by Edgar Allan Poe
(1850)
I WILL now play the Oedipus to the
Rattleborough enigma. I will expound to you- as I alone can-
the secret of the enginery that effected the Rattleborough
miracle- the one, the true, the admitted, the undisputed, the
indisputable miracle, which put a definite end to infidelity
among the Rattleburghers and converted to the orthodoxy of the
grandames all the carnal-minded who had ventured to be
sceptical before.
This event- which I should be sorry to discuss in
a tone of unsuitable levity- occurred in the summer of 18-. Mr.
Barnabas Shuttleworthy- one of the wealthiest and most
respectable citizens of the borough- had been missing for
several days under circumstances which gave rise to suspicion
of foul play. Mr. Shuttleworthy had set out from Rattleborough
very early one Saturday morning, on horseback, with the avowed
intention of proceeding to the city of-, about fifteen miles
distant, and of returning the night of the same day. Two hours
after his departure, however, his horse returned without him,
and without the saddle-bags which had been strapped on his back
at starting. The animal was wounded, too, and covered with mud.
These circumstances naturally gave rise to much alarm among the
friends of the missing man; and when it was found, on Sunday
morning, that he had not yet made his appearance, the whole
borough arose en masse to go and look for his body.
The foremost and most energetic in instituting
this search was the bosom friend of Mr. Shuttleworthy- a Mr.
Charles Goodfellow, or, as he was universally called, "Charley
Goodfellow," or "Old Charley Goodfellow." Now, whether it is a
marvellous coincidence, or whether it is that the name itself
has an imperceptible effect upon the character, I have never
yet been able to ascertain; but the fact is unquestionable,
that there never yet was any person named Charles who was not
an open, manly, honest, good-natured, and frank-hearted fellow,
with a rich, clear voice, that did you good to hear it, and an
eye that looked you always straight in the face, as much as to
say: "I have a clear conscience myself, am afraid of no man,
and am altogether above doing a mean action." And thus all the
hearty, careless, "walking gentlemen" of the stage are very
certain to be called Charles.
Now, "Old Charley Goodfellow," although he had
been in Rattleborough not longer than six months or
thereabouts, and although nobody knew any thing about him
before he came to settle in the neighborhood, had experienced
no difficulty in the world in making the acquaintance of all
the respectable people in the borough. Not a man of them but
would have taken his bare word for a thousand at any moment;
and as for the women, there is no saying what they would not
have done to oblige him. And all this came of his having been
christened Charles, and of his possessing, in consequence, that
ingenuous face which is proverbially the very "best letter of
recommendation."
I have already said that Mr. Shuttleworthy was one
of the most respectable and, undoubtedly, he was the most
wealthy man in Rattleborough, while "Old Charley Goodfellow"
was upon as intimate terms with him as if he had been his own
brother. The two old gentlemen were next-door neighbours, and,
although Mr. Shuttleworthy seldom, if ever, visited "Old
Charley," and never was known to take a meal in his house,
still this did not prevent the two friends from being
exceedingly intimate, as I have just observed; for "Old
Charley" never let a day pass without stepping in three or four
times to see how his neighbour came on, and very often he would
stay to breakfast or tea, and almost always to dinner, and then
the amount of wine that was made way with by the two cronies at
a sitting, it would really be a difficult thing to ascertain.
"Old Charleys" favorite beverage was Chateau-Margaux, and it
appeared to do Mr. Shuttleworthy's heart good to see the old
fellow swallow it, as he did, quart after quart; so that, one
day, when the wine was in and the wit as a natural consequence,
somewhat out, he said to his crony, as he slapped him upon the
back- "I tell you what it is, 'Old Charley,' you are, by all
odds, the heartiest old fellow I ever came across in all my
born days; and, since you love to guzzle the wine at that
fashion, I'll be darned if I don't have to make thee a present
of a big box of the Chateau-Margaux. Od rot me,"- (Mr.
Shuttleworthy had a sad habit of swearing, although he seldom
went beyond "Od rot me," or "By gosh," or "By the jolly
golly,")- "Od rot me," says he, "if I don't send an order to
town this very afternoon for a double box of the best that can
be got, and I'll make ye a present of it, I will!- ye needn't
say a word now- I will, I tell ye, and there's an end of it; so
look out for it- it will come to hand some of these fine days,
precisely when ye are looking for it the least!" I mention this
little bit of liberality on the part of Mr. Shuttleworthy, just
by way of showing you how very intimate an understanding
existed between the two friends.
Well, on the Sunday morning in question, when it
came to be fairly understood that Mr. Shuttleworthy had met
with foul play, I never saw any one so profoundly affected as
"Old Charley Goodfellow." When he first heard that the horse
had come home without his master, and without his master's
saddle-bags, and all bloody from a pistol-shot, that had gone
clean through and through the poor animal's chest without quite
killing him; when he heard all this, he turned as pale as if
the missing man had been his own dear brother or father, and
shivered and shook all over as if he had had a fit of the
ague.
At first he was too much overpowered with grief to
be able to do any thing at all, or to concert upon any plan of
action; so that for a long time he endeavoured to dissuade Mr.
Shuttleworthy's other friends from making a stir about the
matter, thinking it best to wait awhile- say for a week or two,
or a month, or two- to see if something wouldn't turn up, or if
Mr. Shuttleworthy wouldn't come in the natural way, and explain
his reasons for sending his horse on before. I dare say you
have often observed this disposition to temporize, or to
procrastinate, in people who are labouring under any very
poignant sorrow. Their powers of mind seem to be rendered
torpid, so that they have a horror of any thing like action,
and like nothing in the world so well as to lie quietly in bed
and "nurse their grief," as the old ladies express it- that is
to say, ruminate over the trouble.
The people of Rattleborough had, indeed, so high
an opinion of the wisdom and discretion of "Old Charley," that
the greater part of them felt disposed to agree with him, and
not make a stir in the business "until something should turn
up," as the honest old gentleman worded it; and I believe that,
after all this would have been the general determination, but
for the very suspicious interference of Mr. Shuttleworthy's
nephew, a young man of very dissipated habits, and otherwise of
rather bad character. This nephew, whose name was Pennifeather,
would listen to nothing like reason in the matter of "lying
quiet," but insisted upon making immediate search for the
"corpse of the murdered man.- This was the expression he
employed; and Mr. Goodfellow acutely remarked at the time, that
it was "a singular expression, to say no more." This remark of
'Old Charley's,' too, had great effect upon the crowd; and one
of the party was heard to ask, very impressively, "how it
happened that young Mr. Pennifeather was so intimately
cognizant of all the circumstances connected with his wealthy
uncle's disappearance, as to feel authorized to assert,
distinctly and unequivocally, that his uncle was 'a murdered
man.'" Hereupon some little squibbing and bickering occurred
among various members of the crowd, and especially between "Old
Charley" and Mr. Pennifeather- although this latter occurrence
was, indeed, by no means a novelty, for no good will had
subsisted between the parties for the last three or four
months; and matters had even gone so far that Mr. Pennifeather
had actually knocked down his uncles friend for some alleged
excess of liberty that the latter had taken in the uncle's
house, of which the nephew was an inmate. Upon this occasion
"Old Charley" is said to have behaved with exemplary moderation
and Christian charity. He arose from the blow, adjusted his
clothes, and made no attempt at retaliation at all- merely
muttering a few words about "taking summary vengeance at the
first convenient opportunity,"- a natural and very justifiable
ebullition of anger, which meant nothing, however, and, beyond
doubt, was no sooner given vent to than forgotten.
However these matters may be (which have no
reference to the point now at issue), it is quite certain that
the people of Rattleborough, principally through the persuasion
of Mr. Pennifeather, came at length to the determination of
dispersion over the adjacent country in search of the missing
Mr. Shuttleworthy. I say they came to this determination in the
first instance. After it had been fully resolved that a search
should be made, it was considered almost a matter of course
that the seekers should disperse- that is to say, distribute
themselves in parties- for the more thorough examination of the
region round about. I forget, however, by what ingenious train
of reasoning it was that "Old Charley" finally convinced the
assembly that this was the most injudicious plan that could be
pursued. Convince them, however, he did- all except Mr.
Pennifeather, and, in the end, it was arranged that a search
should be instituted, carefully and very thoroughly, by the
burghers en masse, "Old Charley" himself leading the way.
As for the matter of that, there could have been
no better pioneer than "Old Charley," whom everybody knew to
have the eye of a lynx; but, although he led them into all
manner of out-of-the-way holes and corners, by routes that
nobody had ever suspected of existing in the neighbourhood, and
although the search was incessantly kept up day and night for
nearly a week, still no trace of Mr. Shuttleworthy could be
discovered. When I say no trace, however, I must not be
understood to speak literally, for trace, to some extent, there
certainly was. The poor gentleman had been tracked, by his
horses shoes (which were peculiar), to a spot about three miles
to the east of the borough, on the main road leading to the
city. Here the track made off into a by-path through a piece of
woodland- the path coming out again into the main road, and
cutting off about half a mile of the regular distance.
Following the shoe-marks down this lane, the party came at
length to a pool of stagnant water, half hidden by the
brambles, to the right of the lane, and opposite this pool all
vestige of the track was lost sight of. It appeared, however,
that a struggle of some nature had here taken place, and it
seemed as if some large and heavy body, much larger and heavier
than a man, had been drawn from the by-path to the pool. This
latter was carefully dragged twice, but nothing was found; and
the party was upon the point of going away, in despair of
coming to any result, when Providence suggested to Mr.
Goodfellow the expediency of draining the water off altogether.
This project was received with cheers, and many high
compliments to "Old Charley" upon his sagacity and
consideration. As many of the burghers had brought spades with
them, supposing that they might possibly be called upon to
disinter a corpse, the drain was easily and speedily effected;
and no sooner was the bottom visible, than right in the middle
of the mud that remained was discovered a black silk velvet
waistcoat, which nearly every one present immediately
recognized as the property of Mr. Pennifeather. This waistcoat
was much torn and stained with blood, and there were several
persons among the party who had a distinct remembrance of its
having been worn by its owner on the very morning of Mr.
Shuttleworthy's departure for the city; while there were
others, again, ready to testify upon oath, if required, that
Mr. P. did not wear the garment in question at any period
during the remainder of that memorable day, nor could any one
be found to say that he had seen it upon Mr. P.'s person at any
period at all subsequent to Mr. Shuttleworthy's
disappearance.
Matters now wore a very serious aspect for Mr.
Pennifeather, and it was observed, as an indubitable
confirmation of the suspicions which were excited against him,
that he grew exceedingly pale, and when asked what he had to
say for himself, was utterly incapable of saying a word.
Hereupon, the few friends his riotous mode of living had left
him, deserted him at once to a man, and were even more
clamorous than his ancient and avowed enemies for his
instantaneous arrest. But, on the other hand, the magnanimity
of Mr. Goodfellow shone forth with only the more brilliant
lustre through contrast. He made a warm and intensely eloquent
defence of Mr. Pennifeather, in which he alluded more than once
to his own sincere forgiveness of that wild young gentleman-
"the heir of the worthy Mr. Shuttleworthy,"- for the insult
which he (the young gentleman) had, no doubt in the heat of
passion, thought proper to put upon him (Mr. Goodfellow). "He
forgave him for it," he said, "from the very bottom of his
heart; and for himself (Mr. Goodfellow), so far from pushing
the suspicious circumstances to extremity, which he was sorry
to say, really had arisen against Mr. Pennifeather, he (Mr.
Goodfellow) would make every exertion in his power, would
employ all the little eloquence in his possession to- to- to-
soften down, as much as he could conscientiously do so, the
worst features of this really exceedingly perplexing piece of
business."
Mr. Goodfellow went on for some half hour longer
in this strain, very much to the credit both of his head and of
his heart; but your warm-hearted people are seldom apposite in
their observations- they run into all sorts of blunders,
contre-temps and mal apropos-isms, in the hot-headedness of
their zeal to serve a friend- thus, often with the kindest
intentions in the world, doing infinitely more to prejudice his
cause than to advance it.
So, in the present instance, it turned out with
all the eloquence of "Old Charley"; for, although he laboured
earnestly in behalf of the suspected, yet it so happened,
somehow or other, that every syllable he uttered of which the
direct but unwitting tendency was not to exalt the speaker in
the good opinion of his audience, had the effect to deepen the
suspicion already attached to the individual whose cause he
pleaded, and to arouse against him the fury of the mob.
One of the most unaccountable errors committed by
the orator was his allusion to the suspected as "the heir of
the worthy old gentleman Mr. Shuttleworthy." The people had
really never thought of this before. They had only remembered
certain threats of disinheritance uttered a year or two
previously by the uncle (who had no living relative except the
nephew), and they had, therefore, always looked upon this
disinheritance as a matter that was settled- so single-minded a
race of beings were the Rattleburghers; but the remark of "Old
Charley" brought them at once to a consideration of this point,
and thus gave them to see the possibility of the threats having
been nothing more than a threat. And straightway hereupon,
arose the natural question of cui bono?- a question that tended
even more than the waistcoat to fasten the terrible crime upon
the young man. And here, lest I may be misunderstood, permit me
to digress for one moment merely to observe that the
exceedingly brief and simple Latin phrase which I have
employed, is invariably mistranslated and misconceived. "Cui
bono?" in all the crack novels and elsewhere,- in those of Mrs.
Gore, for example, (the author of "Cecil,") a lady who quotes
all tongues from the Chaldaean to Chickasaw, and is helped to
her learning, "as needed," upon a systematic plan, by Mr.
Beckford,- in all the crack novels, I say, from those of Bulwer
and Dickens to those of Bulwer and Dickens to those of
Turnapenny and Ainsworth, the two little Latin words cui bono
are rendered "to what purpose?" or, (as if quo bono,) "to what
good." Their true meaning, nevertheless, is "for whose
advantage." Cui, to whom; bono, is it for a benefit. It is a
purely legal phrase, and applicable precisely in cases such as
we have now under consideration, where the probability of the
doer of a deed hinges upon the probability of the benefit
accruing to this individual or to that from the deed's
accomplishment. Now in the present instance, the question cui
bono? very pointedly implicated Mr. Pennifeather. His uncle had
threatened him, after making a will in his favour, with
disinheritance. But the threat had not been actually kept; the
original will, it appeared, had not been altered. Had it been
altered, the only supposable motive for murder on the part of
the suspected would have been the ordinary one of revenge; and
even this would have been counteracted by the hope of
reinstation into the good graces of the uncle. But the will
being unaltered, while the threat to alter remained suspended
over the nephew's head, there appears at once the very
strongest possible inducement for the atrocity, and so
concluded, very sagaciously, the worthy citizens of the borough
of Rattle.
Mr. Pennifeather was, accordingly, arrested upon
the spot, and the crowd, after some further search, proceeded
homeward, having him in custody. On the route, however, another
circumstance occurred tending to confirm the suspicion
entertained. Mr. Goodfellow, whose zeal led him to be always a
little in advance of the party, was seen suddenly to run
forward a few paces, stoop, and then apparently to pick up some
small object from the grass. Having quickly examined it he was
observed, too, to make a sort of half attempt at concealing it
in his coat pocket; but this action was noticed, as I say, and
consequently prevented, when the object picked up was found to
be a Spanish knife which a dozen persons at once recognized as
belonging to Mr. Pennifeather. Moreover, his initials were
engraved upon the handle. The blade of this knife was open and
bloody.
No doubt now remained of the guilt of the nephew,
and immediately upon reaching Rattleborough he was taken before
a magistrate for examination.
Here matters again took a most unfavourable turn.
The prisoner, being questioned as to his whereabouts on the
morning of Mr. Shuttleworthy's disappearance, had absolutely
the audacity to acknowledge that on that very morning he had
been out with his rifle deer-stalking, in the immediate
neighbourhood of the pool where the blood-stained waistcoat had
been discovered through the sagacity of Mr. Goodfellow.
This latter now came forward, and, with tears in
his eyes, asked permission to be examined. He said that a stern
sense of the duty he owed his Maker, not less than his
fellow-men, would permit him no longer to remain silent.
Hitherto, the sincerest affection for the young man
(notwithstanding the latter's ill-treatment of himself, Mr.
Goodfellow) had induced him to make every hypothesis which
imagination could suggest, by way of endeavouring to account
for what appeared suspicious in the circumstances that told so
seriously against Mr. Pennifeather, but these circumstances
were now altogether too convincing- too damning, he would
hesitate no longer- he would tell all he knew, although his
heart (Mr. Goodfellow's) should absolutely burst asunder in the
effort. He then went on to state that, on the afternoon of the
day previous to Mr. Shuttleworthy's departure for the city,
that worthy old gentleman had mentioned to his nephew, in his
hearing (Mr. Goodfellow's), that his object in going to town on
the morrow was to make a deposit of an unusually large sum of
money in the "Farmers and Mechanics' Bank," and that, then and
there, the said Mr. Shuttleworthy had distinctly avowed to the
said nephew his irrevocable determination of rescinding the
will originally made, and of cutting him off with a shilling.
He (the witness) now solemnly called upon the accused to state
whether what he (the witness) had just stated was or was not
the truth in every substantial particular. Much to the
astonishment of every one present, Mr. Pennifeather frankly
admitted that it was.
The magistrate now considered it his duty to send
a couple of constables to search the chamber of the accused in
the house of his uncle. From this search they almost
immediately returned with the well-known steel-bound, russet
leather pocket-book which the old gentleman had been in the
habit of carrying for years. Its valuable contents, however,
had been abstracted, and the magistrate in vain endeavoured to
extort from the prisoner the use which had been made of them,
or the place of their concealment. Indeed, he obstinately
denied all knowledge of the matter. The constables, also,
discovered, between the bed and sacking of the unhappy man, a
shirt and neck-handkerchief both marked with the initials of
his name, and both hideously besmeared with the blood of the
victim.
At this juncture, it was announced that the horse
of the murdered man had just expired in the stable from the
effects of the wound he had received, and it was proposed by
Mr. Goodfellow that a post mortem examination of the beast
should be immediately made, with the view, if possible, of
discovering the ball. This was accordingly done; and, as if to
demonstrate beyond a question the guilt of the accused, Mr.
Goodfellow, after considerable searching in the cavity of the
chest was enabled to detect and to pull forth a bullet of very
extraordinary size, which, upon trial, was found to be exactly
adapted to the bore of Mr. Pennifeather's rifle, while it was
far too large for that of any other person in the borough or
its vicinity. To render the matter even surer yet, however,
this bullet was discovered to have a flaw or seam at right
angles to the usual suture, and upon examination, this seam
corresponded precisely with an accidental ridge or elevation in
a pair of moulds acknowledged by the accused himself to be his
own property. Upon finding of this bullet, the examining
magistrate refused to listen to any farther testimony, and
immediately committed the prisoner for trial-declining
resolutely to take any bail in the case, although against this
severity Mr. Goodfellow very warmly remonstrated, and offered
to become surety in whatever amount might be required. This
generosity on the part of "Old Charley" was only in accordance
with the whole tenour of his amiable and chivalrous conduct
during the entire period of his sojourn in the borough of
Rattle. In the present instance the worthy man was so entirely
carried away by the excessive warmth of his sympathy, that he
seemed to have quite forgotten, when he offered to go bail for
his young friend, that he himself (Mr. Goodfellow) did not
possess a single dollar's worth of property upon the face of
the earth.
The result of the committal may be readily
foreseen. Mr. Pennifeather, amid the loud execrations of all
Rattleborough, was brought to trial at the next criminal
sessions, when the chain of circumstantial evidence
(strengthened as it was by some additional damning facts, which
Mr. Goodfellow's sensitive conscientiousness forbade him to
withhold from the court) was considered so unbroken and so
thoroughly conclusive, that the jury, without leaving their
seats, returned an immediate verdict of "Guilty of murder in
the first degree." Soon afterward the unhappy wretch received
sentence of death, and was remanded to the county jail to await
the inexorable vengeance of the law.
In the meantime, the noble behaviour of "Old
Charley Goodfellow, had doubly endeared him to the honest
citizens of the borough. He became ten times a greater favorite
than ever, and, as a natural result of the hospitality with
which he was treated, he relaxed, as it were, perforce, the
extremely parsimonious habits which his poverty had hitherto
impelled him to observe, and very frequently had little
reunions at his own house, when wit and jollity reigned
supreme-dampened a little, of course, by the occasional
remembrance of the untoward and melancholy fate which impended
over the nephew of the late lamented bosom friend of the
generous host.
One fine day, this magnanimous old gentleman was
agreeably surprised at the receipt of the following
letter:-
Charles Goodfellow, Esq., Rattleborough
From H.F.B. & Co.
Chat. Mar. A- No. 1.- 6 doz. bottles (1/2 Gross)
"Charles Goodfellow, Esquire:"Dear Sir- In conformity with an order transmitted to our firm about two months since, by our esteemed correspondent, Mr. Barnabus Shuttleworthy, we have the honour of forwarding this morning, to your address, a double box of Chateau-Margaux of the antelope brand, violet seal. Box numbered and marked as per margin.
"We remain, sir,
Your most ob'nt ser'ts,
HOGGS, FROGS, BOGS, & CO."City of-, June 21, 18-.
"P.S.- The box will reach you by wagon, on the day after your receipt of this letter. Our respects to Mr. Shuttleworthy."H., F., B., & CO."
The fact is, that Mr. Goodfellow had, since the
death of Mr. Shuttleworthy, given over all expectation of ever
receiving the promised Chateau-Margaux; and he, therefore,
looked upon it now as a sort of especial dispensation of
Providence in his behalf. He was highly delighted, of course,
and in the exuberance of his joy invited a large party of
friends to a petit souper on the morrow, for the purpose of
broaching the good old Mr. Shuttleworthy's present. Not that he
said any thing about "the good old Mr. Shuttleworthy" when he
issued the invitations. The fact is, he thought much and
concluded to say nothing at all. He did not mention to any one-
if I remember aright- that he had received a present of
Chateau-Margaux. He merely asked his friends to come and help
him drink some, of a remarkable fine quality and rich flavour,
that he had ordered up from the city a couple of months ago,
and of which he would be in the receipt upon the morrow. I have
often puzzled myself to imagine why it was that "Old Charley"
came to the conclusion to say nothing about having received the
wine from his old friend, but I could never precisely
understand his reason for the silence, although he had some
excellent and very magnanimous reason, no doubt.
The morrow at length arrived, and with it a very
large and highly respectable company at Mr. Goodfellow's house.
Indeed, half the borough was there,- I myself among the
number,- but, much to the vexation of the host, the
Chateau-Margaux did not arrive until a late hour, and when the
sumptuous supper supplied by "Old Charley" had been done very
ample justice by the guests. It came at length, however,- a
monstrously big box of it there was, too- and as the whole
party were in excessively good humor, it was decided, nem.
con., that it should be lifted upon the table and its contents
disembowelled forthwith.
No sooner said than done. I lent a helping hand;
and, in a trice we had the box upon the table, in the midst of
all the bottles and glasses, not a few of which were demolished
in the scuffle. "Old Charley," who was pretty much intoxicated,
and excessively red in the face, now took a seat, with an air
of mock dignity, at the head of the board, and thumped
furiously upon it with a decanter, calling upon the company to
keep order "during the ceremony of disinterring the
treasure."
After some vociferation, quiet was at length fully
restored, and, as very often happens in similar cases, a
profound and remarkable silence ensued. Being then requested to
force open the lid, I complied, of course, "with an infinite
deal of pleasure." I inserted a chisel, and giving it a few
slight taps with a hammer, the top of the box flew suddenly
off, and at the same instant, there sprang up into a sitting
position, directly facing the host, the bruised, bloody, and
nearly putrid corpse of the murdered Mr. Shuttleworthy himself.
It gazed for a few seconds, fixedly and sorrowfully, with its
decaying and lack-lustre eyes, full into the countenance of Mr.
Goodfellow; uttered slowly, but clearly and impressively, the
words- "Thou art the man!" and then, falling over the side of
the chest as if thoroughly satisfied, stretched out its limbs
quiveringly upon the table.
The scene that ensued is altogether beyond
description. The rush for the doors and windows was terrific,
and many of the most robust men in the room fainted outright
through sheer horror. But after the first wild, shrieking burst
of affright, all eyes were directed to Mr. Goodfellow. If I
live a thousand years, I can never forget the more than mortal
agony which was depicted in that ghastly face of his, so lately
rubicund with triumph and wine. For several minutes he sat
rigidly as a statue of marble; his eyes seeming, in the intense
vacancy of their gaze, to be turned inward and absorbed in the
contemplation of his own miserable, murderous soul. At length
their expression appeared to flash suddenly out into the
external world, when, with a quick leap, he sprang from his
chair, and falling heavily with his head and shoulders upon the
table, and in contact with the corpse, poured out rapidly and
vehemently a detailed confession of the hideous crime for which
Mr. Pennifeather was then imprisoned and doomed to die.
What he recounted was in substance this:- He
followed his victim to the vicinity of the pool; there shot his
horse with a pistol; despatched its rider with the butt end;
possessed himself of the pocket-book, and, supposing the horse
dead, dragged it with great labour to the brambles by the pond.
Upon his own beast he slung the corpse of Mr. Shuttleworthy,
and thus bore it to a secure place of concealment a long
distance off through the woods.
The waistcoat, the knife, the pocket-book, and
bullet, had been placed by himself where found, with the view
of avenging himself upon Mr. Pennifeather. He had also
contrived the discovery of the stained handkerchief and
shirt.
Towards the end of the blood-churning recital the
words of the guilty wretch faltered and grew hollow. When the
record was finally exhausted, he arose, staggered backward from
the table, and fell-dead.
The means by which this happily-timed
confession was extorted, although efficient, were simple
indeed. Mr. Goodfellow's excess of frankness had disgusted me,
and excited my suspicions from the first. I was present when
Mr. Pennifeather had struck him, and the fiendish expression
which then arose upon his countenance, although momentary,
assured me that his threat of vengeance would, if possible, be
rigidly fulfilled. I was thus prepared to view the manoeuvering
of "Old Charley" in a very different light from that in which
it was regarded by the good citizens of Rattleborough. I saw at
once that all the criminating discoveries arose, either
directly or indirectly, from himself. But the fact which
clearly opened my eyes to the true state of the case, was the
affair of the bullet, found by Mr. G. in the carcass of the
horse. I had not forgotten, although the Rattleburghers had,
that there was a hole where the ball had entered the horse, and
another where it went out. If it were found in the animal then,
after having made its exit, I saw clearly that it must have
been deposited by the person who found it. The bloody shirt and
handkerchief confirmed the idea suggested by the bullet; for
the blood on examination proved to be capital claret, and no
more. When I came to think of these things, and also of the
late increase of liberality and expenditure on the part of Mr.
Goodfellow, I entertained a suspicion which was none the less
strong because I kept it altogether to myself.
In the meantime, I instituted a rigorous private
search for the corpse of Mr. Shuttleworthy, and, for good
reasons, searched in quarters as divergent as possible from
those to which Mr. Goodfellow conducted his party. The result
was that, after some days, I came across an old dry well, the
mouth of which was nearly hidden by brambles; and here, at the
bottom, I discovered what I sought.
Now it so happened that I had overheard the
colloquy between the two cronies, when Mr. Goodfellow had
contrived to cajole his host into the promise of a box of
Chateaux-Margaux. Upon this hint I acted. I procured a stiff
piece of whalebone, thrust it down the throat of the corpse,
and deposited the latter in an old wine box-taking care so to
double the body up as to double the whalebone with it. In this
manner I had to press forcibly upon the lid to keep it down
while I secured it with nails; and I anticipated, of course,
that as soon as these latter were removed, the top would fly
off and the body up.
Having thus arranged the box, I marked, numbered,
and addressed it as already told; and then writing a letter in
the name of the wine merchants with whom Mr. Shuttleworthy
dealt, I gave instructions to my servant to wheel the box to
Mr. Goodfellow's door, in a barrow, at a given signal from
myself. For the words which I intended the corpse to speak, I
confidently depended upon my ventriloquial abilities; for their
effect, I counted upon the conscience of the murderous
wretch.
I believe there is nothing more to be explained.
Mr. Pennifeather was released upon the spot, inherited the
fortune of his uncle, profited by the lessons of experience,
turned over a new leaf, and led happily ever afterward a new
life.