indictment," said North soberly enough.
"That's true; yet we mustn't count the cost now, or at any future time.
But I promised Elizabeth I'd come back at once. What shall I say to her,
North?"
"Tell her that her letter has changed the whole aspect of things for me.
You must try to make her feel the fresh hope she has given me," John
replied, extending his hand.
"Conklin!" called the general. He took North's hand. "Good night; I'm
infinitely sorry to leave you here, North, but I suppose it can't be
helped--"
The sheriff entered the room while he was yet speaking.
"Finished your chat, General?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you, Conklin. Good night. Good night, North," and
Elizabeth's father hurried from the room.
For a moment North stood silent, staring absently at the door that had
just closed on the general's burly figure. He still held Elizabeth's
letter in his hand. In fancy he was seeing her as she had bent above it,
her face tender, compassionate; and then there rose the vision of that
crowded room with its palpable atmosphere, its score of curious faces
all turned toward him in eager expectation. In the midst of these
unworthy surroundings, her face, beautiful and high bred, eluded him;
the likeness, even as he saw it, was lost, nor could he call it back.
Slowly but certainly that day's experience was fixing itself unalterably
in his memory. He caught the pungent reek from the wood-stove, and
mingling with it the odor of strong cheap tobacco filled his nostrils
again; he was left with the very dregs of sordid shameful things.
The sheriff touched him on the arm.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE GAMBLER'S THEORY
Gilmore, leaving his apartment, paused to light a cigar, then sauntered
down the steps and into the street. As he did so he saw Marshall Langham
come from the post-office, half a block distant, and hurry across the
Square. Gilmore strode after him.
"Oh, say, Marsh, I want to see you!" he called when he had sufficiently
reduced the distance that separated him from his friend.
Instantly Langham paused, turning a not too friendly face toward the
gambler.
"You want to see me?" he asked.
"Didn't I say so?" demanded Gilmore, as he gained a place at his side.
"Where are you going, to the office?"
"Yes, I have some letters to answer," and Langham quickened his pace.
Gilmore kept his place at the lawyer's elbow. For a moment there was
silence between them, and then Gilmore said:
"You got away from McBride's in a hurry Saturday; why didn't you wait
and see the finish?"
Langham made no answer to this, and Gilmore, after another brief
silence, turned on him with an unexpected question:
"How would you like to be in North's shoes, Marsh?" As he spoke, the
gambler rested a hand on Langham's shoulder. He felt him shrink from the
physical contact. "Gives you a chill just to think of it, doesn't it?"
he said. "I suppose Moxlow believes there's the making of a pretty
strong case against him; eh, Marsh?"
"I don't know; I can't tell what he thinks," said Langham briefly.
"But in North's place, back there in the jail in one of those brand-new
iron cages over the yard, how would you feel? That's what I want to
know!"
Langham met his glance for an instant and then his eyes fell. He sensed
the insinuation that was back of Gilmore's words.
"Can't you put yourself in his place, with the evidence, such as it is,
all setting against you?"
"I'm due at the office," said the lawyer suddenly.
Gilmore took his arm.
"If North didn't kill McBride, who did?" he persisted.
"Why do you ask me such questions?" demanded Langham resentfully.
"My lord--can't we consider the matter?" asked the gambler laughing.
"What's the use? Here, I've got to go to the office, Andy--" and he
sought to release himself, but Gilmore retained his hold.
"I suppose you are going to see North?" he asked.
Langham came to a sudden stop.
"What's that?" he asked hoarsely.
"You have been his intimate for years; surely you are too good a friend
to turn your back on him now!"
"If he wants me, he'll send for me!" muttered Langham.
"Do you mean you aren't _going_ to him, Marsh?" asked the gambler with
well simulated astonishment.
"He knows where I'm to be found," said Langham, striding forward again,
"and, damn it, this is no concern of yours!"
"Well, by thunder!" ejaculated Gilmore.
"I don't need any points from you, Andy!" said Langham, with a sullen
sidelong glance at his companion.
They had crossed the Square, and Langham now halted at the curb.
"Good-by, Andy!" he said, and shook himself free of the other's
detaining hand.
"Hold on a minute, Marsh!" objected Gilmore.
"Well, what is it, can't you see I am in a hurry?"
"Oh, nothing here, Marsh--" and striding forward, Gilmore disappeared in
the building before which they had paused.
For an instant Langham hesitated, and then he followed the gambler.
A step or two in advance of him, Gilmore mounted the stairs, and passing
down the hall entered Langham's office. Langham followed him into the
room; he closed the door, and without a glance at Gilmore removed his
hat and overcoat and hung them up on a nail back of the door; the
gambler meanwhile had drawn an easy chair toward the open grate at the
far end of the room, before which he now established himself with
apparent satisfaction.
"I suppose the finding of the coroner's jury doesn't amount to much," he
presently said but without looking in Langham's direction.
The lawyer did not answer him. He crossed to his desk which filled the
space between the two windows overlooking the Square.
"You're damn social!" snarled Gilmore over his shoulder.
"I told you I was busy," said Langham, and he began to finger the papers
on his desk.
Gilmore swung around in his chair and faced him.
"So you won't see him--North, I mean?" he queried. "Well, you're a hell
of a friend, Marsh. You've been as thick as thieves, and now when he's
up against it good and hard, you're the first man to turn your back on
him!"
Seating himself, Langham took up his pen and began to write. Gilmore
watched him in silence for a moment, a smile of lazy tolerance on his
lips.
"Suppose North is acquitted, Marsh; suppose the grand jury doesn't hold
him," he said at length; "will the search for the murderer go on?"
The pen slipped from Langham's fingers to the desk.
"Look here, I don't want to discuss North or his affairs with you. It's
nothing to me; can't you get that through your head?"
"As his friend--" began Gilmore.
"Get rid of that notion, too!"
"That's what I wanted to hear you say, Marsh! So you're not his friend?"
"No!" exclaimed Langham briefly, and his shaking fingers searched among
the papers on his desk for the pen he had just dropped.
"So you're not his friend any more?" repeated Gilmore slowly. "Well, I
expect when a fellow gets hauled up for murder it's asking a good deal
of his friends to stand by him! Do you know, Marsh, I'm getting an
increased respect for the law; it puts the delinquents to such a hell of
a lot of trouble. It's a good thing to let alone! I'm thinking mighty
seriously of cutting out the games up at my rooms; what would you think
of my turning respectable, Marsh? Would you be among the first to extend
the warm right hand of fellowship?"
"Oh, you are respectable enough, Andy!" said Langham.
He seemed vastly relieved at the turn the conversation had taken. He
leaned back in his chair and thrust his hands in his trousers pockets.
"Say, why can't I put myself where I want to be? What's the matter with
my style, anyhow? It's as good as yours any day, Marsh; and no one ever
saw me drunk--that is a whole lot more than can be said of you; and yet
you stand in with the best people, you go to houses where I'd be thrown
out if I as much as stuck my nose inside the door!"
"Your style's all right, Andy!" Langham hastened to assure him.
"Well, it's as good as yours any day!"
"Better!" said Langham, laughing.
"Well, what's the matter with it, then?" persisted Gilmore.
"There's a good deal of it sometimes, it's rather oppressive--" said the
lawyer.
"I'll fix that," said Gilmore shortly.
"I would if I wanted what you seem to think you want," replied Langham
chuckling.
"Marsh, I'm dead serious; I'm sick of being outside all the good things.
I know plenty of respectable fellows, fellows like you; but I want to
know respectable women; why can't I?"
"If you hanker for it, you can; it's up to you, Andy," said Langham.
The gambler appeared very ingenuous in this new rôle of his.
"Look here, Marsh, I've never asked anything of you, and you must admit
that I've done you one or two good turns; now I'm going to ask a favor
of you and I don't expect to be refused; fact is, I ain't going to take
a refusal--"
"What is it, Andy?" asked Langham cautiously, "I want you to introduce
me to your wife."
"The hell you do!" ejaculated Langham.
The gambler's brow darkened.
"What do you mean by that?" he demanded angrily.
"Nothing, I was only thinking of Mrs. Langham's probable attitude in the
matter, that was all."
"You mean you think she won't want to meet me?" and in spite of himself
Gilmore's voice sounded strained and unnatural.
"I'm _sure_ she won't," said Langham with cruel candor.
"Well," observed Gilmore coolly, "I'm going to put my case in your
hands, Marsh; you come to my rooms, you drink my whisky, and smoke my
cigars and borrow my money; now I'm going to make a new deal with you.
I'm going to know your wife. I like her style--she and I'll get on fine
together, once we know each other. You make it plain to her that I'm
your friend, your best friend, about your _only_ friend!"
"You fool--" began Langham.
Gilmore quitted his chair at a bound and strode to Langham's side.
"None of that, Marsh!" he protested sternly, placing a heavy hand on
Langham's shoulder. "I see we got to understand each other, you and me!
You don't take hints; I have to bang it into you with a club or you
don't see what I'm driving at--"
"I've paid you all I owe you, Gilmore!" said Langham conclusively. "You
can't hold that over me any longer."
"I don't want to!" retorted Gilmore quietly.
"You kept your thumb on me good and hard while you could!"
"Not half so hard as I am going to if you try to get away from me now--"
"What do you mean by these threats?" cried Langham.
The gambler laughed in his face.
"You've paid me all you owe me, but I want to ask you just one question.
Where did you get the money?"
"That," said Langham, steadying himself by a mighty effort, "is none of
your business!"
"Think not?" and again Gilmore laughed, but before his eyes, fierce,
compelling, Langham's glance wavered and fell.
"I got the money from my father," he muttered huskily.
"You're a liar!" said the gambler. "I know where you got that money, and
you know I know." There was a long pause, and then Gilmore jerked out:
"But don't you worry about that. In your own fashion you have been my
friend, and it's dead against my creed to go back on a friend unless he
tries to throw me down; so don't you make the mistake of doing that, or
I'll spoil your luck! You think you got North where you want him; don't
you be too sure of that! There's one person, just one, who can clear
him, at least there's only one who is likely to try, and I'll tell you
who it is--it's your wife--" For an instant Langham thought Gilmore had
taken leave of his senses, but the gambler's next question filled him
with vague terror.
"Where was she late that afternoon, do you know?"
"What afternoon?" asked Langham.
Gilmore gave him a contemptuous glance.
"Thanksgiving afternoon, the afternoon of the murder," he snapped.
"She was at my father's, she dined there," said Langham slowly.
"That may be true enough, but she didn't get there until after six
o'clock--I'll bet you what you like on that, and I'll bet you, too, that
I know where she was from five to six. Do you take me up? No? Of course
you don't! Well, I'll tell you all the same. She was in North's rooms--"
"You lie, damn you!" cried Langham, springing to his feet. He made an
ineffectual effort to seize Gilmore by the throat, but the gambler
thrust him aside with apparent ease.
"Don't try that or you'll get the worst of it, Marsh; you've been
soaking up too much whisky to be any good at that game with me!" said
Gilmore.
[Illustration: "She was in North's rooms--"]
His manner was cool and determined. He took Langham roughly by the
shoulders and threw him back in his chair. The lawyer's face was ghastly
in the gray light that streamed in through the windows, but he had
lost his sense of personal fear in another and deeper and less selfish
emotion. Yet he realized the gambler's power over him, the power of a
perfect and absolute knowledge of his most secret and hidden concerns.
Gilmore surveyed him with a glance of quiet scorn.
"It was about half past five when she turned up at North's rooms. He had
just come up the stairs ahead of her; I imagine he knew she was coming.
I guess I could tell you a few things you don't know! All during the
summer and fall they've been meeting on the quiet--" he laughed
insolently. "Oh, you have been all kinds of a fool, Marsh; I guess
you've got on to the fact at last. And I don't wonder you are anxious to
see North hang, and that you won't go near him; I'd kill him if I stood
in your place. But maybe we can fix it so the law will do that job for
you. It seems to have the whip-hand with him just now. Well, he was the
whole thing with your wife when she went away this fall and then he
began to take up with the general's girl--sort of to keep his hand in, I
suppose--the damn fool! For she ain't a patch on your wife. I guess Mrs.
Langham had been tipped off to this new deal--that's what brought her
back to Mount Hope in such a hurry, and she went to his rooms to have it
out with him and learn just where she stood. I was in my bedroom and I
could hear them talking through the partition. It wasn't peaches and
cream, for she was rowing all right!"
"It's a lie!" cried Langham, and he strove to rise to his feet, but
Gilmore's strong hand kept him in his chair.
"No, I don't lie, Marsh, you ought to know that by this time; but
there's just one point you want to get through your head; with your
wife's help North can prove an alibi. He won't want to compromise her,
or himself with the Herbert girl, for that matter; but how long do you
think he's going to keep his mouth shut with the gallows staring him in
the face? I'm willing to go as far in this matter as the next, but you
got to do your part and pay the price, or I'll throw you down so hard
you'll never get over the jar!" His heavy jaws protruded. "Now, I've a
notion I want to know your wife. I like her style. I guess you can trust
her with me--you ain't afraid of that, are you?"
"Take your hands off me!" cried Langham, struggling fiercely.
He tore at the gambler's wrists, but Gilmore only laughed his
tantalizing laugh.
"Oh, come, Marsh, let's get back to the main point. If North's indicted
and your wife's summoned as a witness, she's got to chip in with us,
she's got to deny that she was in his room that day--you got to see to
that, I can't do everything--"
"On your word--"
"Well, you needn't quote me to her--it wouldn't help my standing with
her--but ask her where she was between half past five and six the day of
the murder; and mind this, you must make her understand she's got to
keep still no matter what happens! Put aside the notion that North won't
summon her; wait until he is really in danger and then see how quick he
squeals!"
"She may have gone to his rooms," said Langham chokingly, "but that
doesn't prove anything wrong--"
"Oh, come, Marsh, you ain't fool enough to feel that way about it--"
"Let me up, Gilmore!"
"No, I won't; I'm trying to make you see things straight for your own
good. What's the matter, anyhow; don't you and your wife get on?"
Langham's face was purple with rage and shame, while his eyes burned
with a murderous hate. Rude hands had uncovered his hidden sore; yet
ruder speech was making mock of the disgraceful secret. It was of his
wife that this coarse bully was speaking! That what he said was probably
true--Evelyn herself had admitted much--did not in the least ease the
blow that had crushed his pride and self-respect. He lay back in his
chair, limp and panting under Gilmore's strong hands. Where was his own
strength of heart and arm that he should be left powerless in this
moment of unspeakable degradation?
"It behooves you to do something more than soak up whisky," said the
gambler. "You must find out what took your wife to North's rooms, and
you must make her keep quiet no matter what happens. If you go about it
right it ought to be easy, for they had some sort of a row and he's
mixed up with the Herbert girl; you got that to go on. Now, the question
is, is she mad enough to see him go to the penitentiary or hang without
opening her mouth to save him? Come, you should know something about her
by this time; I would, if I had been married to her as long as you
have."
Suddenly he released Langham and fell back a step. The lawyer staggered
to his feet, adjusting his collar and cravat which Gilmore's grasp on
his throat had disarranged. He glanced about him with a vague notion of
obtaining some weapon that would put him on an equality with his more
powerful antagonist, but nothing offered, and he took a step toward the
door.
"Don't be a fool, Marsh," said the gambler coldly. "I'm going to change
my tactics with you. I'm not going to wear myself out keeping your nose
pointed in the right direction; you must do something for yourself, you
drunken fool!"
Langham took another step toward the door, but his eyes--the starting
bloodshot eyes of a hunted animal--still searched the room for some
weapon. Except for the heavy iron poker by the grate, there was nothing
that would serve his purpose, and he must pass the gambler to reach
that. Still fumbling with his collar he paused irresolutely, midway of
the room. Pride and self-respect would have taken him from the place but
hate and fear kept him there.
Gilmore threw himself down in a chair before the fire and lit a cigar.
In spite of himself Langham watched him, fascinated. There was such
conscious power and mastery in everything the gambler did, that he felt
the various purposes that were influencing him collapse with miserable
futility. What was the use of struggling?
"You can do as you blame please in this matter, Marsh," said the gambler
at length. "I haven't meant to offend you or insult you, but if you want
to see it that way--all right, it suits me. You needn't look about you,
for you won't find any sledges here; you ought to know that."
"What do you mean--" asked Langham in a whisper.
"Draw up a chair and sit down, Marsh, and we'll thrash this thing out if
it takes all night. Here, have a cigar!" for Langham had drawn forward a
chair. With trembling fingers he took the cigar the gambler handed him.
"Now light up," said Gilmore. He watched Langham strike a match, watched
his shaking hands as he brought its flame to the cigar's end. "That's
better," he said as the first puff of smoke left Langham's colorless
lips. "So you think you want to know what I mean, eh? Well, I'm going to
take you into my confidence, Marsh, and just remember you can't
possibly reach the poker without having me on top of you before you get
to it! You were pretty sober for you the afternoon of the murder, not
more than half shot, we'll say, but later on when you hunted me up at
the McBride house, you were as drunk as you will ever be, and slobbering
all sorts of foolishness!"
He puffed his cigar in silence for a moment. Langham's had gone out and
he was nervously chewing the end of it.
"What did I say?" he asked at length.
"Oh, all sorts of damn nonsense. You're smart enough sober, but get you
drunk and you ain't fit to be at large!"
"What did I say?" repeated Langham.
"Better let me forget that," rejoined Gilmore significantly. "And look
here, Marsh, I was sweating blood Saturday when they had Nelson on the
stand, but it's clear he had no suspicion that my rooms were occupied on
the night of the murder. You were blue about the gills while Moxlow was
questioning him, and I don't wonder; as I tell you, I wasn't comfortable
myself, for I knew well enough how that bit of burnt bond got into the
ash barrel--"
"Hush! For God's sake--" whispered Langham in uncontrollable terror.
Gilmore laughed.
"My lord, man, you got to keep your nerve! Look here, Mount Hope ain't
going to talk of anything but the McBride murder; you are going to hear
it from morning to night, and that's one of the reasons you got to keep
sober. You've done your best so far to queer yourself, and unless you
listen to reason you may do it yet."
"I don't know what you mean--" said Langham.
"Don't you, Marsh? Well, I got just one more surprise in store for you,
but I'll keep it to myself a while longer before I spring it on you."
He was thinking of Joe Montgomery's story; if Langham did not prove
readily tractable, that should be the final weapon with which he would
beat him into submission. Presently he said:
"I've all along had my own theory about old man McBride's murder, and
now I'm going to see what you think of it, Marsh."
An icy hand seemed to be clutching Langham's heart. Gilmore's cruel
smiling eyes noted his suffering. He laughed.
"Of course, I don't think North killed McBride, not for one minute I
don't; in fact, it's a dead moral certainty he didn't!" He leaned
forward in his chair and looked into his companion's eyes. For an
instant Langham met his glance without flinching and then his eyes
shifted and sought the floor. "I'll bet," said Gilmore's cool voice,
"I'll bet you what you like I could put my hand on the man who did the
murder!" and as he spoke he reached out and by an apparently accidental
gesture, rested his hand on Langham's shoulder. "You wouldn't like to
risk any money on that little bet, eh, Marsh?" He sank back in his
chair and applied himself to his cigar in silence, but his eyes never
left Langham's face.
Presently he took the cigar from between his strong even teeth. "Now,
I'm going to give you my theory," he said. "I want to see what you think
of it--but remember always, I believe in letting well enough alone! They
got North caged in one of those nice new cells down at the jail and that
suits me all right! My theory is that the man who killed McBride was
needing money mighty badly and he went to McBride as a sort of a last
chance. He found the old fellow alone in the office--understand, he
didn't go there with any fixed purpose of killing him, his ideas had not
carried him that far--he was willing to borrow the money if the old man
would lend it to him. He probably needed quite a sum, say two or three
thousand dollars, and the need was urgent, you must keep that in mind
and then you'll see perfectly how it all happened. Possibly my man was
of the sort who don't fancy disagreeable interviews and had put off
going to the store until the last moment, but once he had settled that
point with himself he was determined he wouldn't come away without the
money. The old fellow, however, took a different view of the situation;
he couldn't see why he should lend any money, especially when the
borrower was vague on the matter of security.
"Well, I guess they talked quite a while there at the back of the
store, McBride standing in the doorway of the office all the time. At
last it got to my man that he wasn't to have the money. But there was
trouble ahead of him if he didn't get it and he wouldn't give up; he
kept on making promises--urging his need--and his willingness and
ability to meet his obligations. He was like a starving man in the
presence of food, for he knew McBride had the money in his safe and the
safe door was open. His need seemed the only need in all the world, and
it came to him that since McBride would not lend him the money he
wanted, why not take it from him anyhow? He couldn't see consequences,
he could only realize that he must have two or three thousand dollars!
Perhaps he got a glimmer of reason just here, and if he did he was
pretty badly frightened to think that he should even consider violence;
he turned away to leave McBride and the old man followed him a ways down
the store, explaining why they couldn't do business."
Gilmore paused. His cigar had gone out; now he struck a match, but he
did not take his eyes from Langham's face. He did not speak at once even
when his cigar was lighted.