PLOTTERS
"The wicked plotteth against the just."--Ps. xxxvii, 12
It was just before noon when Peter Grimes placed Cynthy aboard the
train which was to carry her north to her parents and safety. Peter
performed the duty because there was no way of avoiding it without
danger to himself. The letter which had come to him from Cynthy's
father had contained not only her railroad fare but an extra amount
to pay for the care of the baby, for whom no arrangements had been
made at the time the parents, in dire poverty and uncertain as to the
outcome of their venture into an unknown locality, had decided to
leave with his sister.
Now, the father had written, most laboriously, to thank Peter for his
kindness and to repay him for the extra expense incurred. Both
children, the letter stated, were to be sent in the care of the
conductor of the train designated. The conductor had even been
notified when to expect them.
The length of time Peter had been accepting the remittances sent with
such regularity by Cynthy's father made it necessary for him to
surrender the little girl when requested. As for the baby, nobody
knew when it died; never would know. The parents were too far away
to ask questions. They couldn't do anything, anyway.
Peter's conscience did not trouble him as he pocketed the money they
had sent. He had no conscience.
A dumb animal, when it hears a cry of distress from another of its
kind will manifest alarm, anxiety and a desire to help the afflicted
one. Peter Grimes was lower than the animals. Totally devoid of
moral sense, his callousness to suffering had developed within him
all the characteristics of a fiend. The first money ever handed him
in an envelope without any effort on his part to earn it had been the
final undoing of an already unbalanced and distorted mind.
The thought of procuring more and more money in the same manner
became an obsession. It was the object of his life. His pastime and
recreation was the infliction of pain. It thrilled him to witness
suffering in any form. The more he witnessed the more insatiable he
grew. He found satisfaction in seeing anything helpless succumb to
his mighty power. It gratified his pride.
Covertly he shook his fist after the receding train. He would have
enjoyed seeing it blown to bits or flung over an embankment. That
train was bearing from him the human equivalent of money. Peter
would miss those regular remittances.
Climbing once more into his old buggy, he turned the horse's head in
the direction of the post office. He had placed an advertisement in
three newspapers published in three different towns. Someone may
have written regarding the placement of a child on his farm. That
would fill the vacancy just caused by the withdrawal of Cynthy. The
thought afforded Peter pleasurable anticipation. It was followed by
another that caused a horrid, sinister smile to twist his crooked
face in a grimace so malignant that anyone observing it would have
fled from his presence.
"Thet thar least un's Maw--ef ther hain't no money cum from her
ter-day, I know whut I'm a-goin' ter do. I cain't afford ter keep
hit a-squallin' aroun' an' Mollie a-spendin' all her time a-keerin'
fur hit. Ther hain't nawthin' ter be made harborin' them kind o'
young-uns. A woman 'thout a man allus gits tared payin' money fer
her young-un an' clars out. I reckon thet's whut she's done. Ef she
thinks I'm a-goin' ter keep th' brat she's p'int-blank wrong."
But the baby's mother was not so unnatural as Peter supposed. There
was a letter from her among the mail awaiting Peter at the post
office. The letter was a mere scrawl, on very soiled paper, and with
it were several one dollar bills, also much soiled and crumpled.
Peter recognized the handwriting before he opened the envelope. The
same handwriting appeared on a small package that was also handed to
Peter. It was marked:
"Fragile--Handle with Care."
He thrust the package into his pocket. "Another fool toy!" he
muttered under his breath. "Thet woman's a plumb idjit."
Before he had time to read the letter or to continue examining his
mail he heard himself addressed. Thrusting the envelope with the
soiled dollar bills into his pocket with the package and other
letters, Peter turned to face the speaker.
The latter was a man of about thirty-five years. He was somewhat
stocky in build, well dressed, and had sharp, restless eyes that
seemed to be ever on the alert as if he were expecting someone,
watching for someone or was apprehensive of surveillance. At first
glance he might have been described as rather prepossessing, but when
he smiled, the manner in which his upper lip curled back from his
teeth and drew up under his short, dark mustache made one feel that
it boded ill for the person who thwarted his will or incurred his
enmity.
Peter stared for a moment before he recognized the man. The
stranger's lip curled in a smile. Peter knew him then. But no
answering smile twisted his face. Plainly he was not pleased by the
encounter.
"Howdy!" he ejaculated in a tone that would have discouraged anyone
not having a special object in accosting him.
Again the stranger smiled. He seemed to enjoy Peter's discomfiture.
"Don't get alarmed," he remarked cheerfully. "I didn't come to take
the girl away. You received that last money I sent, didn't you?"
Peter became more cheerful. Instantly his face darkened.
"I got hit," he replied, "but hit'll hafter be more nex' time. Yo'
must ha' ben mighty unthoughted not ter conceit a big gal like she is
now costs more ter feed an' clothe than a leetle, mosquito-like thing
she war when yo' brung her ter me five year back."
"Oh, come now," returned the other, speaking in a low voice and
drawing Peter to one side. "I'm paying you plenty and you know it.
I gave you too much in the first place, that's all. But a bargain's
a bargain and I'll stand by it. And I'm going to see that you do,
too. Get me?"
Evidently Peter did, for he made no reply. He merely stood with his
head slightly drooped, like a dog that has received a lash, waiting
for what was to follow. He had not long to wait.
"I just got into town this morning," the man continued. "I was
planning to take a run out to your place. Luckily, I saw you drive
by the hotel. I thought you'd probably stop here at the post office,
so I hurried right down."
He paused. Peter waited, then edged toward the door. "Waal, I
reckon I'd better be gittin' on," he drawled.
The other stayed his departure. "Wait a minute," he said. "I want
to talk with you. I've got a proposition I think you'll be
interested in. You'd better put your horse up somewhere and come
over to the hotel--say in about half an hour. I've got a man out now
getting some information. He'll be back by that time and I'll be
ready to discuss the matter."
Peter twisted and writhed as he peered furtively at the speaker
before replying.
"Ther hain't no call fer me ter go ter no hotel es fur es I kin see,"
he remarked. "Jes' whut mought yo' be aimin' ter talk ter me erbout?"
Again the man's lip curled back, his mustache drooped down and he
spoke through his white teeth much as a dog would emit a low,
threatening snarl.
"I thought you might like to make a little easy money. Of course if
you don't, I can take the girl--Mollie--off your hands as well now as
any time."
The threat was not lost on Peter. He did not want to surrender
Mollie. She was his main source of income. It had been bad enough
to lose Cynthy. But the amount he received for Mollie was far beyond
the small sum Cynthy's father had been wont to remit. And this man
now talking to him about a proposition to make easy money was Bailey,
the stranger he had met at the crossroads five years previous and
with whom he had made a contract that had brought him more easy money
than he had ever dreamed of.
Peter thrust his tongue in his cheek and revolved the tobacco in his
mouth while his slow-moving wits considered the ultimatum that had
just been issued.
"All right," he said, at length. "I got a little business ter look
arter et Smith's Golden Rule an' then I'll come right over. Whar'll
I find yo'?"
Bailey told him the location of his room. "You needn't say anything
to anyone at the hotel," he remarked in a casual manner. "Just come
right up to the room."
Peter grunted scornfully. "Huh! Yo' don't need ter be afeared o' my
sayin' nawthin' ter nobody."
"I believe you," returned Bailey as they separated.
Half an hour later, in a room of the Mansion House, Grimes, Bailey
and a third man, that Bailey introduced at Mr. Swazey, sat down
together to discuss the proposition dealing with easy money.
Mr. Swazey was not one who, from his appearance, would ever be judged
to have had much money, easy or otherwise. He had a belligerent
face, red hair, freckles, and pale blue eyes that were as hard and
cold as steel. He wore a cheap suit of plaid material, a dazzling
stick pin and a pair of sneakers.
"It's like this, Mr. Grimes," said Bailey, after making sure there
was no possibility of their conversation being overheard. "Mr.
Swazey, here, is going to assist me in a little undertaking of a
purely business nature. We need a man of your judgement,--one who
knows how to keep his mouth shut--to go in with us on the deal. If
it goes through successfully, as it ought to if you do your part,
there's a thousand dollars in it for you, cold cash."
He paused to let the statement sink in. There was no doubt, however,
of Peter's comprehension. His jaw fell, his mouth opened and his
small, venomous eyes gleamed with avarice.
A thousand dollars! He had never seen so much money. His hands
closed and unclosed convulsively as if he already felt it in his
grasp. Keep his mouth shut? Go in on the deal? Ha! There was
nothing he would not do to possess a thousand dollars. If they
thought he was liable to refuse they were crazy. He closed his mouth
and licked his lips in a fever of expectation. So deeply was he
revolving the matter in his mind that he forgot to speak. Bailey
roused him.
"Well, what do you say?"
"Shore."
"You'll do it?"
"Shore."
"All right, it's a bargain. Mr. Swazey, here, is a witness. And if
there's any backing out or double-crossing or any leak--"
Bailey paused and displayed his teeth while his lip curled back and
his mustache drooped down and the impression was given that in any of
the eventualities mentioned, serious and probably fatal results would
be experienced by Mr. Peter Grimes.
"Thar won't be none," that gentleman declared, greedily. "Whut I
wanter know is, when do I git the thousand dollars!"
"When we get the pile we're after," Bailey replied, "and here's cash
money in advance for the care of the child." He counted out some
bills which Grimes accepted eagerly. "As I said, it's an
undertaking," Bailey went on. "We hope it will be successful. We
expect it to be successful. If it fails we all stand to lose. If it
goes through, we all win. Do you know what a ransom is, Mr. Grimes?"
Peter thought he did, but Bailey enlightened him further.
"Now, the whole thing hinges on whether or not our man will come
across with the money after he finds his child has disappeared,"
Bailey said when he had finished. "If he refuses--if he sets the
police after us--all we have to do is put the kid where it will never
be found, dead or alive. That'll be up to you, Grimes. What we want
you to do is hold the youngster until the father agrees to pay; then
we'll come and fetch her and give her to him in exchange for the
ransom money. We'll take you with us, so you can see the deal
finished and you'll get your thousand dollars then and there."
Grimes had been following every word with the utmost attention. He
now looked apprehensively over his shoulder as if he thought someone
might be standing behind him, then leaned forward and said:
"An' ef he doesn't pay--" He paused questioningly.
Again Bailey's lip curled back from his teeth and his mustache
drooped as he looked straight into the gleaming eyes of the supposed
hog-farmer.
"I think you'll know what to do--won't you?"
Grimes' face twisted to one side and his fingers moved as if
clutching something by the throat. "Shore," he replied. "An' I'll
do hit. Arything 'at stands atween me an' one thousand dollars
hain't a-goin' ter stand thar long."
"I guess we understand each other," said Bailey. "Now we'll get down
to business. When do you think we can do the job, Swazey?"