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Page 80
"The first battalion of the Royal Munsters (which is
the old 117th) has been stationed at Aldershot for
some years. The married officers live out of
barracks, and the Colonel has during all this time
occupied a villa called Lachine, about half a mile
from the north camp. The house stands in its own
grounds, but the west side of it is not more than
thirty yards from the high-road. A coachman and two
maids form the staff of servants. These with their
master and mistress were the sole occupants of
Lachine, for the Barclays had no children, nor was it
usual for them to have resident visitors.
"Now for the events at Lachine between nine and ten on
the evening of last Monday."
"Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member of the Roman
Catholic Church, and had interested herself very much
in the establishment of the Guild of St. George, which
was formed in connection with the Watt Street Chapel
for the purpose of supplying the poor with cast-off
clothing. A meeting of the Guild had been held that
evening at eight, and Mrs. Barclay had hurried over
her dinner in order to be present at it. When leaving
the house she was heard by the coachman to make some
commonplace remark to her husband, and to assure him
that she would be back before very long. She then
called for Miss Morrison, a young lady who lives in
the next villa, and the two went off together to their
meeting. It lasted forty minutes, and at a
quarter-past nine Mrs. Barclay returned home, having
left Miss Morrison at her door as she passed.
"There is a room which is used as a morning-room at
Lachine. This faces the road and opens by a large
glass folding-door on to the lawn. The lawn is thirty
yards across, and is only divided from the highway by
a low wall with an iron rail above it. It was into
this room that Mrs. Barclay went upon her return. The
blinds were not down, for the room was seldom used in
the evening, but Mrs. Barclay herself lit the lamp and
then rang the bell, asking Jane Stewart, the
house-maid, to bring her a cup of tea, which was quite
contrary to her usual habits. The Colonel had been
sitting in the dining-room, but hearing that his wife
had returned he joined her in the morning-room. The
coachman saw him cross the hall and enter it. He was
never seen again alive.
"The tea which had been ordered was brought up at the
end of ten minutes; but the maid, as she approached
the door, was surprised to hear the voices of her
master and mistress in furious altercation. She
knocked without receiving any answer, and even turned
the handle, but only to find that the door was locked
upon the inside. Naturally enough she ran down to
tell the cook, and the two women with the coachman
came up into the hall and listened to the dispute
which was still raging. They all agreed that only two
voices were to be heard, those of Barclay and of his
wife. Barclay's remarks were subdued and abrupt, so
that none of them were audible to the listeners. The
lady's, on the other hand, were most bitter, and when
she raised her voice could be plainly heard. 'You
coward!' she repeated over and over again. 'What can
be done now? What can be done now? Give me back my
life. I will never so much as breathe the same air
with you again! You coward! You coward!' Those were
scraps of her conversation, ending in a sudden
dreadful cry in the man's voice, with a crash, and a
piercing scream from the woman. Convinced that some
tragedy had occurred, the coachman rushed to the door
and strove to force it, while scream after scream
issued from within. He was unable, however, to make
his way in, and the maids were too distracted with
fear to be of any assistance to him. A sudden thought
struck him, however, and he ran through the hall door
and round to the lawn upon which the long French
windows open. One side of the window was open, which
I understand was quite usual in the summer-time, and
he passed without difficulty into the room. His
mistress had ceased to scream and was stretched
insensible upon a couch, while with his feet tilted
over the side of an arm-chair, and his head upon the
ground near the corner of the fender, was lying the
unfortunate soldier stone dead in a pool of his own
blood.
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