For the new-comer proved himself to be a capable surgeon and an accomplished6 physician. The practice 104of that district had been in the hands of Edward Rowe, the son of Sir William Rowe, the Liverpool consultant7, but he had not inherited the talents of his father, and Dr. Lana, with his advantages of presence and of manner, soon beat him out of the field. Dr. Lana’s social success was as rapid as his professional. A remarkable8 surgical9 cure in the case of the Hon. James Lowry, the second son of Lord Belton, was the means of introducing him to county society, where he became a favourite through the charm of his conversation and the elegance10 of his manners. An absence of antecedents and of relatives is sometimes an aid rather than an impediment to social advancement11, and the distinguished12 individuality of the handsome doctor was its own recommendation.
His patients had one fault—and one fault only—to find with him. He appeared to be a confirmed bachelor. This was the more remarkable since the house which he occupied was a large one, and it was known that his success in practice had enabled him to save considerable sums. At first the local match-makers were continually coupling his name with one or other of the eligible13 ladies, but as years passed and Dr. Lana remained unmarried, it came to be generally understood that for some reason he must remain a bachelor. Some even went so far as to assert that he was already married, and that it was in order to escape the consequence of an early misalliance that he had buried himself at Bishop’s Crossing. And then, just as the match-makers had finally given him up in despair, his engagement was suddenly announced to Miss Frances Morton, of Leigh Hall.
105Miss Morton was a young lady who was well known upon the country-side, her father, James Haldane Morton, having been the Squire14 of Bishop’s Crossing. Both her parents were, however, dead, and she lived with her only brother, Arthur Morton, who had inherited the family estate. In person Miss Morton was tall and stately, and she was famous for her quick, impetuous nature and for her strength of character. She met Dr. Lana at a garden-party, and a friendship, which quickly ripened15 into love, sprang up between them. Nothing could exceed their devotion to each other. There was some discrepancy16 in age, he being thirty-seven, and she twenty-four; but, save in that one respect, there was no possible objection to be found with the match. The engagement was in February, and it was arranged that the marriage should take place in August.
Upon the 3rd of June Dr. Lana received a letter from abroad. In a small village the postmaster is also in a position to be the gossip-master, and Mr. Bankley, of Bishop’s Crossing, had many of the secrets of his neighbours in his possession. Of this particular letter he remarked only that it was in a curious envelope, that it was in a man’s handwriting, that the postscript17 was Buenos Ayres, and the stamp of the Argentine Republic. It was the first letter which he had ever known Dr. Lana to have from abroad, and this was the reason why his attention was particularly called to it before he handed it to the local postman. It was delivered by the evening delivery of that date.
Next morning—that is, upon the 4th of June—Dr. Lana called upon Miss Morton, and a long interview 106followed, from which he was observed to return in a state of great agitation18. Miss Morton remained in her room all that day, and her maid found her several times in tears. In the course of a week it was an open secret to the whole village that the engagement was at an end, that Dr. Lana had behaved shamefully19 to the young lady, and that Arthur Morton, her brother, was talking of horse-whipping him. In what particular respect the doctor had behaved badly was unknown—some surmised20 one thing and some another; but it was observed, and taken as the obvious sign of a guilty conscience, that he would go for miles round rather than pass the windows of Leigh Hall, and that he gave up attending morning service upon Sundays where he might have met the young lady. There was an advertisement also in the Lancet as to the sale of a practice which mentioned no names, but which was thought by some to refer to Bishop’s Crossing, and to mean that Dr. Lana was thinking of abandoning the scene of his success. Such was the position of affairs when, upon the evening of Monday, June 21st, there came a fresh development which changed what had been a mere22 village scandal into a tragedy which arrested the attention of the whole nation. Some detail is necessary to cause the facts of that evening to present their full significance.
The sole occupants of the doctor’s house were his housekeeper23, an elderly and most respectable woman, named Martha Woods, and a young servant—Mary Pilling. The coachman and the surgery-boy slept out. It was the custom of the doctor to sit at night in his study, which was next the surgery in the wing of the 107house which was farthest from the servants’ quarters. This side of the house had a door of its own for the convenience of patients, so that it was possible for the doctor to admit and receive a visitor there without the knowledge of any one. As a matter of fact, when patients came late it was quite usual for him to let them in and out by the surgery entrance, for the maid and the housekeeper were in the habit of retiring early.
On this particular night Martha Woods went into the doctor’s study at half-past nine, and found him writing at his desk. She bade him good-night, sent the maid to bed, and then occupied herself until a quarter to eleven in household matters. It was striking eleven upon the hall clock when she went to her own room. She had been there about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes when she heard a cry or call, which appeared to come from within the house. She waited some time, but it was not repeated. Much alarmed, for the sound was loud and urgent, she put on a dressing-gown, and ran at the top of her speed to the doctor’s study.
“Who’s there?” cried a voice, as she tapped at the door.
“I am here, sir—Mrs. Woods.”
“I beg that you will leave me in peace. Go back to your room this instant!” cried the voice, which was, to the best of her belief, that of her master. The tone was so harsh and so unlike her master’s usual manner, that she was surprised and hurt.
“I thought I heard you calling, sir,” she explained, but no answer was given to her. Mrs. Woods looked 108at the clock as she returned to her room, and it was then half-past eleven.
At some period between eleven and twelve (she could not be positive as to the exact hour) a patient called upon the doctor and was unable to get any reply from him. This late visitor was Mrs. Madding, the wife of the village grocer who was dangerously ill of typhoid fever. Dr. Lana had asked her to look in the last thing and let him know how her husband was progressing. She observed that the light was burning in the study, but having knocked several times at the surgery door without response, she concluded that the doctor had been called out, and so returned home.
There is a short, winding24 drive with a lamp at the end of it leading down from the house to the road. As Mrs. Madding emerged from the gate a man was coming along the footpath25. Thinking that it might be Dr. Lana returning from some professional visit, she waited for him, and was surprised to see that it was Mr. Arthur Morton, the young squire. In the light of the lamp she observed that his manner was excited, and that he carried in his hand a heavy hunting-crop. He was turning in at the gate when she addressed him.
“The doctor is not in, sir,” said she.
“How do you know that?” he asked, harshly.
“I have been to the surgery door, sir.”
“I see a light,” said the young squire, looking up the drive. “That is in his study, is it not?”
“Yes, sir; but I am sure that he is out.”
“Well, he must come in again,” said young Morton, 109and passed through the gate while Mrs. Madding went upon her homeward way.
At three o’clock that morning her husband suffered a sharp relapse, and she was so alarmed by his symptoms that she determined26 to call the doctor without delay. As she passed through the gate she was surprised to see some one lurking27 among the laurel bushes. It was certainly a man, and to the best of her belief Mr. Arthur Morton. Preoccupied28 with her own troubles, she gave no particular attention to the incident, but hurried on upon her errand.
When she reached the house she perceived to her surprise that the light was still burning in the study. She therefore tapped at the surgery door. There was no answer. She repeated the knocking several times without effect. It appeared to her to be unlikely that the doctor would either go to bed or go out leaving so brilliant a light behind him, and it struck Mrs. Madding that it was possible that he might have dropped asleep in his chair. She tapped at the study window, therefore, but without result. Then, finding that there was an opening between the curtain and the woodwork, she looked through.
The small room was brilliantly lighted from a large lamp on the central table, which was littered with the doctor’s books and instruments. No one was visible, nor did she see anything unusual, except that in the further shadow thrown by the table a dingy29 white glove was lying upon the carpet. And then suddenly, as her eyes became more accustomed to the light, a boot emerged from the other end of the shadow, and she realized, with a thrill of horror, that what she had 110taken to be a glove was the hand of a man, who was prostrate30 upon the floor. Understanding that something terrible had occurred, she rang at the front door, roused Mrs. Woods, the housekeeper, and the two women made their way into the study, having first dispatched the maidservant to the police-station.
At the side of the table, away from the window, Dr. Lana was discovered stretched upon his back and quite dead. It was evident that he had been subjected to violence, for one of his eyes was blackened, and there were marks of bruises31 about his face and neck. A slight thickening and swelling32 of his features appeared to suggest that the cause of his death had been strangulation. He was dressed in his usual professional clothes, but wore cloth slippers33, the soles of which were perfectly34 clean. The carpet was marked all over, especially on the side of the door, with traces of dirty boots, which were presumably left by the murderer. It was evident that some one had entered by the surgery door, had killed the doctor, and had then made his escape unseen. That the assailant was a man was certain, from the size of the footprints and from the nature of the injuries. But beyond that point the police found it very difficult to go.
There were no signs of robbery, and the doctor’s gold watch was safe in his pocket. He kept a heavy cash-box in the room, and this was discovered to be locked but empty. Mrs. Woods had an impression that a large sum was usually kept there, but the doctor had paid a heavy corn bill in cash only that very day, and it was conjectured35 that it was to this and not to a robber that the emptiness of the box 111was due. One thing in the room was missing—but that one thing was suggestive. The portrait of Miss Morton, which had always stood upon the side-table, had been taken from its frame, and carried off. Mrs. Woods had observed it there when she waited upon her employer that evening, and now it was gone. On the other hand, there was picked up from the floor a green eye-patch, which the housekeeper could not remember to have seen before. Such a patch might, however, be in the possession of a doctor, and there was nothing to indicate that it was in any way connected with the crime.
Suspicion could only turn in one direction, and Arthur Morton, the young squire, was immediately arrested. The evidence against him was circumstantial, but damning. He was devoted36 to his sister, and it was shown that since the rupture37 between her and Dr. Lana he had been heard again and again to express himself in the most vindictive38 terms towards her former lover. He had, as stated, been seen somewhere about eleven o’clock entering the doctor’s drive with a hunting-crop in his hand. He had then, according to the theory of the police, broken in upon the doctor, whose exclamation39 of fear or of anger had been loud enough to attract the attention of Mrs. Woods. When Mrs. Woods descended40, Dr. Lana had made up his mind to talk it over with his visitor, and had, therefore, sent his housekeeper back to her room. This conversation had lasted a long time, had become more and more fiery41, and had ended by a personal struggle, in which the doctor lost his life. The fact, revealed by a post-mortem, that his heart was much 112diseased—an ailment43 quite unsuspected during his life—would make it possible that death might in his case ensue from injuries which would not be fatal to a healthy man. Arthur Morton had then removed his sister’s photograph, and had made his way homeward, stepping aside into the laurel bushes to avoid Mrs. Madding at the gate. This was the theory of the prosecution44, and the case which they presented was a formidable one.
On the other hand, there were some strong points for the defence. Morton was high-spirited and impetuous, like his sister, but he was respected and liked by everyone, and his frank and honest nature seemed to be incapable45 of such a crime. His own explanation was that he was anxious to have a conversation with Dr. Lana about some urgent family matters (from first to last he refused even to mention the name of his sister). He did not attempt to deny that this conversation would probably have been of an unpleasant nature. He had heard from a patient that the doctor was out, and he therefore waited until about three in the morning for his return, but as he had seen nothing of him up to that hour, he had given it up and had returned home. As to his death, he knew no more about it than the constable46 who arrested him. He had formerly47 been an intimate friend of the deceased man; but circumstances, which he would prefer not to mention, had brought about a change in his sentiments.
There were several facts which supported his innocence48. It was certain that Dr. Lana was alive and in his study at half-past eleven o’clock. Mrs. 113Woods was prepared to swear that it was at that hour that she had heard his voice. The friends of the prisoner contended that it was probable that at that time Dr. Lana was not alone. The sound which had originally attracted the attention of the housekeeper, and her master’s unusual impatience49 that she should leave him in peace, seemed to point to that. If this were so, then it appeared to be probable that he had met his end between the moment when the housekeeper heard his voice and the time when Mrs. Madding made her first call and found it impossible to attract his attention. But if this were the time of his death, then it was certain that Mr. Arthur Morton could not be guilty, as it was after this that she had met the young squire at the gate.
If this hypothesis were correct, and someone was with Dr. Lana before Mrs. Madding met Mr. Arthur Morton, then who was this someone, and what motives50 had he for wishing evil to the doctor? It was universally admitted that if the friends of the accused could throw light upon this, they would have gone a long way towards establishing his innocence. But in the meanwhile it was open to the public to say—as they did say—that there was no proof that any one had been there at all except the young squire; while, on the other hand, there was ample proof that his motives in going were of a sinister52 kind. When Mrs. Madding called, the doctor might have retired53 to his room, or he might, as she thought at the time, have gone out and returned afterwards to find Mr. Arthur Morton waiting for him. Some of the supporters of the accused laid stress upon the fact that the 114photograph of his sister Frances, which had been removed from the doctor’s room, had not been found in her brother’s possession. This argument, however, did not count for much, as he had ample time before his arrest to burn it or to destroy it. As to the only positive evidence in the case—the muddy footmarks upon the floor—they were so blurred54 by the softness of the carpet that it was impossible to make any trustworthy deduction55 from them. The most that could be said was that their appearance was not inconsistent with the theory that they were made by the accused, and it was further shown that his boots were very muddy upon that night. There had been a heavy shower in the afternoon, and all boots were probably in the same condition.
Such is a bald statement of the singular and romantic series of events which centred public attention upon this Lancashire tragedy. The unknown origin of the doctor, his curious and distinguished personality, the position of the man who was accused of the murder, and the love affair which had preceded the crime, all combined to make the affair one of those dramas which absorb the whole interest of a nation. Throughout the three kingdoms men discussed the case of the Black Doctor of Bishop’s Crossing, and many were the theories put forward to explain the facts; but it may safely be said that among them all there was not one which prepared the minds of the public for the extraordinary sequel, which caused so much excitement upon the first day of the trial, and came to a climax56 upon the second. The long files of the Lancaster Weekly with their report of the case lie before 115me as I write, but I must content myself with a synopsis57 of the case up to the point when, upon the evening of the first day, the evidence of Miss Frances Morton threw a singular light upon the case.
Mr. Porlock Carr, the counsel for the prosecution, had marshalled his facts with his usual skill, and as the day wore on, it became more and more evident how difficult was the task which Mr. Humphrey, who had been retained for the defence, had before him. Several witnesses were put up to swear to the intemperate58 expressions which the young squire had been heard to utter about the doctor, and the fiery manner in which he resented the alleged59 ill-treatment of his sister. Mrs. Madding repeated her evidence as to the visit which had been paid late at night by the prisoner to the deceased, and it was shown by another witness that the prisoner was aware that the doctor was in the habit of sitting up alone in this isolated60 wing of the house, and that he had chosen this very late hour to call because he knew that his victim would then be at his mercy. A servant at the squire’s house was compelled to admit that he had heard his master return about three that morning, which corroborated61 Mrs. Madding’s statement that she had seen him among the laurel bushes near the gate upon the occasion of her second visit. The muddy boots and an alleged similarity in the footprints were duly dwelt upon, and it was felt when the case for the prosecution had been presented that, however circumstantial it might be, it was none the less so complete and so convincing, that the fate of the prisoner was sealed, unless something 116quite unexpected should be disclosed by the defence. It was three o’clock when the prosecution closed. At half-past four, when the Court rose, a new and unlooked for development had occurred. I extract the incident, or part of it, from the journal which I have already mentioned, omitting the preliminary observations of the counsel.
Considerable sensation was caused in the crowded court when the first witness called for the defence proved to be Miss Frances Morton, the sister of the prisoner. Our readers will remember that the young lady had been engaged to Dr. Lana, and that it was his anger over the sudden termination of this engagement which was thought to have driven her brother to the perpetration of this crime. Miss Morton had not, however, been directly implicated62 in the case in any way, either at the inquest or at the police-court proceedings63, and her appearance as the leading witness for the defence came as a surprise upon the public.
Miss Frances Morton, who was a tall and handsome brunette, gave her evidence in a low but clear voice, though it was evident throughout that she was suffering from extreme emotion. She alluded64 to her engagement to the doctor, touched briefly65 upon its termination, which was due, she said, to personal matters connected with his family, and surprised the Court by asserting that she had always considered her brother’s resentment66 to be unreasonable67 and intemperate. In answer to a direct question from her counsel, she replied that she did not feel that she had any grievance68 whatever against Dr. Lana, and that in 117her opinion he had acted in a perfectly honourable69 manner. Her brother, on an insufficient70 knowledge of the facts, had taken another view, and she was compelled to acknowledge that, in spite of her entreaties71, he had uttered threats of personal violence against the doctor, and had, upon the evening of the tragedy, announced his intention of “having it out with him.” She had done her best to bring him to a more reasonable frame of mind, but he was very headstrong where his emotions or prejudices were concerned.
Up to this point the young lady’s evidence had appeared to make against the prisoner rather than in his favour. The questions of her counsel, however, soon put a very different light upon the matter, and disclosed an unexpected line of defence.
Mr. Humphrey: Do you believe your brother to be guilty of this crime?
The Judge: I cannot permit that question, Mr. Humphrey. We are here to decide upon questions of fact—not of belief.
Mr. Humphrey: Do you know that your brother is not guilty of the death of Doctor Lana?
Miss Morton: Yes.
Mr. Humphrey: How do you know it?
Miss Morton: Because Dr. Lana is not dead.
There followed a prolonged sensation in court, which interrupted the cross-examination of the witness.
Mr. Humphrey: And how do you know, Miss Morton, that Dr. Lana is not dead?
Miss Morton: Because I have received a letter from him since the date of his supposed death.
118Mr. Humphrey: Have you this letter?
Miss Morton: Yes, but I should prefer not to show it.
Mr. Humphrey: Have you the envelope?
Miss Morton: Yes, it is here.
Mr. Humphrey: What is the post-mark?
Miss Morton: Liverpool.
Mr. Humphrey: And the date?
Miss Morton: June the 22nd.
Mr. Humphrey: That being the day after his alleged death. Are you prepared to swear to this handwriting, Miss Morton?
Miss Morton: Certainly.
Mr. Humphrey: I am prepared to call six other witnesses, my lord, to testify that this letter is in the writing of Doctor Lana.
The Judge: Then you must call them to-morrow.
Mr. Porlock Carr (counsel for the prosecution): In the meantime, my lord, we claim possession of this document, so that we may obtain expert evidence as to how far it is an imitation of the handwriting of the gentleman whom we still confidently assert to be deceased. I need not point out that the theory so unexpectedly sprung upon us may prove to be a very obvious device adopted by the friends of the prisoner in order to divert this inquiry72. I would draw attention to the fact that the young lady must, according to her own account, have possessed this letter during the proceedings at the inquest and at the police-court. She desires us to believe that she permitted these to proceed, although she held in her pocket evidence which would at any moment have brought them to an end.
119Mr. Humphrey: Can you explain this, Miss Morton?
Miss Morton: Dr. Lana desired his secret to be preserved.
Mr. Porlock Carr: Then why have you made this public?
Miss Morton: To save my brother.
A murmur73 of sympathy broke out in court, which was instantly suppressed by the Judge.
The Judge: Admitting this line of defence, it lies with you, Mr. Humphrey, to throw a light upon who this man is whose body has been recognised by so many friends and patients of Dr. Lana as being that of the doctor himself.
A Juryman: Has any one up to now expressed any doubt about the matter?
Mr. Porlock Carr: Not to my knowledge.
Mr. Humphrey: We hope to make the matter clear.
The Judge: Then the Court adjourns74 until to-morrow.
This new development of the case excited the utmost interest among the general public. Press comment was prevented by the fact that the trial was still undecided, but the question was everywhere argued as to how far there could be truth in Miss Morton’s declaration, and how far it might be a daring ruse76 for the purpose of saving her brother. The obvious dilemma77 in which the missing doctor stood was that if by any extraordinary chance he was not dead, then he must be held responsible for the death 120of this unknown man, who resembled him so exactly, and who was found in his study. This letter which Miss Morton refused to produce was possibly a confession78 of guilt21, and she might find herself in the terrible position of only being able to save her brother from the gallows79 by the sacrifice of her former lover. The court next morning was crammed80 to overflowing81, and a murmur of excitement passed over it when Mr. Humphrey was observed to enter in a state of emotion, which even his trained nerves could not conceal82, and to confer with the opposing counsel. A few hurried words—words which left a look of amazement83 upon Mr. Porlock Carr’s face—passed between them, and then the counsel for the defence, addressing the judge, announced that, with the consent of the prosecution, the young lady who had given evidence upon the sitting before would not be recalled.
The Judge: But you appear, Mr. Humphrey, to have left matters in a very unsatisfactory state.
Mr. Humphrey: Perhaps, my lord, my next witness may help to clear them up.
The Judge: Then call your next witness.
Mr. Humphrey: I call Dr. Aloysius Lana.
The learned counsel has made many telling remarks in his day, but he has certainly never produced such a sensation with so short a sentence. The Court was simply stunned84 with amazement as the very man whose fate had been the subject of so much contention85 appeared bodily before them in the witness-box. Those among the spectators who had known him at Bishop’s Crossing saw him now, gaunt and thin, with deep lines 121of care upon his face. But in spite of his melancholy86 bearing and despondent87 expression, there were few who could say that they had ever seen a man of more distinguished presence. Bowing to the judge, he asked if he might be allowed to make a statement, and having been duly informed that whatever he said might be used against him, he bowed once more, and proceeded:—
“My wish,” said he, “is to hold nothing back, but to tell with perfect frankness all that occurred upon the night of the 21st of June. Had I known that the innocent had suffered, and that so much trouble had been brought upon those whom I love best in the world, I should have come forward long ago; but there were reasons which prevented these things from coming to my ears. It was my desire that an unhappy man should vanish from the world which had known him, but I had not foreseen that others would be affected88 by my actions. Let me to the best of my ability repair the evil which I have done.
“To any one who is acquainted with the history of the Argentine Republic the name of Lana is well known. My father, who came of the best blood of old Spain, filled all the highest offices of the State, and would have been President but for his death in the riots of San Juan. A brilliant career might have been open to my twin brother Ernest and myself had it not been for financial losses which made it necessary that we should earn our own living. I apologize, sir, if these details appear to be irrelevant89, but they are a necessary introduction to that which is to follow.
“I had, as I have said, a twin brother named 122Ernest, whose resemblance to me was so great that even when we were together people could see no difference between us. Down to the smallest detail we were exactly the same. As we grew older this likeness90 became less marked because our expression was not the same, but with our features in repose91 the points of difference were very slight.
“It does not become me to say too much of one who is dead, the more so as he is my only brother, but I leave his character to those who knew him best. I will only say—for I have to say it—that in my early manhood I conceived a horror of him, and that I had good reason for the aversion which filled me. My own reputation suffered from his actions, for our close resemblance caused me to be credited with many of them. Eventually, in a peculiarly disgraceful business, he contrived92 to throw the whole odium upon me in such a way that I was forced to leave the Argentine for ever, and to seek a career in Europe. The freedom from his hated presence more than compensated93 me for the loss of my native land. I had enough money to defray my medical studies at Glasgow, and I finally settled in practice at Bishop’s Crossing, in the firm conviction that in that remote Lancashire hamlet I should never hear of him again.
“For years my hopes were fulfilled, and then at last he discovered me. Some Liverpool man who visited Buenos Ayres put him upon my track. He had lost all his money, and he thought that he would come over and share mine. Knowing my horror of him, he rightly thought that I would be willing to buy him off. I received a letter from him saying that he 123was coming. It was at a crisis in my own affairs, and his arrival might conceivably bring trouble, and even disgrace, upon some whom I was especially bound to shield from anything of the kind. I took steps to insure that any evil which might come should fall on me only, and that”—here he turned and looked at the prisoner—“was the cause of conduct upon my part which has been too harshly judged. My only motive51 was to screen those who were dear to me from any possible connection with scandal or disgrace. That scandal and disgrace would come with my brother was only to say that what had been would be again.
“My brother arrived himself one night not very long after my receipt of the letter. I was sitting in my study after the servants had gone to bed, when I heard a footstep upon the gravel94 outside, and an instant later I saw his face looking in at me through the window. He was a clean-shaven man like myself, and the resemblance between us was still so great that, for an instant, I thought it was my own reflection in the glass. He had a dark patch over his eye, but our features were absolutely the same. Then he smiled in a sardonic95 way which had been a trick of his from his boyhood, and I knew that he was the same brother who had driven me from my native land, and brought disgrace upon what had been an honourable name. I went to the door and I admitted him. That would be about ten o’clock that night.
“When he came into the glare of the lamp, I saw at once that he had fallen upon very evil days. He had walked from Liverpool, and he was tired and ill. 124I was quite shocked by the expression upon his face. My medical knowledge told me that there was some serious internal malady96. He had been drinking also, and his face was bruised97 as the result of a scuffle which he had had with some sailors. It was to cover his injured eye that he wore this patch, which he removed when he entered the room. He was himself dressed in a pea-jacket and flannel98 shirt, and his feet were bursting through his boots. But his poverty had only made him more savagely99 vindictive towards me. His hatred100 rose to the height of a mania101. I had been rolling in money in England, according to his account, while he had been starving in South America. I cannot describe to you the threats which he uttered or the insults which he poured upon me. My impression is, that hardships and debauchery had unhinged his reason. He paced about the room like a wild beast, demanding drink, demanding money, and all in the foulest102 language. I am a hot-tempered man, but I thank God that I am able to say that I remained master of myself, and that I never raised a hand against him. My coolness only irritated him the more. He raved103, he cursed, he shook his fists in my face, and then suddenly a horrible spasm104 passed over his features, he clapped his hand to his side, and with a loud cry he fell in a heap at my feet. I raised him up and stretched him upon the sofa, but no answer came to my exclamations105, and the hand which I held in mine was cold and clammy. His diseased heart had broken down. His own violence had killed him.
“For a long time I sat as if I were in some dreadful dream, staring at the body of my brother. I was 125aroused by the knocking of Mrs. Woods, who had been disturbed by that dying cry. I sent her away to bed. Shortly afterwards a patient tapped at the surgery door, but as I took no notice, he or she went off again. Slowly and gradually as I sat there a plan was forming itself in my head in the curious automatic way in which plans do form. When I rose from my chair my future movements were finally decided75 upon without my having been conscious of any process of thought. It was an instinct which irresistibly106 inclined me towards one course.
“Ever since that change in my affairs to which I have alluded, Bishop’s Crossing had become hateful to me. My plans of life had been ruined, and I had met with hasty judgments107 and unkind treatment where I had expected sympathy. It is true that any danger of scandal from my brother had passed away with his life; but still, I was sore about the past, and felt that things could never be as they had been. It may be that I was unduly108 sensitive, and that I had not made sufficient allowance for others, but my feelings were as I describe. Any chance of getting away from Bishop’s Crossing and of everyone in it would be most welcome to me. And here was such a chance as I could never have dared to hope for, a chance which would enable me to make a clean break with the past.
“There was this dead man lying upon the sofa, so like me that save for some little thickness and coarseness of the features there was no difference at all. No one had seen him come and no one would miss him. We were both clean shaven, and 126his hair was about the same length as my own. If I changed clothes with him, then Dr. Aloysius Lana would be found lying dead in his study, and there would be an end of an unfortunate fellow, and of a blighted109 career. There was plenty of ready money in the room, and this I could carry away with me to help me to start once more in some other land. In my brother’s clothes I could walk by night unobserved as far as Liverpool, and in that great seaport110 I would soon find some means of leaving the country. After my lost hopes, the humblest existence where I was unknown was far preferable, in my estimation, to a practice, however successful, in Bishop’s Crossing, where at any moment I might come face to face with those whom I should wish, if it were possible, to forget. I determined to effect the change.
“And I did so. I will not go into particulars, for the recollection is as painful as the experience; but in an hour my brother lay, dressed down to the smallest detail in my clothes, while I slunk out by the surgery door, and taking the back path which led across some fields, I started off to make the best of my way to Liverpool, where I arrived the same night. My bag of money and a certain portrait were all I carried out of the house, and I left behind me in my hurry the shade which my brother had been wearing over his eye. Everything else of his I took with me.
“I give you my word, sir, that never for one instant did the idea occur to me that people might think that I had been murdered, nor did I imagine 127that any one might be caused serious danger through this stratagem111 by which I endeavoured to gain a fresh start in the world. On the contrary, it was the thought of relieving others from the burden of my presence which was always uppermost in my mind. A sailing vessel112 was leaving Liverpool that very day for Corunna, and in this I took my passage, thinking that the voyage would give me time to recover my balance, and to consider the future. But before I left my resolution softened113. I bethought me that there was one person in the world to whom I would not cause an hour of sadness. She would mourn me in her heart, however harsh and unsympathetic her relatives might be. She understood and appreciated the motives upon which I had acted, and if the rest of her family condemned114 me, she, at least, would not forget. And so I sent her a note under the seal of secrecy115 to save her from a baseless grief. If under the pressure of events she broke that seal, she has my entire sympathy and forgiveness.
“It was only last night that I returned to England, and during all this time I have heard nothing of the sensation which my supposed death had caused, nor of the accusation116 that Mr. Arthur Morton had been concerned in it. It was in a late evening paper that I read an account of the proceedings of yesterday, and I have come this morning as fast as an express train could bring me to testify to the truth.”
Such was the remarkable statement of Dr. Aloysius Lana which brought the trial to a sudden termination. A subsequent investigation117 corroborated it to the 128extent of finding out the vessel in which his brother Ernest Lana had come over from South America. The ship’s doctor was able to testify that he had complained of a weak heart during the voyage, and that his symptoms were consistent with such a death as was described.
As to Dr. Aloysius Lana, he returned to the village from which he had made so dramatic a disappearance118, and a complete reconciliation119 was effected between him and the young squire, the latter having acknowledged that he had entirely120 misunderstood the other’s motives in withdrawing from his engagement. That another reconciliation followed may be judged from a notice extracted from a prominent column in the Morning Post:—
A marriage was solemnized upon September 19th, by the Rev42. Stephen Johnson, at the parish church of Bishop’s Crossing, between Aloysius Xavier Lana, son of Don Alfredo Lana, formerly Foreign Minister of the Argentine Republic, and Frances Morton, only daughter of the late James Morton, J.P., of Leigh Hall, Bishop’s Crossing, Lancashire.
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1
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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2
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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3
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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7
consultant
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| n.顾问；会诊医师，专科医生 | |
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8
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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10
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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14
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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15
ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
discrepancy
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| n.不同；不符；差异；矛盾 | |
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17
postscript
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| n.附言，又及；(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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18
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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19
shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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20
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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21
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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22
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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23
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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24
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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25
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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27
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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28
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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29
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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30
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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31
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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32
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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33
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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34
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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35
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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37
rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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38
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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39
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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40
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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41
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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42
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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43
ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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44
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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45
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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46
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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47
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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48
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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49
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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50
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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51
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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52
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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53
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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54
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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55
deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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56
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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57
synopsis
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| n.提要，梗概 | |
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58
intemperate
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| adj.无节制的，放纵的 | |
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59
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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60
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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61
corroborated
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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62
implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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63
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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64
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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66
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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67
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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68
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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69
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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70
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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71
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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72
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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73
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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74
adjourns
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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76
ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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77
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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78
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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79
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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80
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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81
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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82
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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83
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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84
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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85
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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86
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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87
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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88
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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89
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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90
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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91
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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93
compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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94
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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95
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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96
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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98
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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99
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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100
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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101
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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foulest
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的最高级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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103
raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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104
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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106
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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108
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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109
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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110
seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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112
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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113
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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114
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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115
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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116
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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117
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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118
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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119
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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120
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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