I will now play the Oedipus to the Rattleborough enigma. I will
expound to you--as I alone can--the secret of the enginery that effected
the Rattleborough miracle--the one, the true, the admitted, the undisputed,
the indisputable miracle, which put a definite end to infidelity among the
Rattleburghers, and converted to the orthodoxy of the grandames all the
carnal-minded who had ventured to be sceptical before.
This event--which I should be very sorry to discuss in a tone of
unsuitable levity--occurred in the summer of 18--. Mr Barnabas
Shuttleworthy--one of the wealthiest and most respectable citizens of the
borough--had been missing for several days under circumstances which gave
rise to suspicion of foul play. Mr Shuttleworthy had set out from
Rattleborough very early one Saturday morning, on horseback, with the
avowed intention of proceeding to the city of ----, about fifteen miles
distant, and of returning the night of the same day. Two hours after his
departure, however, his horse returned without him, and without the saddle-
bags which had been strapped on his back at starting. The animal was
wounded, too, and covered with mud. These circumstances naturally gave
rise to much alarm among the friends of the missing man; and when it was
found, on Sunday morning, that he had not yet made his appearance, the
whole borough arose en masse to go and look for his body.
The foremost and most energetic in instituting this search was the
bosom friend of Mr Shuttleworthy--a Mr Charles Goodfellow, or, as he was
universally called, 'Charley Goodfellow', or 'Old Charley Goodfellow'.
Now, whether it is a marvellous coincidence, or whether it is that the name
itself has an imperceptible effect upon the character, I have never yet
been able to ascertain; but the fact is unquestionable, that there never
yet was any person named Charles who was not an open, manly, honest, good-
natured, and frank-hearted fellow, with a rich, clear voice, that did you
good to hear it, and an eye that looked you always straight in the face, as
much as to say: 'I have a clear conscience myself, am afraid of no man, and
am altogether above doing a mean action.' And thus all the hearty,
careless, 'walking gentlemen' of the stage are very certain to be called
Charles.
Now, 'Old Charley Goodfellow', although he had been in Rattleborough
not longer than six months or thereabouts, and although nobody knew
anything about him before he came to settle in the neighbourhood, had
experienced no difficulty in the world in making the acquaintance of all
the respectable people in the borough. Not a man of them but would have
taken his bare word for a thousand at any moment; and, as for the women,
there is no saying what they would not have done to oblige him. And all
this came of his having been christened Charles, and of his possessing, in
consequence, that ingenuous face which is proverbially the very 'best
letter of recommendation'.
I have already said that Mr Shuttleworthy was one of the most
respectable, and, undoubtedly, he was the most wealthy man in
Rattleborough, while 'Old Charley Goodfellow' was upon as intimate terms
with him as if he had been his own brother. The two old gentlemen were
next-door neighbours and, although Mr Shuttleworthy seldom, if ever,
visited 'Old Charley', and never was known to take a meal in his house,
still this did not prevent the two friends from being exceedingly intimate,
as I have just observed; for 'Old Charley' never let a day pass without
stepping in three or four times to see how his neighbour came on, and very
often he would stay to breakfast or tea, and almost always to dinner; and
then the amount of wine that was made way with by the two cronies at a
sitting, it would really be a difficult thing to ascertain. 'Old
Charley's' favourite beverage was Chateau Margaux, and it appeared to do Mr
Shuttleworthy's heart good to see the old fellow swallow it, as he did,
quart after quart; so that, one day, when the wine was in and the wit, as a
natural consequence, somewhat out, he said to his crony, as he slapped him
upon the back: 'I tell you what it is, "Old Charley", you are, by all odds,
the heartiest old fellow I ever came across in all my born days; and, since
you love to guzzle the wine at that fashion, I'll be darned if I don't have
to make thee a present of a big box of the Chateau Margaux. Od rot me,'--
(Mr Shuttleworthy had a sad habit of swearing, although he seldom went
beyond 'Od rot me', or 'By gosh', or 'By the jolly golly',)--'Od rot me,'
says he, 'if I don't send an order to town this very afternoon for a double
box of the best that can be got, and I'll make ye a present of it, I will!-
-ye needn't say a word now--I will, I tell ye, and there's an end of it; so
look out for it--it will come to hand some of these fine days precisely
when ye are looking for it the least!' I mention this little bit of
liberality on the part of Mr Shuttleworthy, just by way of showing you how
very intimate an understanding existed between the two friends.
Well, on the Sunday morning in question, when it came to be fairly
understood that Mr Shuttleworthy had met with foul play, I never saw any
one so profoundly affected as 'Old Charley Goodfellow'. When he first
heard that the horse had come home without his master, and without his
master's saddle-bags, and all bloody from a pistol-shot, that had gone
clean through and through the poor animal's chest without quite killing
him--when he heard all this, he turned as pale as if the missing man had
been his own dear brother or father, and shivered and shook all over as if
he had had a fit of the ague.
At first he was too much overpowered with grief to be able to do
anything at all, or to decide upon any plan of action; so that for a long
time he endeavoured to dissuade Mr Shuttleworthy's other friends from
making a stir about the matter, thinking it best to wait awhile--say for a
week or two, or a month or two--to see if something wouldn't turn up, or if
Mr Shuttleworthy wouldn't come in the natural way, and explain his reasons
for sending his horse on before. I dare say you have often observed this
disposition to temporize, or to procrastinate, in people who are labouring
under any very poignant sorrow. Their powers of mind seem to be rendered
torpid, so that they have a horror of anything like action, and like
nothing in the world so well as to lie quietly in bed and 'nurse their
grief', as the old ladies express it--that is to say, ruminate over their
trouble.
The people of Rattleborough had, indeed, so high an opinion of the
wisdom and discretion of 'Old Charley', that the greater part of them felt
disposed to agree with him, and not make a stir in the business 'until
something should turn up', as the honest old gentleman worded it; and I
believe that, after all, this would have been the general determination,
but for the very suspicious interference of Mr Shuttleworthy's nephew, a
young man of very dissipated habits, and otherwise of rather bad character.
This nephew, whose name was Pennifeather, would listen to nothing like
reason in the matter of 'lying quiet', but insisted upon making immediate
search for the 'corpse of the murdered man'. This was the expression he
employed; and Mr Goodfellow acutely remarked at the time that it was 'a
singular expression, to say no more'. This remark of 'Old Charley's', too,
had great effect upon the crowd; and one of the party was heard to ask,
very impressively, 'how it happened that young Mr Pennifeather was so
intimately cognizant of all the circumstances connected with his wealthy
uncle's disappearance, as to feel authorized to assert, distinctly and
unequivocally, that his uncle was "a murdered man"'. Hereupon some little
squibbling and bickering occurred among various members of the crowd, and
especially between 'Old Charley' and Mr Pennifeather--although this latter
occurrence was, indeed, by no means a novelty, for little good-will had
subsisted between the parties for the last three or four months; and
matters had even gone so far that Mr Pennifeather had actually knocked down
his uncle's friend for some alleged excess of liberty that the latter had
taken in the uncle's house, of which the nephew was an inmate. Upon this
occasion 'Old Charley' is said to have behaved with exemplary moderation
and Christian charity. He arose from the blow, adjusted his clothes, and
made no attempt at retaliation at all--merely muttering a few words about
'taking summary vengeance at the first convenient opportunity',--a natural
and very justifiable ebullition of anger, which meant nothing, however,
and, beyond doubt, was no sooner given vent to than forgotten.
However these matters may be (which have no reference to the point now
at issue), it is quite certain that the people of Rattleborough,
principally through the persuasion of Mr Pennifeather, came at length to
the determination of dispersing over the adjacent country in search of the
missing Mr Shuttleworthy. I say they came to this determination in the
first instance. After it had been fully resolved that a search should be
made, it was considered almost a matter of course that the seekers should
disperse--that is to say, distribute themselves in parties--for the more
thorough examination of the region round about. I forget, however, by what
ingenious train of reasoning it was that 'Old Charley' finally convinced
the assembly that this was the most injudicious plan that could be pursued.
Convince them, however, he did--all except Mr Pennifeather; and, in the
end, it was arranged that a search should be instituted, carefully and very
thoroughly, by the burghers en masse, 'Old Charley' himself leading the
way.
As for the matter of that, there could have been no better pioneer
than 'Old Charley', whom everybody knew to have the eye of a lynx; but,
although he led them into all manner of out-of-the-way holes and corners,
by routes that nobody had ever suspected of existing in the neighbourhood,
and although the search was incessantly kept up day and night for nearly a
week, still no trace of Mr Shuttleworthy could be discovered. When I say
no trace, however, I must not be understood to speak literally; for trace,
to some extent, there certainly was. The poor gentleman had been tracked,
by his horse's shoes (which were peculiar), to a spot about three miles to
the east of the borough, on the main road leading to the city. Here the
track made off into a by-path through a piece of woodland--the path coming
out again into the main road, and cutting off about half a mile of the
regular distance. Following the shoe-marks down this lane, the party came
at length to a pool of stagnant water, half hidden by the brambles, to the
right of the lane, and opposite this pool all vestige of the track was lost
sight of. It appeared, however, that a struggle of some nature had here
taken place, and it seemed as if some large and heavy body, much larger and
heavier than a man, had been drawn from the by-path to the pool. This
latter was carefully dragged twice, but nothing was found; and the party
were upon the point of going away, in despair of coming to any result, when
Providence suggested to Mr Goodfellow the expediency of draining the water
off altogether. This project was received with cheers, and many high
compliments to 'Old Charley' upon his sagacity and consideration. As many
of the burghers had brought spades with them, supposing that they might
possibly be called upon to disinter a corpse, the drain was easily and
speedily effected; and no sooner was the bottom visible, than right in the
middle of the mud that remained was discovered a black silk velvet
waistcoat, which nearly every one present immediately recognized as the
property of Mr Pennifeather. This waistcoat was much torn and stained with
blood, and there were several persons among the party who had a distinct
remembrance of its having been worn by its owner on the very morning of Mr
Shuttleworthy's departure for the city; while there were others again,
ready to testify upon oath, if required, that Mr P. did not wear the
garment in question at any period during the remainder of that memorable
day; nor could any one be found to say that he had seen it upon Mr P.'s
person at any period at all subsequent to Mr Shuttleworthy's disappearance.
Matters now wore a very serious aspect for Mr Pennifeather, and it was
observed, as an indubitable confirmation of the suspicions which were
excited against him, that he grew exceedingly pale, and when asked what he
had to say for himself, was utterly incapable of saying a word. Hereupon,
the few friends his riotous mode of living had left him deserted him at
once to a man, and were even more clamorous than his ancient and avowed
enemies for his instantaneous arrest. But, on the other hand, the
magnanimity of Mr Goodfellow shone forth with only the more brilliant
lustre through contrast. He made a warm and intensely eloquent defence of
Mr Pennifeather, in which he alluded more than once to his own sincere
forgiveness of that wild young gentleman--'the heir of the worthy Mr
Shuttleworthy,'--for the insult which he (the young gentleman) had, no
doubt in the heat of passion, thought proper to put upon him (Mr
Goodfellow). 'He forgave him for it,' he said, 'from the very bottom of
his heart; and for himself (Mr Goodfellow), so far from pushing the
suspicious circumstances to extremity, which, he was sorry to say, really
had arisen against Mr Pennifeather, he (Mr Goodfellow) would make every
exertion in his power, would employ all the little eloquence in his
possession to--to--to--soften down, as much as he could conscientiously do
so, the worst features of this really exceedingly perplexing piece of
business.'
Mr Goodfellow went on for some half hour longer in this strain, very
much to the credit both of his head and of his heart; but your warm-hearted
people are seldom apposite in their observations--they run into all sorts
of blunders, contre-temps and mal apropos-isms, in the hot-headedness of
their zeal to serve a friend--thus, often with the kindest intentions in
the world, doing infinitely more to prejudice his cause than to advance it.
So, in the present instance, it turned out with all the eloquence of
'Old Charley'; for, although he laboured earnestly in behalf of the
suspected, yet it so happened, somehow or other, that every syllable he
uttered of which the direct but unwitting tendency was not to exalt the
speaker in the good opinion of his audience, had the effect of deepening
the suspicion already attached to the individual whose cause he pled, and
of arousing against him the fury of the mob.
One of the most unaccountable errors committed by the orator was his
allusion to the suspected as 'the heir of the worthy old gentleman, Mr
Shuttleworthy'. The people had really never thought of this before. They
had only remembered certain threats of disinheritance uttered a year or two
previously by the uncle (who had no living relative except the nephew), and
they had, therefore, always looked upon this disinheritance as a matter
that was settled--so single-minded a race of beings were the
Rattleburghers; but the remarks of 'Old Charley' brought them at once to a
consideration of this point, and thus gave them to see the possibility of
the threats having been nothing more than a threat. And straightway,
hereupon, arose the natural question of cui bono?--a question that tended
even more than the waistcoat to fasten the terrible crime upon the young
man. And here, lest I be misunderstood, permit me to digress for one
moment merely to observe that the exceedingly brief and simple Latin phrase
which I have employed is invariably mistranslated and misconceived. 'Cui
bono?' in all the crack novels and elsewhere,--in those of Mrs Gore, for
example (the author of Cecil), a lady who quotes all tongues from the
Chaldaean to Chickasaw, and is helped to her learning, 'as needed', upon a
systematic plan, by Mr Beckford,--in all the crack novels, I say, from
those of Bulwer and Dickens to those of Turnapenny and Ainsworth, the two
little Latin words cui bono are rendered 'to what purpose?' or (as if quo
bono) 'to what good?' Their true meaning, nevertheless, is 'for whose
advantage'. Cui, to whom; bono, is it for a benefit? It is a purely legal
phrase, and applicable precisely in cases such as we have now under
consideration, where the probability of the doer of a deed hinges upon the
probability of the benefit accruing to this individual or to that from the
deed's accomplishment. Now, in the present instance, the question cui
bono? very pointedly implicated Mr Pennifeather. His uncle had threatened
him, after making a will in his favour, with disinheritance. But the
threat had not been actually kept; the original will, it appeared, had not
been altered. Had it been altered, the only supposable motive for murder
on the part of the suspected would have been the ordinary one of revenge;
and even this would have been counteracted by the hope of reinstation into
the good graces of the uncle. But the will being unaltered, while the
threat to alter remained suspended over the nephew's head, there appears at
once the very strongest possible inducement for the atrocity; and so
concluded, very sagaciously, the worthy citizens of the borough of Rattle.
Mr Pennifeather was, accordingly, arrested upon the spot, and the
crowd, after some further search, proceeded homeward, having him in
custody. On the route, however, another circumstance occurred tending to
confirm the suspicion entertained. Mr Goodfellow, whose zeal led him to be
always a little in advance of the party, was seen suddenly to run forward a
few paces, stoop, and then apparently to pick up some small object from the
grass. Having quickly examined it, he was observed, too, to make a sort of
half attempt at concealing it in his coat pocket; but this action was
noticed, as I say, and consequently prevented, when the object picked up
was found to be a Spanish knife which a dozen persons at once recognized as
belonging to Mr Pennifeather. Moreover, his initials were engraved upon
the handle. The blade of this knife was open and bloody.
No doubt now remained of the guilt of the nephew, and immediately upon
reaching Rattleborough he was taken before a magistrate for examination.
Here matters again took a most unfavourable turn. The prisoner being
questioned as to his whereabouts on the morning of Mr Shuttleworthy's
disappearance, had absolutely the audacity to acknowledge that on that very
morning he had been out with his rifle deer-stalking, in the immediate
neighbourhood of the pool where the blood-stained waistcoat had been
discovered through the sagacity of Mr Goodfellow.
This latter now came forward, and, with tears in his eyes, asked
permission to be examined. He said that a stern sense of the duty he owed
his Maker, not less than his fellow-men, would permit him no longer to
remain silent. Hitherto, the sincerest affection for the young man
(notwithstanding the latter's ill treatment of himself, Mr Goodfellow) had
induced him to make every hypothesis which imagination could suggest, by
way of endeavouring to account for what appeared suspicious in the
circumstances that told so seriously against Mr Pennifeather; but these
circumstances were now altogether too convincing--too damning; he would
hesitate no longer--he would tell all he knew although his heart (Mr
Goodfellow's) should absolutely burst asunder in the effort. He then went
on to state that, on the afternoon of the day previous to Mr
Shuttleworthy's departure for the city, that worthy old gentleman had
mentioned to his nephew, in his hearing (Mr Goodfellow's), that his object
in going to town on the morrow was to make a deposit of an unusually large
sum of money in the 'Farmers' and Mechanics' Bank', and that, then and
there, the said Mr Shuttleworthy had distinctly avowed to the same nephew
his irrevocable determination of rescinding the will originally made, and
of cutting him off with a shilling. He (the witness) now solemnly called
upon the accused to state whether what he (the witness) had just stated was
or was not the truth in every substantial particular. Much to the
astonishment of every one present Mr Pennifeather frankly admitted that it
was.
The magistrate now considered it his duty to send a couple of
constables to search the chamber of the accused in the house of his uncle.
From this search they almost immediately returned with the well-known
steel-bound, russet leather pocket-book which the old gentleman had been in
the habit of carrying for years. Its valuable contents, however, had been
abstracted, and the magistrate in vain endeavoured to extort from the
prisoner the use which had been made of them, or the place of their
concealment. Indeed, he obstinately denied all knowledge of the matter.
The constables, also, discovered between the bed and sacking of the
unhappy man, a shirt and neck-handkerchief both marked with the initials of
his name, and both hideously besmeared with the blood of the victim.
At this juncture, it was announced that the horse of the murdered man
had just expired in the stable from the effects of the wound he had
received, and it was proposed by Mr Goodfellow that a post-mortem
examination of the beast should be immediately made, with the view, if
possible, of discovering the ball. This was accordingly done; and, as if
to demonstrate beyond a question the guilt of the accused, Mr Goodfellow,
after considerable searching in the cavity of the chest, was enabled to
detect and to pull forth a bullet of very extraordinary size, which, upon
trial, was found to be exactly adapted to the bore of Mr Pennifeather's
rifle, while it was far too large for that of any other person in the
borough or its vicinity. To render the matter even surer yet, however,
this bullet was discovered to have a flaw or seam at right angles to the
usual suture; and upon examination, this seam corresponded precisely with
an accidental ridge or elevation in a pair of moulds acknowledged by the
accused himself to be his own property. Upon the finding of this bullet,
the examining magistrate refused to listen to any further testimony, and
immediately committed the prisoner for trial--declining resolutely to take
any bail in the case, although against this severity Mr Goodfellow very
warmly remonstrated, and offered to become surety in whatever amount might
be required. This generosity on the part of 'Old Charley' was only in
accordance with the whole tenor of his amiable and chivalrous conduct
during the entire period of his sojourn in the borough of Rattle. In the
present instance, the worthy man was so entirely carried away by the
excessive warmth of his sympathy, that he seemed to have quite forgotten,
when he offered to go bail for his young friend, that he himself (Mr
Goodfellow) did not possess a single dollar's worth of property upon the
face of the earth.
The result of the committal may be readily foreseen. Mr Pennifeather,
amid the loud execrations of all Rattleborough, was brought to trial at the
next criminal sessions, when the chain of circumstantial evidence
strengthened as it was by some additional damning facts, which Mr
Goodfellow's sensitive conscientiousness forbade him to withhold from the
court) was considered so unbroken and so thoroughly conclusive, that the
jury, without leaving their seats, returned an immediate verdict of 'Guilty
of murder in the first degree'. Soon afterwards the unhappy wretch
received sentence of death, and was remanded to the county jail to await
the inexorable vengeance of the law.
In the meantime, the noble behaviour of 'Old Charley Goodfellow' had
doubly endeared him to the honest citizens of the borough. He became ten
times a greater favourite than ever; and, as a natural result of the
hospitality with which he was treated, he relaxed, as it were, perforce,
the extremely parsimonious habits which his poverty had hitherto impelled
him to observe, and very frequently had little reunions at his own house,
when wit and jollity reigned supreme--dampened a little, of course, by the
occasional remembrance of the untoward and melancholy fate which impended
over the nephew of the late lamented bosom friend of the generous host.
One fine day, this magnanimous old gentleman was agreeably surprised
at the receipt of the following letter:-
Charles Goodfellow, Esquire;
Dear Sir--In conformity with an order transmitted to our firm about
two months since, by our esteemed correspondent, Mr Barnabas Shuttleworthy,
we have the honour of forwarding this morning, to your address, a double
box of Chateau-Margaux, of the antelope brand, violet seal. Box numbered
and marked as per margin.
We remain, sir,
Your most ob'nt ser'ts,
HOGGS, FROGS, BOGS, & CO.
City of ----, June 21, 18--.
P.S.--The box will reach you, by wagon, on the day after your receipt
of this letter. Our respects to Mr Shuttleworthy.
H., F., B., & Co.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Charles Goodfellow, Esq.,
Rattleborough, From H., F., B., & Co.
Chat. Mar. A--No. 1.--6 doz. bts. (1/2 Gross).
The fact is, that Mr Goodfellow had, since the death of Mr > Shuttleworthy,
given over all expectation of ever receiving the promised Chateau-Margaux;
and he, therefore looked upon it now as a sort of especial dispensation of
Providence in his behalf. He was highly delighted, of course, and in the
exuberance of his joy invited a large party of friends to a petit souper on
the morrow, for the purpose of broaching the good old Mr Shuttleworthy's
present. Not that he said anything about 'the good old Mr Shuttleworthy'
when he issued the invitations. The fact is, he thought much and concluded
to say nothing at all. He did not mention to any one--if I remember
aright--that he had received a present of Chateau-Margaux. He merely asked
his friends to come and help him drink some of a remarkably fine quality
and rich flavour that he had ordered up from the city a couple of months
ago, and of which he would be in the receipt upon the morrow. I have often
puzzled myself to imagine why it was that 'Old Charley' came to the
conclusion to say nothing about having received the wine from his old
friend, but I could never precisely understand his reason for the silence,
although he had some excellent and very magnanimous reason, no doubt.
The morrow at length arrived, and with it a very large and highly
respectable company at Mr Goodfellow's house. Indeed, half the borough was
there--I myself among the number--but, much to the vexation of the host,
the Chateau-Margaux did not arrive until a late hour, and when the
sumptuous supper supplied by 'Old Charley' had been done very ample justice
by the guests. It came at length, however, a monstrously big box of it
there was, too,--and as the whole party were in excessively good humour, it
was decided, nem. con., that it should be lifted upon the table and its
contents disembowelled forthwith.
No sooner said than done. I lent a helping hand; and, in a trice, we
had the box upon the table, in the midst of all the bottles and glasses,
not a few of which were demolished in the scuffle. 'Old Charley', who was
pretty much intoxicated, and excessively red in the face, now took a seat,
with an air of mock dignity, at the head of the board, and thumped
furiously upon it with a decanter, calling the company to keep order
'during the ceremony of disinterring the treasure'.
After some vociferation, quiet was at length fully restored, and, as
very often happens in similar cases, a profound and remarkable silence
ensued. Being then requested to force open the lid, I complied, of course,
'with an infinite deal of pleasure'. I inserted a chisel, and giving it a
few slight taps with a hammer, the top of the box flew suddenly off, and,
at the same instant, there sprang up into a sitting position, directly
facing the host, the bruised, bloody, and nearly putrid corpse of the
murdered Mr Shuttleworthy himself. It gazed for a few moments fixedly and
sorrowfully, with its decaying and lack-lustre eyes, full into the
countenance of Mr Goodfellow; uttered slowly, but clearly and impressively,
the words--'Thou art the man!' and then, falling over the side of the chest
as if thoroughly satisfied, stretched out its limbs quiveringly upon the
table.
The scene that ensued is altogether beyond description. The rush for
the doors and windows was terrific, and many of the most robust men in the
room fainted outright through sheer horror. But after the first wild,
shrieking burst of affright, all eyes were directed to Mr Goodfellow. If I
live a thousand years, I can never forget the more than mortal agony which
was depicted in that ghastly face of his, so lately rubicund with triumph
and wine. For several minutes he sat rigidly as a statue of marble; his
eyes seeming, in the intense vacancy of their gaze, to be turned inward and
absorbed in the contemplation of his own miserable murderous soul. At
length their expression appeared to flash suddenly out into the external
world, and, with a quick leap, he sprang from his chair, and falling
heavily with his head and shoulders upon the table, and in contact with the
corpse, poured out rapidly and vehemently a detailed confession of the
hideous crime for which Mr Pennifeather was then imprisoned and doomed to
die.
What he recounted was in substance this:-- He followed his victim to
the vicinity of the pool; there shot his horse with a pistol; despatched
its rider with the butt end; possessed himself of the pocket-book; and,
supposing the horse dead, dragged it with great labour to the brambles by
the pool. Upon his own beast he slung the corpse of Mr Shuttleworthy, and
thus bore it to a secure place of concealment a long distance off through
the woods.
The waistcoat, the knife, the pocket-book, and bullet, had been placed
by himself where found, with the view of avenging himself upon Mr
Pennifeather. He had also contrived the discovery of the stained
handkerchief and shirt.
Toward the end of the blood-chilling recital, the words of the guilty
wretch faltered and grew hollow. When the record was finally exhausted, he
arose, staggered backward from the table, and fell--dead.
The means by which this happily-timed confession was extorted, although
efficient, were simple indeed. Mr Goodfellow's excess of frankness had
disgusted me, and excited my suspicions from the first. I was present when
Mr Pennifeather had struck him, and the fiendish expression which then
arose upon his countenance, although momentary, assured me that his threat
of vengeance would, if possible, be rigidly fulfilled. I was thus prepared
to view the manoeuvring of 'Old Charley' in a very different light from
that in which it was regarded by the good citizens of Rattleborough. I saw
at once that all the criminating discoveries arose, either directly or
indirectly, from himself. But the fact which clearly opened my eyes to the
true state of the case, was the affair of the bullet, found by Mr G. in the
carcass of the horse. I had not forgotten, although the Rattleburghers
had, that there was a hole where the ball had entered the horse, and
another where it went out. If it were found in the animal then, after
having made its exit, I saw clearly that it must have been deposited by the
person who found it. The bloody shirt and handkerchief confirmed the idea
suggested by the bullet; for the blood on examination proved to be capital
claret, and no more. When I came to think of these things, and also of the
late increase of liberality and expenditure on the part of Mr Goodfellow, I
entertained a suspicion which was none the less strong because I kept it
altogether to myself.
In the meantime, I instituted a rigorous private search for the corpse
of Mr Shuttleworthy, and, for good reason, searched in quarters as
divergent as possible from those to which Mr Goodfellow conducted his
party. The result was that, after some days, I came across an old dry
well, the mouth of which was nearly hidden by brambles; and here, at the
bottom, I discovered what I sought.
Now it so happened that I had overheard the colloquy between the two
cronies, when Mr Goodfellow had contrived to cajole his host into the
promise of a box of Chateau-Margaux. Upon this hint I acted. I procured a
stiff piece of whalebone, thrust it down the throat of the corpse, and
deposited the latter in an old wine box--taking care so to double the body
up as to double the whalebone with it. In this manner I had to press
forcibly upon the lid to keep it down while I secured it with nails; and I
anticipated, of course, that as soon as these latter were removed, the top
would fly off and the body up.
Having thus arranged the box, I marked, numbered, and addressed it as
already told; and then writing a letter in the name of the wine-merchants
with whom Mr Shuttleworthy dealt, I gave instructions to my servant to
wheel the box to Mr Goodfellow's door, in a barrow, at a given signal from
myself. For the words which I intended the corpse to speak, I confidently
depended upon my ventriloquial abilities; for their effect, I counted upon
the conscience of the murderous wretch.
I believe there is nothing more to be explained. Mr Pennifeather was
released upon the spot, inherited the fortune of his uncle, profited by the
lessons of experience, turned over a new leaf, and led happily ever
afterward a new life.
