CHAPTER THIRTY.
THE BEST-LAID PLANS.
There were other men besides Mr Tippet who could be true to theirpromises when it suited them.
D. Gorman was true to his, in so far as they concerned David Boone. Hevisited that unfortunate invalid so frequently, and brought him so manylittle "nice things" for the alleviation of his sufferings, andexhibited altogether such nervous anxiety about his recovery, thatworthy Mrs Craw was quite overwhelmed, and said, in the fulness of herheart, that she never did see a kinder friend, or one who more flatlygave the lie-direct to his looks, which, she was bound to admit, werenot prepossessing.
But, despite his friend's solicitude, and his doctor's prescriptions,and his nurse's kindness, David Boone continued steadily to sink, untilat last the doctor gave it as his opinion that he would not recover.
One afternoon, soon after the expression of this opinion, Gorman calledon his friend, and was shown as usual into his chamber. It was a wet,cold, stormy afternoon, and the window rattled violently in its frame.
Boone was much better that afternoon. It seemed as if he had justwaited for the doctor to pronounce his unfavourable opinion in order tohave the satisfaction of contradicting it.
"He's better to-day, sir," said Mrs Craw, in a whisper.
"Better!" exclaimed Gorman with a look of surprise, "I'm glad to hearthat--very glad."
He looked as if he were very sorry, but then, as Mrs Craw said, hislooks belied him.
"He's asleep now, sir; the doctor said if he slept he was on no accountto be waked up, so I'll leave you to sit by him, sir, till he wakes,and, please, be as quiet as you can."
Mrs Craw left the room on tip-toe, and Gorman went to the bedside andlooked on the sick man's wasted features with a frown.
"Ha! you're asleep, are you, and not to be waked up--eh? Come, I'llrouse you."
He shook him violently by the shoulder, and Boone awoke with a start anda groan.
"Hope I didn't disturb you, Boone," said his friend in a quiet voice."I came to inquire for you."
Boone started up in his bed and stared wildly at some object whichappeared to be at the foot of the bed. Gorman started too, and turnedpale as his eyes followed those of the invalid.
"What is it you see, Boone?"
"There, there!" he whispered hoarsely, clutching Gorman's arm as if forprotection, "look, I heard his voice just now; oh! save me from thatman; he--he--wants to kill me!"
"Come, David," said Gorman soothingly, "it's only a fancy--there'snobody there--nobody in the room but me."
"And who are you?" inquired the sick man, falling back exhausted, whilehe gazed vacantly at his friend.
"Don't you know me, David?"
"Never mind, shut your eyes now and try to sleep. It'll be time to takeyour physic soon."
"Physic!" cried Boone, starting up in alarm, and again clutchingGorman's arm. "You won't let _him_ give it me, will you? Oh! say youwon't--promise to give it me yourself!"
Gorman promised, and a very slight but peculiar smile turned up thecorners of his mouth as he did so.
Boone again sank back on his pillow, and Gorman sat down on a chairbeside him. His villainous features worked convulsively, for in hisheart he was meditating a terrible deed. That morning he had beenvisited by Ned Hooper, who in the most drunken of voices told him, "thatit wash 'mposh'ble to git a body f'r love or munny, so if 'e wanted onehe'd better cut's own throat."
His plans having miscarried in this matter, Gorman now meditated takinganother and more decided step. He looked at the sick man, and, seeinghow feeble he was, his fingers twitched as if with a desire to stranglehim. So strong was the feeling upon him that he passed his fingersnervously about his own throat, as if to ascertain the formation of itand the precise locality of the windpipe. Then his hand dropped to hisside, and he sat still again, while Boone rolled his poor head from sideto side and moaned softly.
Evening drew on apace, and the shadows in the sick-room gradually becamedeeper and deeper until nothing could be seen distinctly. Still Gormansat there, with his features pale as death, and his fingers movingnervously; and still the sick man lay and rolled his head from side toside on the pillow. Once or twice Gorman rose abruptly, but he as oftensat down again without doing anything.
Suddenly a ray of bright light shot through the window. Gorman startedand drew back in alarm. It was only a lamp-lighter who had lighted oneof the street-lamps, and the ray which he had thus sent into thesick-chamber passed over the bed. It did not disturb Boone, for thecurtains were between him and it, but it disturbed Gorman, for it fellon the chimney-piece and illuminated a group of phials, one of which,half full of a black liquid, was labelled "_Poison_!"
Gorman started up, and this time did not sit down, but with a tremblingstep moved to the fireplace. He stretched out his hand to grasp thebottle, and almost overturned it, for just at the moment his own figureintercepted the ray of light, and threw the spot where it stood intodeep shadow.
"What's that?" asked Boone.
"It's only me," said Gorman, "getting you your physic. I almost upsetit in the dark. Here now, drink it off. I can't find the cup, but youcan take it out of the bottle."
"You won't let _him_ come near when you give it, will you?" asked Booneanxiously.
"No, no; come, open your mouth."
Boone hesitated to do so, but Gorman used a little force. His handswere steady now! His heart was steeled to the deed, and the cry whichBoone was about to utter was choked by the liquid flowing down histhroat.
Gorman had flung him back with such violence that he lay stunned, whilethe murderer replaced the bottle on the chimney-piece and hurried to thedoor. A gentle knock at it arrested him, but his indecision wasmomentary. He opened the door softly, and going out, said to Mrs Crawin a whisper--
"He's sleeping now. I found it hard to get him to give up talking, forhe waked up soon after I went in; but he's all right now. I suppose themedicine is beginning to operate; he told me he took it himself justbefore I came in."
"Took it himself!" exclaimed Mrs Craw. "Impossible."
"Well, I don't know, but he's better now. I would let him rest a whileif I were you."
"Stay, sir! I'll go fetch a light," said Mrs Craw.
"Never mind; I know the stair well," said Gorman hurriedly; "don't minda light; I shan't want it."
He was right. If any man ever wanted darkness rather than light--thick,heavy, impenetrable darkness--it was D. Gorman at that time.
"Took it himself!" repeated Mrs Craw in unabated surprise as she closedthe street door. "It's impossible. He's got no more strength than anunborn hinfant. I must go an' see to this."
Lighting a candle, she went softly into the sick chamber and looked atthe invalid, who was apparently asleep, but breathing heavily. She thenwent to the chimney-piece and began to examine the phials there.
"My!" she exclaimed suddenly, with a look of alarm, "if he han't bin an'drunk up all the tinctur' o' rhubarb! An' the laudanum-bottle standin'close beside it too! _What_ a mercy he didn't drink that! Well, luckyfor him there wasn't much in it, for an overdose of anything in hisstate would be serious."
Full of her discovery, Mrs Craw set the candle on the table, and satdown on the chair by the bedside to think about it; but the more shethought about it the more puzzled she was.
"Took it himself," she said, reverting to Gorman's words. "Impossible!"
She continued to shake her head and mutter "Impossible" for some time,while she stared at the candle as if she expected that _it_ would solvethe mystery. Then she got up and examined the bedclothes, and foundthat a good deal of the rhubarb had been spilt on the sheets, and that agood deal more of it had been spilt on Boone's chin and chest; afterwhich her aspect changed considerably, as, setting down the candle, sheresumed her seat and said--
"Took it himself! Impossible!"
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Darkness! If ever
a man sought darkness in vain, and found light,bright blazing light, everywhere, it was Gorman. At first, in a burstof frenzy, he rushed away at full speed. It was well for him that thewind had increased to a hurricane and the rain was blinding, else had hebeen stopped on suspicion, so fierce was his mien, so haggard his look,so wild his race. Gradually his pace slackened, and gradually as wellas naturally he gravitated to his old familiar haunts; but go where hewould, there was light everywhere except within his own breast. It wasall darkness there.
It is true the sky was dark enough, for the war of elements was so greatthat it seemed to have been blotted out with ink, but the shops appearedto have been lit up more brilliantly than usual. Every lamp poured aflood of light around it. The lanterns of the cabs and omnibuses sentrich beams of light through the air, and the air itself, laden as it waswith moisture, absorbed a portion of light, and invested everything witha halo. Light, light! all round, and the light of conscience withinrendering the darkness there visible, and shining on the letters of aword written in dark red--"Murderer!"
Gorman tried to extinguish the light, but it was a fire that would notbe put out. He cursed the shop-windows and the lamps for shining sobrightly on him; he cursed the few people whose curiosity induced themto pause and look back at him, and he cursed himself for being such afool.
On reaching Cheapside he began to recover his self-possession, and towalk in the storm as other men did. But in proportion as his composurereturned the enormity of his crime became more apparent to him, and theword written in red letters became so bright that he felt as if everypasser-by must read it, unless he dropt his eyes to prevent their seeingthrough them into his soul.
At London Bridge he became nervously apprehensive. Each unusually quickfootstep startled him. Every policeman was carefully avoided, andanything approaching to a shout behind caused him to start into aninvoluntary run. Despite his utmost efforts to control himself, thestrong man was unmanned; a child could have made him fly.
He was about to cross London Bridge, when he observed a policeman takingshelter under the parapet, and apparently watching those who passed him.Gorman could not make up his mind to go on, so he turned aside anddescended the nearest stairs.
The policeman had doubtless been watching for someone, or suspectedGorman because of his undecided movements, for he followed him. Thelatter observed this and quickened his pace. The instant he was hiddenfrom his pursuer, he darted away at full speed, and did not halt untilhe stood at the foot of one of the stairs where wherries are usually tobe found. The sight that met his gaze there might have overawed themost reckless of men.
A hurricane was raging such as is not often experienced in our favouredisland. The wind blew, not in gusts and squalls, but in one continuousroar, lashing the Thames into crested waves, tearing ships from theirmoorings, and dashing them against other ships, which were likewisecarried away, and swept downward with the tide. Dozens of barges weresunk, and the shrieks of their crews were heard sometimes rising abovethe storm.
The gale was at its height when Gorman came into full view of theThames. A waterman, who was crouching for shelter in the angle of awarehouse, observed him, and came forward.
"An awful night, sir," he said.
"Yes," answered Gorman curtly. He started as he spoke, for he heard, orhe fancied he heard, a shout behind him.
"Is that your boat?" said he.
"It is," replied the waterman in surprise, "you don't want to go on thewater on such a night, do you?"
"Yes, I do," said Gorman, trembling in every limb; "come, jump in, andshove off."
At that moment a policeman came running down towards them.
"Are you mad?" exclaimed the man, grasping Gorman by the arm as hesprang toward the boat.
In a moment, Gorman struck him to the ground, and leaping into the boatpushed off, just as the policeman came up. He was whirled awayinstantly.
Grasping one of the oars, he was just in time to prevent the boat beingdashed against one of the wooden piers of a wharf. He was desperatenow. Shipping both oars he pulled madly out into the stream, but in afew moments he was swept against the port-bow of a large vessel, againstthe stem of which the water was curling as if the ship had beenbreasting the Atlantic waves before a stiff breeze. One effort Gormanmade to avoid the collision, then he leaped up, and just as the boatstruck, sprang at the fore-chains. He caught them and held on, but hishold was not firm; the next moment he was rolling along the vessel'sside, tearing it with his nails in the vain attempt to grasp the smoothhull. He struck against the bow of the vessel immediately behind andwas swept under it.
Rising to the surface, he uttered a wild shriek, and attempted to stemthe current. He was a powerful swimmer, and despair lent him energy tobuffet the waves for a short time; but he was again swept away by theirresistible tide, and had almost given up hope of being saved, when hisforehead was grazed by a rope which hung from a vessel's side. Seizingthis, he held on, and with much difficulty succeeded in gaining thevessel's deck.
With his safety Gorman's fear of being captured returned. He hidhimself behind some lumber, and while in this position wrung some of thewater out of his clothes. In a few minutes he summoned courage to lookabout him, and discovered that the vessel was connected with the onethat lay next to it by a plank. No one appeared to be moving, and itwas so dark that he could not see more than four or five yards beforehim. To pass from one vessel to the other was the work of a fewseconds. Finding that the second vessel lay moored to the quay, hesprang from it with all his might and alighted safely on the shore.From the position of the shipping he knew that he stood on the southbank of the river, having been swept right across the Thames, so he hadnow no further difficulty in hiding his guilty head in his own home.