The bright sun and the morning noises of the city waked Offitt from his
sleep. As he dressed himself the weight of the packages in his pockets
gave him a pleasant sensation to begin the day with. He felt as if he
were entering upon a new state of existence--a life with plenty of
money. He composed in his mind an elaborate breakfast as he walked
down-stairs and took his way to a restaurant, which he entered with the
assured step of a man of capital. He gave his order to the waiter with
more decision than usual, and told him in closing "not to be all day
about it, either."
While waiting for his breakfast, he opened the morning "Bale Fire" to
see if there was any account of "The Algonquin Avenue Tragedy." This
was the phrase which he had arranged in his mind as the probable
head-line of the article. He had so convinced himself of the efficacy
of his own precautions, that he anticipated the same pleasure in
reading the comments upon his exploit that an author whose incognito
is assured enjoys in reading the criticisms of his anonymous work.
He was at first disappointed in seeing no allusion to the affair in
the usual local columns; but at last discovered in a corner of the
paper this double-leaded postscript:
"We stop the press to state that an appalling crime was last night
committed in Algonquin Avenue. The mansion of Arthur Farnham, Esq., was
entered by burglars between ten and eleven o'clock, and that gentleman
assaulted and probably murdered.
"Full particulars in a later edition."
"LATER. Captain Farnham is still living, and some hopes are entertained
of his recovery. The police have found the weapon with which the almost
fatal blow was struck--a carpenter's hammer marked with a letter S. It
is thought this clew will lead to the detection of the guilty parties."
Offitt was not entirely pleased with the tone of this notice. He had
expected some reference to the address and daring of the burglar. But
he smiled to himself, "Why should I care for Sam's reputation?" and ate
his breakfast with a good appetite. Before he had finished, however, he
greatly modified his plan, which was to have the threads of evidence
lead naturally, of themselves, to the conviction of Sleeny. He
determined to frighten Sam, if possible, out of the city, knowing that
his flight would be conclusive evidence of guilt. He swallowed his
coffee hurriedly and walked down to Dean Street, where by good fortune
he found Sam alone in the shop. He was kicking about a pile of shavings
on the floor. He turned as Offitt entered and said: "Oh, there you are.
I can't find that hammer anywhere."
Offitt's face assumed a grieved expression. "Come, come, Sam, don't
stand me off that way. I'm your friend, if you've got one in the world.
You mustn't lose a minute more. You've got time now to catch the 8.40.
Come, jump in a hack and be off."
His earnestness and rapidity confused Sleeny, and drove all thoughts of
the hammer from his mind. He stared at Offitt blankly, and said, "Why,
what are you givin' me now?"
"I'm a-givin' you truth and friendship, and fewest words is best. Come,
light out, and write where you stop. I'll see you through."
"See here," roared Sam, "are you crazy or am I? Speak out! What's up?"
"Oh! I've got to speak it out, raw and plain, have I? Very well! Art.
Farnham was attacked and nearly murdered last night, and if you didn't
do it who did? Now come, for the Lord's sake, get off before the police
get here. I never thought you had the sand--but I see you've got too
much. Don't lose time talking any more. I'm glad you've killed him. You
done just right--but I don't want to see you hung for it."
His excitement and feigned earnestness had brought the tears to his
eyes. Sam saw them and was convinced.
"Andy," he said solemnly. "I know you're my friend, and mean right.
I'll swear before God it wasn't me, and I know nothing about it, and I
won't run away."
"But how will we prove it," said Offitt, wringing his hands in
distress. "Where was you last night from ten to eleven?"
"You know where I was--in your room. I went there just after nine and
fell asleep waiting for you."
"Yes, of course, but who knows it? Sam, I believe you are innocent
since you say so. But see the circumstances. You _have_ talked about
goin' for him. You _have_ had a fight with him, and got put in jail for
it, and--" he was about to mention the hammer, but was afraid--"I wish
you would take my advice and go off for a week or so till the truth
comes out. I'll lend you all the money you want. I'm flush this week."
"No, Andy," said Sleeny, "nobody could be kinder than you. But I won't
run away. They can't put a man where he wasn't."
"Very well," replied Offitt, "I admire your pluck, and I'll swear a
blue streak for you when the time comes. And perhaps I had better get
away now so they won't know I've been with you."
He went without a moment's delay to the chief of police and told him
that he had a disagreeable duty to perform; that he knew the murderer
of Captain Farnham; that the criminal was an intimate friend of his, a
young man hitherto of good character named Sleeny.
"Ah-ha!" said the chief. "That was the fellow that Captain Farnham
knocked down and arrested in the riot."
"The same," said Offitt. "He has since that been furious against the
Captain. I have reasoned with him over and over about it. Yesterday he
came to see me; showed me a hammer he had just bought at Ware &
Harden's; said he was going to break Arthur Farnham's skull with it. I
didn't believe he would, he had said it so often before. While we were
talking, I took the hammer and cut his initial on it, a letter S." The
chief nodded, with a broad smile. "He then left me, and when I came
back to my room a little before midnight, I found him there. He looked
excited, and wanted me to go and get a drink with him. I declined, and
he went off. This morning when I heard about the murder I said: 'He's
the man that did the deed.'"
"You have not seen him since last night?"
"No; I suppose, of course, he has run away."
"Where did he live?"
"Dean Street, at Matchin's the carpenter."
The chief turned to his telegraphic operator and rapidly gave orders
for the arrest of Sleeny by the police of the nearest station. He also
sent for the clerks who were on duty the day before at Ware & Harden's.
"Mr. ----, I did not get your name," he said to Offitt, who gave him
his name and address. "You have acted the part of a good citizen."
"The most painful act of my life," Offitt murmured.
"Of course. But duty before everything. I will have to ask you to wait
a little while in the adjoining room till we see whether this man can
be found."
Offitt was shown into a small room, barely furnished, with two doors;
the one through which he had just come, and one opening apparently into
the main corridor of the building. Offitt, as soon as he was alone,
walked stealthily to the latter door and tried to open it. It was
locked, and there was no key. He glanced at the window; there was an
iron grating inside the sash, which was padlocked. A cold sweat bathed
him from head to foot. He sank into a chair, trembling like a leaf. He
felt for his handkerchief to wipe his wet forehead. His hand touched
one of the packages of money. He bounded from his chair in sudden joy.
"They did not search me, so they don't suspect. It is only to make sure
of my evidence that they keep me here." Nevertheless, the time went
heavily. At last an officer came in and said he was to come to the
police justice's for the preliminary examination of Sleeny.
"They have caught him, then?" he asked, with assumed eagerness and
surprise. "He had not got away?"
"No," the man answered curtly.
They came to the court-room in a few steps. Sam was there between two
policemen. As Offitt entered, he smiled and slightly nodded. One or two
men who had been summoned as witnesses were standing near the justice.
The proceedings were summary.
One of the policemen said that he had gone to Matchin's shop to arrest
the prisoner; that the prisoner exhibited no surprise; his first words
were, "Is Mr. Farnham dead yet?"
Offitt was then called upon, and he repeated, clearly and concisely,
the story he had told the chief of police. When he had concluded he was
shown the hammer which had been picked up on the floor at Farnham's,
and was asked, "Is that the hammer you refer to?"
"Yes, that is it."
These words were the signal for a terrible scene.
When Sleeny saw Offitt step forward and begin to give his evidence, he
leaned forward with a smile of pleased expectation upon his face. He
had such confidence in his friend's voluble cleverness that he had no
doubt Offitt would "talk him free" in a few minutes. He was confused a
little by his opening words, not clearly seeing his drift; but as the
story went on, and Offitt's atrocious falsehood became clear to his
mind, he was dumb with stupefaction, and felt a strange curiosity
wakening in him to see how the story would end. He did not, for the
moment, see what object Offitt could have in lying so, until the
thought occurred to him: "May be there's a reward out!" But when the
blood-stained hammer was shown and identified by Offitt, all doubt was
cleared away in a flash from the dull brain of Sleeny. He saw the whole
horrible plot of which he was the victim.
He rose from his seat before the officer could stop him, and roared
like a lion in the toils, in a voice filled equally with agony and
rage:
"You murdering liar! I'll tear your heart out of you!"
There was a wide table and several chairs between them, but Sleeny was
over them in an instant. Offitt tried to escape, but was so hemmed in,
that the infuriated man had him in his hands before the officers could
interpose. If they had delayed a moment longer all would have been
over, for already Sleeny's hands were at the throat of his betrayer.
But two powerful policemen with their clubs soon separated the
combatants, and Sleeny was dragged back and securely handcuffed.
Offitt, ghastly pale and trembling, had sunk upon a bench. The justice,
looking at him narrowly, said: "The man is going to faint; loosen his
collar."
"No," said Offitt, springing to his feet. "I am perfectly well."
In his struggle with Sleeny a button of his coat had been torn away. He
asked a by-stander for a pin, and carefully adjusted the garment. The
thought in his mind was, "I don't mind being killed; but I thought he
might tear off my coat, and show them my money." From this moment he
kept his hand in such position that he might feel the packages in his
pockets.
Sleeny was still panting and screaming execrations at Offitt. The
justice turned to him with sternness, and said, "Silence there! Have
you not sense enough to see how your ferocious attack on the witness
damages you? If you can't restrain your devilish temper while your
friend is giving his evidence, it will be all the worse for you."
"Judge," cried Sam, now fairly beside himself, "that's the murderer! I
know it. I can prove it. He ain't fit to live. I'll break his neck
yet!"
Offitt raised his hands and eyes in deprecating sorrow.
"This is the wild talk of a desperate man," said the justice. "But you
may as well tell us how you passed last evening."
"Certainly," said Offitt, consulting his memory. "Let me see. I took
supper about seven at Duffer's; I went to Glauber's drug-store next and
got a glass of soda water; if they don't know me, they'll remember my
breaking a glass; then I made a visit at Mr. Matchin's on Dean Street;
then I went to the Orleans theatre; I come out between the acts and got
a cup of coffee at Mouchem's--then I went back and stayed till the show
was over, that was about half-past eleven. Then I went home and found
Mr. Sleeny there."
"You had better go with Mr. Fangwell, and let him verify this
statement," said the justice.
He then called the policeman who arrived first at Farnham's house the
night before. He told his story and identified the hammer which had
been shown to Offitt. A young man from Ware & Harden's swore that he
had sold the hammer the day before to Sleeny, whom he knew. The justice
held this evidence sufficient to justify Sleeny's detention.
"I should think so," said some of the by-standers. "If it don't hang
him, there's a loud call for Judge Lynch."
"Silence!" said the justice. "The prisoner will be taken for the
present to the city jail."
Sam was led out, and Offitt accompanied the chief of police back to the
room he had just quitted. He remained there several hours which seemed
to him interminable. At last, however, the detective who had been sent
to inquire as to the truth of the account he had given of himself,
returned with a full confirmation of it, and Offitt was suffered to go,
on his own engagement to give further evidence when called upon.
He left the City Hall with a great load off his mind. It was not
without an effort that he had sworn away the character, the freedom,
and perhaps the life of his comrade. If he could have accomplished his
purpose without crushing Sleeny he would have preferred it. But the
attack which his goaded victim had made upon him in the court-room was
now a source of lively satisfaction to him. It created a strong
prejudice against the prisoner; it caused the justice at once to
believe him guilty, and gave Offitt himself an injured feeling that was
extremely comforting in view of what was to happen to Sleeny.
He went along the street tapping his various pockets furtively as he
walked. He was hungry. His diverse emotions had given him an appetite.
He went into an eating-house and commanded a liberal supper. He had an
odd fancy as he gave his order. "That's the sort of supper I would
have, if it was my last--if I was to be hanged tomorrow." He thought of
Sleeny and hoped they would treat him well in jail. He felt
magnanimously toward him. "Who would have thought," he mused, "that Sam
had such a devil of a temper? I most hope that Farnham won't die--it
would be rough on Sam. Though perhaps that would be best all round," he
added, thinking of Sam's purple face in the court-room and the eager
grip of his fingers.
He came out of the eating-house into the gathering twilight. The lamps
were springing into light in long straight lines down the dusky
streets. The evening breeze blew in from the great lake tempering the
stale heat of the day. Boys were crying the late editions of the
newspapers with "Full account arrest o' the Farnham burglar!" He bought
one, but did not stop to open it. He folded it into the smallest
possible compass, and stuffed it into his pocket, "along with the other
documents in the case," as he chuckled to himself; "I'll read all about
it in the train to-morrow--business before pleasure," he continued,
pleased with his wit.
Every moment he would put his hand into his side pocket and feel the
package containing the largest bills. He knew it was imprudent--that it
might attract the attention of thieves or detectives; but to save his
life he could not have kept from doing it. At last he scratched his
hand on the pin which was doing duty for the button he had lost in his
scuffle with Sleeny. "Ah!" he said to himself, with humorous banter,
"it won't do to be married in a coat with the buttons off."
He went into a little basement shop where a sign announced that
"Scouring and Repairing" were done. A small and bald Hamburger stepped
forward, rubbing his hands. Offitt told him what he wanted, and the man
got a needle and thread and selected from a large bowl of buttons on a
shelf one that would suit. While he was sewing it on, he said:
"Derrible news apout Gabben Farnham."
"Yes," said Offitt. "Is he dead?"
"I don't know off he ish tet. Dey say he ish oud mid his het, und tat
looksh mighty pad. But one ting ish goot; dey cotch de murterer."
"They have?" asked Offitt, with languid interest. "What sort of fellow
is he?"
"Mutter Gottes!" said the little German. "De vorst kind. He would
radder gill a man as drink a glass bier. He gome mighty near gillin'
his pest vrient to-day in de gourt-house droben, ven he vas dellin' vat
he knowed apout it alleweil."
"A regular fire-eater," said Offitt. "So you've finished, have you? How
much for the job!"
The German was looking at a stain on the breast of the coat.
"Vot's dish?" he said. "Looksh like baint. Yust lemme take your coat
off a minute and I gleans dot up like a nudel soup."
"Say, mind your own business, won't you?" growled Offitt. "Here's your
money, and when I want any of your guff I'll let you know."
He hurried out, leaving the poor German amazed at the ill result of his
effort to turn an honest penny and do a fellow-creature a service.
"Vunny beebles!" he said to himself. "But I got a kevarter off a tollar
for a den-cent chob."
Offitt came out of the shop and walked at a rapid pace to Dean Street.
He was determined to make an end at once of Maud's scruples and
coquetry. He said to himself: "If we are both alive to-morrow, we shall
be married." He believed if he could have her to himself for half an
hour, he could persuade her to come with him. He was busy all the way
plotting to get her parents out of the house. It would be easy enough
to get them out of the room; but he wanted them out of hearing, out of
reach of a cry for help even.
He found them all together in the sitting-room. The arrest of Sleeny
had fallen heavily upon them. They had no doubt of his guilt, from the
reports they had heard, and their surprise and horror at his crime were
not lessened but rather increased by their familiar affection for him.
"To think," said Saul to his wife, "that that boy has worked at the
same bench, and slept in the same house with me for so many years, and
I never knowed the Satan that was in him!"
"It's in all of us, Saul," said Mrs. Matchin, trying to improve the
occasion for the edification of her unbelieving husband.
Maud had felt mingled with her sorrow a suspicion of remorse. She could
not help remembering that Sam considered Farnham his rival, with how
little reason she knew better than any one. She could understand how
her beauty might have driven him to violence; but when the story of the
robbery transpired also--as it did in the course of the morning,--she
was greatly perplexed. When she joined in the lamentations of her
parents and said she never could have believed that of Sam Sleeny, she
was thinking of the theft, and not of the furious assault. When they
had all, however, exhausted their limited store of reflections, a thing
took place which increased the horror and the certainty of Mr. and Mrs.
Matchin, and left Maud a prey to a keener doubt and anxiety than ever.
Late in the afternoon a sharp-faced man, with a bright eye and a red
mustache, came to the house and demanded in the name of the law to be
shown Sam's bedroom. He made several notes and picked up some trifling
articles, for which he gave Mr. Matchin receipts. Corning out of the
room, he looked carefully at the door-knob. "Seems all right," he said.
Then turning to Matchin, he said, with professional severity, "What
door did he generally come in by?"
"Sometimes one and sometimes another," said Saul, determined not to
give any more information than he must.
"Well, I'll look at both," the detective said.
The first one stood his scrutiny without effect, but at the second his
eye sparkled and his cheek flushed with pleasure, when he saw the
faint, red-dish-brown streaks which Offitt had left there the night
before. He could not express his exultation; turning to Saul, "There's
where he came in last night, any way."
"He didn't do no such a thing," replied Saul. "That door I locked
myself last night before he came in."
"Oh, you did? So you're sure he came in at the other door, are you. We
will see if he could get in any other way."
Walking around the corner, he saw the ladder where Offitt had left it.
"Hello! that's his window, ain't it?"
Without waiting for an answer the detective ran up the ladder, studying
every inch of its surface as he ran. He came down positively radiant,
and slapped Saul heartily on the shoulder.
"All right, old man. I'll trouble you to keep that ladder and that door
just as they are. They are important papers. Why don't you see?" he
continued--"bless your innocent old heart, he comes home with his hands
just reg'larly dripping with murder. He fumbles at that door, finds it
locked, and so gets that ladder, histes it up to the window, and hops
into bed as easy as any Christian schoolboy in town, and he thinks he's
all right--but he never thinks of Tony Smart, your humble servant."
This view of the case was perfectly convincing to Saul and also to his
wife when he repeated it at the supper-table; but it struck Maud with a
sudden chill. She remembered that when she had dismissed Offitt from
that midnight conference at her casement, he had carefully taken the
ladder away from her window, and had set it against the house some
distance off. She had admired at the time his considerate chivalry, and
thought how nice it was to have a lover so obedient and so careful of
her reputation. But now, the detective's ghastly discovery turned her
thought in a direction which appalled her. Could it be possible--and
all that money--where did it come from? As she sat with her parents in
the gathering darkness, she kept her dreadful anxiety to herself. She
had been hoping all day to see her lover--now she feared to have him
come, lest her new suspicions might be confirmed. She quickly resolved
upon one thing: she would not go away with him that night--not until
this horrible mystery was cleared up. If she was worth having she was
worth waiting for a little while.
They all three started as the door opened and Offitt came in. He wasted
no time in salutations, but said at once, "It's a funny thing, but I
have got a message for each of you. The district attorney saw me coming
up this way, Mr. Matchin, and asked me to tell you to come down as
quick as you can to his office--something very important, he said. And,
stranger than that, I met Mr. Wixham right out here by the corner, and
he asked me if I was comin' here, and if I would ask you, Mrs. Matchin,
to come right up to their house. Jurildy is sick and wants to see you,
and he has run off for the doctor."
Both the old people bustled up at this authoritative summons, and
Offitt as they went out said, "I'll stay a while and keep Miss Maud
from gettin' lonesome."
"I wish you would," said Mrs. Matchin. "The house seems creepy-like
with Sam where he is."
Maud felt her heart sink at the prospect of being left alone with the
man she had been longing all day to see. She said, "Mother, I think I
ought to go with you!"
"No, indeed," her mother replied. "You ain't wanted, and it wouldn't
be polite to Mr. Offitt."
The moment they were gone, Offitt sprang to the side of Maud, and
seized her hands.
"Now, my beauty, you will be mine. Put on your hat and we will go."
She struggled to free her hands.
"Let go," she said, "you hurt me. Why are you in such a terrible
hurry?"
"Why can you ask? Your parents will be back in a few minutes. Of
course you know that story was only to get them out of our way. Come,
my beautiful Maud! my joy, my queen! To-morrow New York! next day the
sea, and then Europe and love and pleasure all your life."
"I want to talk with you a minute," said Maud, in a voice which
trembled in spite of her efforts. "I can't talk in the dark. Wait here,
till I get a lamp."
She slipped from the room before he could prevent her and left him
pacing the floor in a cold rage. It was only a moment, however, until
she returned, bringing a lamp, which she placed on a table, and then
asked him to be seated, in a stiff, formal way, which at once irritated
and enchanted him. He sat down and devoured her with his eyes. He was
angry when she went for the lamp; but, as its light fell on her rich,
dark hair, her high color, and her long, graceful figure, as she leaned
back in her chair, he felt that the tenderest conversation with her in
the darkness would lose something of the pleasure that the eyes took in
her. This he said to her, in his coarse but effective way.
She answered him with coquettish grace, willing to postpone the serious
talk she dreaded so. But the conversation was in stronger hands than
hers, and she found herself forced, in a few minutes, to either go with
him, or give a reason why.
"The fact is, then," she stammered, with a great effort, "I don't know
you well enough yet. Why cannot you wait a while?"
He laughed.
"Come with me, and you will know me better in a day than you would here
in a year. Do not waste these precious moments. Our happiness depends
upon it. We have everything we can desire. I cannot be myself here. I
cannot disclose my rank and my wealth to these people who have only
known me as an apostle of labor. I want to go where you will be a great
lady. Oh, come!" he cried, with an outburst of pent-up fire, throwing
himself on the floor at her feet, and laying his head upon her knee.
She was so moved by this sudden outbreak, which was wholly new to her
experience, that she almost forgot her doubts and fears. But a remnant
of practical sense asserted itself. She rose from her chair, commanded
him once more to be seated, and said:
"I am afraid I am going to offend you, but I must ask you something."
"Ask me anything," he said, with a smile, "except to leave you."
She thought the phrase so pretty that she could hardly find courage to
put her question. She blushed and stammered, and then, rushing at it
with desperation, she said:
"That money--where did you get it?"
"I will tell you when we are married. It is a secret."
He tried still to smile, but she saw the laughter dying away from his
face.
Her blood turned cold in her veins, but her heart grew stronger, and
she determined to know the worst. She was not a refined or clever
woman; but the depth of her trouble sharpened her wits, and she
instinctively made use of her woman's wiles to extort the truth from
the man who she knew was under the spell of her beauty, whatever else
he was.
"Come here!" she said. Her face was pale, but her lips were smiling.
"Get down there where you were!" she continued, with tender
imperiousness. He obeyed her, hardly daring to trust his senses. "Now
put your hands between my hands," she said, still with that pale,
singular smile, which filled him with unquiet transports, "and tell me
the truth, you bad boy!"
"The truth," with a beating of the heart which made his utterance
thick, "the truth is, that you are the most glorious woman in the
world, and that you will be mine to-morrow."
"Perhaps," she almost whispered. "But you must tell me something else.
I am afraid you are a naughty boy, and that you love me too much. I
once told you I had an enemy, and that I wanted somebody to punish him.
Did you go and punish him for me--tell me that?"
Her voice was soft and low and beguiling. She still smiled on him,
leaving one hand in his, while she raised the forefinger of the other
in coquettish admonition. The ruffian at her feet was inebriated with
her beauty and her seductive playfulness. He thought she had divined
his act--that she considered it a fine and heroic test of love to which
she had subjected him. He did not hesitate an instant, but said:
"Yes, my beauty, and I am ready to do the same for anybody who gives
you a cross look."
Now that she had gained the terrible truth, a sickening physical fear
of the man came over her, and she felt herself growing faint. His voice
sounded weak and distant as he said:
"Now you will go with me, won't you?"
She could make no answer. So he continued:
"Run and get your hat. Nothing else. We can buy all you want. And
hurry. They may come back any moment."
She perceived a chance of escape and roused herself. She thought if she
could only get out of the room she might save herself by flight or by
outcry.
"Wait here," she whispered, "and be very quiet."
He kissed his fingers to her without a word. She opened the door into
the next room, which was the kitchen and dining-room of the family, and
there, not three feet from her, in the dim light, haggard and wan,
bareheaded, his clothes in rags about him, she saw Sam Sleeny.