Sweetland frowned to himself and wondered how it came about that the vessel’s name should be familiar to him. Then he remembered that it had entered his ear before the tragedy. Henry Vivian intended to sail by this ship. Doubtless he was on her now.
The liner passed within two hundred yards of the tramp. Then, just as she drew ahead, somebody pitched a newspaper over her taffrail into the water. It was crumpled up, and the sea being smooth, the journal floated, and a current drifted it across the bows of the Peabody. A man forward saw it, guessed that it contained later news than any on the ship, and prepared to fish it up. Three sailors with lines were ready for the floating paper as it passed the side of the steamer, and the second angler secured it. It proved to be The Times of a date one day later than the sailing of the Peabody.
The journal was carefully dried and then, in turn, each man who cared to do so studied it at leisure.
For Daniel Sweetland it contained one highly interesting paragraph, and he smiled to see how successful his crude deception had proved.
The item of news may be reproduced, for it defines the supposed situation left behind by Sweetland, and fittingly closes this chapter of his life’s story.
“THE TRAGEDY ON DARTMOOR
“A sensational sequel is reported to the arrest of the man Daniel Sweetland on his wedding day. It will be remembered that Sweetland, a notorious poacher, was suspected—on the evidence of his own gun—to have murdered a gamekeeper in the woods of Middlecott Court estate near the little town of Moretonhampstead, Devon. Three officers arrested him and started to convey him to Plymouth. But accident detained the party in the lonely central region of the Moor, and their horse falling lame, they spent some time at a solitary publichouse known as the Warren Inn. Here Sweetland, taking the police into his confidence, confessed to being an accomplice in the recent famous burglary at Westcombe—the seat of the Giffards not far distant from Middlecott Court.…”
The journal, after giving a very accurate account of all that had happened at Furnum Regis, proceeded—
“The hoodwinked officers lost no time in reaching Princetown, and from the convict establishment at that village, telegraphic communication was set up with the neighbouring districts. But early morning brought the sequel to the incident, for at dawn certain labourers proceeding to their work in Vitifer Mine, some few miles from the King’s Oven, discovered the horse on which Sweetland had ridden off. It was tethered in the midst of a wild and savage region full of old workings, where lie some tremendous and unfathomable shafts, sunk in past years but long deserted. Here the unfortunate poacher appears to have deliberately taken his own life, for at the head of the Wall Shaft Gully—a famous chasm which has already claimed human victims in the past—a stake was discovered with a letter fastened to the top of it. The words inscribed thereon ran as follows:—‘Good-bye all. Let Sim break news to my wife.—D. Sweetland.’ The writing bears traces of great agitation, but those familiar with Sweetland’s penmanship are prepared to swear that these pathetic syllables were actually written by him. Absolute proof, however, is impossible, since the profound depths of the Wall Shaft Gully cannot be entered. In the case of an accident during 1883, when a shepherd was seen to fall in, all efforts to recover his body proved fruitless, owing to the fact that foul air is encountered at a depth of about one hundred yards beneath the surface of the ground. The man ‘Sim’ alluded to in the poacher’s last message is a footman at Middlecott Court, and appears to have been Sweetland’s only friend. We understand that he has carried out the trust imparted to him by his ill-fated companion. Search at the King’s Oven has proved unavailing. It is clear that no treasure of any kind was secreted there.”
“That’s all right,” said Daniel. “Now the sooner I get back to help ’em find out who killed Thorpe, the better. If I’d known that ’twould all work out so suent an’ easy, I’d not have gone at all. If it weren’t for the thought of Minnie an’ mother, I could laugh.”