Calhoun Bennett dropped the matter, and contented himself with cutting
Keith dead whenever they happened to meet. Jimmy Ware and Black were
men of a different sort; indeed McDougall had made them his associates
mainly because of their knowledge of the city's darker phases and their
unscrupulousness. In the admirable organization thus sketched Calhoun
Bennett had acted as a sort of go-between.
After the duel these two precious citizens held many anxious
consultations. They could not tell just how much evidence Keith had
succeeded in gathering, but they knew that plenty of it existed. If the
matter came to an issue, they suspected the consequences might be
serious. Either Keith or his evidence must in some way be got rid of.
Black, who was inclined by instinct and training to be direct, was in
favour of the simple expedient of hiring assassins.
"Won't do," negatived the more astute Ware. "The thing will be traced
back to us--not legally, of course, but to a moral certainty, and while
they won't be able to prove anything on us, the state of the public
mind is such that hell would pop."
"He says he won't fight another duel," said Black doubtfully.
"No."
"We've got to kill him in a street quarrel, then."
"He's got to be killed in a street quarrel," amended Ware, "that's
certain; but nobody even remotely connected with this Cora trial must
seem to have anything to do with it. It must have the appearance of a
private quarrel from away outside. Otherwise----"
"Got anybody in mind?" asked the practical Black.
"Yes, and he ought to be here at any moment."
As though Jimmy Ware's words had been the cue for which he waited,
Morrell here entered the room.
L
At three o'clock in the afternoon of May 14, 1856, the current issue of
the _Bulletin_ was placed on sale. A very few minutes later a copy
found its way into the hands of James Casey. Casey at that time, in
addition to his political cares, was editor of a small sheet he called
the _Sunday Times_. With this he had strenuously supported the extreme
wing of the Law party, which, as has been explained, comprised also the
gambling and lawless element. It was suspected by some that his paper
was more or less subsidized for the purpose, though the probability is
that Casey found his reward merely in political support. This Casey it
was who, to his own vast surprise, had at a previous election been
returned as elected supervisor; although he was not a candidate, his
name was not on the ticket, and no man could be found who had voted for
him. Indeed, he was not even a resident of the district. However,
Yankee Sullivan, who ran the election, said officially the votes had
been cast for him; so elected he was proclaimed. Undoubtedly he proved
useful; he had always proved useful at elections elsewhere, seldom
appearing in person, but adept at selecting suitable agents. His
methods were devious, dishonest, and rough. He was head of the Crescent
Fire Engine Company, and was personally popular. In appearance he was a
short, slight man, with a bright, keen face, a good forehead, a thin
but florid countenance, dark curly hair, and light blue eyes, a type of
unscrupulous Irish adventurer with a dash of romantic ideals. Like all
the gentlemen rovers of his time, he was exceedingly touchy on the
subject of "honour."
In the _Bulletin_ of the date mentioned James Casey read these words,
apropos of the threat of one Bagby to shoot Casey on sight:
It does not matter how bad a man Casey had been, or how much benefit
it might be to the public to have him out of the way, we cannot accord
to any one citizen the right to kill him, or even beat him, without
justifiable provocation. The fact that Casey has been an inmate of
Sing Sing prison in New York is no offence against the laws of this
State; nor is the fact of his having stuffed himself through the
ballot box, as elected to the Board of Supervisors from a district
where it is said he was not even a candidate, any justification for
Mr. Bagby to shoot Casey, however richly the latter may deserve to
have his neck stretched for such fraud on the public.
Casey read this in the full knowledge that thousands of his
fellow-citizens would also read it. His thin face turned white with
anger. He crumpled the paper into a ball and hurled it violently into
the gutter, settled his hat more firmly on his head, and proceeded at
once to the _Bulletin_ office with the full intention of shooting King
on sight. Probably he would have done so, save for the accidental
circumstance that King happened to be busy at a table, his back
squarely to the door. Casey could not shoot a man in the back without a
word. He was breathless and stuttering with excitement. King was alone,
but an open door into an adjoining office permitted two witnesses to
see and hear.
"What do you mean by that article?" cried Casey in a strangled voice.
King turned slowly, and examined his visitor for a moment.
"What article?" he inquired at last.
"That which says I was formerly an inmate of Sing Sing!"
King gazed at him with a depth of detached, patient sadness in his dark
eyes.
"Is it not true?" he asked finally.
"That is not the question," retorted Casey, trying again to work
himself up to the rage in which he had entered. "I do not wish my past
acts rated up: on that point I am sensitive."
A faint smile came and went on King's lips.
"Are you done?" he asked still quietly; then, receiving no reply, he
turned in his chair and leaned forward with a sudden intensity. His
next words hit with the impact of bullets: "There's the door! Go! Never
show your face here again!" he commanded.
Casey found himself moving toward the open door. He did not want to do
this, he wanted to shoot King, or at least to provoke a quarrel, but he
was for the moment overcome by a stronger personality. At the door he
gathered himself together a little.
"I'll say in my paper what I please!" he asserted, with a show of
bravado.
King was leaning back, watching him steadily.
"You have a perfect right to do so," he rejoined. "I shall never notice
your paper."
Casey struck himself on the breast.
"And if necessary I shall defend myself!" he cried.
King's passivity broke. He bounded from his seat bristling with anger.
"Go!" he commanded sharply, and Casey went.