The Heart of a Mystery

by T. W. Speight

"Oh, Mr. Judd, thank heaven I've met you!" cried Peggy, with a great gasp. "Run to the Bank, sir. There's been murder--murder! Poor Mr. Hazeldine----" But here Peggy caught sight of a policeman at the top of the street, and hurried off without a word more.

Mr. Hazeldine murdered! Ephraim Judd caught hold of a garden railing to keep himself from falling. For a moment or two the street and its houses faded away, and he was looking through the fanlight again, as on the previous night. A boy stopped and stared curiously at him; then Ephraim's wits came back. A few rapid strides brought him to the Bank. One of the heavy doors was open, left so by Peggy Lown. Ephraim passed through, and made at once for Mr. Hazeldine's room. He took in the scene at a glance. Mrs. Sweet had had some water thrown over her, and showed signs of returning consciousness. Sweet himself, only partially dressed, was kneeling on one knee a foot or two away from the murdered man. He had tried to lift up the body, but had been compelled to let it drop again, and now he was staring at it as though he could not believe the evidence of his senses. A short distance away lay the knife--no one would touch that till the police arrived. And then Ephraim saw something else which Sweet in his perturbation had failed to notice; the iron door which opened into the strong room was partially open. Had there been robbery as well as murder?

Mr. Hazeldine was lying on his face, with one arm under his head, and the other outstretched, the hand of the latter being clenched as if in a spasm of mortal agony. Mr. Judd stooped and took hold of the hand; it was as cold as marble and apparently as senseless. No life was there.

"Oh, Mr. Judd, sir, what a sight is this!" cried Obed, while the tears streamed down his pudgy cheeks.

Mr. Judd did not answer. He heard the policeman's heavy footfall, and next moment that functionary came in, accompanied by Peggy, and followed at a respectful distance by a crowd of some half-dozen people from the street, who felt sure that it must be a case of burglary at the least, and that, by good luck, there might perhaps be murder as well.

Mrs. Sweet was sitting up by this time, and staring round in a dazed sort of way. The sight of the constable roused her. She put her hands to her head and felt at her drenched cap and hair. "What a sight I must look! I wish I had my other cap on," was the first thought in her mind. Then she whipped off her apron and hid her saturated head-dress with it. It was the touch of comedy which is seldom absent from even the grimmest of human tragedies.

The constable advanced without a word, and turned the body of the dead man over on its back. Mr. Hazeldine's vest was unbuttoned, the ends of his cravat were hanging loose, and his collar had apparently been torn by violence from the stud which had held it. His shirtfront had been cut by some sharp instrument just above the region of the heart, a small red patch marking the place.

"He's dead enough, poor gentleman," said he, with a shake of his head, as he let his fingers rest for a moment on Mr. Hazeldine's wrist. "But we shall have the doctor here in a minute or two."

Then he picked up the knife and examined it curiously. The eyes of all present moved as with one accord from the dead man to the weapon that had slain him. Fresh footsteps were heard outside, the crowd at the door divided for a moment, and in came Mr. Chief Constable Mace attended by one of his men and Dr. Barton.

The idlers were driven out, and the front door was shut and bolted. The news had spread, and already some half-hundred people had assembled outside the Bank. Those inside were waiting for the first words of Dr. Barton. Not long had they to wait.