CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE TRADE WITH SLIPPERY DICK.
Amos Royson, in the solitude of his room, had full time for reflectionupon the events of the week and upon his position. His face, alwayssinister, had not improved under its contact with the heavy duelingpistol driven so savagely against it. The front teeth would be replacedand the defect concealed under the heavy mustache he wore, and the cutand swollen lips were resuming their normal condition. The missingfinger, even, would inconvenience him only until he had trained themiddle one to discharge its duties--but the nose! He trembled with ragewhen for the hundredth time he studied his face in the glass andrealized that the best skill of the surgeon had not been able to restoreits lines.
But this was not the worst. He had carefully scanned the state pressduring his seclusion and awoke from his personal estimate to find thatpublic opinion was overwhelmingly against him. He had slandered a manfor political purposes and forced a fight upon a stranger to whom, byevery right of hospitality, the city owed a welcome. The general publiccould not understand why he had entered upon the duel if his chargeswere true, and if not true why he had not had the manliness to withdrawthem.
Moreover, he had incurred the deadly enmity of the people who had beendeceived in the lost county. One paper alluded to the unpleasant factthat Edward Morgan was defending and aiding Mr. Royson's connections atthe time of the insult.
He had heard no word from Swearingen, who evidently felt that the matterwas too hot at both ends for him to handle safely. That gentleman had,on the contrary, in a brief card to one of the papers, disclaimed anyknowledge of the unfortunate letter and declined all responsibility forit. This was sufficient, it would seem, to render almost any manunhappy, but the climax was reached when he received a letter fromAnnie, scoring him unmercifully for his clumsiness and informing himthat Edward Morgan, so far from being destroyed in a certain quarter,was being received in the house as a friend to whom all were indebted,and was petted and made much of.
"So far as I can judge," she added, maliciously, "it seems settled thatMary is to marry him. He is much with Col. Montjoy and is now upon aconfidential footing with everyone here. Practically he is already amember of the family." It contained a request for him to inform her whenhe would be in his office.
He had not replied to this; he felt that the letter was aimed at hispeace of mind and the only satisfaction he could get out of this affairwas the recollection that he had informed her father-in-law of herperfidy.
"I would be glad to see the old gentleman's mind at work with Anniepurring around him," he said to himself, and the idea brought the firstsmile his face had known for many a day. But a glimpse of that face inthe glass, with the smile upon it, startled him again.
What next? Surrender? There was no surrender in the make-up of the man.His legal success had hinged less upon ability than upon doggedpertinacity. In this way he had saved the life of more than one criminaland won a reputation that brought him practice. He had made a charge,had been challenged and had fought. With almost any other man the issuewould have been at an end as honorably settled, but his habit of mindwas opposed to accepting anything as settled which was clearlyunsettled. The duel did not give Morgan the rights of a gentleman if themain charge were true, and Royson had convinced himself that it wastrue. He wrote to Annie, assured that her visit would develop his nextmove.
So it was that one morning Royson found himself face to face with hiscousin, in the office. There was no word of sympathy for him. He had notexpected one, but he was hardly prepared for the half-smile which cameover her face when he greeted her, and which, during their interview,returned from time to time. This enraged him beyond endurance, andnothing but the remembrance that she alone held the key to the situationprevented his coming to an open breach with her. She saw and read hisstruggle aright, and the display put her in the best of humor.
"When shall we see you at The Hall again?" she asked, coolly.
"Never," he said, passionately, "until this man Morgan is exposed anddriven out." She arched her brows.
"Never, then, would have been sufficient."
"Annie, this man must be exposed; you have the proofs--you haveinformation; give it to me." She shook her head, smiling.
"I have changed my mind, Amos; I do not want to be on bad terms with mybrother-in-law of the future; the fact is, I am getting fond of him. Heis very kind to everybody. Mother is to go to Paris to have her eyesattended to, and Mary is to accompany her. Mr. Morgan has been acceptedas their escort."
The face of the man grew crimson with suppressed rage. By a supremeeffort he recovered and returned the blow.
"What a pity, Annie, it could not have been you! Paris has been yourhobby for years. When Mary returns she can tell you how to dress in thebest form and correct your French." It was a successful counter. She wasafraid to trust herself to reply. Royson drew his chair nearer.
"Annie," he said, "I would give ten years of life to establish the truthof what you have told me. So far as Mary is concerned, we will leavethat out, but I am determined to crush this fellow Morgan at any cost.Something tells me we have a common cause in this matter. Give me astarting point--you owe me something. I could have involved you; Ifought it out alone." She reflected a moment.
"I cannot help you now as much as you may think. I am convinced of whatI told you, but the direct proof is wanting. You can imagine howdifficult such proof is. The man is thirty years old, probably, andwitnesses of his mother's times are old or dead."
"And what witnesses could there have been?"
"Few. John Morgan is gone. The next witness would be Rita. Rita is thewoman who kept Morgan's house for the last thirty years. She owned alittle house in the neighborhood of The Hall and was until she went toMorgan's a professional nurse. There may be old negroes who can give youpoints."
"And Rita--where is she?"
"Dead!"
A shade of disappointment swept over his face. He caught her eyes fixedupon him with the most peculiar expression. "She is the witness on whomI relied," she said, slowly. "She was, I believe, the only human beingin the world who could have furnished conclusive testimony as to theorigin of Edward Morgan. She died suddenly the day your letter waspublished!" She did not look away as she concluded, "your letter waspublished!" She did not look away as she paused, but continued with hereyes fixed upon his; and gradually, as he watched her, the browscontracted slightly and the lids tightened under them. A gleam ofintelligence passed to him. His face grew white and his hands closedconvulsively upon the arms of his chair.
"But that would be beyond belief," he said, at last, in a whisper. "Ifwhat you think is true, he was her son!" She raised her brow as shereplied:
"There was no tie of association! With him everything was at stake. Youcan probably understand that when a man is in love he will risk a greatdeal."
Royson arose and walked the room. No man knew better than he the worstside of the human heart. There is nothing so true in the history ofcrime as that reputation is held higher than conscience. And in thiscase there was the terrible passion of love. He did not reply to herinsinuation.
"You think, then," he said, stopping in front of the woman, "that,reading my letter, he hurried home--and in this you are correct since Isaw him across the street reading the paper, and a few minutes laterthrow himself into a hack and take that direction--that he rushed intothe presence of this woman, demanded the truth, and, receiving it, in afit of desperation, killed her!"
"What I may think, Amos, is my right to keep to myself. The only witnessdied that day! There was no inquest! You asked me for a starting point."She drew her gloves a little tighter, shook out her parasol and rose."But I am giving you too much of my time. I have some commissions fromMary, who is getting ready for Paris, and I must leave you."
He neither heard her last remark nor saw her go. Standing in the middleof the room, with his chin upon his chest, he was lost to allconsciousness of the moment. When he looked to the chair she hadoccupied it was vaca
nt. He passed his hand over his brow. The sceneseemed to have been in a dream.
But Amos Royson knew it was real. He had asked for a starting point, andthe woman had given it.
As he considered it, he unconsciously betrayed how closely akin he wasto the woman, for every fact that came to him was in that legal mind,trained to building theories, adjusted in support of the hypothesis ofcrime. He was again the prosecuting attorney. How natural at least wassuch a crime, supposing Morgan capable of it.
And no man knew his history!
With one blow he had swept away the witness. That had done a thousandtimes in the annals of crime. Poison, the ambush, the street encounter,the midnight shot through the open window, the fusillade at the formoutlined in its own front door; the press had recorded it since thebeginning of newspapers. Morgan had added one more instance. And if hehad not, the suspicion, the investigation, the doubt would remain!
At this point by a perfectly natural process the mind of the man reachedits conclusion. Why need there be any suspicion, any doubt? Why mightnot an inquest develop evidences of a crime? This idea involved actionand decision upon his part, and some risk.
At last he arose from the desk, where, with his head upon his hand, hehad studied so long, and prepared for action. At the lavatory he caughtsight of his own countenance in the glass. It told him that his mind wasmade up. It was war to the knife, and that livid scar upon the pallor ofhis face was but the record of the first failure. The next battle wouldnot be in the open, with the skies blue above him and no shelter athand. His victim would never see the knife descend, but it would descendnevertheless, and this time there would be no trembling hand or failureof nerve.
From his office he went direct to the coroner's and examined therecords. The last inquest was of the day previous; the next in line morethan a month before. There was no woman's name upon the list. So farAnnie was right.
Outside of cities in the south no burial permits are required. Who wasthe undertaker? Inquiry would easily develop the fact, but this time hehimself was to remain in the dark. If this crime was fastened uponMorgan, the motive would be self-evident and a reaction of publicopinion would re-establish Royson high in favor. His experience wouldrank as martyrdom.
But a new failure would destroy him forever, and there was not a greatdeal left to destroy, he felt.
In the community, somewhere, was a negro whose only title was "SlipperyDick," won in many a hotly contested criminal trial. It had been said ofthis man that the entire penal code was exhausted in efforts to convicthim, and always without success. He had been prosecuted for nearly everyoffense proscribed by state laws. Royson's first experience with the manwas as prosecuting attorney. Afterward and within the preceding year hehad defended him in a trial for body-snatching and had secured a verdictby getting upon the jury one man who was closely kin to the person whopurchased the awful merchandise. This negro, plausible and cunning,hesitated at nothing short of open murder--or such was his reputation.It was to find him that Royson went abroad. Nor was it long before hesucceeded.
That night, in a lonely cabin on the outskirts of the city, a trade wasmade. Ten dollars in hand was paid. If upon an inquest by the coroner itwas found that there was a small wound on the back of the head of thewoman and the skull fractured, Slippery Dick was to receive $100 more.
This was the only risk Royson would permit himself to take, and therewere no witnesses to the trade. Dick's word was worth nothing. Discoverycould not affect the plot seriously, and Dick never confessed. The nextday he met Annie upon the road, having seen her in the city, and postedhimself to intercept her.
"I have investigated the death of Rita," he said, "and am satisfied thatthere are no grounds for suspecting murder. We shall wait!" The womanlooked him in the face.
"Amos," she said, "if you were not my cousin, I would say that you arean accomplished liar!" Before he replied there was heard the sound of ahorse's feet. Edward Morgan drove by, gravely lifting his hat.