REPARTEE AND PISTOLS
Loge dropped his gaze to the pistol, and the smile upon his lips slowly
turned into a sneer. But when he lifted his eyes to Cleggett's again
there was no fear in them.
"Put up your gun," he said, easily enough. "You won't have any use for
it here."
"Thank you for the assurance," said Cleggett, "but it occurs to me that
it is in a very good place where it is."
"Oh, if it amuses you to play with it----" said Loge.
"It does," said Cleggett dryly.
"It's an odd taste," said Loge.
"It's a taste I've formed during the last few days on board my ship,"
said Cleggett meaningly.
"Ship?" said Loge. "Oh, I beg your pardon. You mean the old hulk over
yonder in the canal?"
"Over yonder in the canal," said Cleggett, without relaxing his
vigilance.
"You've been frightened over there?" asked Loge, showing his teeth in a
grin.
"No," said Cleggett. "I'm not easily frightened."
Loge looked at the pistol under Cleggett's hand, and from the pistol to
Cleggett's face, with ironical gravity, before he spoke. "I should
have thought, from the way you cling to that pistol, that perhaps your
nerves might be a little weak and shaky."
"On the contrary," said Cleggett, playing the game with a face like a
mask, "my nerves are so steady that I could snip that ugly-looking
skull off your cravat the length of this barroom away."
"That would be mighty good shooting," said Loge, turning in his chair
and measuring the distance with his eye. "I don't believe you could do
it. I don't mind telling you that _I_ couldn't."
"While we are on the subject of your scarfpin," said Cleggett, in whom
the slur on the Jasper B. had been rankling, "I don't mind telling YOU
that I think that skull thing is in damned bad taste. In fact, you are
dressed generally in damned bad taste.--Who is your tailor?"
Cleggett was gratified to see a dull flush spread over the other's face
at the insult. Loge was silent a moment, and then he said, dropping
his bantering manner, which indeed sat rather heavily upon him: "I
don't know why you should want to shoot at my scarfpin--or at me. I
don't know why you should suddenly lay a pistol between us. I don't,
in short, know why we should sit here paying each other left-handed
compliments, when it was merely my intention to make you a business
proposition."
"I have been waiting to hear what you had to say to me," said Cleggett,
without being in the least thrown off his guard by the other's change
of manner.
"If you had not chanced to drop in here today," said Loge, "I had
intended paying you a visit."
"I have had several visitors lately," said Cleggett nonchalantly, "and
I think at least two of them can make no claim that they were not
warmly received."
"Yes?" said Loge. But if Cleggett's meaning reached him he was too
cool a hand to show it. He persisted in his affectation of a
businesslike air. "Am I right in thinking that you have bought the
boat?"
"You are."
"To come to the point," said Loge, "I want to buy her from you. What
will you take for her?"
The proposition was unexpected to Cleggett, but he did not betray his
surprise.
"You want to buy her?" he said. "You want to buy the old hulk over
yonder in the canal?" He laughed, but continued: "What on earth can
your interest be in her?"
There was a trace of surliness in Loge's voice as he answered: "YOU
were enough interested in her to buy her, it seems. Why shouldn't I
have the same interest?"
Cleggett was silent a moment, and then he leaned across the table and
said with emphasis: "I have noticed your interest in the Jasper B.
since the day I first set foot on her. And let me warn you that unless
you show your curiosity in some other manner henceforth, you will
seriously regret it. A couple of your men have repented of your
interest already."
"My men? What do you mean by my men? I haven't any men." Loge's
imitation of astonishment was a piece of art; but if anything he
overdid it a trifle. He frowned in a puzzled fashion, and then said:
"You talk about my men; you speak riddles to me; you appear to threaten
me, but after all I have only made you a plain business proposition. I
ask you again, what will you take for her?"
"She's not for sale," said Cleggett shortly.
Loge did not speak again for a moment. Instead, he picked up the spoon
with which Cleggett had stirred his highball and began to draw
characters with its wet point upon the table. "If it's a question of
price," he said finally, "I'm prepared to allow you a handsome profit."
Cleggett determined to find out how far he would go.
"You might be willing to pay as much as $5,000 for her--for the old
hulk over there in the canal?"
Loge stopped playing with the spoon and looked searchingly into
Cleggett's face. Then he said:
"I will. Turn her over to me the way she was the day you bought her,
and I'll give you $5,000." He paused, and then repeated, stressing the
words: "MIND YOU, WITH EVERYTHING IN HER THE WAY IT WAS THE DAY YOU
BOUGHT HER."
Cleggett fumbled with his fingers in a waistcoat pocket, drew out the
torn piece of counterfeit money which he had taken from the dead hand,
and flung it on the table.
"Five thousand dollars," he said, "in THAT kind of money?"
Loge looked at it with eyes that suddenly contracted. Clever
dissembler that he was, he could not prevent an involuntary start. He
licked his lips, and Cleggett judged that perhaps his mouth felt a
little dry. But these were the only signs he made. Indeed, when he
spoke it was with something almost like an air of relief.
"Come," he said, "now we're down to brass tacks at last on this
proposition. Mr. Detective, name your real price."
Cleggett did not answer immediately. He appeared to consider his real
price. But in reality he was thinking that there was no longer any
doubt of the origin of the explosion. Since Loge practically
acknowledged the counterfeit money, the man who had died with this
piece of it in his hand must have been one of Loge's men. But he only
said:
"Why do you call me a detective?"
Loge shrugged his shoulders. Then he said again: "Your real price?"
"What," said Cleggett, trying him out, "do you think of $20,000?"
The other gave a long, low whistle.
"Gad!" he cried, "what crooks you bulls are."
"It's not so much," said Cleggett deliberately, "when one takes
everything into consideration."
Loge appeared to meditate. Then he said: "That figure is out of the
question. I'll give you $10,000 and not a cent more."
"You want her pretty badly," said Cleggett. "Or you want what's on
her."
"Why," said Loge, with an assumption of great frankness, "between you
and me I don't care a damn about your boat. I think we understand each
other. I'm buying her to get what's on her."
"Suppose I sell you what's on her for $10,000 and keep the ship," said
Cleggett, wondering what WAS on the Jasper B.
"Agreed," said Loge.
"Since we're being so frank with one another," said Cleggett, "would
you mind telling me why you didn't come to me at the start with an
offer to buy, instead of making such a nuisance of yourself?"
"Eh?" Loge appeared genuinely surprised. "Why should I pay you any
money if I could get it, or destroy it, without that? Besides, how was
I to know you could be bought?"
Cleggett wondered more than ever what piece of evidence the hold of the
Jasper B. contained. He felt certain that it was not merely
counterfeit bills. Cleggett determined upon a minute and thorough
search of the hold.
"You'll send for it?" said Cleggett, still trying to get a more
definite idea of what "it" was, without revealing that he did not know.
"I'll come myself with a taxicab," said Loge.
Cleggett rose, smiling; he had found out as much as he could expect to
learn.
"On the whole," he said, "I think that I prefer to keep the Jasper B.
and everything that's in her. But before I leave I must thank you for
the pleasure I have derived from our little talk--and the information
as well. You can hardly imagine how you have interested me. Will you
kindly step back and let me pass?"
Loge got to his feet with a muttered oath; his face went livid and a
muscle worked in his throat; his fingers contracted like the claws of
some big and powerful cat. But, out of respect for Cleggett's pistol,
he stepped backward.
"You have confessed to making counterfeit money," went on Cleggett,
enjoying the situation, "and you have as good as told me that there are
further evidences of crime on board the Jasper B. You can rest assured
that I will find them. You have also betrayed the fact that you
planned to blow my ship up, and there are several other little matters
which you have shed light upon.
"I am not a detective. Nevertheless, I hope in the near future to see
you behind the bars and to help put you there. It may interest you to
know that my opinion of your intellect is no higher than my opinion of
your character. You seem to me to have a vast conceit of your own
cleverness, which is not justified by the facts. You are a very stupid
fellow; a--a--what is the slang word? Boob, I believe."
But while Cleggett was finishing his remarks a subtle change stole over
Loge's countenance. His attitude, which had been one of baffled rage,
relaxed. As Cleggett paused the sneer came back upon Loge's lips.
"Boob," he said quietly, "boob is the word. Look above you."
A sharp metallic click overhead gave point to Loge's words. Looking up,
Cleggett saw that a trap-door had opened in the ceiling, and through
the aperture Pierre, who had left the room some moments before with the
bartender, was pointing a revolver, which he had just cocked, at
Cleggett's head. He sighted along the barrel with an eager,
anticipatory smile upon his face; Pierre would, no doubt, have
preferred to see a man boiled in oil rather than merely shot, but
shooting was something, and Pierre evidently intended to get all the
delight possible out of the situation.
Cleggett's own pistol was within an inch of Loge's stomach.
"I was willing to pay you real money," said Loge, "for the sake of
peace. But you're a damned fool if you think you can throw me down and
then walk straight out of here to headquarters." Then he added,
showing his yellow teeth: "You WOULD bring pistols into the
conversation, you know. That was YOUR idea. And now you're in a devil
of a fix."
The man certainly had an iron nerve; he spoke as calmly as if
Cleggett's weapon were not in existence; there was nothing but the
pressure of a finger wanting to send both him and Cleggett to eternity.
Yet he jested; he laid his strong and devilish will across Cleggett's
mentality; it was a duel in which the two minds met and tried each
other like swords; the first break in intention, and one or the other
was a dead man. Cleggett felt the weight of that powerful and evil
soul upon his own almost as if it were a physical thing.
"You are not altogether safe yourself," said Cleggett grimly, with his
eyes fixed on Pierre's and his pistol touching Loge's waistband. "If
Pierre so much as winks an eye--if you move a hair's breadth--I'll put
a stream of bullets through YOU. Understand?"
How long this singular psychological combat might have lasted before a
nerve quivered somewhere and brought the denouement of a double death,
there is no telling. For accident (or fate) intervened to pluck these
antagonists back into life and rob the gloating Pierre of the happiness
of seeing two men perish without danger to himself. Something of
uncertain shape, but of a blue color, loomed vaguely behind Pierre's
head; loomed and suddenly descended to the accompaniment of a piercing
shriek. Pierre's pistol went off, but he had evidently been stricken
between the shoulders; the ball went wild, and the pistol itself
dropped from his hand, another cartridge exploding as it hit the floor.
The next instant Pierre tumbled headlong through the hole, landing upon
Loge, who, not braced for the shock, went down himself.
As the two men struggled to rise a strange figure precipitated itself
from the room above, feet first, and hit both of them, knocking them
down again. It was a tall man, thin and lank, clad only in a suit of
silk pajamas of the color known as baby blue; he was barefoot, and
Cleggett, with that lucid grasp of detail which comes to men oftener in
nightmares than in real life, noticed that he had a bunion at the large
joint of his right great toe.
If the man was startling, he was no less startled himself. Leaping from
the struggling forms of Pierre and Loge, who defeated each other's
frantic efforts to rise, he was across the barroom in three wild
bounds, shrieking shrilly as he leaped; he bolted through the west door
and cleared the verandah at a jump.
Loge, gaining his feet, was after the man in blue in an instant,
evidently thinking no more of Cleggett than if the latter had been in
Madagascar. And as for Cleggett, although he might have shot down Loge
a dozen times over, he was so astonished at what he saw that the
thought never entered his head. He had, in fact, forgotten that he
held a pistol in his hand. Pierre scrambled to his feet and followed
Loge.
Cleggett, running after them, saw the man in the blue pajamas sprinting
along the sandy margin of the bay. But Loge, his hat gone, his coat
tails level in the wind behind him, and his large patent leather shoes
flashing in the morning sunlight, was overhauling him with long and
powerful strides. Cleggett saw the quarry throw a startled glance over
his shoulder; he was no match for the terrible Loge in speed, and he
must have realized it with despair, for he turned sharply at right
angles and rushed into the sea. Loge unhesitatingly plunged after him,
and had caught him by the shoulder and whirled him about before he had
reached a swimming depth. They clinched, in water mid-thigh deep, and
then Cleggett saw Loge plant his fist, with scientific precision and
awful force, upon the point of the other's jaw. The man in the blue
pajamas collapsed; he would have dropped into the water, but Loge
caught him as he fell, threw his body across a shoulder with little
apparent effort, and trotted back into the house with him.
Cleggett had left his sword cane in the barroom, but he judged it would
be just as well to allow it to remain there for the present. He turned
and walked meditatively across the sands towards the Jasper B.