It was fairly well into the afternoon; Anthony had shaved, dressed his
hair, and attired himself smartly. He sat in the public room of the
Half Moon, rather cherishing the hope that Mademoiselle Lafargue might
show some early sign of requiring his service. A pursy-looking man in
top-boots, and with his pockets stuffed with papers, occupied a bench
near to a window, and talked with a gentleman wrapped in a greatcoat
and with a rug across his knees.
"The watch," said the pursy man, "is all but useless. They cannot
prevent wrong-doing, and when it is done they are unable to bring the
malefactors to justice."
The man in the greatcoat drew the rug more closely about his knees and
seemed unhappy.
"It is very distressing," said he. "A crime like this, and no one to
place it upon. For what are we taxed if it is not for the punishment of
offenders?"
"No goods were taken," said the pursy man. "No harm was done save to
Magruder's life. That alone seems to have been the purpose of the
criminal. A stab-wound, says the surgeon; a stab-wound in the neck, and
struck not so shrewdly! 'Twas a clumsy hand that did the deed; but,"
and here the speaker wagged his head, "an apprentice is as good as a
journeyman, so long as the task is accomplished."
"There are city lights," said the man in the greatcoat; "there are
safeguards for life and property; the watch is well paid. But the
streets are not safe; prowlers can go to and fro as they will; houses,
places of business are entered, blows are struck, lives are taken. Yet
the prisons are unoccupied; the gallows are unused."
"I have heard a whisper," said the pursy man, "that some one is
suspicioned." He nodded his head, and panted, as though the thing
excited him. "It was not the watch who came upon the thing; the watch
is too slow-going for that. But, when all was confusion and every one
at his wit's end, it bobs up unexpectedly of its own accord."
"Some one suspicioned?" said the man in the greatcoat, hungrily. "Who
is it?"
But the other shook his head.
"I don't know," said he. "It was only a whisper I got, and it was not
meant for my ears. This Magruder had a ship in that day, and there was
much to occupy him at his place of business. He remained after his
clerks and porters had gone, so they tell; and, about eight, went to
a tavern for a chop and a glass of ale, for he was none of your great
eaters, having a slim stomach and a none too liberal hand. The people
of the tavern say he left there before nine, and it's thought that he
went straightaway back to his counting-room and there remained."
"But the suspicioned person?" said the man in the greatcoat, anxiously,
not caring to miss this chance of putting the prisons and gallows to
their proper use. "How came it to fall upon him?"
"Some one," said the pursy man, "was seen to leave Magruder's place
by the counting-room door, which is in the back. Very quietly is the
manner in which the person is said to have left, and at an hour that
was unusual."
"There should be no difficulty in apprehending the villain," said the
other man. "All the evilly disposed in the city should be taken charge
of; and the man could be picked from among them."
But the pursy man seemed to doubt this method.
"That would not suffice," said he, "for we could not be sure the crime
was done by one given to public villainy."
"You would not think of suspecting any honest man!" said the other,
aghast.
"What would you say if you heard--only in a whisper, however, and the
whisper not meant for you--that the criminal was not a man at all, but
a woman?"
Anthony felt his blood chill; he waited to hear no more, but arose and
went into the passage. Here, just entering, he encountered Whitaker,
who was most gracefully attired in cream-colored pantaloons, a blue
coat with dull copper buttons, a frilled neck-cloth, and a fawn-hued
beaver, the brim of which curled magnificently.
"I thought I'd chance upon you," said this young gentleman, as he shook
Anthony's hand. "I'm on my way to Mrs. Newell's, here in Fourth Street.
Charming woman, and loves music. She usually has some one who can
finger a harp, or a pianoforte; there's a German who plays upon a flute
most excellently; and some of her guests always sing. Come along; Mrs.
Newell will be delighted."
Just at that moment Anthony had desire for neither music nor light
company; he'd much rather have talked if Whitaker had been a person
with whom he could have discussed what was in his mind. But, at the
same time, he had no desire to be alone with his thoughts; so, with his
arm in that of the fop, he was led away to Fourth Street.
Mrs. Newell's house stood in a little court, just above Chestnut,
a brick-paved place, with handsome trees, little spaces about the
door-steps for growing plants in summer-time, and trellises for
rose-vines under each window. Mrs. Newell herself, as Whitaker had
said, was charming, a little mouse of a woman with dark eyes and an
engaging manner.
"You are just in time to hear Tosini," she told Anthony. "A fine
performer. He will play one of his own sonatas."
Mrs. Newell's drawing-room was crowded, and Anthony was presented here
and there to little groups of ladies. Tosini was a dark, Latin-looking
man with curly black hair, shot with gray; from the box of his violin
he drew sounds that melted and thrilled, and left the ladies fluttering
with delight.
"Astonishing tone," commented Whitaker, as he patted approvingly with
his gloves. "Wonderful vibrations. Sometimes I think strings and wood
have magic in them when brought together. Remarkable playing."
A round-faced man then blew a melody of Blanck's out of a German flute,
and a young lady with a small, sweet voice sang "Love in a Village,"
to the tinkling of a harpsichord. Then another young lady with a harp,
and an enterprising youth who bore a violoncello, joined forces with
the flute and violin and made their way through a quartet of Bach's,
to the gratification of every one. This done, there was a great
chattering and clamoring and exclaiming. Anthony stood at one side
rather disconsolately, Whitaker having deserted him, when he saw Mrs.
King smiling at him from across the room. At once he made his way to
her side.
"I saw you as you came in," she said, "but you did not permit your look
to go anywhere but straight ahead, and so I couldn't catch your eye
until now. I'm sure you enjoyed the music; you looked as though you
did."
"It was a treat to me," he returned. "A Spanish sailor thrumming
a guitar in the forecastle, or some indifferent fiddling at a
trading-post, has been the only music I've listened to for a long time."
"Your mother was a beautiful musician; too beautiful, I'm afraid, for
the city of her day. We rather resented finish," with a smile. "Have
you made up your mind to remain with us?"
"I have not yet seen my uncle."
"Oh, that wonderful uncle," laughed Mrs. King. "So much depends upon
what he does or says. A mere nod of his head will change the plans
of hundreds. If he speaks, his intimates seem to expect a magical
occurrence. But," and she nodded her assurance, "you'll like him.
Charles has not been spoiled by adulation, for the reason that he has
not noticed it. In many things he is still a boy. You are twenty-five,
and he is fifty; but you are his elder in temperament."
They talked of New Orleans, of Anthony's experiences, of his mother and
father; then they returned to music, and Mrs. King, pleased, commented
upon the growing taste in such things.
"It must be the large number of people from continental Europe who
have come among us, because of the revolutions and disorders going on
there. Some of them are so charming that their accomplishments cannot
help being imitated. Yesterday at de Lannoy's--Monsieur de Lannoy was
a count in France--I heard a young French girl sing in a way that
was extraordinary. And she was quite free and self-possessed; not at
all like our girls who take a feeling of something like guilt into
everything that is not usual. She is here with her father; they are
strangers in the city. Monsieur de Lannoy had known her father in a
business way at Brest."
"At Brest!" said Anthony. "What was her name?"
"Lafargue. A very beautiful creature, and, it seemed, in the short time
I talked with her, with a mind as wonderful as her voice. But in spite
of all the sparkle in her manner I could see she felt but little of it.
At times her eyes actually seemed to have a look of fear in them. So
many of the _émigrés_ have that look. Their experiences must have been
dreadful."
"No doubt."
"She said she was a stranger," said Mrs. King, "and had been here less
than a week. And yet," amusedly, "at five o'clock young Tarrant called
for her. A handsome girl can't be a stranger for long anywhere."
Anthony felt a flush of resentment rise to his face; he fumbled with
the fringe upon the arm of the chair in which he sat and glowered at
the floor.
"It had been arranged that he should call for her," added Mrs. King.
"She, being so newly arrived, was not sure that she'd find her way back
to her lodging-place."
"I have met with this Tarrant," said Anthony. "But our dealings were
brief. What manner of man is he?"
"He is very well known," said Mrs. King. "And inclined, I think, to
play the part of a ruffling blade, such as is common in London. He was
once in the navy, a lieutenant, and also in the merchant service."
Just then Whitaker came up; with him was a lady who laughed and talked
incessantly.
"We were just speaking of Mr. Tarrant," said Mrs. King. "Perhaps you
can tell Anthony more about him than I."
"About Bob?" said Whitaker importantly. "Quite right. I know him like a
book. Astonishingly clever fellow. Great ability. And has a real talent
for clothes. No better dressed man in the city. Takes his hints from
Europe. They say he has correspondents who keep him posted."
The lady who held Whitaker's arm here began to laugh once more.
"Oh," she said, "you are overlooking the most interesting thing about
him. Please do tell that."
"Do you mean the altercation?" asked Whitaker.
"To be sure," laughed the lady. "It's so amusing. To think of such a
thing happening to Bob Tarrant!"
"It seems," said Whitaker, whose manner showed that he scarcely
approved of his companion's mirth, "that Tarrant had an encounter a
few evenings ago in which he was taken rather by surprise. The story
goes that he was engaged in carrying out a matter of some importance
when a certain individual--the name has not yet come out--ran counter
to him. They tell me that Bob remonstrated with him, but to no purpose.
And then, before he quite realized the turn the affair had taken, the
person struck him."
"Oh, Dick!" pleaded the laughing lady, now laughing more than ever. "Do
tell it all! Bob was thrashed," she informed Mrs. King and Anthony.
"Soundly thrashed, with his hat all broken and red welts across his
face. Thoroughly discomfited, they tell me, and raving with rage. What
will he do now?" laughed the lady. "He has been so looked up to by all
our youths!" with an arch glance at Whitaker. "So patterned after in
all the things that make a man of fashion and spirit! How in the world
can he redeem himself?"
"Well," said Whitaker, "I suppose it is amusing, if one is inclined to
take that view of it. The impulse is to laugh at any awkward thing that
happens to one who has carried himself as high as Tarrant. But, at the
same time," with a shake of the head, "it may be no laughing matter in
the end, for Tarrant, I hear, has spent the last two days at a quiet
place up the river with a pair of pistols, improving his eye."
The jolly lady ceased laughing; Mrs. King looked grave.
"Oh, no!" said she.
"I'm afraid it's true," said Whitaker. "He's of that fashion and has
winged his man a dozen times or more."
"But the law," said Mrs. King.
"Of course," said the dandy. "There is one. But who would dare appeal
to it?"
When they had taken their leave of Mrs. Newell a little later, Whitaker
hooked his arm into Anthony's as they turned out of the little court.
"Tarrant will have this fellow's blood," said he. "It will be the
regulation number of paces, a quick exchange, and then God send the
poor devil a good surgeon!"
Anthony said nothing, and so Whitaker's mind turned to a matter of more
immediate moment.
"I'm supping at the Crooked Billet to-night," said he. "If you have
nothing urgent to occupy you, suppose you join me. It's an excellent
place. Their venison pie is famous."
Anthony gave cordial agreement to this, and the two, still arm in arm,
strolled toward the river.