THE TRADE WITH SLIPPERY DICK.
Amos Royson, in the solitude of his room, had full time for reflection
upon the events of the week and upon his position. His face, always
sinister, had not improved under its contact with the heavy dueling
pistol driven so savagely against it. The front teeth would be replaced
and the defect concealed under the heavy mustache he wore, and the cut
and swollen lips were resuming their normal condition. The missing
finger, even, would inconvenience him only until he had trained the
middle one to discharge its duties--but the nose! He trembled with rage
when for the hundredth time he studied his face in the glass and
realized that the best skill of the surgeon had not been able to restore
its lines.
But this was not the worst. He had carefully scanned the state press
during his seclusion and awoke from his personal estimate to find that
public opinion was overwhelmingly against him. He had slandered a man
for political purposes and forced a fight upon a stranger to whom, by
every right of hospitality, the city owed a welcome. The general public
could not understand why he had entered upon the duel if his charges
were true, and if not true why he had not had the manliness to withdraw
them.
Moreover, he had incurred the deadly enmity of the people who had been
deceived in the lost county. One paper alluded to the unpleasant fact
that Edward Morgan was defending and aiding Mr. Royson's connections at
the time of the insult.
He had heard no word from Swearingen, who evidently felt that the matter
was too hot at both ends for him to handle safely. That gentleman had,
on the contrary, in a brief card to one of the papers, disclaimed any
knowledge of the unfortunate letter and declined all responsibility for
it. This was sufficient, it would seem, to render almost any man
unhappy, but the climax was reached when he received a letter from
Annie, scoring him unmercifully for his clumsiness and informing him
that Edward Morgan, so far from being destroyed in a certain quarter,
was being received in the house as a friend to whom all were indebted,
and was petted and made much of.
"So far as I can judge," she added, maliciously, "it seems settled that
Mary is to marry him. He is much with Col. Montjoy and is now upon a
confidential footing with everyone here. Practically he is already a
member of the family." It contained a request for him to inform her when
he would be in his office.
He had not replied to this; he felt that the letter was aimed at his
peace of mind and the only satisfaction he could get out of this affair
was the recollection that he had informed her father-in-law of her
perfidy.
"I would be glad to see the old gentleman's mind at work with Annie
purring around him," he said to himself, and the idea brought the first
smile his face had known for many a day. But a glimpse of that face in
the glass, with the smile upon it, startled him again.
What next? Surrender? There was no surrender in the make-up of the man.
His legal success had hinged less upon ability than upon dogged
pertinacity. In this way he had saved the life of more than one criminal
and won a reputation that brought him practice. He had made a charge,
had been challenged and had fought. With almost any other man the issue
would have been at an end as honorably settled, but his habit of mind
was opposed to accepting anything as settled which was clearly
unsettled. The duel did not give Morgan the rights of a gentleman if the
main charge were true, and Royson had convinced himself that it was
true. He wrote to Annie, assured that her visit would develop his next
move.
So it was that one morning Royson found himself face to face with his
cousin, in the office. There was no word of sympathy for him. He had not
expected one, but he was hardly prepared for the half-smile which came
over her face when he greeted her, and which, during their interview,
returned from time to time. This enraged him beyond endurance, and
nothing but the remembrance that she alone held the key to the situation
prevented his coming to an open breach with her. She saw and read his
struggle aright, and the display put her in the best of humor.
"When shall we see you at The Hall again?" she asked, coolly.
"Never," he said, passionately, "until this man Morgan is exposed and
driven out." She arched her brows.
"Never, then, would have been sufficient."
"Annie, this man must be exposed; you have the proofs--you have
information; give it to me." She shook her head, smiling.
"I have changed my mind, Amos; I do not want to be on bad terms with my
brother-in-law of the future; the fact is, I am getting fond of him. He
is very kind to everybody. Mother is to go to Paris to have her eyes
attended to, and Mary is to accompany her. Mr. Morgan has been accepted
as their escort."
The face of the man grew crimson with suppressed rage. By a supreme
effort he recovered and returned the blow.
"What a pity, Annie, it could not have been you! Paris has been your
hobby for years. When Mary returns she can tell you how to dress in the
best form and correct your French." It was a successful counter. She was
afraid to trust herself to reply. Royson drew his chair nearer.
"Annie," he said, "I would give ten years of life to establish the truth
of what you have told me. So far as Mary is concerned, we will leave
that out, but I am determined to crush this fellow Morgan at any cost.
Something tells me we have a common cause in this matter. Give me a
starting point--you owe me something. I could have involved you; I
fought it out alone." She reflected a moment.
"I cannot help you now as much as you may think. I am convinced of what
I told you, but the direct proof is wanting. You can imagine how
difficult such proof is. The man is thirty years old, probably, and
witnesses of his mother's times are old or dead."
"And what witnesses could there have been?"
"Few. John Morgan is gone. The next witness would be Rita. Rita is the
woman who kept Morgan's house for the last thirty years. She owned a
little house in the neighborhood of The Hall and was until she went to
Morgan's a professional nurse. There may be old negroes who can give you
points."
"And Rita--where is she?"
"Dead!"
A shade of disappointment swept over his face. He caught her eyes fixed
upon him with the most peculiar expression. "She is the witness on whom
I relied," she said, slowly. "She was, I believe, the only human being
in the world who could have furnished conclusive testimony as to the
origin of Edward Morgan. She died suddenly the day your letter was
published!" She did not look away as she concluded, "your letter was
published!" She did not look away as she paused, but continued with her
eyes fixed upon his; and gradually, as he watched her, the brows
contracted slightly and the lids tightened under them. A gleam of
intelligence passed to him. His face grew white and his hands closed
convulsively upon the arms of his chair.
"But that would be beyond belief," he said, at last, in a whisper. "If
what you think is true, he was her son!" She raised her brow as she
replied:
"There was no tie of association! With him everything was at stake. You
can probably understand that when a man is in love he will risk a great
deal."
Royson arose and walked the room. No man knew better than he the worst
side of the human heart. There is nothing so true in the history of
crime as that reputation is held higher than conscience. And in this
case there was the terrible passion of love. He did not reply to her
insinuation.
"You think, then," he said, stopping in front of the woman, "that,
reading my letter, he hurried home--and in this you are correct since I
saw him across the street reading the paper, and a few minutes later
throw himself into a hack and take that direction--that he rushed into
the presence of this woman, demanded the truth, and, receiving it, in a
fit of desperation, killed her!"
"What I may think, Amos, is my right to keep to myself. The only witness
died that day! There was no inquest! You asked me for a starting point."
She drew her gloves a little tighter, shook out her parasol and rose.
"But I am giving you too much of my time. I have some commissions from
Mary, who is getting ready for Paris, and I must leave you."
He neither heard her last remark nor saw her go. Standing in the middle
of the room, with his chin upon his chest, he was lost to all
consciousness of the moment. When he looked to the chair she had
occupied it was vacant. He passed his hand over his brow. The scene
seemed to have been in a dream.
But Amos Royson knew it was real. He had asked for a starting point, and
the woman had given it.
As he considered it, he unconsciously betrayed how closely akin he was
to the woman, for every fact that came to him was in that legal mind,
trained to building theories, adjusted in support of the hypothesis of
crime. He was again the prosecuting attorney. How natural at least was
such a crime, supposing Morgan capable of it.
And no man knew his history!
With one blow he had swept away the witness. That had done a thousand
times in the annals of crime. Poison, the ambush, the street encounter,
the midnight shot through the open window, the fusillade at the form
outlined in its own front door; the press had recorded it since the
beginning of newspapers. Morgan had added one more instance. And if he
had not, the suspicion, the investigation, the doubt would remain!
At this point by a perfectly natural process the mind of the man reached
its conclusion. Why need there be any suspicion, any doubt? Why might
not an inquest develop evidences of a crime? This idea involved action
and decision upon his part, and some risk.
At last he arose from the desk, where, with his head upon his hand, he
had studied so long, and prepared for action. At the lavatory he caught
sight of his own countenance in the glass. It told him that his mind was
made up. It was war to the knife, and that livid scar upon the pallor of
his face was but the record of the first failure. The next battle would
not be in the open, with the skies blue above him and no shelter at
hand. His victim would never see the knife descend, but it would descend
nevertheless, and this time there would be no trembling hand or failure
of nerve.
From his office he went direct to the coroner's and examined the
records. The last inquest was of the day previous; the next in line more
than a month before. There was no woman's name upon the list. So far
Annie was right.
Outside of cities in the south no burial permits are required. Who was
the undertaker? Inquiry would easily develop the fact, but this time he
himself was to remain in the dark. If this crime was fastened upon
Morgan, the motive would be self-evident and a reaction of public
opinion would re-establish Royson high in favor. His experience would
rank as martyrdom.
But a new failure would destroy him forever, and there was not a great
deal left to destroy, he felt.
In the community, somewhere, was a negro whose only title was "Slippery
Dick," won in many a hotly contested criminal trial. It had been said of
this man that the entire penal code was exhausted in efforts to convict
him, and always without success. He had been prosecuted for nearly every
offense proscribed by state laws. Royson's first experience with the man
was as prosecuting attorney. Afterward and within the preceding year he
had defended him in a trial for body-snatching and had secured a verdict
by getting upon the jury one man who was closely kin to the person who
purchased the awful merchandise. This negro, plausible and cunning,
hesitated at nothing short of open murder--or such was his reputation.
It was to find him that Royson went abroad. Nor was it long before he
succeeded.
That night, in a lonely cabin on the outskirts of the city, a trade was
made. Ten dollars in hand was paid. If upon an inquest by the coroner it
was found that there was a small wound on the back of the head of the
woman and the skull fractured, Slippery Dick was to receive $100 more.
This was the only risk Royson would permit himself to take, and there
were no witnesses to the trade. Dick's word was worth nothing. Discovery
could not affect the plot seriously, and Dick never confessed. The next
day he met Annie upon the road, having seen her in the city, and posted
himself to intercept her.
"I have investigated the death of Rita," he said, "and am satisfied that
there are no grounds for suspecting murder. We shall wait!" The woman
looked him in the face.
"Amos," she said, "if you were not my cousin, I would say that you are
an accomplished liar!" Before he replied there was heard the sound of a
horse's feet. Edward Morgan drove by, gravely lifting his hat.