Hindes’ face grew very yellow during this exordium, but the subject fascinated him, as fire is said to fascinate some people, and a precipice others, until they can hardly resist the temptation to cast themselves down headlong.
‘But why should a murder, dreadful as it is, lie so much heavier on a man’s conscience than his other sins? Look! how many murders are committed by most of us! We strike a blow, perhaps, which might have killed a fellow. If it had, we should have been arraigned as a murderer; since it does not, we go scot-free. But the feeling of murder was there all the same. We are just as guilty in the sight of Heaven. Why should we vex ourselves about one sin more than the other?’
‘I’m not fit to argue the point with you, Mr Henry,’ answered the cashier, ‘but there’s surely a difference! We don’t always mean to murder a friend when we hit him. If we do kill him, even by accident, we have to pay the penalty. But when a man deliberately injures another, knowing it must kill him, like this Rayner, who strikes a fellow creature on the head with a hammer—why, that was deliberate murder—he meant to kill Thompson, and he must be a thorough bad man to have kept the secret in his breast for twenty years. Hanging’s too good for him; that’s what everybody says.’
‘But telling won’t bring Thompson back again, that’s my argument,’ said Henry Hindes, sullenly. ‘Rayner hangs himself by his confession, and does no one any good.’
‘Except himself, sir! He’ll save his own soul, maybe, by the expiation of his crime, however tardy. See! what a hypocritical life he must have been leading. Mixing with all sorts of people, who would have spurned him with their feet had they known his real character—kissing his innocent children and wife—setting up for a respectable member of society, when he’s the lowest creature amongst them all. The deceit has been too much for him at last, Mr Hindes, and he feels now, doubtless, that he would rather be standing on the gallows platform, as an honest man, than keep his place and go on deceiving. Why, he must have been thoroughly miserable. No one could enjoy life, however wealthy, under such circumstances. It must have been nothing but a burden to him.’
Henry Hindes sat for a few minutes musing silently. Bloxam, thinking the interview was over, prepared to leave the office.
‘Don’t go, Bloxam,’ exclaimed his employer, rousing himself. ‘Stay a little longer. This subject interests me. I feel so much for this poor fellow. I wonder if he is in his right mind.’
‘Oh! yes, sir, there’s no doubt of that! Why, he remembers everything connected with the murder, as if it happened yesterday. He described the whole scene to the officers with the minutest details, such as a lock of poor Thompson’s hair getting stuck on the hammer with the blood, and his holding the hammer in the flame of the candle afterwards till it was completely cleansed. He could tell exactly what the poor fellow wore, and mentioned a gold ring he had on his little finger. And when they found the bones and dust under the cellar flooring, there was the ring amongst them, just as he said.’
‘Yes; I read that. But wouldn’t it have been wiser and better of Rayner to have kept this secret to the end, for the sake of his wife and children? He had kept it so long, you see; and, as I said before, confession could not remedy the evil he had done.’
‘No, sir; but we are not sure, you see, that he had entirely kept the secret to himself. He has a wife, and women are powerfully ’cute about such matters. Married men don’t keep secrets long. I can say that on my own authority. I know I shouldn’t care to have one that Mrs Bloxam wasn’t to find out. Perhaps Rayner’s wife got at his, and had threatened him with discovery. It isn’t unlikely, and then he had better be beforehand with her.’