The Gerrard Street Mystery and Other Weird Tales by John Charles Dent (i can read with my eyes shut TXT) 📖

a pinch, for the tent of a side-show. His wagon was a great lumbering affair, constructed, like himself, after an ante-diluvian pattern, and pretty nearly capacious enough for a first-rate man-of-war. In late September and early October it was no unprecedented thing to see as many as thirty or forty of these ponderous vehicles moving southward, one at the tail of the other, in a continuous string. They came down empty, and returned a day or two afterwards laden with the products of the southern orchards. On the return journey the wagons were full to overflowing. Not so the drivers, who were an exceedingly temperate and abstemious people, too parsimonious to leave much of their specie at the Royal Oak. It was doubtless for this reason that mine host Lapierre regarded, and was accustomed to speak of them with a good deal of easy contempt, not to say aversion. They brought little or no grist to his mill, and he was fond of proclaiming that he did not keep a hotel for the accommodation of such _canaille_. The emphasis placed by him on this last word was something quite refreshing to hear.
The road all the way from Millbrook to Spotswood, corresponds to the mathematical definition of a straight line. It forms the third concession of the township, and there is not a curve in it anywhere. The concessions number from west to east, and the sidelines, running at right angles to them are exactly two miles apart. At the northwestern angle formed by the intersection of the gravel road with the first side line north of Millbrook stood a little toll-gate, kept, at the period of the story, by one Jonathan Perry. Between the toll-gate and Savareen's on the same side of the road were several other houses to which no more particular reference is necessary. On the opposite side of the highway, somewhat more than a hundred yards north of the toll-gate, was the abode of a farmer named Mark Stolliver. Half a mile further up was John Calder's house, which was the only one until you came to Squire Harrington's. To the rear of the Squire's farm was a huge morass about fifty acres in extent, where cranberries grew in great abundance, from which circumstance it was known as Cranberry Swamp.
Now you have the entire neighborhood before you, and if you will cast your eye on the following rough plan you will have no difficulty in taking in the scene at a single glance:--


CHAPTER III.
A JOURNEY TO TOWN.
In the early spring of the year 1854 a letter reached Savareen from his former home in Hertfordshire, containing intelligence of the sudden death of his father. The old gentleman had been tolerably well off in this world's gear, but he had left a numerous family behind him, so that there was no great fortune in store for Reginald. The amount bequeathed to him, however, was four hundred pounds sterling clear of all deductions--a sum not to be despised, as it would go far toward enabling him to buy the farm on which he lived, and would thus give a material impetus to his fortunes. The executors lost no time in winding up and distributing the estate, and during the second week in July a letter arrived from their solicitors enclosing a draft on the Toronto agency of the Bank of British North America for the specified sum. Savareen made arrangements with the local bank at Millbank to collect the proceeds, and thus save him the expense of a journey to Toronto. Meanwhile he concluded a bargain with Squire Harrington for the purchase of the farm. The price agreed upon was $3,500, half of which was to be paid down upon the delivery of the deed, the balance being secured by mortgage. The cash would be forthcoming at the bank not later than the 18th of the month, and accordingly that was the date fixed upon for the completion of the transaction. Lawyer Miller was instructed to have the documents ready for execution at noon, when the parties and their respective wives were to attend at his office in Millbrook.
The morning of Monday, the 17th, was wet and gave promise of a rainy day. As there seemed to be no prospect of his being able to do any outside work on the farm, Savareen thought he might as well ride into town and ascertain if the money had arrived. He saddled his black mare, and started for Millbrook--about ten in the forenoon. His two dogs showed a manifest desire to accompany him, but he did not think fit to gratify their desire and ordered them back. Before he had ridden far the rain ceased, and the sun came out warm and bright, but he was in an idle mood, and didn't think it worth while to turn back. It seems probable indeed, that he had merely wanted an excuse for an idle day in town; as there was no real necessity for such a journey. Upon reaching the front street he stabled his mare at the Peacock Inn, which was his usual house of call when in Millbrook. He next presented himself at the bank, where he made enquiry about his draft. Yes, the funds were there all right. The clerk, supposing that he wanted to draw the amount there and then, counted the notes out for him, and requested him to sign the receipt in the book kept for such purposes. Savareen then intimated that he had merely called to enquire about the matter, and that he wished to leave the money until next day. The clerk, who was out of humor about some trifle or other, and who was, moreover, very busy that morning, spoke up sharply, remarking that he had had more bother about that draft than the transaction was worth. His irritable turn and language nettled Savareen, who accordingly took the notes, signed the receipt and left the bank, declaring that "that shop" should be troubled by no further business of his. The clerk, as soon as he had time to think over the matter, perceived that he had been rude, and would have tendered an apology, but his customer had already shaken the dust of the bank off his feet and taken his departure, so that there was no present opportunity of accommodating the petty quarrel. As events subsequently turned out it was destined never to be accommodated in this world, for the two never met again on this side the grave.
Instead of returning home immediately as he ought to have done, Savareen hung about the tavern all day, drinking more than was good for his constitution, and regaling every boon companion he met with an account of the incivility to which he had been subjected at the hands of the bank clerk. Those to whom he told the story thought he attached more importance to the affair than it deserved, and they noticed that the scar on his cheek came out in its most lurid aspect. He dined at the Peacock and afterwards indulged in sundry games of bagatelle and ten-pins; but the stakes consisted merely of beer and cigars, and he did not get rid of more than a few shillings in the course of the afternoon. Between six and seven in the evening his landlady regaled him with a cup of strong tea, after which he seemed none the worse for his afternoon's relaxations. A few minutes before dusk he mounted his mare and started on his way homeward.
The ominous clouds of the early morning had long since passed over. The sun had shone brightly throughout the afternoon, and had gone down amid a gorgeous blaze of splendour. The moon would not rise till nearly nine, but the evening was delightfully calm and clear, and the horseman's way home was as straight as an arrow, over one of the best roads in the country.


CHAPTER IV.
GONE.
At precisely eight o'clock in the evening of this identical Monday, July 17th, 1854, old Jonathan Perry sat tranquilly smoking his pipe at the door of the toll-gate two miles north of Millbrook.
The atmosphere was too warm to admit of the wearing of any great display of apparel, and the old man sat hatless and coatless on a sort of settle at the threshold. He was an inveterate old gossip, and was acquainted with the business of everybody in the neighborhood. He knew all about the bargain entered into between Savareen and Squire Harrington, and how it was to be consummated on the following day. Savareen, when riding townwards that morning, had informed him of the ostensible purpose of his journey, and it now suddenly occurred to the old man to wonder why the young farmer had not returned home.
While he sat there pondering, the first stroke of the town bell proclaiming the hour was borne upon his ear. Before the ringing had ceased, he caught the additional sound of a horse's hoofs rapidly advancing up the road.
"Ah," said he to himself, "here he comes. I reckon his wife'll be apt to give him fits for being so late."
In another moment the horseman drew up before him, but only to exchange a word of greeting, as the gate was thrown wide open, and there was nothing to bar his progress. The venerable gate-keeper had conjectured right. It was Savareen on his black mare.
"Well, Jonathan, a nice evening," remarked the young farmer.
"Yes, Mr. Savareen--a lovely night. You've had a long day of it in town. They'll be anxious about you at home. Did you find the money all right, as you expected?"
"O, the money was there, right enough, and I've got it in my pocket. I had some words with that conceited puppy, Shuttleworth, at the bank. He's altogether too big for his place, and I can tell you he'll have the handling of no more money of mine." And then, for about the twentieth time within the last few hours, he recounted the particulars of his interview with the bank clerk.
The old man expressed his entire concurrence in Savareen's estimate of Shuttleworth's conduct. "I have to pay the gate-money into the bank on the first of every month," he remarked, "and that young feller always acts as if he felt too uppish to touch it. I wonder you didn't drop into 'un."
"O, I wasn't likely to do that," was the reply--"but I gave him a bit of my mind, and I told him it 'ud be a long time afore I darkened the doors of his shop again. And so it will. I'd sooner keep my bit o' money, when I have any, in the clock-case at home. There's never any housebreaking hereabouts."
Jonathan responded by saying that, in so far as he knew, there hadn't been a burglary for many a year.
"But all the same," he continued, "I shouldn't like to keep such a sum as four hundred pound about me, even for a single night. No more I shouldn't like to carry such a pot o' money home in the night time, even if nobody knew as I had it on me. Ride you home, Mr. Savareen, and hide it away in some safe place till to-morrow morning--that's _my_ advice."
"And very good advice it is, Jonathan," was the response. "I'll act upon it without more words. Good night!" And so saying, Savareen continued his course homeward at a brisk trot.
The old man watched him as he sped away up the road, but could not keep him in view more than half a minute or so, as by this time the light of day had wholly departed. He lighted his pipe, which had gone out during the conversation, and resumed his seat on the settle. Scarcely had he done so ere he heard the clatter of horse's hoofs moving rapidly towards