The Experiences of a Barrister, and Confessions of an Attorney | Page 9

it was found, by Farmer Armstrong, who accompanied by his
wife, was thundering vehemently upon the door with a heavy
black-thorn stick. Still no answer was obtained. Mrs. Strugnell, it was
supposed, had not returned from town; but where was Mr. Wilson, who
was almost always at home both day and night? Presently a lad called
out that a white sheet or cloth of some sort was hanging out of one of
the back windows. This announcement, confirming the vague
apprehensions which had begun to germinate in the wise heads of the
villagers, disposed them to adopt a more effectual mode of obtaining
admission than knocking seemed likely to prove. Johnson, the
constable of the parish, a man of great shrewdness, at once proposed to
break in the door. Armstrong, who, as well as his wife, was deadly pale,
and trembling violently, either with cold or agitation, hesitatingly
consented, and crowbars being speedily procured, an entrance was
forced, and in rushed a score of excited men. Armstrong's wife, it was
afterwards remembered, caught hold of her husband's arm in a hurried,
frightened manner, whispered hastily in his ear, and then both followed
into the house.
"Now, farmer," cried Johnson, as soon as he had procured a light, "lead
the way up stairs."
Armstrong, who appeared to have somewhat recovered from his panic,

darted at once up the staircase, followed by the whole body of rustics.
On reaching the landing-place, he knocked at Mr. Wilson's bedroom
door. No answer was returned. Armstrong seemed to hesitate, but the
constable at once lifted the latch; they entered, and then a melancholy
spectacle presented itself.
Wilson, completely dressed, lay extended on the floor a lifeless corpse.
He had been stabbed in two places in the breast with some
sharp-pointed instrument. Life was quite extinct. The window was open.
On farther inspection, several bundles containing many of Wilson's
valuables in jewelry and plate, together with clothes, shirts, silk
handkerchiefs, were found. The wardrobe and a secretary-bureau had
been forced open. The assassins had, it seemed, been disturbed, and had
hurried off by the window without their plunder. A hat was also picked
up in the room, a shiny, black hat, much too small for the deceased.
The constable snatched it up, and attempted to clap it on Armstrong's
head, but it was not nearly large enough. This, together with the
bundles, dissipated a suspicion which had been growing in Johnson's
mind, and he roughly exclaimed, "You need not look so scared, farmer;
it's not you: that's quite clear."
To this remark neither Armstrong nor his wife answered a syllable, but
continued to gaze at the corpse, the bundles, and the broken locks, in
bewildered terror and astonishment. Presently some one asked if any
body had seen Mrs. Strugnell?
The question roused Armstrong, and he said, "She is not come home:
her door is locked."
"How do you know that?" cried the constable, turning sharply round,
and looking keenly in his face. "How do you know that?"
"Because--because," stammered Armstrong, "because she always locks
it when she goes out."
"Which is her room?"
"The next to this."
They hastened out, and found the next door was fast.
"Are you there, Mrs. Strugnell?" shouted Johnson.
There was no reply.
"She is never home till half-past ten o'clock on Sunday evenings,"
remarked Armstrong in a calmer voice.
"The key is in the lock on the inside," cried a young man who had been

striving to peep through the key-hole.
Armstrong, it was afterwards sworn, started as if he had been shot; and
his wife again clutched his arm with the same nervous, frenzied gripe
as before.
"Mrs. Strugnell, are you there?" once more shouted the constable. He
was answered by a low moan. In an instant the frail door was burst in,
and Mrs. Strugnell was soon pulled out, apparently more dead than
alive, from underneath the bedstead, where she, in speechless
consternation, lay partially concealed. Placing her in a chair, they soon
succeeded--much more easily, indeed, than they anticipated--in
restoring her to consciousness.
Nervously she glanced round the circle of eager faces that environed
her, till her eyes fell upon Armstrong and his wife, when she gave a
loud shriek, and muttering, "They, they are the murderers!" swooned,
or appeared to do so, again instantly.
The accused persons, in spite of their frenzied protestations of
innocence, were instantly seized and taken off to a place of security;
Mrs. Strugnell was conveyed to a neighbor's close by; the house was
carefully secured; and the agitated and wondering villagers departed to
their several homes, but not, I fancy, to sleep any more for that night.
The deposition made by Mrs. Strugnell at the inquest on the body was
in substance as follows:--
"On the afternoon in question she had, in accordance