CHAPTER VII.
Forty-eight hours had passed, and not a trace had been found ofLieutenant Waring. The civil officers of the law had held grave conversewith the seniors on duty at the barracks, and Cram's face was lined withanxiety and trouble. The formal inquest was held as the flood subsided,and the evidence of the post surgeon was most important. About thethroat of the murdered man were indubitable marks of violence. The skinwas torn as by finger-nails, the flesh bruised and discolored as byfiercely-grasping fingers. But death, said the doctor, was caused by thesingle stab. Driven downward with savage force, a sharp-pointed,two-edged, straight-bladed knife had pierced the heart, and all was overin an instant. One other wound there was, a slashing cut across thestomach, which had let a large amount of blood, but might possibly nothave been mortal. What part the deceased had taken in the struggle couldonly be conjectured. A little five-chambered revolver which hehabitually carried was found on the floor close at hand. Two charges hadbeen recently fired, for the barrel was black with powder; but no onehad heard a shot.
The bar-keeper at the Pelican could throw but little light on thematter. The storm had broken, he said, with sudden fury. The rain dashedin torrents against his western front, and threatened to beat in thewindows. He called to the two men who happened to be seated at a tableto assist him, and was busy trying to get up the shutters, whenLieutenant Doyle joined them and rendered timely aid. He had frequentlyseen Doyle before during the previous month. Mrs. Doyle lived in the oldLemaitre house in the block below, and he often supplied them withwhiskey. They drank nothing but whiskey. As they ran in the side doorthey were surprised to see the lights of a carriage standing at the edgeof the banquette, and the driver begged for shelter for his team, sayingsome gentlemen had gone inside. The bar-keeper opened a gate, and thedriver put his horses under a shed in a paved court in the rear, thencame in for a drink. Meantime, said the bar-keeper, whose name wasBonelli, three gentlemen who were laughing over their escape from thestorm had ordered wine and gone into a private room, Doyle with them.The only one he knew was Monsieur Lascelles, though he had seen one ofthe others frequently as he rode by, and knew him to be an officerbefore Mr. Doyle slapped him on the back and hailed him as "Sammy, oldbuck!" or something like that. Mr. Doyle had been drinking, and thegentleman whispered to him not to intrude just then, and evidentlywanted to get rid of him, but Mr. Lascelles, who had ordered the wine,demanded to be introduced, and would take no denial, and invited Mr.Doyle to join them, and ordered more wine. And then Bonelli saw thatLascelles himself was excited by drink,--the first time he had evernoticed it in the year he had known him. The third gentleman he hadnever seen before, and could only say he was dark and sallow and did nottalk, except to urge the driver to make haste,--they must go on; but hespoke in a low tone with Mr. Lascelles as they went to the room, andpresently the rain seemed to let up a little, though it blew hard, andthe driver went out and looked around and then returned to the privateroom where the gentlemen were having their wine, and there was someangry talk, and he came out in a few minutes very mad; said he wouldn'tbe hired to drive that party any farther, or any other party, for thatmatter; that no carriage could go down the levee; and then he got outhis team and drove back to town; and then Bonelli could hear sounds ofaltercation in the room, and Mr. Doyle's voice, very angry, and thestrange gentleman came out, and one of the men who'd been waiting saidhe had a cab, if that would answer, and he'd fetch it right off, and bythe time he got back it was raining hard again, and he took his cab inunder the shed where the carriage had been, and a couple of soldiersfrom the barracks then came in, wet and cold, and begged for a drink,and Bonelli knew one of them, called Dawson, and trusted him, as heoften had done before. When Dawson heard Lieutenant Doyle's drunkenvoice he said there'd be trouble getting him home, and he'd better fetchMrs. Doyle, and while he was gone Lascelles came out, excited, and threwdown a twenty-dollar bill and ordered more Krug and some brandy, andthere was still loud talk, and when Bonelli carried in the bottlesDoyle was sitting back in a chair, held down by the other officer, whowas laughing at him, but nevertheless had a knife in hand,--a long,sharp, two-edged knife,--and Doyle was calling him names, and was verydrunk, and soon after they all went out into the rear court, and Doylemade more noise, and the cab drove away around the corner, going downthe levee through the pouring rain, one man on the box with the driver.That was the last he saw. Then Mrs. Doyle came in mad, and demanded herhusband, and they found him reeling about the dark court, swearing andmuttering, and Dawson and she took him off between them. This must havebeen before eleven o'clock; and that was absolutely all he knew.
Then Mr. Allerton had told his story again, without throwing thefaintest light on the proceedings; and the hack-driver was found, andfrankly and fully told his: that Lascelles and another gentleman hiredhim about eight o'clock to drive them down to the former's place, whichthey said was several squares above the barracks. He said that he wouldhave to charge them eight dollars such a night anywhere below the oldcotton-press, where the pavement ended. But then they had delayedstarting nearly an hour, and took another gentleman with them, and whendriven by the storm to shelter at the Pelican saloon, three squaresbelow where the pavement ended, and he asked for his money, saying hedare go no farther in the darkness and the flood, the Frenchman wouldn'tpay, because he hadn't taken them all the way. He pointed out that hehad to bring another gentleman and had to wait a long time, and demandedhis eight dollars. The other gentleman, whom he found to be one of theofficers at the barracks, slipped a bill into his hand and said it wasall he had left, and if it wasn't enough he'd pay him the next time hecame to town. But the others were very angry, and called him an Irishthief, and then the big soldier in uniform said he wouldn't have a manabused because he was Irish, and Lieutenant Waring, as he understood thename of this other officer to be, told him, the witness, to slip out andsay no more, that he'd fix it all right, and that was the last he saw ofthe party, but he heard loud words and the sound of a scuffle as hedrove away.
And Madame d'Hervilly had given her testimony, which, translated, wasto this effect. She had known the deceased these twenty years. He hadbeen in the employ of her lamented husband, who died of the fever in'55, and Monsieur had succeeded to the business, and made money, andowned property in town, besides the old family residence on the leveebelow. He was wedded to Emilie only a little while before the war, andlived at home all through, but business languished then, they had tocontribute much, and his younger brother, Monsieur Philippe, had costhim a great deal. Philippe was an officer in the Zouaves raised in 1861among the French Creoles, and marched with them to Columbus, and waswounded and came home to be nursed, and Emilie took care of him forweeks and months, and then he went back to the war and fought bravely,and was shot again and brought home, and this time Monsieur Lascellesdid not want to have him down at the house; he said it cost too much toget the doctors down there: so he came under Madame's roof, and she wasvery fond of the boy, and Emilie would come sometimes and play and singfor him. When the war was over Monsieur Lascelles gave him money to goto Mexico with Maximilian, and when the French were recalled manydeserted and came over to New Orleans, and Monsieur Lascelles was makingvery little money now, and had sold his town property, and he borrowedmoney of her to help, as he said, Philippe again, who came to visit him,and he was often worried by Philippe's letters begging for money. Seventhousand dollars now he owed her, and only last week had asked for more.Philippe was in Key West to buy an interest in some cigar-business.Monsieur Lascelles said if he could raise three thousand to reachPhilippe this week they would all make money, but Emilie begged her notto, she was afraid it would all go, and on the very day before he wasfound dead he came to see her in the afternoon on Rampart Street, andEmilie had told her of Mr. Waring's kindness to her and to Nin Nin, andhow she never could have got up after being dragged into the mud by thatdrunken cabman, "and she begged me to explain the matter to her husband,who was a little vexed with her because of Mr. Waring." But he spokeonly
about the money, and did not reply about Mr. Waring, except thathe would see him and make proper acknowledgment of his civility. Heseemed to think only of the money, and said Philippe had written againand must have help, and he was angry at Emilie because she would noturge with him, and Emilie wept, and he went away in anger, saying he hadbusiness to detain him in town until morning, when he would expect herto be ready to return with him.
Much of this testimony was evoked by pointed queries of the officials,who seemed somewhat familiar with Lascelles's business and familyaffairs, and who then declared that they must question the strickenwidow. Harsh and unfeeling as this may have seemed, there were probablyreasons which atoned for it. She came in on the arm of the old familyphysician, looking like a drooping flower, with little Nin Nin clingingto her hand. She was so shocked and stunned that she could barely answerthe questions put to her with all courtesy and gentleness of manner. No,she had never heard of any quarrel between Monsieur Lascelles and hisyounger brother. Yes, Philippe had been nursed by her through hiswounds. She was fond of Philippe, but not so fond as was her husband.Mr. Lascelles would do anything for Philippe, deny himself anythingalmost. Asked if Monsieur Lascelles had not given some reason for hisobjection to Philippe's being nursed at his house when he came home thesecond time, she was embarrassed and distressed. She said Philippe wasan impulsive boy, fancied himself in love with his brother's wife, andArmand saw something of this, and at last upbraided him, but verygently. There was no quarrel at all. Was there any one whom MonsieurLascelles had been angered with on her account? She knew of none, butblushed, and blushed painfully. Had the deceased not recently objectedto the attentions paid her by other gentlemen? There was a murmur ofreproach among the hearers, but Madame answered unflinchingly, thoughwith painful blushes and tears. Monsieur Lascelles had said nothing ofdisapproval until very recently; _au contraire_, he had much liked Mr.Waring. He was the only one of the officers at the barracks whom he hadever invited to the house, and he talked with him a great deal; hadnever, even to her, spoken of a quarrel with him because Mr. Waring hadbeen so polite to her, until within a week or two; then--yes, hecertainly had. Of her husband's business affairs, his papers, etc., sheknew little. He always had certain moneys, though not large sums, withall his papers, in the drawers of his cabinet, and that they should bein so disturbed a state was not unusual. They were all in order, closedand locked, when he started for town the morning of that fatal day, buthe often left them open and in disorder, only then locking his librarydoor. When she left for town, two hours after him, the library door wasopen, also the side window. She could throw no light on the tragedy. Shehad no idea who the stranger could be. She had not seen Philippe fornearly a year, and believed him to be at Key West.
Alphonse, the colored boy, was so terrified by the tragedy and by hisdetention under the same roof with the murdered man that his evidencewas only dragged from him. Nobody suspected the poor fellow ofcomplicity in the crime, yet he seemed to consider himself as on trial.He swore he had entered the library only once during the afternoon orevening, and that was to close the shutters when the storm broke. Heleft a lamp burning low in the hall, according to custom, though he feltsure his master and mistress would remain in town over-night ratherthan attempt to come down. He had slept soundly, as negroes will,despite the gale and the roar of the rain that drowned all other noises.It was late the next morning when his mother called him. The old mammywas frightened to see the front gate open, the deep water in thestreets, and the muddy footprints on the veranda. She called Alphonse,who found that his master must have come in during the night, after all,for the lamp was taken from the hall table, the library door was closedand locked, so was the front door, also barred within, which it had notbeen when he went to bed. He tapped at the library, got no answer, sotiptoed to his master's bedroom; it was empty and undisturbed. Neitherhad Madame nor Mademoiselle Nin Nin been to their rooms. Then he wastroubled, and then the soldiers came and called him out into the rain.They could tell the rest.
Cram's story is already told, and he could add nothing. The officialstried to draw the batteryman out as to the relations existing betweenLieutenant Waring and Madame, but got badly "bluffed." Cram said he hadnever seen anything in the faintest degree worthy of comment. Had heheard anything? Yes, but nothing worthy of consideration, much less ofrepetition. Had he not loaned Mr. Waring his team and carriage to driveMadame to town that morning? No. How did he get it, then? Took it! WasMonsieur Waring in the habit of helping himself to the property of hisbrother officers? Yes, whenever he felt like it, for they neverobjected. The legal official thought such spirit of _camaraderie_ in thelight artillery must make life at the barracks something almost poetic,to which Cram responded, "Oh, at times absolutely idyllic." And the tiltended with the civil functionary ruffled, and this was bad for thebattery. Cram never had any policy whatsoever.
Lieutenant Doyle was the next witness summoned, and a moreGod-forsaken-looking fellow never sat in a shell jacket. Still inarrest, physically, at the beck of old Braxton, and similarly hampered,intellectually, at the will of bold John Barleycorn, Mr. Doyle camebefore the civil authorities only upon formal subpoena served at posthead-quarters. The post surgeon had straightened him up during the day,but was utterly perplexed at his condition. Mrs. Doyle's appearance inthe neighborhood some weeks before had been the signal for a series ofsprees on the Irishman's part that had on two occasions so prostratedhim that Dr. Potts, an acting assistant surgeon, had been called in toprescribe for him, and, thanks to the vigorous constitution of hispatient, had pulled him out in a few hours. But this time "Pills theLess" had found Doyle in a state bordering on terror, even when assuredthat the quantity of his potations had not warranted an approach totremens. The post surgeon had been called in too, and "Pills thePitiless," as he was termed, thanks to his unfailing prescription ofquinine and blue mass in the shape and size of buckshot, having noprevious acquaintance, in Doyle, with these attacks, poohpoohed thecase, administered bromides and admonition in due proportion, and wentoff about more important business. Dr. Potts, however, stood by his bigpatient, wondering what should cause him to start in such terror atevery step upon the stair without, and striving to bring sleep to eyesthat had not closed the livelong night nor all the balmy, beautiful day.Once he asked if Doyle wished him to send for his wife, and was startledat the vehemence of the reply, "For God's sake, no!" and, shuddering,Doyle had hidden his face and turned away. Potts got him to eatsomething towards noon, and Doyle begged for more drink, but wasrefused. He was sober, yet shattered, when Mr. Drake suddenly appearedjust about stable-call and bade him repair at once to the presence ofthe commanding officer. Then Potts _had_ to give him a drink, or hewould never have got there. With the aid of a servant he was dressed,and, accompanied by the doctor, reached the office. Braxton looked himover coldly.
"Mr. Doyle," said he, "the civil authorities have made requisitionfor----" But he had got no further when Doyle staggered, and but for thedoctor's help might have fallen.
"For God's sake, colonel, it isn't true! Sure I know nothing of it atall at all, sir. Indade, indade, I was blind dhrunk, colonel. Surethey'd swear a man's life away, sir, just because he was the one--he wasthe one that----"
"Be silent, sir. You are not accused, that I know of. It is as a witnessyou are needed.--Is he in condition to testify, doctor?"
"He is well enough, sir, to tell what he knows, but he claims to knownothing." And this, too, Doyle eagerly seconded, but was sent along inthe ambulance, with the doctor to keep him out of mischief, and aparting shot to the effect that when the coroner was through with himthe post commander would take hold again, so the colonel depressed morethan the cocktail stimulated, and, as luck would have it, almost thefirst person to meet him inside the gloomy enclosure was his wife, andher few whispered words only added to his misery.
The water still lay in pools about the premises, and the police hadallowed certain of the neighbors to stream in and stare at the whitewalls and shaded windows, but on
ly a favored few penetrated the hall-wayand rooms where the investigation was being held. Doyle shook like onewith the palsy as he ascended the little flight of steps and passed intothe open door-way, still accompanied by "Little Pills." People looked athim with marked curiosity. He was questioned, re-questioned,cross-questioned, but the result was only a hopeless tangle. He reallyadded nothing to the testimony of the hack-driver and Bonelli. In abjectremorse and misery he begged them to understand he was drunk when hejoined the party, got drunker, dimly remembered there was a quarrel, buthe had no cause to quarrel with any one, and that was all; he never knewhow he got home. He covered his face in his shaking hands at last, andseemed on the verge of a fit of crying.
But then came sensation.
Quietly rising from his seat, the official who so recently had had theverbal tilt with Cram held forth a rusty, cross-hilted, two-edged knifethat looked as though it might have lain in the mud and wet for hours.
"Have you ever seen this knife before?" he asked. And Doyle, lifting uphis eyes one instant, groaned, shuddered, and said,--
"Oh, my God, yes!"
"Whose property is it or was it?"
At first he would not reply. He moaned and shook. At last--
"Sure the initials are on the top," he cried.
But the official was relentless.
"Tell us what they are and what they represent."
People were crowding the hall-way and forcing themselves into the room.Cram and Ferry, curiously watching their ill-starred comrade, hadexchanged glances of dismay when the knife was so suddenly produced. Nowthey bent breathlessly forward.
The silence for the moment was oppressive.
"If it's the knife I mane," he sobbed at last, desperately, miserably,"the letters are S. B. W., and it belongs to Lieutenant Waring of ourbathery."
But no questioning, however adroit, could elicit from him the faintestinformation as to how it got there. The last time he remembered seeingit, he said, was on Mr. Waring's table the morning of the review. Adetective testified to having found it among the bushes under the windowas the water receded. Ferry and the miserable Ananias were called, andthey, too, had to identify the knife, and admit that neither had seen itabout the room since Mr. Waring left for town. Of other witnessescalled, came first the proprietor of the stable to which the cabbelonged. Horse and cab, he said, covered with mud, were found under ashed two blocks below the French Market, and the only thing in the cabwas a handsome silk umbrella, London make, which Lieutenant Pierce laidclaim to. Mrs. Doyle swore that as she was going in search of herhusband she met the cab just below the Pelican, driving furiously away,and that in the flash of lightning she recognized the driver as the manwhom Lieutenant Waring had beaten that morning on the levee in front ofher place. A stranger was seated beside him. There were two gentlemeninside, but she saw the face of only one,--Lieutenant Waring.
Nobody else could throw any light on the matter. The doctor, recalled,declared the knife or dagger was shaped exactly as would have to be theone that gave the death-blow. Everything pointed to the fact that therehad been a struggle, a deadly encounter, and that after the fatal workwas done the murderer or murderers had left the doors locked and barredand escaped through the window, leaving the desk rifled and carryingaway what money there was, possibly to convey the idea that it was onlya vulgar murder and robbery, after all.
Of other persons who might throw light upon the tragedy the followingwere missing: Lieutenant Waring, Private Dawson, the cabman, and theunrecognized stranger. So, too, was Anatole's boat.