The Vagrant Duke

  CHAPTER XVII

  PETER BECOMES A CONSPIRATOR

  Peter entered and stood by the door, startled from his rhapsody by theappearance of the intruder, who had made himself quite at home,regardless of the fact that the final words of their last meeting hadgiven no promise of a friendship which would make his air of easyfamiliarity acceptable to Peter, whose first impulse moved him to anger,fortunately controlled as he quickly remembered how much hung upon theassumption of an amicable relationship with McGuire's arch enemy. Peterhadn't replied to Hawk's letter which had indicated that some weeksmight elapse before Black Rock received another of his visitations. Thespeculations in Peter's mind as to the change in his visitor's plans andthe possible causes for them may have been marked in his face, for Hawkgrinned at him amiably and rose and offered his hand with an air ofassurance.

  "Wondering why I dropped in on you so unexpected-like? Let's say that Igot tired of staring at the lonely grandeur of Pike's Peak, _mon gars_,or that the lady who gave me the pleasure of her society skipped forDenver with a younger man, or that the high altitude playedBilly-be-damned with my nerves, and you'll have excuse enough. But thefact is, Pete, I _was_ a bit nervous at being so long away from thecenter of financial operations, and thought I'd better come right on andtalk to you."

  "I got your letter," said Peter calmly, "I hadn't answered it yet----"

  "I thought it better to come for my answer."

  "I've been thinking it over----"

  "Good. It will be worth thinkin' over. You'll bless the day Jim Coastran athwart your course."

  "You seem to be taking a good deal for granted."

  "I do. I always do. Until the present opportunity it was about the onlything I got a chance to take. You wouldn't of done me a good turn thatnight, if you hadn't been O.K. Will you have a drink of your own? It'sgood stuff--ten years in the wood, I see by the label, and I'm glad toget it, for whisky is scarcer than hen's teeth between this and theRockies."

  As Peter nodded he poured out the drinks and settled down in Peter'schair with the air of one very much at home.

  "Well, Pete, what's yer answer to be?" he said at last. "You weren't anytoo polite when I left here. But I didn't think you'd turn me downaltogether. And you're straight. I know that. I've been countin' on yoursense of justice. How would _you_ like to be treated the way _I_ wastreated by Mike McGuire?"

  "I wouldn't like it."

  "You just bet you wouldn't. You wouldn't stand for it, _you_ wouldn't.I've got justice on my side and I've got the law--if I choose to useit--but I'd rather win this case as man to man--without its getting intothe newspapers. That wouldn't matter much to a poor man like me, but itwould make a heap of difference to a man who stands where McGuire does."

  "That's true."

  "Yes. And he knows it. He hasn't got a leg to stand on." Kennedy pausedand looked Peter over coolly. Peter had been studying the situationcritically, playing his game with some care, willing to placate hisvisitor and yet taking pains not to be too eager to gain hisconfidence. So he carefully lighted his cigarette while he debated hiscourse of action.

  "What makes you think that I'm in a different mood now from when youleft here?"

  "Haven't I told you? Because I believe that you know that right's rightand wrong's wrong."

  "But I told you that I didn't want to have anything to do with thecase."

  "True for you. But you will when I've finished talking to you."

  "Will I?"

  "You will if you're not a fool, which you ain't. I always said you hadsomethin' between your ears besides ivory. You don't like to stay poorany more than anybody else. You don't have to. A good half of McGuire'smoney is mine. If it hadn't been for me helpin' to smell that copper outhe'd of been out there grub-stakin' yet an' that's a fact. But I'm notgoin' to be too hard on him. I'm no hog. I'm goin' to let him down easy.What's a million more or less to him? It might pinch him a little hereand there sellin' out securities he had a fancy for, but in a year or sohe'd have it all back and more, the way he works. Oh, I know. I've foundout a bit since I've been away. And he'll come across all right, when hehears what I've got to say to him."

  "Why don't you go to him direct?" asked Peter.

  "And have him barricadin' the house and shootin' promiscuous at me fromthe windows? Not on your life. I know what I'm about. This thing has gotto be done quiet. There's no use stirring up a dirty scandal to hurt hisreputation for honest dealin' in New York. Even as it is, the story hasgot around about the mystery of Black Rock. No use makin' talk. That'swhy I want you. You stand ace high with the old man. He'll listen to youand we'll work the game all right and proper."

  "But suppose he won't listen to me."

  "Then we'll put the screws on."

  "What screws?"

  Hawk Kennedy closed one eye and squinted the other at Peter quizzically.

  "I'll tell you that all in good time. But first I've got to know how youstand in the matter."

  Peter judicially examined the ash of his cigarette. "He ought to do theright thing," he said slowly.

  "He will--never you fear. But can I count on _you_, Pete?"

  "What do you want me to do?" asked Peter after a moment.

  "Oh, now we're talkin'. But wait a minute. We won't go so fast. Are youwith me sure enough--hope I may die--cross my heart?"

  "If you'll make it worth my while," said Peter cautiously.

  "A hundred thousand. How's that?"

  "It sounds all right. But I can't see what I can do that you couldn't doyourself."

  "Don't you? Well, you don't know all this story. There's some of it youhaven't heard. Maybe it's that will convince you you're makin' nomistake----"

  "Well--I'm listening."

  A shrewd look came into Kennedy's face--a narrowing of the eyelids, adrawing of the muscles at the mouth, as he searched Peter's face with asharp glance.

  "If you play me false, Pete, I'll have your heart's blood," he said.

  Peter only laughed at him.

  "I'm not easily scared. Save the melodrama for McGuire. If you can dowithout me--go ahead. Play your hand alone. Don't tell me anything. Idon't want to know."

  The bluff worked, for Kennedy relaxed at once.

  "Oh, you're a cool hand. I reckon you think I need you or I wouldn't behere. Well, that's so. I do need you. And I'm goin' to tell you thetruth--even if it gives away my hand."

  "Suit yourself," said Peter, indifferently.

  He watched his old "bunkie" pour out another drink of the whisky, and adefinite plan of action took shape in his mind. If he could only getKennedy drunk enough.... The whisky bottle was almost empty--so Petergot up, went to his cupboard and brought forth another one.

  "Good old Pete!" said Hawk. "Seems like July the first didn't make muchdifference to you."

  "A present from Mr. McGuire," Peter explained.

  "Well, here's to his fat bank account. May it soon be ours." And hedrank copiously. Peter filled his own glass but when the opportunityoffered poured most of it into the slop-bowl just behind him.

  "I'm goin' to tell you, Pete, about me and McGuire--about how we gotthat mine. It ain't a pretty story. I told you some of it but not thereal part--nobody but Mike McGuire and I know that--and he wouldn't tellif it was the last thing he said on earth."

  "Oh," said Peter, "something crooked, eh?"

  Kennedy laid his bony fingers along Peter's arm while his voice sank toan impressive whisper.

  "Crooked as Hell, Pete--crooked as Hell. You wouldn't think Mike McGuirewas a murderer--would you?"

  "A murderer----!"

  Kennedy nodded. "We took that mine--stole it from the poor guy who hadstaked out his claim. Mike killed him----"

  "You don't mean----?"

  "Yes, sir. Killed him--stuck him in the ribs with a knife when hewasn't lookin'. What do you think of that?"

  "McGuire--a murderer----!"

  "Sure. Nice sort of a boss you've got! And he could swing for it if Ididn't hold my tongue."

&n
bsp; "This is serious----"

  "You bet it is--if he don't come across. Now I guess you know why he wasso cut up when I showed up around here. I've got it on him all right."

  "Can you prove it?"

  Kennedy rubbed his chin for a moment.

  "I could but I don't want to. You see--Pete----" He paused again andblinked pensively at his glass. "Well, you see--in a manner ofspeakin'--he's got it on me too."

  And Peter listened while his villainous companion related the well knowntale of the terrible compact between the two men in which both of themhad agreed in writing to share the guilt of the crime, carefullyomitting to state the compulsion as used upon McGuire. Hawk Kennedylied. If Peter had ever needed any further proof of the honesty of hisemployer he read it in the shifting eye and uncertain verbiage of hisguest, whose tongue now wagged loosely while he talked of the twopapers, one of which was in McGuire's possession, the other in his own.Hawk was no pleasant companion for an evening's entertainment. From theinteresting adventurer of the _Bermudian_, Jim Coast had been slowlychanging under Peter's eyes into a personality more formidable andsinister. And the drink seemed to be bringing into importancepotentialities for evil at which Peter had only guessed. That he meantto fight to the last ditch for the money was clear, and if the worstcame would even confess, dragging McGuire down among the ruins of boththeir lives. In his drunken condition it would have been ridiculouslyeasy for Peter to have overpowered him, but he was not sure to what endthat would lead.

  "You say there were two papers," said Peter. "Where are they?"

  "McGuire's got his--here at Black Rock," muttered Hawk.

  "How do you know that?" asked Peter with interest.

  "Where would he keep it?" sneered Hawk. "In his business papers for'zecutors to look over?"

  "And where's yours?" asked Peter.

  He hoped for some motion of Kennedy's fingers to betray its whereabouts,but the man only poured out another drink and leered at Peterunpleasantly.

  "That'sh _my_ business," he said with a sneer.

  "Oh. Is it? I thought I was to have a hand in this."

  Kennedy grinned.

  "Y'are. Your job is t' get other paper from McGuire's safe. And thenwe'll have fortune in--hic--nutshell."

  The man wasn't as drunk as he seemed. Peter shrugged.

  "I see. I've got to turn burglar to join your little criminal society.Suppose I refuse?"

  "Y' won't. Why, Pete, it ought to be easiest job in world. A few dropshin glass when you're talkin' business and he'd never know it happened.Then we 'beat it,' y'understand, 'n' write lettersh--nice lettersh. Oneof 'em to that swell daughter of his. That would do the business,_pronto_."

  "Yes, it might," admitted Peter ruminatively.

  "Sure it will--but we'll give him chance. Are y' on?" he asked.

  Peter was silent for a moment. And then,

  "I don't see why you want that paper of McGuire's," he said. "They'reexactly alike, you say--both incriminating. And if you've got your paperhandy----"

  Peter paused but Kennedy was in the act of swallowing another glass ofwhisky and he didn't stop to answer the half-formulated query. He gave agasp of satisfaction and then shrugged.

  "No use, Pete," he said huskily. "I said I had paper and I _have_ paperhandy, but I've got to have McGuire's paper too. I ain't got money andspotless rep'tation like Mike McGuire but I don't want paper like thatfloatin' roun' universh with _my_ name signed to it."

  "I don't blame you," said Peter dryly.

  Hawk Kennedy was talking thickly now and spilled the whisky in trying topour out a new glassful.

  "Goo' whisky this--goo' ole whisky, Pete. Goo' ole Peter. Say, you'llget pater, Peep--I mean Peter pape--Oh H---- Paper. _You_ know."

  "I'll have to think about it, Jim."

  "Can't think when yer drunk, Pete," he muttered with an expiring grin."To-morr'. 'Nother drink an' then we'll go sleep. Don't mind my sleepin'here, Pete. Nice plache shleep. Goo' old shleep...."

  Peter paused in the act of pouring out another drink for him and then ata sound from Kennedy set the bottle down again. The man suddenlysprawled sideways in the chair, his head back, snoring heavily. Peterwatched him for a moment, sure that he couldn't be shamming and thenlooked around the disordered room. Hawk's overcoat and hat lay on thebed. On tiptoe Peter got up and examined them carefully, watching theman in the chair intently the while. Hawk stirred but did not awaken.Peter searched the overcoat inch by inch. There was nothing in thepockets, but a tin of tobacco and a Philadelphia newspaper. So Peterrestored the articles and then hung the hat and coat on the nails behindthe door. Hawk Kennedy did not move. He was dead drunk.

  The repulsive task of searching the recumbent figure now lay before him.But the game had been worth the candle. If the fateful confession wasanywhere in Hawk's clothing Peter meant to find it and yet even now hehesitated. He put the whisky bottle away, cleared up the mess and thenbodily picked his visitor up and carried him to the bed. Hawk mutteredsomething in his sleep but fell prone and immediately was snoringstertorously. Then Peter went through his pockets methodically, removingan automatic pistol from his trousers, and examining all his paperscarefully by the light of the lamp-a hotel bill receipted, some lettersin a woman's hand, a few newspaper clippings bearing on the coppermarket, a pocketbook containing bills of large denomination, some soiledbusiness cards of representatives of commercial houses, a notebookcontaining addresses and small accounts, a pass book of a Philadelphiabank, the address of which Peter noted. And that was all. Exhaustingevery resource Peter went over the lining of his coat and vest, inch byinch, even examined his underwear and his shoes and stockings. From theskin out, Hawk Kennedy had now no secrets from Peter. The incriminatingconfession was not on Hawk Kennedy's clothing.

  At last Peter gave up the search and went out into the air, and lightedhis corncob pipe, puzzled at his failure. And yet, was it a failureafter all? Hawk had eluded every attempt to discuss his copy of theconfession. He had it "handy," he had said. A safe deposit box at thePhiladelphia bank of which Peter had made record would be handy, butsomehow Peter thought the chances were much against Kennedy's having putit there. Men of his type usually carry everything they possess abouttheir persons. Peter remembered the ragged wallet of the _Bermudian_.What if after all these years of hardship the paper had been worn sothat it was entirely illegible, or indeed that in Kennedy's manywanderings it had been lost? Either of these theories was plausible, butnone provoked a decision. So after awhile Peter went indoors and openingall the windows and doors to cleanse the air, sat in the big chair andbundling himself in a blanket fell asleep.