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Hunted

Chapter V. On To London

page 10

Chapter V. On To London.

The coach was well filled with passengers, but in the darkness Dillon could not observe whether there were any that were known to him. His desire was that if possible his visit to London should be unknown, not only to the agent, but in the district, so that the intervention of Lord Errington, if happily he should obtain it, might appear to have been spontaneous. On this account he subsided unobtrusively into his corner of the coach, and drawing down his hat over his face as if preparing for sleep he evaded possible recognition.

The jolting of the coach and the exhaustion consequent on the tension to which his mind had been subjected during the day, did their work, and he fell into an uneasy slumber. The grey of dawn was appearing when the coach rolled up to the railway station, barely in time to transfer its passengers and their luggage to the train leaving for Dublin. No incident of interest occurred during the day, and, arriving in the evening, Dillon at once took passage on board the steamer for Liverpool, which he reached the following morning.

All this time his journey had been so rapid that he had not had a glance at the papers; indeed his mind was so absorbed in the circumstances connected with the object of his journey that he had little inclination to concern himself with outside affairs. But when he had taken his seat in the train at Liverpool, and they were just moving from the station, his attention was aroused by a conversation between two of his fellow passengers. With the noise of the train he could only catch snatches of their words, but he heard enough to quicken his curiosity.

‘No; the agent was shot dead. The other was dangerously wounded. Poor Ireland—always unrest—large number of people evicted—Lord Errington—murderers supposed to have fled—strangers in the district.

‘What did you say may I ask about a murder?—is it in Ireland?’ said Mr Dillon.

‘Yes a very dreadful murder; have you not heard of it?—it is in this morning's papers. It is a case of an agent who had been evicting a number of tenants on the estate of Lord Errington, somewhere in the west of Ireland He was shot dead the night before last, when returning from a meeting of Justices, and a bailiff with him was dangerously wounded, so dangerously that he is not expected to survive.’

‘How very dreadful,’ said Dillon, but he did not tell how his heart almost ceased to beat, and how earnestly he longed for the full details. These he could not obtain without evincing a curiosity which he felt it hard to conceal, and which an instinctive feeling told him to restrain. At the next station his two fellow-passengers alighted, and Dillon lost no time in obtaining a newspaper from one of the boys selling them on the platform and calling out ‘Dreadful murder in Ireland! Morning paper!’

Hurrying back to his place in the carriage, Dillon tore open the paper and cast his eyes rapidly over the pages. There it was under ‘Telegraphic’:

‘Another Agrarian Murder in Ireland.

‘An Agent Shot.

‘Supposed Clue to the Murderers.

‘Last night about eleven o'clock a terrible murder was perpetrated on the highway, about three miles from the town of—–, in the County of—–. From such particulars as we can gather, it appears that Mr R. W. Lewis, the agent of Lord Errington, was returning from a meeting of Justices of the Peace, which had been held to consider the disturbed state of the district. He was accompanied by one of the bailiffs on the estate — a man named Porter. They were driving in a gig, and at half-past eleven o'clock, when within about three miles of the town, they were met by a man partially disguised, who deliberately fired at them with a double-barrelled gun. The first shot took effect on the body of Mr Lewis, killing him dead, the second seriously wounding the bailiff, who was enabled to retain his seat in the gig and escaped, driving rapidly into the town and giving the alarm. The police at once proceeded to the spot, where they found the unfortunate gentleman, the bullet having pierced the lungs. Medical aid was promptly on the ground but only to find that life was extinct. Bodies of police immediately scoured the district, but though it is said that they have a clue to the perpetrators of the crime, no arrest has been made. The wounded man Porter was attended to immediately on reaching the town, and though greatly exhausted by loss of blood, the ball having entered his shoulder and escaped at the back, his case is not considered hopeless. He is said to have stated that he recognised the murderer, but he is in too exhausted a condition to give any further information. Should he revive sufficiently during the day, his depositions will be taken.

‘It appears that a large number of notices to quit had been served on the tenants of Lord Errington's estate, and that a very threatening state of feeling had existed in the district against Captain Lewis as the author of the system which is now being carried out for converting the small holdings of the tenants into large grazing farms.

‘It will be recollected that last year, after harvest, some forty or fifty families on the same estate were dispossessed, their houses page 11 being burnt to the ground, and harrowing tales were told of the sufferings of the poor people who were obliged to camp on the road sides, without proper shelter from the rains and snows of winter, where numbers of them are said to have died of cold and hunger and famine fever.

‘This year a number have beem similarly dispossessed, and notices have been served on all the residents in other six or eight townlands to quit forthwith. A feeling of great exasperation existed in the district, the life of the agent was threatened, and this dreadful catastrophe appears to be the melancholy result.’

William Dillon read the terrible story with painful and increasing interest; and every angry feeling against Captain Lewis, as the cause of his troubles, disappeared from his breast. In the face of such a fearful vengeance he felt even pity for the man who was regarded as incapable of feeling any pity for others. With the exception of the last occasion, to which his own intemperate language had contributed, be had received nothing but uniform courtesy and respect from the agent; and now that death had come in such appalling circumstances there were even words and acts of kiudness the memory of which drew the veil of oblivion over the harsher traits of his character, and Dillon bitterly regretted the severity of the words in which he had denounced the agent on the last occasion on which they had been fated to meet on earth.

As the train sped along in its rapid flight through the midland counties of England, his thoughts were diverted for a time by the rich and varied panorama that passed before his eyes. The pleasant undulating hills, the woods clad in the varied tints of their autumnal foliage, the great manufacturing towns with their dense canopy of smoke, all presented scenes so different from those to which he had been accustomed, that his mind was lifted from the sombre thoughts connected with the death of Captain Lewis, and he even began to speculate as to the effect which this dreadful incident would have on the events proceeding on Lord Errington's estate.

Captain Lewis had been the originator of the new scheme, which had produced such melancholy results on the hapless peasantry, and it might be that the death of the principal actor in them might lead to a total alteration in the conduct of the estate.

But this would be a concession to the spirit of turbulence that had been spreading, and might be regarded as a direct incentive to crime. It seemed natural to suppose that the murder had proceeded from the hands of some of those who had been dispossessed; and to turn from the path intendded, and to allow the tenants to return to their holdings would be giving the victory to violence and directly rewarding the actors and sympathisers in the murder.

Looked at in any light, this dreadful occurrence seemed a misfortune, and Dillon felt the awkwardness of his present mission, and of his presenting his complaint to Lord Errington, against the proceedings of his agent, pleading for possession of the farm from which he had got notice of dispossession from the agent, while that agent himself was lying dead, the victim to his zeal in the improvement of Lord Errington's own property, slain by the hand of someone belonging to the class of evicted tenants among whom Dillon himself was included. Had he yet to start on his journey he would not have come, but having gone so far in it he felt bound to see it through.

It was late in the afternoon when the train arrived at Euston, and after disentangling himself from the confusion of the crowded station Dillon found his way to a quiet hotel in the neighbourhood. It was too late to call on Lord Errington that evening, but Dillon's desire to hasten his business prompted him to find out that nobleman's residence, and the most convenient time at which it would be possible to see him on the following day.

Accordingly, after some refreshment, he made his way to the West Eud, and called at his Lordship's residence. On enquiring, he found, to his great disappointment, that Lord Erringtou was absent on the continent and was not expected to return for several mouths.

This was a contingency which he had never auticipated, and one that in the circumstances was particularly embarrassing. He returned to the hotel. In an undecided state as to whether he should prolong his stay till the return of his landlord to London—and this might be of indefinite duration—or hasten back to Ireland, the object of his mission unattained, he threw himself on a couch in the coffee-room.

But he was soon to learn that which was to throw a new and lurid light over the position and impel him to prompt decision. The waiter entered the room with the latest editions of the evening papers and laid them about on the tables. Several persons went forward and took copies, and a paper having been placed close to where he was lying, Dillon took it up mechanically, for his thoughts were wholly absorbed in the indecision which he felt as to the next course he should take.

But the first thing his eye rested on fully aroused his attention:—

‘The Irish Agrarian Murder.

‘Report of the Inquest.

‘Flight of the Supposed Murderer.

‘Warrant for William Dillon.

‘£100 Reward.’

page 12

He was unable to read further. His head swam, and his eyes felt like balls of fire. ‘Warrant for William Dillon,’ he muttered. £100 Reward. Flight of the Supposed Murderer.’ Suppressing every outward sign of emotion, he read the headings over and over again, till the words seemed to burn themselves into his brain: ‘Warrant for William Dillon; £100 Reward.’

He glanced stealthily around to see if anyone observed him, for he felt conscious that, despite his efforts at preserving a caim appearance, his looks must betray the agitution within.

The people seated in different parts of the coffee room were generally perusing the papers, except a group of two or three in the further corner of the room who were engaged in conversation. He thought they glanced at him from time to time, and he felt sure that with any longer continuance of this ordeal in the presence of strangers he must break down.

Taking up the paper he quietly passed to the door and upstairs to his room, where, locking the door, he flung himself on the bed. What horrible thing was this? A murderer, a fugitive from the law? A reward on his head. Surely this could not be real. And he bethought him that he had merely read the sensational headlines, and that possibly the news itself did not bear out the dreadful thought. He hastily sought for a match, and lighting the candle placed on his table proceeded to read the account.

‘An inquest was held this morning, at the Crown Inn, on the body of Captain Lewis, the late agent of Lord Errington. The depositions of the bailiff, Porter, who was accompanying the unfortunate gentleman at the time when the murder occurred, and who was himself severely wounded, were read, the sufferer being unable to appear, and being still in a Critical condition.

‘These were to the effect that Captain Lewis and himself had left the meeting of County Justices about half-past ten, and, when at a point on the road about three miles from the county town, they saw a man approaching them from the opposite direction. Wituess was driving and Captain Lewis was sitting on his left. When about ten yards from the horse's head the man deliberately presented & double-barrelled gun at Captain Lewis and fired, the shot taking effect. Instantly after the man fired the other barrel at witness, the ball striking him in the left shoulder. Captain Lewis fell forward out of the gig, and the horse being frightened, bolted. Witness was able to retain the reins and drove rapidly to town, though fainting from loss of blood.

‘The man was dressed in a long dark-coloured overcoat, and had a soft dark felt hat with a large leaf pulled over his face, his coat being buttoned so as to conceal the lower portion of the face.

Could not swear positively as to the identity of the man, but, to the best of his knowledge, he believed it was one William Dillon—a tenant who had the previous day visited the office. Dillon had become violent on the occasion, and threatened the agent with vengeance for cruelty in dispossessing the tenants.

‘Robson, a pawnbroker, deposed that on the night of the murder certain articles of jewellery had been pledged with him by a man corresponding to the description given of the murderer. He had given an assumed name. It was also proved that on the night in question, and some time after the murder had been committed, a ruan bearing the same appearance had joined the night mail-coach for Dublin a few miles from the town, in the direction of the place where the murder had been committed.

‘From information received, the police had proceeded to the residence of the man Dillon, and found from his wife that he had left home on the evening of the murder, with the intention, as she said, of going to London in order to see the landlord and obtain permission to retain his farm.

‘After hearing the medical evidence as to the cause of death, the jury found “That the deceased had come to his death from a gunshot wound, inflicted, as they believe, by the hand of William Dillon, against whom they return a verdiet of wilful murder.”

‘A warrant has been issued for the murderer, and a reward of £100 has been offered for his apprehension. It is thought that he may have escaped from Ireland, though the statement of his intention of going to London is believed to be merely a ruse for the purpose of putting pursuets off his track. However the police have been everywhere communicated with, and though he has got a start there is little doubt that the fugitive will be hunted down.’

The paper fell from Dillon's hands. Here was no case of mere unreasonable surmise and suspicicn, but the chain of evidence seemed complete. He covered hisface with his hands and tried to settle his thoughts. He heard the roar of London streets, and it grated on his shattered nerves; he put his fingers in his ears and sought to shut it out. For a moment he could hardly realise the position. He felt that there was soine horrid dark cloud resting on him he knew not what; it seemed one long troubled dream, and he prayed that it might burst and leave him in his own home, escapd from the horrors of a hideous nightmare. But no, he looked around him. It was too real. There was the newspaper, and this was London; in the eyes of the law he was a murderer and the bloodhounds were on his track.

There was not a moment, to be lost. Was he to fly from the charge, so explicit in detail, so confirmed by circumstances; or should he return and face it conscious of his page 13 utter disconnection with the crime? In quiet seclusion in some distant sphere he might leave it to time to prove his innocence. But then the stigma of such a crime! What wretchedness for his family! while the fact of his flying would have confirmed the public belief in his guilt. Even now what sufferings must be endured by his beloved wife. What indignities she must be subjected to as the wife of a fugitive murderer. What if she even suspected that he had committed the murder; that maddened by trouble and incensed against the agent for the harshness of the treatment he had received, he had imbrued his hands in blood! He could not bear the thought. At least he must tell her that he was innocent. She would believe him whatever others might think, and however difficult he might find it to disentangle the meshes of the net that seemed woven around him.

If he could only escape the hands of the police, who were watching for him, and reach home, and there surrender himself to the law, he felt at least that it would tell more in his favour than if he was arrested at a distance and brought back in handcuffs.