THERE are many people still living in the United Kingdom who must remember the startling incidents I am about to chronicle in this plain matter of fact story of real life, for scarcely more than a score of years have elapsed since the whole affair took place.

      The strange business created an immense sensation at the time, especially in the South of Scotland; and elsewhere in the mining districts the matter was in the minds and mouths of men and women for a much longer period than the proverbial nine days.

      Of course the whole affair — the public prints called it "The Blairtyre Mining Mystery" — got into the newspapers, and all sorts of explanations of the riddle were suggested by smart journalists who were hard up for "copy." One of the fullest accounts appeared in the "Glasgow Herald," and I cannot do better than reproduce the newspaper account here. I give it in extensor:—

A MYSTERIOUS DISCOVERY IN A MINE.

      A discovery of a most singular nature was made on Monday morning, the 24th inst., by a party of workmen engaged at the colliery of Messrs. Ferguson and Ross, which is situated at Blairtyre, near Glasgow. The mine is a very old one, having been worked by the present proprietors for over thirty years, and the old workings cover a very large area. In consequence of the system used to extract the coal many of the old galleries remain standing, and it was while exploring one of these old roads that the miners made the discovery in question.

      It appears that the northern portion of the mine has been disused for about fifteen years, all the coal belonging to the proprietors having been extracted thence, but having made arrangements for the working of the mine beyond the old northern boundaries, Messrs. Ferguson and Ross set men to work to open up those old galleries leading thereto which had become choked up through the roof subsiding in various places.

      The work of clearing, the old roads had been almost accomplished, and the end of the old workings nearly reached, when the miners were awestruck by finding a heap of mouldering bones and rotten rags, lying just beyond a fall of roof the workmen had just cleared away. But whose the remains were or how the unfortunate wretch had got there none of the pitmen could tell, though all were certain that the body had lain unsuspected for many years behind the heap of fallen roof.

      The poor bones were carefully placed in a sack, and with them were also placed such articles of the dead man's attire as had resisted the wear and tear of time. These articles of attire were a soft felt hat, which lay beside the bones; a broad leathern belt, such as miners commonly wear, and which encircled the skeleton still; and an old pair of iron shod shoes, in which the lower extremities of the deceased were thrust at the time of discovery. These articles were carefully preserved, as they might lead to the identification of the dead; and such has been the case.

      On the remains being removed to the surface the news of the singular discovery spread rapidly through the village, and crowds of excited people hastened to the rough shed in the colliery yard where the bones and articles of attire had been placed for identification. The same afternoon the hat, belt, and shoes were identified by an old woman, named Mrs. Duncan, as part of the apparel her son David used to wear, and who disappeared in the most mysterious manner one night twelve years before.

      It appears that David Duncan was employed at the colliery, and, according to his mother's story, he went to work one night but never returned. It l was believed at the time that Duncan had quarrelled with his sweetheart, Nancy Grant, and that in consequence he had gone over the seas, where he must have died. And this supposition seemed to be verified by the inquiries Mrs. Duncan made at the colliery, where she was informed that nothing was seen of her son that night he disappeared.

      Mrs. Duncan is certain that the hat, belt, and shoes are those her son used to wear, and several others — old comrades of David Duncan — have also recognised them as belonging to him. The mystery surrounding the affair has aroused the greatest excitement at Blairtyre, and a statement made by a local doctor who has examined the remains has greatly intensified the general curiosity. After making the most careful inquiries as to the position in which the remains were found, Dr. Sandyford — the medical gentleman alluded to — has stated in the most deliberate and emphatic manner possible that David Duncan was murdered.

      In support of this startling opinion the doctor adduces what appears to be the most irrefutable evidence. He points out that the remains were discovered beyond the fall of roof, quite clear of the debris, and that the corpse was unencumbered by even the smallest stone when the miners found it. He next points out that the skull of the dead man has been crushed in by a terrible blow, and the long corrugation in the cranium leads him to suppose that the weapon with which the deadly blow was struck must have been an iron bar of some kind. There is a rent in the old hat found beside the remains which exactly corresponds with the indentation in the skull, and the doctor has discovered that a crowbar was found not far from where the remains lay. From beginning to end the affair is a singularly strange one, and we are afraid that the mystery of David Duncan's death will never be satisfactorily solved. The strange story contained in the foregoing paragraphs excited much comment beyond the limits of Blairtyre. Commercial travellers in the morning trains discussed David Duncan's strange fate; it formed matter for talk at many breakfast tables; and aspiring authors of the sensational class thought they had at last dropped upon the idea which was to make them famous.

      To three persons in the village of Blairtyre the finding of David Duncan's remains was a matter of absorbing and painful interest. Firstly, there was the Mother of the dead miner; secondly, his old sweetheart, Nancy Grant; and, thirdly, the man whose strong, murderous hands had struck David Duncan down.

      Mrs. Duncan had never ceased to wonder about the lad's strange disappearance. Believing that David was over the seas somewhere, she patiently waited for years as only mothers can wait for absent sons, and when year after year went by, bringing her no tidings of her loved one, she was forced to believe him dead and buried in a strange land. And some comfort to the mother to find the remains of her son that she might give them Christian burial and hope to rest beside them some day.

      The dead man's old sweetheart, who was married now, and a bonny woman still, had also believed that David Duncan had flown to America or Australia, and his sudden disappearance had smitten her much more painfully than the people about her ever imagined. The very night before he disappeared David had asked her to be his wife, and loving him truly she had gladly promised to wed him.

      And after that promise fell flutteringly from her lips her lover came not again to claim what he had won, and when days, weeks, and months drifted by, bringing to her neither word nor token of her lover's fidelity, her woman's soul at last arose in revolt against his apparent cruelty; she permitted another to woo her, and at last became his wife.

      But Nancy was never happy as the Wife of George Hamilton. A curse seemed to rest upon their union. No children came to brighten the house with their hilarious play, and the husband grew into a morose and petulant man, whilst his wife became a disappointed woman, who continually permitted herself to wonder how much brighter and better her life would have been as the wedded mate of, the man whose promised wife she once was.

      And then came the discovery of her old lover's remains, and her woman's heart exulted in the thought that David had not deserted her. And oft when alone the bitter salt tears trembled down her cheeks when she thought of the mysterious way in which her life and David's had been torn asunder, and on her knees Nancy asked the dead to forgive her treachery unto him.

      To George Hamilton the news that Messrs. Ferguson and Ross intended to open up the old workings at the colliery came like the knell of impending doom. His guilty soul trembled at the thought of what might be discovered, and the iron which had sustained him for years gave at way at last. Then, as his troubled conscience had foreseen, came the discovery of the murdered man's remains, and, what he had never expected, the identification; followed by Doctor Sandyford's statement that David Duncan had been foully murdered.

      All this almost unseated George Hamilton's reason. He forsook his work and shut himself up in the house, where he tried to drown his reflections in strong drink. His wife's gentle persuasions were rebutted with savage curses, and in his heart he cursed her fair face as the cause of his suffering. Blacker and blacker grew the pall of remorse, and closer and closer it clung about the heart of the guilty wretch, until at length his existence became unbearable.

      It was the night of the third day following the discovery of David Duncan's body, and George Hamilton's wife lay awake in the semi-darkness thinking of the happy days when she and David were sweethearts.

      Her husband lay beside her sleeping deeply, snoring heavily, and smelling most foully of the liquor he had consumed that day. She had not quite turned out the lamp, for she had thought that George might awake some time during the night, when he would be almost certain to want a drink.

      Nancy was just falling into a doze when she was suddenly startled into wakefulness again by a low hoarse cry that broke from her husband's lips.

      "I've killed him! I've killed him! David, David! Speak to me! My God, what shall I do?"

      The words went to her heart like a knife, and she knew then whose hand had struck David Duncan down. Silently she rose to a sitting posture and waited breathless for her husband to speak again. But all she could hear was the thick laboured breathing of the man by her side.

      Noiselessly she stepped out of bed and turned up the light. Then she bent over her husband. His face was white as a dead man's might be, and it was fearfully distorted by passion and fear and remorse. Big drops of sweat studied his forehead, and the perspiration was trickling down his cheeks. His great strong hands were clenched fiercely on his breast, and he appeared to be enduring inexpressible agony.

      But the sight presented to her eyes was less horrible than the murderous vision her mind contemplated, and she shuddered on thinking that her husband was the murderer of the only man she had ever really loved.

      Even as Nancy gazed horrified upon her husband's face he awoke suddenly, and starting bolt upright, looked wildly about him, crying in tones of deep relief —

      "It's only a dream — it's only a dream!"

      Then his eyes alighted on his wife's white face as she stood there trembling by the bedside, and with a loud curse he sprang on the room floor, demanding to know what she was doing awake and up at that time of the night.

      She muttered some excuse brokenly which he did not notice apparently, for he was hastily dressing himself, and she crept back into bed, not daring to remonstrate with him. The next moment Hamilton left the room, taking with him the lamp, and then she heard him descending the stairs. Rising to a sitting posture, she listened intently, expecting each instant to hear the street door open and shut again behind her husband.

      But minute after minute fled till half an hour had spent itself — though to Nancy it seemed a much longer period — and then, wondering what he could be doing, she left the bed, and creeping noiselessly across the room reached the top of the old-fashioned open staircase, from which place she could see plainly into the kitchen below.

      He was seated at the table writing something in an old memorandum book, and for some minutes she crouched there watching him and wondering greatly what he was penning. Then she stole back to bed and tried to fall asleep, and she was just dozing away when her husband's footfall on the stairs startled her into wakefulness again.

      He came upstairs as quietly as possible, and as he gently entered t the room she commenced to breathe heavily and regularly as if she were sleeping. He placed the lamp on the table, the next moment she felt his heavy beard brushing her face, his hot lips on her own, and she heard him say in a hoarse whisper —

      "God bless you, Nance!"

      Then he stole quickly away ; she heard the stairs creak beneath his tread, the house door was unlocked and opened, shut again and locked on the outside ; she heard the sharp jingle of the key as he pushed it under the door; then she heard him walk hurriedly away, and all was still as death.

      Nearly a week had passed away since George Hamilton left his home that night, and his wife could not imagine what had become of him. She had searched high and low for the old memorandum book in which she had seen him writing, thinking it might contain some word for her as to his destination. But she sought in vain, and so she was forced to believe that her husband had left her with the intention of returning no more.

      George Hamilton's sudden disappearance caused not a little gossip in the village, but the cause of it was soon brought to light. One morning his body was found floating on the surface of a pond close by his home. The writer of this narrative was present when the body was drawn ashore, and he was the first to notice and take possession of an old notebook which protruded from the dead man's coat pocket.

      That notebook contained a fall confession by George Hamilton of his crime, with the fullest particulars of it; but the finder of the confession never permitted a living soul to share his secret, and he tells the story now because the wife and near relatives of the murderer are dead, and no one will be injured by the telling of it.

      George Hamilton's confession was the old story of what strong, passionate men will do for love's sweet sake. From information which was gathered from various reliable sources, and from the murderer's confession, which is still in his possession, the writer has been enabled to construct the following narrative of the events preceding the crime and the remarkable manner in which it was executed.

      George Hamilton and David Duncan were born in the same village; they went to school together as lads; they worked together as youths and men; and they might have remained friends until the end of their days had not a woman's fair face come between them.

      David was a sunny-minded fellow, fair-faced as a woman almost, blue-eyed and brown-haired, slightly built and supple-limbed, with a bright, rippling laugh and pleasant way of speaking which went straight to most women's hearts.

      George Hamilton was a heavy lumbering fellow, in no sense at all handsome, and few people were surprised that bonny Nancy Grant should prefer the handsomer of her admirers. Hamilton saw his friend win, almost without an effort, what he would have given his very soul to win, and somehow he believed that David did not love Nancy as she deserved to be loved.

      But George Hamilton was not the man to permit the woman he loved to become another man's wife without attempting to prevent it. He never ceased to show Nancy that he loved her, and would give anything to win her, even when he saw that her fancy was centred on his handsome rival. And one night he asked Nancy to be his wife, to be told that the very night before she had promised herself to David Duncan.

      It was winter time when this happened, and both the young men were working at the same colliery, and they were also both on the night shift that week. Hamilton was the night deputy, and his special business was to go through all the workmen's places at the colliery, examine them, and see that they were safe and fit for the miners to work therein the following morning. Duncan was only a common labourer, and consequently had to receive his orders from Hamilton.

      When George Hamilton left Nancy Grant knowing that she was the promised wife of David Duncan, his dark, passionate soul was filled with evil thoughts. He cursed his own ugly face and form and his rival's personal attractions, and he prayed that some calamity might prevent the marriage of Duncan and Nancy Grant.

      It was about six o'clock in the evening when Hamilton left Nancy's house, and at eight he had to be at his work. Even as the unsuccessful suitor left the woman he loved so well he remembered that there would only be two men down the pit that night — himself and David — and already his crafty brain was at work trying to devise some plan to remove his rival out of his path.

      And before the clock struck eight a scheme presented itself to the half distracted lover.

      It was pitch dark when George Hamilton left home for the pit that night. The colliery lay just outside the village, and the deputy saw not a single soul until he was near the pit. Then he saw someone trudging on before him, and quickening his pace he overtook his fellow-workman, David Duncan.

      "Gude nicht, George," said Duncan as he recognised his companion.

      "Gude nicht, Dave," Hamilton answered, and together the young men passed on to the pit bank.

      The pit bank was quite deserted, and the only man within the colliery yard was the man at the engines. Half a mile away the lights in the village streets could be seen, and now and again the barking of a dog at some distant farm came through the clear, frosty air. The young men conversed together for a few minutes, then the engine man pulled up the cage, the young men got in, George Hamilton shouted, "Let doon," and the heavy iron cage shot down into the dense black depths of the shaft.

      There was no one down the pit beside George and David, and the man on the surface at the engines had seen neither of them; he had only heard the deputy shout, "Let doon." The distance between the engine-house and the cage was too great to enable the engine-tenter to see who got into the cage, and Hamilton was well aware of this.

      The young men got nut of the cage, lit their lamps, and after a little while David said —

      "Whaur am I to work the nicht, George?"

      "Ye are to goo wi' me, Dave," Hamilton returned.

      "Whaur to?"

      "Thro' the old galleries on the north side, Dave; that's Macfadden's orders."

      "To see if they are free fro' gas, I reckon," David suggested.

      "Ay, I suppose so;" Hamilton replied, and then the young men divested themselves of their coats and vests.

      A minute afterwards they were making their way toward the disused workings lying on the northern side of the pit shaft, which had then been deserted for several years. On they went, Hamilton leading the along low and tortuous galleries. Sometimes their way was almost blocked by falls of roof, but over these they made their way as best they could, and on and on they went until they had left the shaft nearly a mile behind them.

      Then Hamilton came to a stop, and seating himself on a stone he wiped the thick heads of perspiration from his brow. Duncan also rested himself by sitting down, and for a time both men were silent. Black murderous thoughts were burning in George Hamilton's brain, of which his companion had not the least suspicion. The deputy had taken Duncan right into the heart of the disused portion of the mine with the intention of killing him, but he could not do it in cold blood, so he resolved to create a quarrel.

      "I hear ye are aboot to marry Nancy Grant," said Hamilton suddenly.

      "Yo're richt, George," David replied, "but hoo did ye ken it?"

      "Weel enough, man, for Nancy told me her ainsel."

      "Ay, did she?"

      "She just did. But I should ha' thocht ye'd ha' picked a better lass, Dave."

      There is nane in a' Scotlan', man, an' ye ken it richt weel, too. Ye ony rin her doon because she waina hae ye."

      "She's a wanton jade, an' I wadna ban her at ony price, man; an' ye'll rue the day ye wed her."

      David Duncan's blood boiled at the insult offered to his sweetheart, and in a moment his clenched fist struck Hamilton across the mouth, filling it with blood. With a terrible curse George sprang to his feet half mad with passion, and in the humour now for any black deed. He had noticed an old crowbar which lay at his feet, and picking it up, he swung it round and brought it down with a sickening thud on Duncan's skull.

      With a heavy moan David fell prostrate at the other's feet, and lay there motionless. Hamilton's passion died away as quickly as it had flamed up, and when he realised the horror of what he had done he sank on his knees beside the body crying,

      "I've killed him! I've killed him! David! David! Speak to me! My God, what shall I

      do!"

      For an hour or more he crouched there beside the body, which was now growing cold as the hard floor on which it lay. Face to face with his terrible crime, he was thinking how he would be able to hide for ever from the world. At length he rose to his feet, and with a lingering glance at the corpse, sped away towards the pit shaft, having hit upon a scheme which would, he thought, hide his crime until doomsday.

      In an hour George Hamilton Came back again, bearing in his arms the clothes of the murdered man and also a heavy hammer and saw. He flung the coat and vest over the body, and then he stepped back to finish his fell work. A few yards nearer the pit shaft then where the dead man lay the roof was in a very dangerous condition, the wooden props which sustained having almost rotted away.

      Placing his lamp out of the way Hamilton struck one of the props a heavy blow with the hammer; it broke in two. He sprang backward quickly, and a large stone crashed to the floor. One by one he pulled out the props, sawing right through those which defied the blows of his hammer, and the rotten roof came thundering down as each support gave way. And at last the murderer felt safe when a small mountain of fallen rock barred the road in which his victim lay.

      When the miners came to work the following morning many of them heard George Hamilton curse David Duncan for not coming to his work the previous night. Thus people were led to suppose that the murdered man had not gone down the pit that night, but that he had gone abroad.

      Being a man of religious inclinations, the writer believes that the hand of the Almighty was clearly discernible in the curious manner in which the crime was revealed and the criminal punished.

(THE END)