Mr. American

  The restrained fury, as much as the substance of the quiet outburst, gave Mr Franklin pause. There was something here beyond his understanding, and it made him wary, knowing his man as he did.

  `All right, Kid,' he said at last, 'if I owe you an apology, you have it. But if it isn't money -

  'Oh, it's money, all right.' Logan's rage seemed to have vanished as quickly as it had come. 'You don't think I sicked my guts up in a lousy tramp steamer all the way to this piss-sodden pimple in the ocean just for the pleasure of seeing your sweet smiling face?' He smiled without particular mirth. 'Oh, yes, it's money.'

  Mr Franklin frowned thoughtfully. `But if you haven't come to squeeze me ... then ... what d'you want?'

  Logan sat forward in his chair. 'I want what's mine, Mark,' he said quietly. 'I want exactly one-half of everything you've got.'

  There was a moment's silence, in which Mr Franklin's expression altered by not a fraction; if the unbelievable enormity of the statement disturbed him, there was no sign of it. To an onlooker it would have seemed ludicrous: the small, middle-aged, insignificant man sitting on the front of his chair, his patched boots together, his wiry body inadequate even to his seedy clothes, his cheap spectacles perched down his nose, looking like a Punch cartoon of the poor relation in the opulent surroundings of his betters - unless the onlooker had been aware, as Mr Franklin was, of the cold, furious inner spirit behind the bright eyes. And knowing exactly what he had to deal with, Mr Franklin chose his words and spoke quietly in his turn.

  'How do you reckon you are entitled to that?'

  'Davis was my partner long before he was yours,' said Logan. 'We had a bond between us - nothing in writing, nothing legal, just the word of partners. You know all about that. We undertook to share everything we ever got, forever - fifty-fifty, down the middle. So what he got from Tonopah - '

  'Davis told me that was a lie. Anyway, a partnership agreement only lasts as long as the partnership, and yours with Davis was long over. He and I were the only ones entitled to anything out of Tonopah, and you know it.'

  For the first time Mr Franklin was speaking with a cold firmness that matched Logan's own. The small man shook his head.

  'No. I'm entitled to half. It'd be a quarter if Davis was still alive - half of his half - but since he's dead I'm his heir. Fifty cents of every dollar from Silver Hill is mine - I don't know how much it was, and I don't care all that much. I'll settle for half a million dollars.' He paused and added simply: 'It's mine, Mark.'

  It was remarkable that until the last few moments, their conversation had been marked by artificiality and constraint on both sides - Mr Franklin recovering from the shock of Curry's appearance, taking refuge in wary, impassive silence until the precise purpose of this strange visit emerged; on the other hand, the Kid's quiet, diffident geniality, followed by his sudden icy rage - but now, with the chips finally down, they were talking like two men discussing the weather.

  'It won't do, Kid. You had no stake in Tonopah. You've got nothing coming. I'm ready to give you ten thousand, as an old friend, to get you home and set you up again. But that's all.'

  Logan shook his head. 'I don't have to get set up again. You don't understand - it isn't for me. Personally, I've no use for it any more. I don't have more than a year or so at the best. You heard me coughing back there? That's the cancer - it's all inside me, eating me away, the doctor says, nothing to stop it. So it's not for me I want the dough. But it's mine by rights, and it'll go where I want it to go - and that's to my brother. He can - '

  'Your brother died ten years back. Sayles and Charley Siringo got him.'

  'That was Lonny!' Logan gestured impatiently. 'I'm talking about Henry. You didn't know him - he never left Dodson, Missouri, and he's still there, working his ass off for his wife and family. He wasn't like me and Lonny - Henry was the straight one, who never played hooky and won the tickets in Sunday School and stayed out of saloons and cathouses. Respectable, Henry was; a good kid. If anyone can use the money well, he can. I want him to have it.'

  Mr Franklin offered his cigarette case, but the Kid shook his head, patting his chest. 'I could use another snort, though,' he said, and Mr Franklin refreshed his glass and then lit himself a cigarette with a taper at the fire.

  'Even if I believed you, Kid - and I'm not saying I don't - it doesn't make any difference. You've no claim on anything of mine.' He paused, and stared down deliberately at Logan, sitting attentively. 'And you've no way of making me part. Just in case you were to change your mind about trying to blackmail me, you ought to remember something. There were never any warrants or posters or rewards out for me; I'm not wanted anywhere. You could talk your head off and no one in the States would give a dam; it wouldn't do me the least bit of harm in England, either - they'd just think it was romantic, supposing they were prepared to accept the word of a convicted felon called Kid Curry who'd go to jail here for extortion before being sent back to the States to get hung. So - '

  'I'm not here to squeeze!' There were two flushed patches on Logan's thin cheeks, and his eyes were glittering dangerously. 'But if I was, there might be something in the States that they did give a dam about, and that's Deaf Charley Hanks, shot in - '

  - shot in self-defence, and half the population of Cheyenne to prove it. Forget that one, Kid. But, of course, you're not here to squeeze.'

  'No, I'm not here to squeeze.'

  'So there's an end of it, Kid. I'm offering you ten thousand for old times' sake. You can take it or leave it.'

  Logan sat quite still, staring over the tops of his glasses. Then he sighed, took the glasses off, and began to polish them. 'I had a suspicion this might happen,' he said. 'Mark - I'm entitled to half. It's better business for you to pay that half, than to end up with nothing.'

  'And how could I end up with nothing, Kid?'

  Logan replaced his spectacles. `You've got nothing,' he observed, when you're dead.'

  There was a soft knock at the study door, and the maid came in. 'May I clear away the things, sir?'

  'Yes, thank you, Kitty. We've finished,' and as she crossed to the table he went on, to Logan: 'I know what you mean, of course. But it isn't quite the same here as it is in Colorado or Wyoming. The law doesn't work in quite the same way.'

  'Oh, I appreciate that.' Logan was nodding blandly, and as the maid deftly piled the used dishes on the tray he turned to smile at her and murmur: 'Thank you very much. That was delicious, quite delicious.' She bobbed and simpered at the kindly old gentleman, and Logan went on: 'But I'm sure certain things hold good, just the same here as there. You know what I mean?' The door closed behind the maid. 'A forty-five slug travels just as far.'

  Mr Franklin shook his head. 'You're talking like a fool, Kid, but you don't know it. If you were crazy enough to try it, you'd never get away with it. They'd catch you, and they'd hang you - '

  'You don't understand, Mark. I'd get away with it - but even if I didn't, it wouldn't matter. I'm a goner in the next two years anyway. That's why it's good business for you to do the square thing by me. If you do - then that's fine. You'll still have more than you'll ever need to live on, with that pretty little girl, and your nice house, and your English friends, and all. If you don't - you're a dead man.' He was looking over his spectacles with an expression that was almost benign, and it was only in that moment that the full realisation of what was happening came home to Mr Franklin, and he felt the first finger of cold fear touch his spine.

  It was nonsense, of course. This was England, the land of law and order and strict, inexorable justice. A puny, friendless beggar with nothing but the old clothes he wore, was threatening a respectable citizen with deadly assault unless he allowed himself to be menaced out of a fortune - all that had to be done was call a constable, if so much was even necessary, and have the impudent scoundrel thrown out or given in charge. He probably couldn't be convicted of anything, right now, since it would only be Mr Franklin's word against his - but with all the influence against him he coul
d certainly be hounded out of the country with stern warnings. Better still - could Mr Franklin have him apprehended as Kid Curry, a known and dangerous criminal under sentence of death in the United States, and extradited to the welcoming arms of his own country's law? Rather more difficult, probably, since Kid Curry was officially dead ... but all these courses were possible, reasonable, and attractive - the only flaw being that long before they could be successfully pursued to a conclusion, Curry would have killed him. Harmless and insignificant, even defenceless, he might look, but no one knew better than Mr Franklin how fatally deceptive that appearance was. Curry had been the quickest and deadliest shot alive in the United States at the turn of the century, a name mentioned respectfully with the Hardins, Thompsons and Hickoks of an earlier generation; Mr Franklin had seen that expertise practised, and with a cold-blooded callousness remarkable even for Hole-in-the-Wall. Perhaps even more to the point, he knew that Curry never promised what he did not perform. It would not matter in the slightest to him that the possibility of murder going unpunished in England was infinitely lower than on the Western frontier, that as a disoriented stranger his hope of escape would be infinitesimal, that he would be hunted by a police whose efficiency was world-famous, and that once marked down his capture and execution would be an almost mathematical certainty. He had said, and he would do. The thought of Curry, Western desperado, prowling the fields and villages of East Anglia with a single-action Colt in pursuit of human prey, was outlandish, but it would certainly happen - unless Mr Franklin capitulated, and that he was not prepared to do.

  'What good would it do you - killing me? You wouldn't get a plugged nickel that way, Kid. But what you would get is a rope round your own neck, and that's for certain.'

  'No more certain than what's going to happen to me anyway. But I'd like to see Henry fixed up first. And believe it or not, I'd like to think of you and that nice English girl living happy ever after. I've got nothing against you, Mark; nothing at all. I just want what's rightly mine. If you won't give it me, I'll just have to take the next best thing. And it doesn't matter what it costs me.' He said it blandly, wistfully almost, and then for a split second the eyes were like chips of black ice in the worn face. 'And I'll do it, Mark. Before New Year's. So, as I said - it would be good business for you to do me right.'

  Mr Franklin held his stare, as he had done so many years before, with the cards on the table. 'Nothing doing, Kid. There's ten thousand if you want it - not a cent more.'

  Logan nodded, and glanced reflectively at the fire. 'Well, that's settled, then.' He said it almost as though it were a weight off his mind. 'Maybe I didn't put it to you right ... if I'd asked you more roundabout, know what I mean? Nobody likes to think he's being bulldozed - he gets on his dignity, feels he can't back down. You wouldn't have to feel that with me, Mark. We knew each other too long.' 'That's right,' said Mr Franklin. 'The same applies to you, Kid. Ten thousand would go a long way. Get you on the boat for one thing.'

  Logan pocketed his spectacles carefully and got to his feet. 'No, thanks.' He picked up his hat. 'What are you going to do, Mark? Set the law after me? It wouldn't work, you know. They've nothing on me - and I'd get you, just the same.'

  'Maybe you would,' said Mr Franklin. 'It's what you came for.' Logan's head turned abruptly. 'What was that?'

  'I said it's what you came for.' Mr Franklin was smiling, and his tone was contemptuous. 'You don't fool me, Kid. You never did. You knew I wouldn't pay up. Oh, maybe you thought it was worth a try - but that's not why you came. I didn't just come chest to chest with you, Kid, and take a pot at poker - I did something a lot worse. I struck it rich, and went on striking it, while you were breaking rocks in Sonora, living on prison hash and knowing the best you could hope for when you got out was mooching dimes and robbing whores. You couldn't stand that - not Kid Curry, the big gun of the Wild Bunch. It ate you up in jail, didn't it? I don't know when you figured out that moonshine about old Davis promising you fifty-fifty forever – maybe by now you even believe it. You're crazy enough. But it was me you really wanted - the smart kid who called your bluff, and then found the elephant on the proceeds.' He was openly scornful now, looking down from his commanding height. 'That stuff about "I've got nothing against you" and "D'you think I'd blacken you to your English friends"! You came to England for my hide, Kid, because you hate everything inside it, and you know you're finished, and you'll never leave a score unsettled! You see, I haven't forgotten Winter, and the Norman brothers, and that deputy at Hanging Rock - they were all scores, weren't they? And you settled them. Well, here I am, Kid. Now you can try and settle me. You want another drink before you go?'

  He moved unhurriedly over to the sideboard, and turned with the decanter in his hand. Logan had not changed his position, or his expression; if anything he had heard had struck home, he was not showing it.

  'I'll settle you, Mark,' he said. 'Don't you fret about that. No, I won't have another drink.'

  They looked at each other in silence for a full half-minute, and then Logan said:

  'Last chance, Mark.'

  Mr Franklin replaced the decanter and closed the cupboard. As he did so, the door of the room opened and Peggy paused on the threshold.

  'Oh!' She looked from Logan - who bowed - to Mr Franklin. 'I hope I'm not interrupting ... Mark, Daddy wondered if Mr Logan would care to join us for supper? I'm afraid it will be supper - no one feels like dining on Christmas Day, do they? -if Mr Logan doesn't mind ... ?'

  Mr Franklin collected himself. In a day of surprises, what he now found himself doing was the most bizarre of all. 'May I present Mr Harvey Logan - my fiancee, Miss Clayton?'

  'Charmed, I'm sure.' Logan was repeating his bow, in formal, and surprisingly practised style. He beamed at Peggy warmly. 'I was just telling Mark I saw your picture in the illustrated papers, Miss Clayton, and thought I'd never seen anything lovelier. Well, it doesn't do you justice.'

  'Oh, you're far too kind,' said Peggy, bestowing on him her most flashing smile. 'Will you join us, Mr Logan?'

  'Why, that's most kind of you, Miss Clayton.' Logan inclined his head courteously. 'But I really have to be getting back ... I've kept your intended away from you and your good people far too long as it is. Talking over old times back home, you know - '

  'Oh, what a shame you can't stay.' Peggy pouted in polite disappointment. 'Are you in England for very long, Mr Logan?'

  'No, no, just a few more days. Business, you understand.' He followed Peggy into the hall, with Mr Franklin bringing up the rear. Sir Charles, emerging from the drawing-room, approached with his features composed in the appropriate half-smile; it occurred to Mr Franklin that if his caller had been an Indian half-breed or a Christie minstrel, the Claytons' formal reception would probably have been precisely the same. Sir Charles murmured his regrets, and at the same time managed to elicit, with disarming ease, Logan's relationship with Mr Franklin.

  'You hadn't met for some time, I gather?'

  'No, not for ... oh, six-seven years, Mark?' Logan turned to him for confirmation. 'About the time you went into the mining business.'

  'Were you a "miner-forty-niner" too, Mr Logan?' asked Peggy.

  'No, not really ... nothing like Mark here.' Logan blinked and smiled. 'I was in banking ... and railroads, mostly. But we were associated in one or two little business ventures. Matter of fact, Mark came to my rescue one time, when I'd got in a little too deep, as you might say. Now, sir,' Logan turned to Sir Charles, 'I deeply appreciate your hospitality - and your charming daughter's. I take my leave of you.'

  'Can we have you driven to the station?' asked Sir Charles.

  'Thank you, no. The walk will do me good. 'Bye, Mark. Sir, and Madam. A merry Christmas and ... no, I won't say "Happy New Year's" just yet. Bad luck in advance.' He paused on the threshold, pulling his coat about him, smiling at them. Peggy completed the formalities of departure by saying:

  'Good-bye. Perhaps we shall see you again.'

  'I'm afraid not,'
said Logan, and glanced at Mr Franklin. 'Unless just for a second, maybe. Good-bye, good-bye all.'

  He disappeared beyond the circle of light from the porch lamp and the door closed on him.

  'What a strange little chap!' said Peggy. 'Whoever was he, Mark?'

  'Just an old acquaintance I didn't even recognise,' said Mr Franklin, forcing himself to sound easy. 'We knew each other - not very well - out in Colorado.'

  'But how extraordinary he should have turned up here! He looked - well, he looked as though he was rather down on his luck, didn't he?' said Peggy.

  'Yes,' said Sir Charles, with a sympathetic glance at Mr Franklin. 'Not too welcome, my boy? How much did he want?'

  Mr Franklin smiled. 'No more than I could afford, thank goodness. He'd seen Peggy's picture in the papers, and recognised my name. I guess he thought the chance was too good to miss, especially since it's Christmas.'

  'Damned nuisance,' said Sir Charles. 'Taking up your time. At least he had the good sense not to stay to supper.'