BROWBEATING EXTRAORDINARY.
"Will you take in my card? I'm in a deuce of a rush," said Kennedy to
Aronson when the latter had dismissed Simon Rabofsky. Shagarach read his
name, daintily engraved in the form to which the weather-vane of fashion
had at that moment veered and was imperatively pointing. It introduced
"Mr. Arthur K. Foxhall."
"I will see the gentleman in a few minutes," said he. Shagarach must
have transacted an almost incredible amount of business in the interim,
for his waiting-room was cleared of clients when "Mr. Arthur K. Foxhall"
was at length admitted.
"I received this communication from you. My lawyer informs me that it
contains matter defamatory per se." He tossed a letter down on the table
at which Shagarach was sitting, with his arms folded as usual. "But
before taking action on the matter I thought I would give you an
opportunity to explain."
"The note is in English, is it not?" said Shagarach.
"It might pass for such," replied young man supercilious.
"Then it needs no further explanation. The sooner you and your lawyer
begin your action the better pleased I shall be." Shagarach began
writing a letter coolly, as if the matter were at an end, but his
visitor, either in nervousness or anger, tapped the polished tip of his
shoe with his cane. It was certainly a most aggressive-looking weapon,
with its knob carved into a scowling bulldog's head.
"Gentlemen"--he emphasized the word--"men of honor," he paused again,
"do not use language of others which they cannot defend, either before
the courts of law or by giving personal satisfaction."
"Gentlemen and men of honor do not fabricate lies after taking a solemn
oath to tell nothing but the truth," answered Shagarach, without
glancing up from the note he was scribbling.
"The third person protects you. You use the coward's refuge, innuendo,
because you dare not address the charge to me directly."
Shagarach picked up his letter, which the visitor had thrown down.
"I have taken particular pains to be direct as well as explicit over my
own signature. I find that I have accused you, Arthur Kennedy Foxhall,"
he emphasized the middle name, though it was only initialed in the
address, "of deliberate perjury in the case of Commonwealth vs. Bail. My
letters do not as a rule require marginal annotations or parol addition
to make their meaning clear, and I am credited with sufficient prudence
to foresee their consequences before writing them."
Shagarach folded his arms again and his great eyes pierced Foxhall--or
Kennedy as he was generally called. It was the family name of a rich
relative who had adopted and supported him.
"No," he added, slowly, "this is hardly a case for prosecution or for
personal satisfaction. The duello is out of date."
"My valet might object to the opponent I assigned him," said the
self-styled gentleman and man of honor. Shagarach's retort was swift,
yet uttered without the twitch of an eyelash, as though he were simply
recalling his visitor to the original business.
"His master lied in order to prove an alibi for Charles Munroe----"
Kennedy's chalky face flushed faintly.
"If the sword is out of fashion the cane is not," he cried, lifting his
formidable bulldog.
"The principal witness against my client in the Bail case," continued
Shagarach, raising his voice and controlling Kennedy with his eyes, "and
himself the beneficiary of the check which my client was accused of
forging."
"You got him off. That was enough. Are you trying to blackmail us for a
heavier fee?"
"The case was a conspiracy instigated by Charles Munroe and abetted by
his friends, among whom Arthur Kennedy Foxhall was the most conspicuous
for his zeal."
"You scum of a shyster! Do you think you can jew me into a dicker?"
Shagarach arose and walked to the window. He was not an equestrian, but
natural perception taught him the useful rule to turn his horse's head
when he starts to run away. Facing suddenly about, he said:
"I am a Jew, true. Perhaps that is why I do not poison myself with
opium."
The young man's cheek grew pale again. The cane dropped and he sunk in
his chair.
"Am I to be prosecuted for that also?" The anger in his tones had
flickered away to a feeble peevishness. "How do you know?"
"Because you are wearing a light overcoat with the mercury at 80,"
answered Shagarach, who had glanced at the thermometer in his window.
"Because you have the glazed eye of a man in fever, and because you lie
like an oriental!"
This time Kennedy made no protest against the insult. He was succumbing
to the strain placed upon his shattered nerves by the remorseless man
across the table.
"There is your cause of action," said Shagarach, tossing back his
letter. Again he dipped his pen in the ink preparing to write.
"What do you want of me?" asked Kennedy.
"Nothing," Shagarach had half-filled the sheet. He was stamping the
envelope when the next question slowly came.
"Why do you follow up the matter? Your client is safe?"
"But the community is no longer safe when perjurers strut about,
masquerading as the sole guardians of honor."
He folded his arms once more and looked straight at his man. In another
the gesture might seen theatrical, but it was Shagarach's natural
attitude in thought, like the bowed head and lowered eyes of the
philosopher burrowing into the depths of things, or the uplifted gaze of
the poet leaving earth for the stars and sunset. The lawyer's interests
lay in the horizontal plane, and the faces of fellow-men were his study.
"Yes, I am reputed inexorable to perjurers. It is true. They rarely
escape me unpunished. As a consequence, witnesses prefer to tell me the
truth, which is an advantage to my clients, of whose interests I am the
devoted servitor."
"And you will ruin me to gratify this--this----"
"I will procure your indictment for perjury and conspiracy in the case
of Commonwealth vs. Bail."
Kennedy trembled like one with an ague. But stronger men than he had
yielded as abjectly to Shagarach. He was a blood of high standing, with
a fortune as well as a reputation to lose. The chances of a felon's
succeeding to the property of old Angus Kennedy, the millionaire, who
had adopted him, were relatively slight.
"What is the penalty for perjury?" he asked, in a random way, as if at a
loss what to say or do.
"Imprisonment at hard labor."
"It is not punishable by fine?"
"Never."
There was a pause, broken only by the rustling of Aronson's papers in
the outer room. Then Shagarach spoke.
"You have an appointment with Harry Arnold for next Wednesday evening."
Kennedy started up. His smooth face grew cadaverous and the helpless
look of a kneeling suppliant came into his eyes, which were riveted on
the great, wide orbs of his tormentor.
"At a gambling resort," continued Shagarach.
"I am not a gambler," Kennedy's voice was hollow, his expression
piteous. Shagarach studied him a moment. Probably he was speaking the
truth. The evil passions are jealous and absolute monarchs. Seldom does
more than one of them reign at a time.
"But Harry Arnold is."
"Harry is plunging heavily."
Shagarach was satisfied at last. An adequate motive for Harry's deed was
clearly in view. It was not the most heinous crime which had been
committed to gratify the gamester's passion.
"I wish to be with you on that occasion."
"It will be hard," answered Kennedy, his face clouded with consternation
and a torrid flush of something like shame sweeping over it. "The
Dove-Cote is too well guarded."
"The Dove-Cote!" Shagarach was betrayed into an ejaculation of surprise.
This was the "Tough-Coat" which Aronson's imperfect articulation had
disguised.
"It may be hard, but it is not impossible."
"Not impossible, no."
"Well-known men are seen there at times?"
"Oh, yes."
Kennedy smiles.
"And your escape from prison depends upon my obtaining entrance."
The smile had faded away.
"Why do you wish to be there?"
"My reasons are my own. However, I will make a limited confidant of you.
I am at work upon a cause which logical study does not perfectly
elucidate. That frequently happens. I must see my man off his guard,
when he is most himself. My visit to the Dove-Cote will be a
psychological study."
"They will compel me to vouch for your good faith."
"You may do so. Nothing seen or heard by me there will ever be revealed.
I go, as I have told you, to study a soul, not to gather facts. The
facts are already mine."
"Where shall I call for you?"
"Here."
"At 8 o'clock?"
"Very well. There is one condition attached to our bargain. You shall
not reveal this appointment to Harry Arnold."
"He will be there----"
"But he does not know me. We probably shall not meet. Other--gentlemen,
as you call them--will be there."
"Miss Barlow," said Aronson, at this moment opening the door.
Kennedy had arisen to go, but turned curiously when he heard the sweet
voice from without.
"Only a moment, Mr. Shagarach."
The lawyer stepped out and conferred with her. She had run down in her
lunch hour, full of a new project which she burned to carry out, but
like everything else, she had thought it best first to submit it to
Shagarach. His approval was given coolly, she thought.
"Some one of the park policemen may have seen him."
"Possibly."
"If not, how can you explain those four hours of forgetfulness--I mean,
of course, to the satisfaction of a jury?"
"It is not unprecedented. I have an explanation, or the germ of one.
However, pursue your inquiries. They may prove of value. And, when you
visit Floyd, occasionally wear a water lily."
"Why?"
"It was the flower he brought you that evening."
Emily caught the impertinent stare of the manikin within just as she was
turning to leave.
"Understand, Kennedy," said Shagarach, "if Arnold is informed of this
agreement, directly or indirectly, our contract is broken and I will
spare no pains to lodge you where you belong."
His tone made the weakling shudder.
"Why do you desire to conceal it from Harry?" he asked, obstinately.
"Draw what inference you choose."
Shagarach returned to his desk and Emily was uneasily aware that the
youth whom she had seen in his office passed her twice in the crowd
while she was making her way back to the studio. But Arthur Kennedy
Foxhall was too perturbed that day to practice with success even the
easy arts of the professional lady-killer. His pursuit of Emily only
registered on his memory a face which was to haunt him in his drug-fed
dreams.