deceased had been a very healthy man, and there was no actual organic disease of any kind. In short, everything pointed to poisoning. It was noted that on the left side of the neck was a tiny scratch, with a slightly livid appearance, such as might have been made by a small sharply pointed instrument. The viscera having been secured for purposes of analysis, the body was hurriedly, buried within thirty hours of death.
The result of the analysis was to make clear that the unfortunate gentleman had died through some very powerful and irritant poison being introduced into the blood. That it was a case of blood-poisoning there was hardly room for the shadow of a doubt, but the science of that day was quite unable to say what the poison was, or how it had got into the body. There was no reason—so far as could be ascertained to suspect foul play, and even less reason to suspect suicide. Altogether, therefore, the case was one of profound mystery, and the coroner’s jury were compelled to return an open verdict. Such were the details that were made public at the time of Mr. Charnworth’s death; and from the social position of all the parties, the affair was something more than a nine days’ wonder; while in Cheshire itself, it created a profound sensation. But, as no further information was forthcoming, the matter ceased to interest the outside world, and so, as far as the public were concerned, it was relegated to the limbo of forgotten things.
* * * *
Two years later, Mr. Ferdinand Trankler, eldest son of Tuscan Trankler, accompanied a large party of friends for a day’s shooting in Mere Forest. He was a young man, about five and twenty years of age; was in the most perfect health, and had scarcely ever had a day’s illness in his life. Deservedly popular and beloved, he had a large circle of warm friends, and was about to be married to a charming young lady, a member of an old Cheshire family who were extensive landed proprietors and property owners. His prospects therefore seemed to be unclouded, and his happiness complete.
The shooting-party was divided into three sections, each agreeing to shoot over a different part of the forest, and to meet in the afternoon for refreshments at an appointed rendezvous.
Young Trankler and his companions kept pretty well together for some little time, but ultimately began to spread about a good deal At the appointed hour the friends all met, with the exception of Trankler. He was not there. His absence did not cause any alarm, as it was thought he would soon turn up. He was known to be well acquainted with the forest, and the supposition was he had strayed further afield than the rest. By the time the repast was finished, however, he had not put in an appearance. Then, for the first time, the company began to feel some uneasiness, and vague hints that possibly an accident had happened were thrown out. Hints at last took the form of definite expressions of alarm, and search parties were at once organized to go in search of the absent young man, for only on the hypothesis of some untoward event could his prolonged absence be accounted for, inasmuch as it was not deemed in the least likely that he would show such a lack of courtesy as to go off and leave his friends without a word of explanation. For two hours the search was kept up without any result. Darkness was then closing in, and the now painfully anxious searchers’ began to feel that they would have to desist until daylight; returned. But at last some of the more energetic and active, members of the party came upon Trankler lying on his sides and nearly entirely hidden by masses of half withered bracken. He was lying near a little stream that meandered through the forest, and near a keeper’s shelter that was constructed with logs and thatched with pine boughs. He was stone dead, and his appearance caused his friends to shrink back with horror, for he was not only black in the face, but his body was bloated, and his limbs seemed swollen to twice their natural size.
Amongst the party were two medical men, who, being hastily summoned, proceeded at once to make an examination. They expressed an opinion that the young man had been dead for some time, but they could not account for his death, as there was no wound to be observed. As a matter of fact, his gun was lying near him with both barrels loaded. Moreover, his appearance was not compatible at all with death from a gun-shot wound. How then had he died? The consternation amongst those who had known him can well be imagined, and with a sense of suppressed horror, it was whispered that the strange condition of the dead man coincided with that of Mr. Manville Charnworth, the county magistrate who had died so mysteriously two years previously.
As soon as it was possible to do so, Ferdinand Trankler’s body was removed to Dead Wood Hall, and his people were stricken with profound grief when they realized that the hope and joy of their house was dead. Of course an autopsy had to be performed, owing to the ignorance of the medical men as to the cause of death. And this post-mortem examination disclosed the fact that all the extraordinary appearances which had been noticed in Mr. Charnworth’s case were present in this one. There was the same purplish coloured blood; the same gangrenous condition of the limbs; but as with Charnworth, so with Trankler, all the organs were healthy. There was no organic disease to account for death. As it was pretty certain, therefore, that death was not due to natural causes, a coroner’s inquest was held, and while the medical evidence made it unmistakably clear that young Trankler had been cut down in the flower of his youth and while he was in radiant health by some powerful and potent means which had suddenly destroyed his life, no one had the boldness to suggest what those means were, beyond saying that blood-poisoning of a most violent character had been set up. Now, it was very obvious that blood-poisoning could not have originated without some specific cause, and the most patient investigation was directed to trying to find out the cause, while exhaustive inquiries were made, but at the end of them, the solution of the mystery was as far off as ever, for these investigations had been in the wrong channel, not one scrap of evidence was brought forward which would have justified a definite statement that this or that had been responsible for the young man’s death.
It was remembered that when the post-mortem examination of Mr. Charnworth took place, a tiny bluish scratch was observed on the left side of the neck. But it was so small, and apparently so unimportant that it was not taken into consideration when attempts were made to solve the problem of “How did the man die?” When the doctors examined Mr. Trankler’s body, they looked to see if there was a similar puncture or scratch, and, to their astonishment, they did find rather a curious mark on the left side of the neck, just under the ear. It was a slight abrasion of the skin, about an inch long as if he had been scratched with a pin, and this abrasion was a faint blue, approximating in colour to the tattoo marks on a sailor’s arm. The similarity in this scratch to that which had been observed on Mr. Charnworth’s body, necessarily gave rise to a good deal of comment amongst the doctors, though they could not arrive at any definite conclusion respecting it. One man went so far as t
o express an opinion that it was due to an insect or the bite of a snake. But this theory found no supporters, for it was argued that the similar wound on Mr. Charnworth could hardly have resulted from an insect or snake bite, for he had died in his friend’s garden. Besides, there was no insect or snake in England capable of killing a man as these two men had been killed. That theory, therefore, fell to the ground; and medical science as represented by the local gentlemen. had to confess itself baffled; while the coroner’s jury were forced to again return an open verdict.
“There was no evidence to prove how the deceased had come by his death.”
This verdict was considered highly unsatisfactory, but what other could have been returned. There was nothing to support the theory of foul play; on the other hand, no evidence was forthcoming to explain away the mystery which surrounded the deaths of Charnworth and Trankler. The two men had apparently died from precisely the same cause, and under circumstances which were as mysterious as they were startling, but what the cause was, no one seemed able to determine.
Universal sympathy was felt with the friends and relatives of young Trankler, who had perished so unaccountably while in pursuit of pleasure. Had he been taken suddenly ill at home and had died in his bed, even though the same symptoms and morbid appearances had manifested themselves, the mystery would not have been so great. But as Charnworth’s end came in his host’s garden after a dinner-party, so young Trankler died in a forest while he and his friends were engaged in shooting. There was certainly something truly remarkable that two men, exhibiting all the same post-mortem effects, should have died in such a way; their deaths, in point of time, being separated by a period of two years. On the face of it, it seemed impossible that it could be merely a coincidence. It will be gathered from the foregoing, that in this double tragedy were all the elements of a romance well calculated to stimulate public curiosity to the highest pitch; while the friends and relatives of the two deceased gentlemen were of opinion that the matter ought not to be allowed to drop with the return of the verdict of the coroner’s jury. An investigation seemed to be urgently called for. Of course, an investigation of a kind had taken place by the local police, but something more than that was required, so thought the friends. And an application was made to me to go down to Dead Wood Hall; and bring such skill as I possessed to bear on the case, in the hope that the veil of mystery might be drawn aside, and light let in where all was then dark.
The Victorian Mystery Megapack: 27 Classic Mystery Tales Page 55