THE MAN WITH THE TORCH.
The startling news had been discussed in all its phases in the little
parlor, Mary taking no part. She sat with averted face listening, but
ever and anon when Edward's indignation became unrestrainable she turned
and looked at him. She did not know that the paper contained a reference
to her.
The astounding revelation, aside from the accusation, was the wound.
Strange that he had not discovered it. Who could have murdered poor
Rita? Positively the only person on the immediate premises were Virdow,
Evan and Gerald. Virdow was of course out of the question, and the
others were in the room. It was the blow that had driven her head
through the glass. What enemy could the woman have had?
So far as he was concerned, the charge could amount to nothing; Evan was
in the room with him; the general would surely remember that.
But the horror, the mortification--he, Edward Morgan, charged with
murder, and the center of a scandal in which the name of Mary Montjoy
was mentioned.
The passion left him; depressed and sick from reaction he sat alone in
the little parlor, long after the ladies had retired; and then came the
climax. A cablegram reached the house and was handed in to him. It was
signed by Evan and read:
"You have been indicted. Return."
"Indicted," and for murder, of course. It gave him no uneasiness, but it
thrust all light and sweetness from life. The dream was over. There
could now be no search for Marion Evan. That must pass, and with it
hope.
He had builded upon that idea castles whose minarets wore the colors of
sunrise. They had fallen and his life lay among the ruins.
He threw himself upon the bed to sleep, but the gray of dawn was already
over the city; there came a rumbling vehicle in the street; he heard the
sound of a softly closing door--and then he arose and went out. The
early morning air and exercise brought back his physical equipoise. He
returned for breakfast, with a good appetite, and though grave, was
tranquil again.
Neither of the ladies brought up the painful subject; they went with him
to see the learned oculist and came back silent and oppressed. There was
no hope.
The diagnosis corresponded with Dr. Campbell's; the blind eye might have
been saved years ago, but an operation would not have been judicious
under the circumstances. Continued sight must depend upon general
health.
All their pleasures and hopes buried in one brief day, they turned their
backs on Paris and started homeward.
Edward saw Cambia no more; Mrs. Montjoy called alone and said farewell.
The next day they sailed from Havre.
In New York Norton met them, grave and embarrassed for once in his life,
and assisted in their hurried departure for the far southern home. There
was no exchange of views between the two men. The paper Norton had sent
was acknowledged; that was all. The subject was too painful for
discussion. And so they arrived in Georgia. They mere met by the Montjoy
carriage at a little station near the city. It was the 11:20 p. m.
train. Gen. Evan was waiting for Edward.
The handshaking over, they rapidly left the station. Evan had secured
from the sheriff a temporary exemption from arrest for Edward, but it
was understood that he was to remain out of sight.
They arrived within a couple of miles of the Cedars, having only
broached commonplace subjects, traveling incidents and the like, when a
negro stopped them. In the distance they heard a hound trailing.
"Boss, kin air one er you gentlemen gi' me a match? I los' my light back
yonder, and hit's too putty er night ter go back without a possum." Evan
drew rein. He was a born sportsman and sympathetic.
"I reckon so," he said; "and--well, I can't," he concluded, having tried
all pockets. "Mr. Morgan, have you a match?" Edward had one and one
only. He drew all the little articles of his pockets into his hand to
find it.
"Now, hold," said the general; "let's light our cigars. If it's to be
the last chance." The negro touched the blazing match to splinters of
lightwood, as the southern pitch pine is called when dry, and instantly
he stood in a circle of light, his features revealed in every detail.
Edward gazed into it curiously. Where had he seen that face? It came
back like the lines of some unpleasant dream--the thick lips, the flat
nose, the retreating forehead, full eyes and heavy eyelids, and over all
a look of infinite stupidity. The negro had fixed his eyes a moment upon
the articles in Edward's hand and stepped back quickly. But he recovered
himself and with clumsy thanks, holding up his flaming torch, went away,
leaving only the uncertain shadows dancing across the road.
At home Gen. Evan threw aside all reserve. He drew their chairs up into
the sheltered corner of the porch.
"I have some matters to talk over," he said, "and our time is short.
Yours is not a bailable case and we must have a speedy trial. The law
winks at your freedom to-night; it will not do to compromise our friends
in the court house by unnecessary delay. Edward, where was I when you
discovered the body of the woman, Rita Morgan?" Edward looked through
the darkness at his friend, who was gazing straight ahead.
"You were standing by Gerald's bed, looking upon him."
"How did you discover her? It never occurred to me to ask; were you not
in the room also?"
"I certainly was. She broke the glass by pressing against it, as I
thought at the time, but now I see she was struck. I rushed out and
picked her up, and you came when I called."
"Exactly. And you both talked loudly out there."
"Why do you ask?"
"Because," said Evan, slowly, "therein lies the defect in our defense. I
cannot swear you were in the room upon my own knowledge. I had been
astounded by the likeness of Gerald to those who had been dear to me--I
was absorbed. Then I heard you cry out, and found you in the yard."
There was a long pause. Edward's heart began to beat with sledge-hammer
violence.
"Then," he said with a strange voice, "as the case would be presented, I
was found with the body of the woman; she had been murdered and I was
the only one who had a motive. Is that it?"
"That is it." The young man arose and walked the porch in silence.
"But that is not all," said Gen. Evan. "If it were, I would have cabled
you to go east from Paris. There is more. Is there any one on earth who
could be interested in your disgrace or death?"
"None that I know of--that is, well, no; none that I know of. You
remember Royson; we fought that out. He cannot cherish enmity against a
man who fought him in an open field."
"Perhaps you are mistaken."
"From what do you speak?"
"You had been in Paris but a few days when one night as I sat here your
friend Barksdale--great man that Barksdale; a trifle heady and
confident, but true as steel--Barksdale came flying on his sorrel up the
avenue and landed here.
"'General,' said he, 'I have discovered the most damnable plot that a
man ever faced. All this scandal about Morgan is not newspaper sensation
as you suppose, it is the first step in a great tragedy.' And then he
went on to tell me that Gerald had invaded his room and shown him
pictures of an open grave, the face of a dead woman and also the face of
the man who opened that grave, drawn with every detail perfect. Gerald
declared that he witnessed the disinterment and drew the scene from
memory----"
"Hold a minute," said Edward; he was now on his feet, his hand uplifted
to begin a statement; "and then--and then----"
"The object of that disinterment was to inflict the false wound and
charge you with murder."
"And the man who did it--who made that wound--was the man who begged a
match from us on the road. I will swear it, if art is true. I have seen
the picture." Evan paused a moment to take in the vital fact. Then there
rung out from him a half-shout:
"Thank God! Thank God!" The chairs that stood between him and the door
were simply hurled out of the way. His stentorian voice called for his
factotum. "John!" and John did not wait to dress, but came.
"Get my horse and a mule saddled and bring that puppy Carlo. Quick,
John, quick!" John fled toward the stable. "Edward, we win if we get
that negro--we win!" he exclaimed, coming back through the wreck of his
furniture.
"But why should the negro have disinterred the body and have made a
wound upon her head? There can be no motive."
"Heavens, man, no motive! Do you know that you have come between two men
and Mary Morgan?"
"I have never suspected it, even."
"Two have sought her with all the energy of manhood," said Evan. "Two
men as different as the east from the west. Royson hates you and will
leave no stone unturned to effect your ruin; Barksdale loves her and
will leave no stone unturned to protect her happiness! There you have it
all. Only one man in the world could have put that black devil up to his
infamous deed--and that man is Royson. Only one man in the world could
have grasped the situation and have read the riddle correctly--and that
man is Barksdale." Edward was dazed. Gradually the depth and villainy of
the conspiracy grew clear.
"But to prove it----"
"The negro."
"Will he testify?"
"Will he? If I get my hands on him, young man, he will testify! Or he
will hang by the neck from a limb as his possum hangs by the tail."
"You propose to capture him?"
"I am going to capture him." He disappeared in the house and when he
came out he had on his army belt, with sword and pistol. The mounts were
at the door and for the first time in his life Edward was astride a
mule. To his surprise the animal bounded along after the gray horse,
with a smooth and even gait, and kept up without difficulty.
Evan rode as a cavalryman and carried across his saddle the puppy. With
unerring skill he halted at the exact spot where the match had been
struck, and lowered the dog gently to the ground. The intelligent,
excited animal at once took up the trail of man or dogs, and opening
loudly glided into the darkness. They followed.
Several miles had been covered, when they saw in the distance a glimmer
of light among the trees and Evan drew rein.
"It will not do," he said, "to ride upon him. At the sound of horses'
feet he will extinguish his light and escape. The dog, he will suppose,
is a stray one led off by his own and will not alarm him." They tied
their animals and pressed on.
The dog ahead had openel and Carlo's voice could be heard with the rest,
as they trailed the fleeing possum. The general was exhausted. "I can't
do it, Edward, my boy--go on. I will follow as fast as possible."
Without a word Edward obeyed. The dogs were now furious, the man himself
running. In the din and clamor he could hear nothing of pursuit. The
first intimation he had of danger was a grip on his collar and a man's
voice exclaiming excitedly:
"Halt! You are my prisoner!"
The torch fell to the ground and lay sputtering. The negro was terrified
for the moment, but his quick eye pierced the gloom and measured his
antagonist. He made a fierce effort to break away, and failing, threw
himself with immense force upon Edward. Then began a frightful struggle.
No word was spoken. The negro was powerful, but the white man was
inspired by a memory and consciousness of his wrongs. They fell and
writhed, and rose and fell again. Slippery Dick had got his hand upon
Edward's throat. Suddenly his grasp relaxed and he lay with the white of
his eyes rolled upward. The muzzle of a cavalry pistol was against his
head and the stern face of the veteran was above him.
"Get up!" said the general, briefly.
"Certainly, boss," was the reply, and breathless the two men arose.
The defense had its witness!
"Ef he had'n conjured me," said the negro doggedly, "he couldn't 'er
done it." He had recognized among the little things that Edward drew
from his pocket on the road the voodoo's charm.
Edward breathless, took up the torch and looked into Dick's countenance.
"I am not mistaken, general, this is the man."