My first belief was that Casey was labouring under an erroneous
impression. That some one had robbed him of his watch was clear enough;
but there were several persons around him--some of them far more
suspicious-looking characters than the accused.
Moreover, the elegant style of the man, and the indignant warmth he had
displayed, seemed, to some extent, to attest his innocence.
My belief, then, was that Casey had pitched upon the wrong man; and I
appealed to him to withdraw the charge, and acknowledge his error.
To my surprise he would do neither the one nor the other; and,
notwithstanding the half-maudlin state he was in, there was an
earnestness in his manner, and an unwavering pertinacity in his
accusation, that led me to think he was not acting upon mere suspicion,
but had _seen something_.
The noise and confusion, however, for the time prevented any explanation
from being heard upon either side.
A voice arose above the din, calling out for the doors to be closed.
This was followed by a proposal that every one present should submit to
be searched.
"Let there be a general search all round!" demanded several voices.
I recognised the man who was foremost in this demand--it was the mate of
our own ship, who had dropped in along with several old sea-wolves like
himself--for the vessel had been warped up, and was now lying at an
adjacent wharf.
"Yes," responded several voices; "a search, a search! let us see who is
the thief!"
No one objected--no one could--for each person present had a personal
interest in the result; and, as no one was likely now to go out, the
shutting of the doors was ruled as unnecessary.
Two men were immediately chosen as "searchers"--one of whom was our mate
himself--the other the keeper of the saloon; and, without loss of time,
the search proceeded.
It was altogether an odd spectacle, to see the two inquisitors pass from
individual to individual--stopping before each one in turn, handling him
about the breast and back, and stripping him down the arms, legs, and
thighs, as if they were a brace of electro-biologists, putting the whole
company into a mesmeric slumber.
There was a good deal of merriment, and now and then loud bursts of
laughter, as some character well known to the company interrupted the
silence with a _jeu d'esprit_. For all this, there was a certain
solemnity about the proceeding--a sort of painful anticipation that some
one would prove the criminal.
During all this time the accused maintained a moody silence--addressing
only a short phrase or two to some of his own friends, who had clustered
around him. His look betokened confidence; and but for a side-whisper
which I had heard from Casey, I should certainly have continued under
the impression that the gentleman was innocent. This whisper, however,
staggered my faith: for it was a simple and earnest declaration that he,
Casey, had seen the watch in the fellow's hand.
"Surely you must be mistaken--it might have been some other hand?"
"Not a bit of it!--I noticed the ruffles as the watch disappeared under
them."
"Remember, Casey, you're not very clear-sighted at this moment: think
what you've been taking--"
"Bah! I'm not blind for all that; and I tell you, the loss of my twenty
guinea repeater has made me as sober as a judge, my boy. I hope,
however, it is not gone yet--we'll soon see."
"You'll never see your watch again," said I. "The fellow hasn't got
it--I can tell by his looks."
My conjecture proved correct. The young Frenchman was searched in
common with the others. He made no objection--he could make none--and,
to do the old sea-wolf justice, he performed his duty with elaborate
exactness. He was no lover of Creole dandyism; and I verily believe he
would have chuckled with delight, to have found the stolen property on
the person of the exquisite.
It was not so to be, however: the watch was not there, and the Frenchman
smiled triumphantly at the termination of the search.
Others were now examined, until all had had their turn. No watch!
All present were declared innocent men--the watch was not in the room!
This result had been prophesied long before, and I expected it myself.
It was easily explained. Beyond doubt Casey had lost his watch, by a
thief, and inside the saloon; but several persons had been observed to
go out about the time he discovered his loss, or rather at the moment
when he declared the accusation. One of these must have been the
thief--that was the verdict of the company. More likely one of them had
been the _receiver_.
Casey was a little crest-fallen, and the regards of the company were not
favourable to him. This, however, only referred to the Creoles and
Frenchmen. The honest sea-faring fellows rather sympathised with him.
They saw he had sustained a loss; and they were well enough acquainted
with New Orleans life, to know that the man who did the deed was
probably still in the room.
Casey obstinately clung to his original statement; but of course no
longer urged it publicly--only _sotto voce_ to our mate, and one or two
others, who, with myself, were counselling him to apologise.
Our whispering conversation was interrupted by the approach of the young
Frenchman. There was a certain resolve in his look, that bespoke some
determination--evidently the affair was not over.
As he drew near, way was made for him, and he stood confronting Casey.
"Now, Monsieur, do you apologise?"
Several cried "Yes," by way of urging Casey to an affirmative.
"No," said he, firmly and emphatically--"never! I stand to what I said.
You took my watch--you _stole_ it."
"Liar!" cried the once more infuriated Frenchman, and both at the same
instant sprang towards each other.
Fortunately, neither was armed--except with the weapons which nature had
provided--and a short game of "fisticuffs"--in which Casey had decidedly
the advantage--served as a 'scape valve for the ebullition of their
anger.
I might have dreaded the re-drawing of the pistol; but, during the whole
interval, the mate and I, to whom I had given a hint, had kept our eyes
upon the owner of it, and hindered him from rendering it available.
The combatants were soon separated; and after that commenced the more
formal ceremony of the exchange of "cards."
Casey gave his address, "Saint Charles Hotel"--whither we were bound,
and towards which we had been steering when "brought to" by the gleaming
lights of the _cafe_.
The Frenchman's card was taken in return; and, after a parting glass
with the honest mate, and his two or three confreres, we sallied forth
from the saloon; traversed the long narrow streets of the First
Municipality, and a little before midnight we arrived at that
magnificent _caravanserai_ known as the Saint Charles Hotel.
Story 2, Chapter IV.