That Mainwaring Affair by A. Maynard Barbour (ebook reader computer txt) 📖

one petrified, unable to move or speak, while no one who saw him could ever forget the look of horror which overspread his features.

"Mr. Mainwaring," said Mr. Sutherland at length, "do you know the dead man?"

"It is he," answered Ralph Mainwaring in a low tone, apparently speaking more to himself than to the attorney; "it is Hugh Mainwaring; that was the distinguishing mark between them."

"Do you refer to the mark of which Mr. Whitney has just spoken?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean by designating it as 'the distinguishing mark between them'?"

Ralph Mainwaring turned from the casket and faced Mr. Sutherland, but his eyes had the strained, far-away look of one gazing into the distance, unconscious of objects near him.

"It was the mark," he said, speaking with an effort, "by which, when we were boys, he was distinguished from his twin brother."

"His twin brother, Harold Scott Mainwaring?" queried the attorney.

"Yes," the other answered, mechanically.

"Do you then identify this as Hugh Mainwaring?"

"Yes; and the other—he must have been—no, no, it could not be—great God!" Ralph Mainwaring suddenly reeled and raised his hand to his head. Mr. Whitney sprang to his assistance and led him to his chair, but in those few moments he had aged twenty years.

A number of those most intimately acquainted with Hugh Mainwaring were then called upon, all of whom identified the dead man as their late friend and associate. These preliminaries over, Mr. Sutherland arose.

"Your honor and gentlemen of the jury, before proceeding with the testimony to be introduced, I have a brief statement to make. Soon after the commencement of this action, we came into possession of indisputable evidence that Hugh Mainwaring, the supposed victim of the Fair Oaks tragedy, was still living, and that of whatever crime, if crime there were associated with that fearful event, he was not the victim but the perpetrator. We determined at all hazards to secure him, first as a witness in this case, our subsequent action to be decided by later developments. Through our special detective we succeeded in locating him, but he, upon finding himself cornered, supposing he was to be arrested for the murder of his brother, attempted suicide by shooting. The combined skill of the best surgeons obtainable, though unable to save him, yet prolonged life for three days, long enough to enable two of our number, Mr. Barton and Mr. Montague, to reach him in season to take his dying statement; a statement not only setting forth the facts relating to the will in question, but embracing also the details of the Fair Oaks tragedy and mystery. This statement, made by Hugh Mainwaring and attested by numerous witnesses present, will now be read by Mr. Montague."

Amid an impressive silence, Mr. Montague stepped to the side of the casket and, unfolding a document which he held, read the following:

"I, Hugh Mainwaring, freely and voluntarily and under no duress or compulsion, make this, my dying statement, not only as a relief to the mental anguish I have endured for the past few months, but also in the hope that I may thereby, in my last hours, help in some degree to right the wrong which my life of treachery and cowardice has wrought. To do this, I must go back over twenty-five years of crime, and beyond that to the inordinate greed and ambition that led to crime.

"My brother, Harold Scott Mainwaring, and I were twins, so marvelously alike in form and feature that our parents often had difficulty to distinguish between us, but utterly unlike in disposition, except that we both possessed a fiery temper and an indomitable will. He was the soul of honor, generous to a fault, loyal-hearted and brave, and he exacted honor and loyalty from others. He had no petty ambitions; he cared little for wealth for its own sake, still less for its votaries. I was ambitious; I loved wealth for the power which it bestowed; I would sacrifice anything for the attainment of that power, and even my boyish years were tainted with secret envy of my brother, an envy that grew with my growth, till, as we reached years of maturity, the consciousness that he, my senior by only a few hours, was yet to take precedence over me—to possess all that I coveted—became a thorn in my side whose rankling presence I never for a single waking hour forgot; it embittered my enjoyment of the present, my hopes and plans for the future.

"But of this deadly undercurrent flowing far beneath the surface neither he nor others dreamed, till, one day, a woman's face—cold, cruel, false, but beautiful, bewitchingly, entrancingly beautiful,—came between us, and from that hour all semblance of friendship was at an end. With me it was an infatuation; with him it was love, a love ready to make any sacrifice for its idol. So when our father threatened to disinherit and disown either or both of us, and the false, fickle heart of a woman was laid in the balances against the ancestral estates, I saw my opportunity for seizing the long coveted prize. We each made his choice; my brother sold his birthright for a mess of pottage; his rights were transferred to me, and my ambition was at last gratified.

"Between three and four years later, on the night of November seventeenth, within a few hours preceding his death, my father made a will, revoking the will by which he had disinherited his elder son, and restoring him again to his full right and title to the estate. This was not unexpected to me. Though no words on the subject had passed between us and my brother's name was never mentioned, I had realized for more than a year that my father was gradually relenting towards the son who had ever been his favorite, and on the last day that he was able to leave his room, I had come upon him unaware in the old picture gallery, standing before the portrait of his elder son, silent and stern, but with the tears coursing down his pallid cheeks. When, therefore, on the night preceding his death, my father demanded that an attorney be summoned, my feelings can be imagined. Just as the prize which I had so long regarded as mine was almost within my grasp, should I permit it to elude me for the gratification of a dying man's whim? Never! In my rage I could have throttled him then and there without a qualm; fear of the law alone held me back. I tried to dissuade him, but it was useless. I then bribed the servant sent to bring the attorney to report that he was out of town, and when that proved of no avail, I sent for Richard Hobson, a penniless shyster, whose lack of means and lack of principle I believed would render him an easy tool in my hands. He came; I was waiting to receive him, and we entered into compact, I little dreaming I was setting loose on my track a veritable hell-hound! The will was drawn and executed, Hobson and one Alexander McPherson, an old friend of my father's, signing as witnesses. Within twenty-four hours of its execution, Richard Hobson was richer by several hundred pounds, and the will was in my possession. Two days later, I had a false telegram sent to our place, summoning McPherson to his home in Scotland. He left at once, before my father's burial, and his death, which occurred a few weeks later, removed the last obstacle in the way of carrying my plans into execution. My brother at that time was in Australia, but in what part of the country I did not know, nor did I try to ascertain. My constant fear was that he might in some way—though by what means I could not imagine—get some knowledge of the will and return to set up a claim to the estate. As soon as possible, therefore, notwithstanding the protests of my attorneys, I sold the estate and came to America.

"Concerning the years that followed, it is needless to go into detail; they brought me wealth, influence, power, all that I had craved, but little of happiness. Even when there came tidings of my brother's death at sea, and I felt that at last my title to the estate was secure, I had little enjoyment in its possession. Richard Hobson had already begun his black-mailing schemes, his demands growing more frequent and exorbitant with each succeeding year. Through him, also, the woman who had wrecked my brother's life received some inkling of my secret, and through this knowledge, slight as it was, gained enough of a hold over me that life was becoming an intolerable burden. Through all these years, however, I kept the will in my possession. Even after hearing of the death of my brother, a cowardly, half-superstitious dread kept me from destroying it, though doubtless I would have done so soon after making my own will had I not been prevented by circumstances unforeseen, which I will now state.

"The events which I am about to relate are stamped upon my brain as though by fire; they have haunted me day and night for the past five months. On the seventh of July last, I made and executed my will in favor of my namesake, Hugh Mainwaring, and on the following day—his birthday and mine—he was to be declared my heir. It was past eleven o'clock on the night of that day when I retired to my private library, and it was fully an hour later when, having dismissed my secretary, I finally found myself alone, as I supposed, for the night. My thoughts were far from pleasant. I had just had a stormy interview with my housekeeper, Mrs. LaGrange, who had tried, as on previous occasions, to coerce me by threats into a private marriage and a public recognition of her as my wife and of her child and mine; and, in addition, the occurrences of the day had been of a nature to recall the past, and events which I usually sought to bury in oblivion were passing before my mental vision despite my efforts to banish them. Suddenly a voice which seemed like an echo of the past recalled me to the present. Somewhat startled, I turned quickly, confronting a man who had entered unperceived from the tower-room. He was my own height and size, with curling black hair and heavy mustache, but I was unable to distinguish his features as he remained standing partly in the shadow. Before I could recover from my surprise, he again spoke, his voice still vaguely familiar.

"'The master of Fair Oaks'—the words were spoken with stinging emphasis—'seems depressed on the eve of his festal day, the day on which he is to name the heir and successor to his vast estates!'

"I remembered that a stranger had called that day during my absence, who, my secretary had informed me, bad shown a surprising familiarity with my private plans.

"'I think,' I replied, coldly, 'that you favored me with a call this afternoon, but whatever your business then or now, you will have to defer it for a few days. I do not know how you gained admittance to these apartments at this hour, but I will see that you are escorted from them without delay,' and as I spoke I rose to ring for a servant.

"He anticipated my intention, however, and with the agility of a panther sprang noiselessly across the room, intercepting me, at the same time raising a large, English bull-dog revolver, which he levelled at me.

"'Not so fast, not so fast,' he said, softly; 'you can afford to wait a little; I have waited for years!'

"I stood as though rooted to the spot, gazing at him with a sort of fascination. As he emerged into the light there was something almost familiar in his features, and yet something horribly incongruous and unreal. His eyes glowed like living fire; his soft,