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This new development of the case excited the utmost interest among thegeneral public. Press comment was prevented by the fact that the trialwas still undecided, but the question was everywhere argued as to howfar there could be truth in Miss Morton’s declaration, and how far itmight be a daring ruse for the purpose of saving her brother. Theobv
ious dilemma in which the missing doctor stood was that if by anyextraordinary chance he was not dead, then he must be held responsiblefor the death of this unknown man, who resembled him so exactly, and whowas found in his study. This letter which Miss Morton refused to producewas possibly a confession of guilt, and she might find herself in theterrible position of only being able to save her brother from thegallows by the sacrifice of her former lover. The court next morning wascrammed to overflowing, and a murmur of excitement passed over it whenMr. Humphrey was observed to enter in a state of emotion, which even histrained nerves could not conceal, and to confer with the opposingcounsel. A few hurried words—words which left a look of amazement uponMr. Porlock Carr’s face—passed between them, and then the counsel forthe defence, addressing the judge, announced that, with the consent ofthe prosecution, the young lady who had given evidence upon the sittingbefore would not be recalled.
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The Judge: But you appear, Mr. Humphrey, to have left matters in a veryunsatisfactory state.
Mr. Humphrey: Perhaps, my lord, my next witness may help to clear themup.
The Judge: Then call your next witness.
Mr. Humphrey: I call Dr. Aloysius Lana.
The learned counsel has made many telling remarks in his day, but he hascertainly never produced such a sensation with so short a sentence. TheCourt was simply stunned with amazement as the very man whose fate hadbeen the subject of so much contention appeared bodily before them inthe witness-box. Those among the spectators who had known him atBishop’s Crossing saw him now, gaunt and thin, with deep lines of careupon his face. But in spite of his melancholy bearing and despondentexpression, there were few who could say that they had ever seen a manof more distinguished presence. Bowing to the judge, he asked if hemight be allowed to make a statement, and having been duly informed thatwhatever he said might be used against him, he bowed once more, andproceeded:—
“My wish,” said he, “is to hold nothing back, but to tell with perfectfrankness all that occurred upon the night of the 21st of June. Had Iknown that the innocent had suffered, and that so much trouble had beenbrought upon those whom I love best in the world, I should have comeforward long ago; but there were reasons which prevented these thingsfrom coming to my ears. It was my desire that an unhappy man shouldvanish from the world which had known him, but I had not foreseen thatothers would be affected by my actions. Let me to the best of my abilityrepair the evil which I have done.
“To any one who is acquainted with the history of the Argentine Republicthe name of Lana is well known. My father, who came of the best blood ofold Spain, filled all the highest offices of the State, and would havebeen President but for his death in the riots of San Juan. A brilliantcareer might have been open to my twin brother Ernest and myself had itnot been for financial losses which made it necessary that we shouldearn our own living. I apologize, sir, if these details appear to beirrelevant, but they are a necessary introduction to that which is tofollow.
“I had, as I have said, a twin brother named Ernest, whose resemblanceto me was so great that even when we were together people could see nodifference between us. Down to the smallest detail we were exactly thesame. As we grew older this likeness became less marked because ourexpression was not the same, but with our features in repose the pointsof difference were very slight.
“It does not become me to say too much of one who is dead, the more soas he is my only brother, but I leave his character to those who knewhim best. I will only say—for I _have_ to say it—that in my earlymanhood I conceived a horror of him, and that I had good reason for theaversion which filled me. My own reputation suffered from his actions,for our close resemblance caused me to be credited with many of them.Eventually, in a peculiarly disgraceful business, he contrived to throwthe whole odium upon me in such a way that I was forced to leave theArgentine for ever, and to seek a career in Europe. The freedom from hishated presence more than compensated me for the loss of my native land.I had enough money to defray my medical studies at Glasgow, and Ifinally settled in practice at Bishop’s Crossing, in the firm convictionthat in that remote Lancashire hamlet I should never hear of him again.
“For years my hopes were fulfilled, and then at last he discovered me.Some Liverpool man who visited Buenos Ayres put him upon my track. Hehad lost all his money, and he thought that he would come over and sharemine. Knowing my horror of him, he rightly thought that I would bewilling to buy him off. I received a letter from him saying that he wascoming. It was at a crisis in my own affairs, and his arrival mightconceivably bring trouble, and even disgrace, upon some whom I wasespecially bound to shield from anything of the kind. I took steps toinsure that any evil which might come should fall on me only, andthat”—here he turned and looked at the prisoner—“was the cause ofconduct upon my part which has been too harshly judged. My only motivewas to screen those who were dear to me from any possible connectionwith scandal or disgrace. That scandal and disgrace would come with mybrother was only to say that what had been would be again.
“My brother arrived himself one night not very long after my receipt ofthe letter. I was sitting in my study after the servants had gone tobed, when I heard a footstep upon the gravel outside, and an instantlater I saw his face looking in at me through the window. He was aclean-shaven man like myself, and the resemblance between us was stillso great that, for an instant, I thought it was my own reflection in theglass. He had a dark patch over his eye, but our features wereabsolutely the same. Then he smiled in a sardonic way which had been atrick of his from his boyhood, and I knew that he was the same brotherwho had driven me from my native land, and brought disgrace upon whathad been an honourable name. I went to the door and I admitted him. Thatwould be about ten o’clock that night.
“When he came into the glare of the lamp, I saw at once that he hadfallen upon very evil days. He had walked from Liverpool, and he wastired and ill. I was quite shocked by the expression upon his face. Mymedical knowledge told me that there was some serious internal malady.He had been drinking also, and his face was bruised as the result of ascuffle which he had had with some sailors. It was to cover his injuredeye that he wore this patch, which he removed when he entered the room.He was himself dressed in a pea-jacket and flannel shirt, and his feetwere bursting through his boots. But his poverty had only made him moresavagely vindictive towards me. His hatred rose to the height of amania. I had been rolling in money in England, according to his account,while he had been starving in South America. I cannot describe to youthe threats which he uttered or the insults which he poured upon me. Myimpression is, that hardships and debauchery had unhinged his reason. Hepaced about the room like a wild beast, demanding drink, demandingmoney, and all in the foulest language. I am a hot-tempered man, but Ithank God that I am able to say that I remained master of myself, andthat I never raised a hand against him. My coolness only irritated himthe more. He raved, he cursed, he shook his fists in my face, and thensuddenly a horrible spasm passed over his features, he clapped his handto his side, and with a loud cry he fell in a heap at my feet. I raisedhim up and stretched him upon the sofa, but no answer came to myexclamations, and the hand which I held in mine was cold and clammy. Hisdiseased heart had broken down. His own violence had killed him.
“For a long time I sat as if I were in some dreadful dream, staring atthe body of my brother. I was aroused by the knocking of Mrs. Woods, whohad been disturbed by that dying cry. I sent her away to bed. Shortlyafterwards a patient tapped at the surgery door, but as I took nonotice, he or she went off again. Slowly and gradually as I sat there aplan was forming itself in my head in the curious automatic way in whichplans do form. When I rose from my chair my future movements werefinally decided upon without my having been conscious of any process ofthought. It was an instinct which irresistibly inclined me towards onecourse.
“Ever since that change in my affairs to which I have alluded, Bishop’sCrossing had become hateful to me. My plans of life had been
ruined, andI had met with hasty judgments and unkind treatment where I had expectedsympathy. It is true that any danger of scandal from my brother hadpassed away with his life; but still, I was sore about the past, andfelt that things could never be as they had been. It may be that I wasunduly sensitive, and that I had not made sufficient allowance forothers, but my feelings were as I describe. Any chance of getting awayfrom Bishop’s Crossing and of everyone in it would be most welcome tome. And here was such a chance as I could never have dared to hope for,a chance which would enable me to make a clean break with the past.
“There was this dead man lying upon the sofa, so like me that save forsome little thickness and coarseness of the features there was nodifference at all. No one had seen him come and no one would miss him.We were both clean shaven, and his hair was about the same length as myown. If I changed clothes with him, then Dr. Aloysius Lana would befound lying dead in his study, and there would be an end of anunfortunate fellow, and of a blighted career. There was plenty of readymoney in the room, and this I could carry away with me to help me tostart once more in some other land. In my brother’s clothes I could walkby night unobserved as far as Liverpool, and in that great seaport Iwould soon find some means of leaving the country. After my lost hopes,the humblest existence where I was unknown was far preferable, in myestimation, to a practice, however successful, in Bishop’s Crossing,where at any moment I might come face to face with those whom I shouldwish, if it were possible, to forget. I determined to effect the change.
“And I did so. I will not go into particulars, for the recollection isas painful as the experience; but in an hour my brother lay, dresseddown to the smallest detail in my clothes, while I slunk out by thesurgery door, and taking the back path which led across some fields, Istarted off to make the best of my way to Liverpool, where I arrived thesame night. My bag of money and a certain portrait were all I carriedout of the house, and I left behind me in my hurry the shade which mybrother had been wearing over his eye. Everything else of his I tookwith me.
“I give you my word, sir, that never for one instant did the idea occurto me that people might think that I had been murdered, nor did Iimagine that any one might be caused serious danger through thisstratagem by which I endeavoured to gain a fresh start in the world. Onthe contrary, it was the thought of relieving others from the burden ofmy presence which was always uppermost in my mind. A sailing vessel wasleaving Liverpool that very day for Corunna, and in this I took mypassage, thinking that the voyage would give me time to recover mybalance, and to consider the future. But before I left my resolutionsoftened. I bethought me that there was one person in the world to whomI would not cause an hour of sadness. She would mourn me in her heart,however harsh and unsympathetic her relatives might be. She understoodand appreciated the motives upon which I had acted, and if the rest ofher family condemned me, she, at least, would not forget. And so I senther a note under the seal of secrecy to save her from a baseless grief.If under the pressure of events she broke that seal, she has my entiresympathy and forgiveness.
“It was only last night that I returned to England, and during all thistime I have heard nothing of the sensation which my supposed death hadcaused, nor of the accusation that Mr. Arthur Morton had been concernedin it. It was in a late evening paper that I read an account of theproceedings of yesterday, and I have come this morning as fast as anexpress train could bring me to testify to the truth.”
Such was the remarkable statement of Dr. Aloysius Lana which brought thetrial to a sudden termination. A subsequent investigation corroboratedit to the extent of finding out the vessel in which his brother ErnestLana had come over from South America. The ship’s doctor was able totestify that he had complained of a weak heart during the voyage, andthat his symptoms were consistent with such a death as was described.
As to Dr. Aloysius Lana, he returned to the village from which he hadmade so dramatic a disappearance, and a complete reconciliation waseffected between him and the young squire, the latter havingacknowledged that he had entirely misunderstood the other’s motives inwithdrawing from his engagement. That another reconciliation followedmay be judged from a notice extracted from a prominent column in the_Morning Post_:—
A marriage was solemnized upon September 19th, by the Rev. Stephen Johnson, at the parish church of Bishop’s Crossing, between Aloysius Xavier Lana, son of Don Alfredo Lana, formerly Foreign Minister of the Argentine Republic, and Frances Morton, only daughter of the late James Morton, J.P., of Leigh Hall, Bishop’s Crossing, Lancashire.
PLAYING WITH FIRE
I cannot pretend to say what occurred on the 14th of April last at No.17, Badderly Gardens. Put down in black and white, my surmise might seemtoo crude, too grotesque, for serious consideration. And yet thatsomething did occur, and that it was of a nature which will leave itsmark upon every one of us for the rest of our lives, is as certain asthe unanimous testimony of five witnesses can make it. I will not enterinto any argument or speculation. I will only give a plain statement,which will be submitted to John Moir, Harvey Deacon, and Mrs. Delamere,and withheld from publication unless they are prepared to corroborateevery detail. I cannot obtain the sanction of Paul Le Duc, for heappears to have left the country.
It was John Moir (the well-known senior partner of Moir, Moir, andSanderson) who had originally turned our attention to occult subjects.He had, like many very hard and practical men of business, a mystic sideto his nature, which had led him to the examination, and eventually tothe acceptance, of those elusive phenomena which are grouped togetherwith much that is foolish, and much that is fraudulent, under the commonheading of spiritualism. His researches, which had begun with an openmind, ended unhappily in dogma, and he became as positive and fanaticalas any other bigot. He represented in our little group the body of menwho have turned these singular phenomena into a new religion.
Mrs. Delamere, our medium, was his sister, the wife of Delamere, therising sculptor. Our experience had shown us that to work on thesesubjects without a medium was as futile as for an astronomer to makeobservations without a telescope. On the other hand, the introduction ofa paid medium was hateful to all of us. Was it not obvious that he orshe would feel bound to return some result for money received, and thatthe temptation to fraud would be an overpowering one? No phenomena couldbe relied upon which were produced at a guinea an hour. But,fortunately, Moir had discovered that his sister was mediumistic—inother words, that she was a battery of that animal magnetic force whichis the only form of energy which is subtle enough to be acted upon fromthe spiritual plane as well as from our own material one. Of course,when I say this, I do not mean to beg the question; but I am simplyindicating the theories upon which we were ourselves, rightly orwrongly, explaining what we saw. The lady came, not altogether with theapproval of her husband, and though she never gave indications of anyvery great psychic force, we were able, at least, to obtain those usualphenomena of message-tilting which are at the same time so puerile andso inexplicable. Every Sunday evening we met in Harvey Deacon’s studioat Badderly Gardens, the next house to the corner of Merton Park Road.