الفصل الفصل 11 · The Black Doctor

. The Black Doctor

Bishop's Crossing is a small village lying ten miles in a

south-westerly direction from Liverpool. Here in the early seventies

there settled a doctor named Aloysius Lana. Nothing was known locally

either of his antecedents or of the reasons which had prompted him to

come to this Lancashire hamlet. Two facts only were certain about him;

the one that he had gained his medical qualification with some

distinction at Glasgow; the other that he came undoubtedly of a

tropical race, and was so dark that he might almost have had a strain

of the Indian in his composition. His predominant features were,

however, European, and he possessed a stately courtesy and carriage

which suggested a Spanish extraction. A swarthy skin, raven-black

hair, and dark, sparkling eyes under a pair of heavily-tufted brows

made a strange contrast to the flaxen or chestnut rustics of England,

and the newcomer was soon known as "The Black Doctor of Bishop's

Crossing." At first it was a term of ridicule and reproach; as the

years went on it became a title of honour which was familiar to the

whole countryside, and extended far beyond the narrow confines of the

village.

For the newcomer proved himself to be a capable surgeon and an

accomplished physician. The practice of that district had been in the

hands of Edward Rowe, the son of Sir William Rowe, the Liverpool

consultant, 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 remarkable surgical 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 elegance of his manners. An absence of

antecedents and of relatives is sometimes an aid rather than an

impediment to social advancement, and the distinguished 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 matchmakers were continually coupling his name with

one or other of the eligible 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 matchmakers had finally given

him up in despair, his engagement was suddenly announced to Miss

Frances Morton, of Leigh Hall.

Miss Morton was a young lady who was well known upon the country-side,

her father, James Haldane Morton, having been the Squire 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 ripened into

love, sprang up between them. Nothing could exceed their devotion to

each other. There was some discrepancy 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 postscript 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 followed, from which he was observed to

return in a state of great agitation. 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 shamefully 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 surmised 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 mere 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 housekeeper, 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 house 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 anyone. 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 at 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, winding 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 footpath. 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, and 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 determined to call the

doctor without delay. As she passed through the gate she was surprised

to see someone lurking among the laurel bushes. It was certainly a man,

and to the best of her belief Mr. Arthur Morton. Preoccupied 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

farther shadow thrown by the table a dingy 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 taken to be a

glove was the hand of a man, who was prostrate 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 bruises about his face and neck. A slight thickening and

swelling 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 slippers, the soles of which were perfectly

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 someone 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 conjectured that it was to

this and not to a robber that the emptiness of the box was 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 devoted to his sister, and it was

shown that since the rupture between her and Dr. Lana he had been heard

again and again to express himself in the most vindictive 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 exclamation of fear or of anger had been loud enough to

attract the attention of Mrs. Woods. When Mrs. Woods descended, 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 fiery, 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 diseased--an ailment

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

prosecution, 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 incapable 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 constable who arrested him.

He had formerly 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 innocence. It was certain

that Dr. Lana was alive and in his study at half-past eleven o'clock.

Mrs. Woods 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 impatience 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

motives 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 anyone 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 sinister kind. When Mrs.

Madding called, the doctor might have retired 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 photograph 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 blurred by the softness of the

carpet that it was impossible to make any trustworthy deduction 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 crimes 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 climax upon the second. The long files

of the Lancaster Weekly with their report of the case lie before me as

I write, but I must content myself with a synopsis 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 intemperate expressions which the young squire

had been heard to utter about the doctor, and the fiery manner in which

he resented the alleged 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 isolated 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 corroborated 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 quite 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 implicated in the case in any way, either at the

inquest or at the police-court proceedings, 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 alluded to her

engagement to the doctor, touched briefly 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 resentment to be unreasonable and intemperate. In answer to

a direct question from her counsel, she replied that she did not feel

that she had any grievance whatever against Dr. Lana, and that in her

opinion he had acted in a perfectly honourable manner. Her brother, on

an insufficient knowledge of the facts, had taken another view, and she

was compelled to acknowledge that, in spite of her entreaties, 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

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.

Mr. 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 tomorrow.

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 inquiry. 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.

Mr. 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 murmur 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

recognized by so many friends and patients of Dr. Lana as being that of

the doctor himself.

A Juryman: Has anyone 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 adjourns until tomorrow.

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 ruse for the purpose of saving her brother. The

obvious dilemma 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 of 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 confession of guilt, and she might find herself

in the terrible position of only being able to save her brother from

the gallows by the sacrifice of her former lover. The court next

morning was crammed to overflowing, 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 conceal, and to confer with the

opposing counsel. A few hurried words--words which left a look of

amazement 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 stunned with amazement as the very man whose fate

had been the subject of so much contention 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 of care

upon his face. But in spite of his melancholy bearing and despondent

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 affected by my actions. Let me to the best of my

ability repair the evil which I have done.

"To anyone 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 irrelevant, but they are a necessary introduction to that

which is to follow.

"I had, as I have said, a twin brother named Ernest, 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 likeness became less marked because our

expression was not the same, but with our features in repose 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 contrived 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 compensated 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

was 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 motive

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 gravel 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 sardonic 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. I was quite shocked by the expression upon his face.

My medical knowledge told me that there was some serious internal

malady. He had been drinking also, and his face was bruised 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 flannel

shirt, and his feet were bursting through his boots. But his poverty

had only made him more savagely vindictive towards me. His hatred rose

to the height of a mania. 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 foulest

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 raved, he

cursed, he shook his fists in my face, and then suddenly a horrible

spasm 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 exclamations, 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 aroused 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 decided upon without my having been conscious of any

process of thought. It was an instinct which irresistibly 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 judgments 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 unduly 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 his 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 blighted 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 seaport

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 that anyone might be caused serious danger through this

stratagem 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 vessel

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

softened. 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 condemned me, she, at least, would not forget.

And so I sent her a note under the seal of secrecy 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 accusation 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 investigation

corroborated it to the extent 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 disappearance, and a complete reconciliation was

effected between him and the young squire, the latter having

acknowledged that he had entirely 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 Rev. 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."