The Mystery of a Millionaire's Grave

Front matter

OP A MILLIONAIRE'S GRAVE AT ALL LIBRARIES AND BOOKSELLERS. Recollections of Travels Abroad. By A. J. DUFFIELD. <W?__m-y ~8-vo. ios. 6d. HSE90 " This is a very interesting book. Mr. Duffield is a keen observer of men and men's ways, and in the course of his travels about the world, has seen and understood many things." — Spectator. "There is much delightful and yet instructive gossip through out the book." — Saturday Review. " Mr. Duffield knows books and men, as well as many cities, and the views he gives us of strange people in strange lands, are delightful in their variety and novelty." — St. James's Gazette. " A remarkably pleasant volume, written in a chatty, agree able style, and full of interesting information upon Australia, Canada, Spain, New Zealand,. &c." — Newcastle Chronicle. REMINGTON & CO., Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, W.C. OF A MILLIONAIRE'S GRAVE BY GORDON-STABLES, M.D., CM., R.N. Author of '• The Cruise of the Snowbird," " From Pole to Pole," " In Touch with Nature," " Jack Locke," Sjc, t}C, §c. London : REMINGTON & CO., PUBLISHERS, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN. [All rights reserved.]

TO WILLIAM DUNCAN (of the Neiocastle Chronicle) A Dear Friend, Old School-Fellow and University Class-Mate This Story is Dedicated with the kindliest wishes OF THE AUTHOR. " We twa hae paidl't in the burn Frae mornin' sun till dine, But seas between us braid hae rolled, Sin' the days o' auld lang syne." CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I " I was side by side with some great criminal" ... ... ... ... i II. " The packet," he murmured, " it is yours alone"... ... ... ... ... 10 III. Romaine's Young Life : Poet, Dreamer, Roniancist ... ... ... ... 27 IV. Idyllic Love 3b V. "Our mast seemed to write the ship's name on the clouds " ... ... ... 47 VI. " Live among us here and marry Welda " 56 VII. " No money, no friends " ... ... 66 VIII. " The solidity of wealth we saw on every side" 77 IX. " Could love like Lissa's die ?

" ... 87 X. " The toils and struggles of fifty years " 98 XI. " See, sir, see — in the carriage that comes this way " 107 XII. " And so the picture fades away " ... 118 XIII. Love's Estrangement 128 XIV. " The vow in blood. What of that ? " PAGE CHAP. XV " For the Shoona leaves that lie crushed and bleeding" 149 XVI. "A boding voice is in my ear"... ... 161 XVII. " The card was red— I was ruined " ... 170 XVIII. " It looked like blood " 181 XIX. "Capital is simply robbery," said Tuson 191 XX. "I struck at the face madly— fiercely "... 204 XXI. " Ghastly work," he said. " I feel like a ghoul" 213 XXII. "That eye will haunt my dreams till death" 225 XXIII. " We reach the gates at last. We turn the keys and enter " ... ... ... 233 XXIV. " The ugly deed was done and past" ... 244 XXV. " God of Mercy, Tuson !

Preface

. Ever since that stormy night in November, 1878, when the body of A. T. Stewart, the great American millionaire, was removed from the family vault in St. Mark's Churchyard, New York, efforts have been made to discover how and by whom the robbery was committed. Judge Hilton, Mr. Stewart's executor, strove by every means in his power to bring the criminals to justice ; the best detectives were employed, and a reward of 25,000 dollars was offered, but no clue to the whereabouts of the body or of the thieves was obtained. After the lapse of a considerable time negotiations were opened up by a mysterious person calling himself Romaine, for the return of the body, on payment of a substantial reward. The body was finally handed over (in return for 25,000 dollars) to a young relative of Mrs. Stewart, at a lonely spot near New York, the men who brought the body to the spot being masked and disguised.

Stewart's career is too well known to require chronicling here. Starting with a very modest capital, he rose by rapid steps until he counted his wealth not by thousands, but by millions. It was not by any wild or reckless speculation that this great result was attained, but by strict integrity, and an early recognition of the advan tages of ready-money payments. In speaking of him in 1876, the Times says: — " Take him all in all, he was a rare instance of a successful millionaire. Beginning with almost nothing, and Preface. X by sheer honesty in trade ending with more millions than, perhaps, he was himself aware of, he was, strictly speaking, the architect of his own fortune, and, unlike many of his class, boundless success never made him forget either his past history or his early friends."

" His philanthropy seems to have been all thrown to the four winds. He founded a Home for Women' — it is now a hotel. His marble palace is tenantless, and his pro digious business enterprises are in other hands. He has a cathedral for a memorial, but the resting place of his body is at present unknown, for thieves have robbed the grave." — Extract from The Post. " With most men, even millionaires," says William Chambers, of Edinburgh, " death closes the story. In Stewart's case it was not so. The most romantic chapter of his eventful history has yet to be told." It is this " romantic " story I set myself to relate in the following pages, feeling, however, certain in my own mind that the subject is worthy of a more gifted pen than mine. GORDON-STABLES. TWVFORD, Berks.

Chapter I

"I WAS SIDE BY SIDE WITH SOME GREAT CRIMINAL." If, reader, in the story about to be told, I can credit myself with success in unravelling the mystery that has for so many long years enshrouded one of the strangest and most hideous of crimes, I attribute it more to accident than to any merit or effort of my own. In this drama of life and death, I desire to pose less as the author than as the stage manager. I appear, then, before the foot lights to introduce my actors. Having done so, I retire behind the scenes, where, though heard at times, I may seldom be seen. The tale, if it proves anything, proves, I think, that truth is stranger than fiction. The principal facts therein, so far as the life, B Millionaire' s Grave. 2 death, and burial of the great millionaire are concerned, are not only widely known, but in a manner historical.

Therefore if a great moral lesson lies hidden within these pages, it is not I who preach it, nor do I even desire to draw attention thereto. I am a plain man, and but little likely to pen apologue, or tell " a story with a purpose." I am not sure, indeed, that I have not often envied those people who never met with any incident or adventure in their lives that is worth relating. But incident and adventure, too, are forced on some, especially on those who, like myself, are wanderers in the world and students of human nature. For example — and this brings me face to face with my story — as curious an adventure as I can at present remember, occurred to me a few years ago at Baltimore. " Come out again and see us," a dear friend of mine had written some months previously, " the boys want you ' muchly.' We promise faithfully that you shall do as you like; that you will not have to make after-dinner speeches, nor sing songs unless you want to, and that you shall live incog., and never be interviewed.

In a word, you shall have a quiet and a real good time of it. So come." My friend's allusion to speeches and songs had reference to a time before, when I had visited this sweet city of the plains, and during which hospitality had extended from " Side by side with some great criminal." 3 cosy and delightful little parties in back parlours to semi-public dinners, where fifteen at least graced each side of the table. I crossed the sea, and during my whole tour I was as much incog, as any writer ever can be. I could thus take notes, and study manners and customs, and do anything and everything, except pass for an American citizen. I was happy. Yes, I must hurry on with my story. I am too wise to keep the stage waiting ; and the alter ego, who stands by the wings, is impatient to appear. It was at Baltimore then that I met him — first.

All by myself one morning I was walking towards the monument. I had sung too many songs, and spun too many yarns on the evening before, and I longed for rest. The top of a monument or high steeple has ever been my most favourite resort when I desired quiet or would court thought. I had entered the square, and was just opposite the Peabody Institute— honest Peabody, by the way, left this place for the poor, but heigho ! for all they see of it — I was passing here, then, when on ahead of me I noticed the tall, but quietly-dressed, figure of a man, who was nearing the foot of the monument. He was walking somewhat rapidly, but his head was bent groundwards as if he were immersed in deep study. Millionaire's Grave. Something behind me attracted my attention, and when I looked again the figure was nowhere visible.

I could not say whether he had entered or not. I certainly never expected he had gone up. I sauntered slowly on, and in ten minutes' time emerged on the top of the monument and stood still enraptured — all the green and wooded loveliness of the country, far and near, spread out beneath and around me, and a cool, delicious breeze fanning my tired and heated brow. But almost immediately afterwards I was confronted by the very man I had seen walking on before me. He confronted me, indeed, with startling suddenness. I had no time either to speak or think. His handsome figure was erect, his arms both extended by his sides, but thrown somewhat back behind, with tightly-clenched fists ; while his gleaming dark eyes cast angry darts at me. The whole visage was that of a man in death's last agony, or rather, perhaps, like one who has sat up, after being shot, on a battlefield, surprise, fear, and anger all blend ing together.

I had never seen a more strangely-fear some face, except once in India, when on duty I accompained to the suburbs of a town a poor fellow who was to be shot near a wall. " Side by side with some great criminal." 5 He gazed at me for a time, which might have been easily measured by seconds per haps, but which seemed to me then to be long minutes. " Curse you ! " he cried at last, " what do you want here ? " Under other circumstances I should doubt less have made an angry retort, but somehow that face appeared to fascinate me. Nor could I help noticing that it bore many traces of care and grief, which time must have taken long, long years to trace. I returned his gaze as calmly as I could, and replied with some degree of firmness — ** I did not follow you intentionally. I thought no one was here — that no one could be here.

But listen," I continued, more boldly, ** I can read you as I could a book. You came up hither with the intention of committing suicide — deny it if you can." " And you dare to baulk me ! " he almost shrieked. " Being here," I replied, " I shall certainly do all I can to frustrate your pretty design." He made as if to leap over the parapet. I held him fast. Though taller and younger, he was as weak as a kitten in my grasp. He would gather strength in the struggle, how ever — the strength of a maniac. My experience had taught me this. I must not fight him. " One moment," I cried. " Listen to me, man, for only a single moment. By your voice I can tell you are a countryman of my own. You are no American, but a Scot, both by birth and education. Now, think, man. I have never injured you, but if you leap over now they will say I murdered you.

They will try me. Do you wish thus to incon venience me ? " His struggles ceased in a moment, and I let him free. He staggered backwards for a step or two, then, looking at me, extended his hand. " Forgive me," he said, ** I have been rude, and — a fool." He pressed his hand to his forehead as he spoke. " Come," I said, coaxingly, "rest here for a short time beside me. You look harassed and ill. Rest, and let us talk." ■■111?" he repeated. ** I should now be dead. I would have been but for you." " Excuse me, sir, but you were about to choose an ugly and painful way of getting clear of the world. Believe me, there are dozens of better methods of committing suicide than this." " The knife, eh ? " he murmured. " No," I answered, " never spill blood. Spilt blood looks ugly anywhere. Blood — " " Blood !

" he shouted, turning fiercely round ; " who says I spilt blood ? Why, man, who are you — are you a devil, or a detective? " " I'm neither. I'm a doctor — a sailorsurgeon." "Side by side with some great criminal." 7 *■ If I thought you were a spy," he con tinued, "you should never go back down that stair alive. But I believe I can trust you." His hand that had gone quickly round towards his pistol pocket was now brought to the front again. I knew I had a desperate man to deal with, but I am used to the ways of insane people. I was calm, as one often is in the presence of a great danger. I was even facetious. " Come, my friend," I said, " you don't look to have a long lease of life. You'll go fast enough into the next world without the assistance of either a knife or a revolver. Believe me in that."

" Next world ? — bah ! My faith in Heaven died out when my faith in woman went. But how would you commit suicide? Tell me, friend." " I haven't thought much about it. I daresay I should sleep. I earnestly advise you to consider the merits of a big narcotic." I should mention here that my sole object in talking thus was to get him to come down below from this giddy height, which in itself was suggestive of suicide even to the sane. " Sleep ? Yes," he said, " sleep sounds well." " You'd have too much time to think were you to throw yourself over there," I con tinued. " Not long — not long — hardly half a minute." " Ah," I said earnestly, laying one hand gently on his shoulder, " I perceive that you are no philosopher. Time, friend, is not measured by minutes, except for convenience's sake. When one is in despair or agony, then time seems interminable.

Virtually speaking, you would be hours and hours in reaching the ground, and having all ended. And these hours would be hours of such terror, pain, and mind-agony, as fiends alone can dream of." " Horrible." " Yes, but it is as true as it is horrible." " And your sleep — your chloral — or what ever you would take — " " Would put you quietly to sleep, and you would only wake — for judgment." " And you believe in parson's logic ? " " What may not be, may be, my friend." We talked much more in the same strain. I even found myself at last preaching peace to this poor soul. Oh, doctors can preach sometimes. Presently, to my intense satisfaction, I saw him bend his head to meet his palms and burst into tears. "There will be no more thunder," I thought, "for here comes the rain." " I have not wept for eight years," he said, in tones that were half apologetic.

" Oh," " Side by side with some great criminal." 9 he added, " my punishment is greater than I am able to bear ! " The words seemed wrung out of him. He talked like a veritable Cain, and from that very moment I felt convinced I was side by side with some great criminal.

Chapter II

" THE PACKET," HE MURMURED, " IT 18 TOURS ALONE." We went slowly down the winding stair to gether, and together walked away. He did not seem wishful to part with me. " The way I go," he said, "is a very beau tiful one, all among trees, past lawns and gardens, and handsome villas. If not other wise engaged, you might come a little dis tance with me. See how bright the morning is, how blue the sky, and how the sunshine shimmers on every quivering leaf." I looked at him in some surprise. Was this the man who but for my timely inter vention, would now have been lying yonder, a huddled heap of bleeding clay? He read my thoughts, and laughed a little half-hysterical laugh, which was partly a sob. I felt sorrow for this strange being, albeit I could hardly believe he was sane. As a " The packet is yours alone." 11 rule an innate shyness prevents me from talking on matters religious with anyone.

I do not feel good enough myself to justify my preaching to others. But here was a case in which my duty was plain and clear before me. To have shirked it would have been a sin. So without altering the timbre of my voice, in my ordinary style of conversation — • certainly without any of that hateful intoning of words affected by some village curates, I tried my best to lead my companion's thoughts to better things. What I said matters not. I was at least so far successful as to be able to elicit a reluctant promise from him, that he would not again attempt to commit suicide. I had gone quite a long way with the man, but the road had appeared very short. He turned at last, and said " Good-bye " very abruptly. But he would neither tell me where he lived, nor appoint to meet me another day. " Leave all to fate," he said.

His face, I thought, as he spoke these words, betrayed more sadness and anguish than I had ever before seen depicted on a human countenance. " 1 thank you," he added. Then we parted. I looked back after I had walked a little way. He was hurrying on along the road precisely as I had first seen him — his shoulders a little stooped, his head bent groundwards. As I went slowly back towards the city, I could not help inwardly recapitulating to myself some of the odds and ends of our conversation. " Are you a devil or a detective ? " I smiled as I thought of this strange question. To be a doctor is bad enough. But — a devil or a detective ! Ugh ! always to be looking on the black side of human nature ; why he — the devil or the detective — must come at last to believe that there is no bright side to it, and that in this beautiful world of ours success and crime are all but synonymous; that every man is a rogue at heart; and that sin alone holds sway.

Rather would I take everyone I meet for an angel incarnate, even though I should sometimes make a mistake and suffer for it. When I returned to my hotel I found my two friends, Ralston and Greeves, waiting for me in my private sitting-room ; Ralston in the rocker beside the window; Greeves astride of a chair in front of him. They were talking earnestly, but both got up to shake hands and wish me " Good morning**." As soon as I got seated, the conversation drifted back to the channel from which my entry had caused it to diverge, and for some time 1 continued to listen in silence. " We were talking," said Greeves to me, "overly," " of the somewhat serious illness of Mrs. Stewart, the wife of the great million- " The packet is yours alone." 13 aire, and that led us away back to the story, which, of course, you have read, of the mysterious abduction of the body from the grave and its romantic restoration." .

" Yes," I said, " it was, indeed, a wonderful story." " Well," said Greeves, " Ralston and I have had an argument — and it isn't the first by many — about the probable motive that led to the horrible robbery." " I hold out," said Ralston, " that it was greed of gain and nothing else. What more natural, I want to know ? This man of un told wealth, and unbounded, though some times mistaken, generosity, is lying awake one night, let us imagine, at his own residence in New York. He has had a toilsome, over-busy day of it at his office. Several little matters have worried him, and some large speculations have failed. He can afford to lose money by the cartload, if it comes to that ; but it is the very idea of failure that hurts him. Is his marvellous business-genius forsaking him, he wonders. Or is it that he is sticking too closely to work, and that its very sameness is beginning to tell on his health ?

Leave it he can't. It is all a species of gambling, this buying and selling, and watching of markets and stocks ; but it is his life, his existence, apart from which he would crumble and die. See how he tosses and tumbles on the pillows. If only he could do all his thinking ere he retires it would be well. What right have little cares and worries to obtrude themselves, like tiny fiends and demons, on the couch of a millionaire. He gets somewhat calmer, however, as reason whispers to him that care and business have ever been inseparable, and that there are thousands and thousands in the great city lying awake now, just as he is, but with far more reason to grieve. " He rises and throws open a window. The city is asleep ; the stars shine above ; the gas-lights gleam in the streets ; but of sounds there are few or none.

It is early summer, and in through the casement float the sweet scents from the' mauve blossoms of the Wistaria, and a cool, delicious breeze, that fans his brow and calms his mind. " • Yes,' he thinks, ' I am mad to worry. How many scores and scores of less fortunate men than I am in business, may be even now writing, figuring, toiling in the very gloomiest and dingiest parts of the city, while I sit here breathing this glorious air. Why, it is want of pure air and quiet that is killing the most of us. And yet all round this busy world's mart is scenery as charming as that in any part of the world. How delightful it would be for hard-working city men, if each could have a villa to retire to after the labours of the day were past and done — a quiet retreat, away from the bustle and din of the weary town.' "'Well,' he continues to think, * God, in " The packet is yours alone." 15 His goodness, has given me vast wealth.

He has made me a king among my compeers. He has honoured me above His other servants. To them He has given five or ten talents, to me He has given a hundred. But I, even I, must give account of my stewardship at last. I must do good with my wealth. I must work while it is called to-day.' " " Ralston," said Greeves, here, " pardon my interruption ; but was Mr. Stewart really so religious a man as you wish to make out, or are you drawing on your somewhat fertile imagination ?" " I knew Stewart well," replied Ralston. " He was deeply imbued with religious feeling. To use his own words, ' All through life he felt that the hand of God had been ever near him and with him.' " " Well," continued Ralston, " on this wakeful night the thought occurs to him to purchase land on Long Island, and lay out Garden City.

To think and scheme was to act with Stewart ; and in due time this dream of his becomes a beautiful reality. The ground is purchased — ten miles in length or nearly, and well-nigh a mile in breadth. The millionaire has something now to think about, the carrying out of which gives him, or seems to give him, a new lease of life. With a rapidity that is marvellous, streets are planned and placed and paved, roadways and avenues, too, with gas laid on, with waterpipes and drainage ; all is seen to, and even a railroad is begun for communication with the city. " Hardly are the streets finished ere the beautiful verandahed villas, with their gardens, orchards, and tennis lawns, begin to spring up, where every man may dwell ' under his own vine and his own fig tree,' to use the figurative language of Scripture.

But ere it has reached completion Heaven's fiat goes forth. Let us trust that it commenced with tbe words, 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant.' " Stewart was no more. Could his widow ever cease to mourn for such a man as this ? Together they had climbed life's hill — They had shared with each other's sorrows, They had dried each other's tears. And so came the idea of the widowed wife of building a memorial cathedral in Garden City." " But, here," said Ralston, " I must tell you something that is not generally known, though what I say is true. The memorial crypt was Mrs. Stewart's own idea ; but the cathedral itself had been one of her husband's plans. " How the old man would have rejoiced to have seen it completed ! There is no doubt he had dreams of spending a green old age in this same Garden City, where he should him self have a house and home after bequeath- " The Packet is yours alone." 17 C' ing his marble palace in New York to the nation.

Yes, he should live in Garden City, and worship Sunday after Sunday in the great house he had reared to God, and so quietly wait his call. Surely this was a laud able ambition, and such an existence would have been a fit ending for the life of this noble merchant prince. " It was not to be, however. We poor mortals cannot influence destiny. " But," continued Ralston — " and here I come to the point from which I started — it must have suggested itself to some villain, or villains, that a wife who could willingly spend such vast treasure in providing a memorial cathedral and crypt for the bones of her dear, dear lord, would, in the event of his body disappearing, gladly pay a fabulous reward to have it restored to her. " Here, I say, comes in the greed of gain I spoke of, and which, in my opinion, instigated the whole sad and mysterious business."

" And you think," said Greeves, "that re venge had nothing to do with it. Mr. Stewart, you know, was terribly — some said, shame fully — exacting in business, and to those under him far too harsh. They say that more than one of his head men, whom he had paid off for faults the most trivial, put an end to their own existence." " Whether that was the case or not," returned Ralston, " I do not pretend to know. At all events, if the robbers did desire c Millionaire's Grave. revenge, they had it ; at the same time, they were not above making that revenge pay. They did not despise the solid coin." It was at this very point in the conversa tion that something strange occurred to me. I felt impelled, as it were, to open my mouth and speak. My words were not dictated by reason, apparently ; indeed, I blamed myself for having uttered them as soon as I had finished, for they sounded, even to myself, like the bombastic untruthfulness of some village schoolboy.

" You will be surprised, Ralston," I said, " and you too, Greeves, when I tell you where I have been this morning. I have been side by side with a great criminal." Both stared at me in blank and silent astonishment, as well they might. "I have been," I continued, "with the ghoul who, if he did not rob, at all events, who knows something of the robbery of Stewart's grave." "He himself told you — " began Greeves. " He told me nothing — I — I guessed it. It was, or is, a revelation, perhaps." "And where is he now? Why did you not detain him ? " " 1 did not know at the time who he was. But he is gone. Ask me no more now. He and I are bound to meet again. Wait." 3* I felt as certain that the strange beino*? whom I had seen that morning, and I, would " The Packet is yours alone." 19 really meet again, as I am sure the sun will rise to-morrow.