The Stowmarket Mystery | Page 8

dream, or vision."
"Oh, didn't you? Men have been hanged before to-day because they
thought they could construct a better line of defence than their
counsel."
"I had nothing to defend. I was innocent. Moreover, I knew I should not
be convicted."
The barrister well remembered the view of the case taken by the Bar
mess. Even the redoubtable Dobbie was afraid of the jury. His face
must have conveyed dubiety with respect to Hume's last remark, for the
other continued eagerly:
"It is quite true. Wait until I have concluded. After the footman brought
the whisky and soda to the library that night I took a small quantity,
and pulled an easy-chair in front of the fire. I was tired, having
travelled all the preceding night and part of the day. Hence the warmth
and comfort soon sent me to sleep. I have a hazy recollection of the
man coming in to put some coal on the fire. In a sub-conscious fashion
I knew that it was not my cousin, but a servant. I settled down a trifle
more comfortably, and everything became a blank. Then I thought I
awoke. I looked out through the windows, and, to my astonishment, it
was broad daylight. The trees, too, were covered with leaves, the sun
was shining, and there was every evidence of a fine day in early
summer. In some indefinite way I realised that the library was no
longer the room which I knew. The furniture and carpets were different.
The books were old-fashioned. A very handsome spinning-wheel stood
near the open window. There was no litter of newspapers or magazines.
"Before I could begin to piece together these curious discrepancies in
the normal condition of things, I saw two men riding up the avenue,
where the yew trees, by the way, were loftier and finer in every way

than those really existing. The horsemen were dressed in such strange
fashion that, unfortunately, I paid little heed to their faces. They wore
frilled waistcoats, redingotes with huge lapels and turned-back cuffs,
three-cornered hats, and gigantic boots. They dismounted when close to
the house. One man held both horses; the other advanced. I was just
going to look him straight in the face when another figure appeared,
coming from that side of the hall where the entrance is situated. This
was a gentleman in very elegant garments, hatless, with powdered
queue, pink satin coat embroidered with lace, pink satin small-clothes,
white silk stockings, and low shoes. As he walked, a smart cane swung
from his left wrist by a silk tassel, and he took a pinch of snuff from an
ivory box.
"The two men met and seemed to have a heated argument, bitter and
passionate on one side, studiously scornful on the other. This was all in
dumb show. Not a word did I hear. My amazed wits were fully taken
up with noting their clothes, their postures, the trappings of the horses,
the eighteenth century aspect of the library. Strange, is it not, I did not
look at their faces?"
Hume paused to gulp down the contents of his tumbler. Brett said not a
word, but sat intent, absorbed, wondering, with eyes fixed on the
speaker.
"All at once the dispute became vehement. The more stylishly attired
man disappeared, but returned instantly with a drawn sword in his hand.
The stranger, as we may call him, whipped out a claymore, and the two
fought fiercely. By Jove, it was no stage combat or French duel. They
went for each other as if they meant it. There was no stopping to take
breath, nor drawing apart after a foiled attack. Each man tried to kill the
other as speedily as possible. Three times they circled round in furious
sword-play. Then the stranger got his point home. The other, in mortal
agony, dropped his weapon, and tried with both hands to tear his
adversary's blade from his breast. He failed, and staggered back, the
victor still shoving the claymore through his opponent's body. Then,
and not until then, I saw the face of the man who was wounded,
probably killed. It was my cousin, Alan Hume-Fraser."

David Hume stopped again. His bronzed face was pale now. With his
left hand he swept huge drops of perspiration from his brow. But his
class demands coolness in the most desperate moments. He actually
struck a match and relighted his cigarette.
"I suppose you occasionally have a nightmare after an indigestible
supper, Mr. Brett," he went on, "and have experienced a peculiar
sensation of dumb palsy in the presence of some unknown but
terrifying danger? Well, such was my exact state at that moment. Alan
fell, apparently lifeless. The stranger kissed his blood-stained sword,
which required a strong tug before he could disengage it, rattled