So--peacefully, slept the un-shrouded dead,
Beyond caring whether they stoned or kissed her;
Till a Ministering Angel came instead,
In the guise of a Salvation Army Sister.
_Poor "Skagway Kate"_
Brightly, ah, so brightly, the rays of the early morning sun flooded
that sad room with their golden radiance, lighting up with a veritable
halo of glory the still, peaceful face of one for whom the weary
troubles and pain of this world had ceased.
The door opened softly and Musgrave, standing in its aperture, surveyed
a scene that awed and shook even _his_ cynical nature to its very
depths. For some minutes he remained with bowed head, perfectly
motionless, a picture of silent sympathy then, tip-toeing noiselessly
forward, he shook the still sleeping Benton gently, and a haggard, drawn
face was slowly upturned to his.
"Come, old man," he said quietly. "Rouse yourself. You can do no more
good here now."
And, stiff and cold, the Sergeant arose and followed him out like a
child.
Wearily he returned to the detachment and, with mechanical instinct,
tidied up the place. Then, duly attending scrupulously to his personal
toilet, he went down to the hotel, where he forced himself to swallow a
few mouthfuls of food and a cup of coffee. Later he repaired to the room
of Musgrave's patient and, after subjecting that unfortunate individual
to a somewhat lengthy examination, he formally placed him under arrest.
These duties despatched, he departed with a heavy heart to the station
to await the incoming west-bound train, which was over an hour late.
Gradually, under the influence of his surroundings and the fresh morning
air, mind and body, from constant habit, returned, naturally, to their
normal state of soldierly alertness. To all outward appearance he became
once more the composed, practical guardian of the Law, resourceful and
ready for any duty that claimed him. Presently he was joined by the
station agent, who greeted him with a sort of miserable heartiness.
"Well, Sergeant," he began, "and how are we this morning? Some doings
last night, eh? What about that ear of yours? You look as if you'd sure
come through a rough house, with that bandage on. What's the other
feller look like?"
Ellis did not answer for a moment, but a faint grin overspread his
haggard face as he regarded the other's tell-tale countenance
attentively.
"_We_!" he echoed, with quiet derision. "I'm afraid _we_ doesn't feel
very well this nice mornin', Carey. Ear stings like the devil. As for
the other fellow--you know what _he_ looks like, all right. You look as
if you were just doin' a 'walk-march' to your _own_ funeral. You'd
better keep a flask on your hip for emergencies, as you an' me'll be the
star witnesses when this inquest comes off. I'm expectin' the coroner
an' one of our inspectors on this train."
"Oh, I don't think I'll fall off the perch just yet," said the agent,
with a sheepish smile. "I've got the other key off Petersen," he
continued significantly. "One or two of the curious ones came nosing
around, but I warned 'em off the course, quick. Hello! here she comes.
Well, I'll see you later, Sergeant." And he hurried away about his
duties.
Inspector Purvis, a dark, heavy-set, middle-aged man, wearing the South
African and Riel Rebellion campaign ribbons, acknowledged Benton's
salute punctiliously and, turning, introduced his companion.
"This is Dr. Sampson, the coroner, Sergeant Benton," he said.
And Ellis shook hands with a tall, gray-mustached, pleasant-faced man,
whom he knew very well by sight. The latter glanced sharply at the
policeman's bandaged head.
"Looks as if you'd been in the wars, Sergeant," he said. "What's
happened you?"
Ellis drew them on one side and briefly related his story, to which they
listened with lively interest.
"Well, well," said the Inspector at its conclusion. "We'll wait till
this train pulls out, and let these people get away, and then we'll go
on down to this section hut and view this body."
Ten minutes later they stood in front of the shed, and Ellis unlocked
the door and flung it open. An angry buzz greeted them, as their
presence disturbed a hideous swarm of blue-bottle flies. Sharp
exclamations of loathing and disgust escaped the two newcomers who,
after gazing for a few seconds at the _thing_ that had once been a man,
proceeded to note all details carefully, with the callous precision of
men hardened to such sights.
Once the Inspector's glance traveled curiously, from the shattered head
of the corpse, to the stern, bandaged face of the man beside him, who
had caused this terrible transformation.
"Some shootin'!" he observed, in a low voice, to the coroner.
It seemed to be rather a doubtful compliment, though, under the
circumstances, so the latter only nodded nonchalantly, and refrained
from comment himself.
"There's absolutely no doubt about this being Shapiro, the man that's
wanted, sir," said Ellis. "I saw the other man, Wilks, who's lying sick
up at the hotel, this morning. He confirms this man's identity, and
admits everything. I'll take you up to see him later."
Presently the coroner straightened himself up.
"All right!" he said. "I guess I'm through here, if you are, Inspector.
Let's go and view the other body at the house the Sergeant speaks of."
They turned to go, and Ellis locked the door again.
"Oh, Benton!" said the Inspector, in a low tone, beckoning him aside.
"Just a minute."
With a slightly uncomfortable presentiment of what was coming, the
former obeyed.
There was a moment's silence, while the Inspector eyed him keenly, but
not unkindly.
"I understand this isn't the first man you've shot and killed in the
execution of your duty, Sergeant, since you've been in this Division,"
he said.
Ellis bowed his head in assent.
"Well, in that case," continued the Inspector briskly, "your previous
experience has no doubt enlightened you, then, in regard to the
customary procedure in such cases. You are, of course, aware that the
finding of a coroner's jury, while it may acquit you of all blame in
causing a person's death, doesn't necessarily preclude any subsequent
inquiry that the _Crown_ may see fit to institute later, although it
would naturally carry considerable weight with it in such an
eventuality...."
He paused for a moment, and then went on in the slightly sententious
tones of one who knows he has an unpleasant duty to perform:
"I've the O.C.'s orders to place you under 'open' arrest, and take you
back to the Post with me. There will be a formal charge laid against
you, and you will have to face an inquiry in regard to this man's death.
Of course, I shall remain here until these inquests, etc., are over.
That is all, Sergeant. Now we'll go on down to this other place."
With a strange, indefinable feeling of reluctance, he conducted them
thither. Awed, and filled with compassion at what they beheld, they
halted irresolutely, a moment, on the threshold, and bared their heads
reverently in the presence of the dead. Then, entering the chamber, they
made a brief examination which, to Benton, standing idly there in his
dumb misery, seemed almost in the light of a sacrilege.
A whispered colloquy ensued between them for a few minutes, and then
they gently withdrew and closed the door, Ellis following them out to
receive his instructions.
"Inspector," began the coroner, "I would have liked, if possible, to
have had this double inquest held here; but there's not enough room, I'm
afraid. Could you--"
Ellis, with ready tact, broke in quietly: "I think I can arrange that,
all right, doctor. I know the man who rents this cottage next door. He's
the day operator at the station. His wife's away just now, so he's
staying with Mr. Carey, the station agent. There wouldn't be any
difficulty about obtaining the use of _his_ premises to hold the inquiry
in, and I could have the other body removed down here, so as to utilize
this place as the morgue."
"Ah, very well," said the coroner, with evident relief; "that will be
entirely satisfactory. There's just one other thing I would like you to
see to, Sergeant. Kindly get some woman to attend to the necessary
arrangements in this last case--lay her out decently, and so on--you
understand?"
"And afterwards," supplemented the Inspector, "of course give Dr.
Sampson all the assistance you can in empanelling a jury. Why, hello,
doctor!" he exclaimed, turning to Musgrave, who had just joined them.
"_You_ seem to have been getting yourself mixed up in stirring events
around here, according to what Sergeant Benton tells me. Whatever brings
you so far away from home? I guess we'll need your evidence at these
inquests."
The three men chatted awhile, then presently, the coroner and the
Inspector departed for the hotel, leaving Musgrave and Benton together.
An indefinable constraint seemed to have fallen upon them, for the
gloomy memory of the past night was still vivid in their minds and
oppressed them greatly. The doctor was the first to break the silence.
"By gum!" he said; "I'd clean forgotten about your ear, Ellis. My bag's
still here. Let's dress it again for you. Come inside again for a bit."
With deft hands he soon performed the operation and Benton, studiously
avoiding the elder man's eyes, thanked him and, with a slightly overdone
yawn, prepared to leave and carry out the orders that he had previously
received. Throughout Musgrave had talked incessantly on irrelevant
subjects. It seemed as if he were maundering with design, beating about
the bush of some communication he feared to make, and just talking
against time.
"Well! have you seen that patient of mine up at the hotel yet?" he
inquired.
The Sergeant, with a curious, apprehensive glance at the closed bedroom
door, beckoned the other outside. As if, almost, he feared that the dead
might hear.
"Yes," he said. "Saw him when I went up for breakfast He's the man, all
right--Herbert Wilks--admits everything. Seemed glad to get it off his
chest. Told me the whole business. Sounds just like a dime novel yarn.
Well, truth's stranger than fiction, so they say. Appears he's been a
dissipated young beggar, and he got fired from the Trust Company for
inattention to his work. The very day he got let out he happened to pick
up a paper in the manager's private office, which turned out to be
nothing more or less than the combination of the safe. Suppose the
manager--or whoever _had_ the combination--was scared to commit it to
memory alone. Well, being, as I said before, a dissipated young scamp,
he'd somehow got mixed up with this Shapiro chap in one or two dirty
deals--women, I guess--an' what not. Of course, he was pretty sore about
gettin' the push--went on a bust that night, an' while he was 'lit' told
Shapiro all about this paper he'd found. You just bet Mister 'Harry the
Mack' wasn't goin' to let a chance like that go by, an' soon got Wilks
goin' ... telling him what a good opportunity it was to get back at
them, an' all that. Well, they fixed everything up for two nights after,
and brought in Lipinski along with them. Shapiro'd got a set of
burglar's tools and soon effected an entrance. He an' Wilks crawled in,
leaving Lipinski as a 'look-out.' Wilks messed with the combination for
a bit an' tried to open her up, but couldn't work it. Might have been an
old one that'd been changed two or three times since the scale'd been
written on this paper. Anyway, there seemed nothing doin' an' 'Harry,'
being a yegg, got tired, an' suggested blowin' it. He went out to get
the 'soup' ... from a pal of his who lived a short distance away,
leaving Wilks still there. While he was waiting, our friend had
_another_ go at it, an' this _time_ managed, somehow, to turn the trick.
"He cleaned up everything, as _he_ thought, and beat it in a hurry,
leaving the safe open. Told Lipinski he'd be back in a minute--an'
skinned out. 'Honor among thieves'--what? Well, naturally, the first
idea that came into his head was to go back to his home
town--Hamilton--and swank around there for a bit with this money,
thinking, of course, though, that suspicion might fall on him right
away, bein' fired two days before, and the safe, not blown, but opened
by the combination, he was cute enough not to attempt to get aboard the
East-bound _there_. Mr. Man gets some crooked pal of his--a
chauffeur--to drive him in his automobile as far as Garstang. He laid up
there till the ten-fifteen came along next morning. Then he got a
bloomin' fright. He was sitting in the first-class coach, all tickled up
the back at makin' his get-away so easy when, who should come an' plank
himself down on the seat alongside him but Mister '_Harry the Mack_.'
This chauffeur pal of his had double-crossed him after he'd driven
back--told Shapiro everything who, you bet, wasn't goin' to get left
like that.
"All this is, of course, what Harry told him. He'd managed to get on the
train all right, without bein' spotted--taking--" He lowered his voice,
and indicated the drawn blinds with a significant gesture--"with him.
Partly to divert suspicion, I suppose ... look like respectable
couple--man an' wife. Well, naturally, Harry talked pretty ugly ... what
he'd do to him, an' all that, if he didn't whack up; but Wilks wouldn't
'come across'--kept bluffin' that he'd divvy up later on, an' so
on--knowing that he was safe enough as long as he was amongst a crowd of
people. Of course Harry never breathed a word about shootin' the
night-watchman. The first intimation Wilks had about _that_ was in a
paper at the hotel, here. It appears about ten minutes after he'd
vamoosed with the money Harry came back with the 'soup,' to do the
blowin' act. Lipinski told him that Wilks would be back in a few
minutes, so they waited a bit. As he showed no signs of returning, they
decided to go ahead without him--Lipinski goin' in with Harry this time,
to give him a hand. It didn't take 'em long to see what'd happened, you
bet. Everything all strewn around and turned upside down. They found a
hundred an' fifty in a small drawer I guess he'd overlooked in his hurry
an', according to Lipinski's statement, they'd just split this up when
the poor, bloomin' watchman happened along an' Shapiro fixed him. Then
they bolted an' the patrolman on the beat shot at them an' one skinned
one way an' one the other. Lipinski didn't see Harry again after
that--beat it on his own to Seattle later, an' got nailed.
"Well, it seems they kept up this chewin' the rag an' watching each
other till the train got down as far as here. It was gettin' dark, then.
Harry'd got a bottle of whiskey in his grip when he'd come on the train.
He started in to get primed up on this, an' Wilks got scared, for Harry
began to raise his voice an' look at him pretty nasty, with his hand in
his hip-pocket. They managed to kick up such a row between 'em that the
con' came along--gave 'em a callin' down an' threatened to chuck 'em off
the train if they didn't shut up. Harry started to give the con' a whole
lot of lip, an' while these two were squabblin' together, Mister Wilks
slipped off--_here_--just as the train was on the move.
"Of course Harry, as soon as he missed him, promptly got off at the next
stop--Glenmore--fifteen miles east of here--an' caught the West-bound
back again in the morning. Went straight to the hotel an' soon located
his man. Didn't speak to him, though. Didn't register at the place,
either--but that may have been because of the expense--hadn't any too
much 'dough' left, an' p'r'aps figured he'd most likely have a long
wait. He rented this furnished cottage instead, for a few days. It
belongs to a chap named George Ricks, over at Beaver Dam. He comes into
town an' lives in it himself all the winter, but leaves it in charge of
some chap here to rent to anybody who comes along during the summer. I
guess Harry felt pretty safe, knowing that Wilks wasn't exactly in the
position to give him away. There's absolutely no doubt what his
intention was--"
The Sergeant paused a moment and eyed his listener grimly. The latter,
with an equally grim comprehensive gesture, nodded silently.
"Well," he went on, "here they camped, watchin' each other's every
little movement. Shapiro never got much of a show to do anything,
though, for Wilks took darned good care to keep inside the hotel most of
the time. He admits he was scared to death, especially after reading
about Harry shootin' the watchman. Just dawdled around--couldn't make up
his mind _what_ to do, knowing that he couldn't shake Harry a _second_
time. He was feeling pretty sick, too.... I guess this thing's been
comin' on him some time, hasn't it, Charley?"
The doctor, nodding again, replied: "Yes, about a month, most probably."
"An' that's how the case stands," concluded Ellis wearily. "If you
hadn't gone into his room that time when you did, Harry'd most likely
put the kibosh on him right there. Choked him, p'r'aps. I got the money
off him, O. K. About a hundred short--what he'd paid for his ticket
through to Hamilton, a bribe to that chauffeur, Kelly, his hotel bill
here, an' odds an' ends. The New Axminster men'll get their hooks on
that chauffeur quick, I'll bet, when the O.C. forwards them my crime
report. Don't know whether they'll be able to make a charge stick or
not--may do. I turned the money into the bank for safe keeping.
Inspector Purvis'll take it down with him when we go back to the Post."
There was a long pause. "Well, what'll happen to this fellow now?"
inquired Musgrave.
"Guess Churchill'll have to keep an eye on him," said Ellis
indifferently. "Take him in to the Post soon as he's able to travel.
He'll be held there till a New Axminster man comes for him. Feel sorry,
in a way, for the poor sick devil, but that's all that can be done with
_him_, now. Well, I must be getting--lots o' work to do. See you later,
Charley."
The elder man laid a detaining hand on the Sergeant's shoulder, and his
voice shook ever so little as he said slowly:
"Wait a bit. There's something I want to tell you before you go." He
swallowed and hesitated slightly in his agitation. "It's about
that--that--that poor girl," he continued, in strained, unnatural tones.
"Ellis, old man, you don't know how sorry I am that I sneered at you
last night.... About being a moral reformer, and all that.... I hardly
meant it at the time. And I've been feeling pretty bad since--since--"
His voice broke, and he left the sentence unfinished. This was a great
concession from Musgrave, and his hearer thought so, as he grasped the
other's arm with a sympathetic pressure.
"Charley," he said gently, "Charley.... Don't think of that again....
See here; look! I don't take you in earnest, every time. You're the best
friend I've got ... an' the very first man I'd think of comin' to, if I
was in trouble. Maybe you don't know it, but I tell you that same
sarcastic tongue o' yours has cured me of lots o' dam'-fool
notions--time an' again."
They remained silent awhile, after this, then Musgrave went on, in a
stronger voice:
"This is what I wanted to say. Seems very apparent,
they--this--unfortunate couple, have little or no money--"
The Sergeant nodded, and cleared his throat. "Very little," he said.
"Man's got a few dollars left--seven-fifty, or something like that."
"Well, now; look!" said the doctor. "These two will have a decent burial
in the cemetery here, at my expense. It's my wish." And, as Ellis raised
a protesting hand, "No, no, my boy--let be! _You're_ not immaculate, God
knows, but, by the Lord Harry! you're a better man than I am, and I
respect you for many things.... 'As ye sow, so shall ye reap.'... It's
thirty years since I heard that text; I forgot it the same day, and
never thought of it again till now. There may be truth in it. I say, for
the peace of my soul, let me do this thing; and little though it is--may
the Recording Angel--if there is one--remember it as something in my
favor when my time comes."
Ellis never forgot those words, nor the weary, bitter, hopeless look
that accompanied them; and, long years afterwards, their remembrance
rushed back to his mind with vivid distinctness, as he held poor
Musgrave's dying head.
Drearily he wended his way up the main street, his mind preoccupied with
the problem of fulfilling the coroner's final request. He knew
comparatively few of the male--let alone, the female, community, of the
little town and, somehow, he instinctively shrank at the thought of
having to approach strange women anent such a delicate duty. In his
perplexity he went to Carey, and besought the latter's advice.
The agent mused a space. "Let's see," he said. "There's Mrs.
Steele--she's head of the Women's Church Guild here, and there's Mrs.
Parsons, and Mrs. Macleod. You go and see them. They ought to be able to
help you out. I'll tell you where they live."
With a vague feeling of uneasiness, Ellis departed, and presently found
himself at Mrs. Steele's abode. A gray-haired, elderly woman, with a
high-featured, severe face, answered his summons and, with some
trepidation, he broached the subject of his visit. She listened
impatiently, her hard eyes narrowing and her thin lips compressing
themselves into a straight line.
"No!" she snapped coldly, as he ended. "I _don't_--an' what's more ... I
wouldn't think of asking--or expecting--any decent woman to go getting
herself mixed up in such a scandalous business as this."
And she began to slowly thrust the door to. "Such shockin' goin's on in
a decent, God-fearing neighborhood!" she shrilled. "Wicked hussies
walkin' the street, an'--an' men being shot--an' all, an' all.... God
help the town that has to depend on the likes of you policemen to keep
such bad characters away!"
The virulence with which she uttered this last somewhat unjust, remark,
stung him sharply.
"Aye, madam," he echoed bitterly. "An' God help all poor, unfortunate
souls that are dependent upon the likes of you for Christian mercy,
too!"
But his words only greeted empty air, for the door was slammed violently
to in his face.
Feeling sick at heart, he wandered away, only meeting with more or less
indifference at the other addresses that Carey had given him. By this
time a strange nervousness, entirely foreign to his nature, began to
assail him. Men he understood and could deal with. But women--ah, that
was a very different matter.
He was just on the point of abandoning his quest in despair when he
beheld a woman coming out of a store opposite to where he stood. The
light of a great relief immediately lit up his troubled eyes for, in the
plain, homely, blue-serge uniform that she wore, with its red-barred
bonnet, he recognized at a glance the all-familiar badge of the
Salvation Army--that long-suffering and too frequently disparaged
organization which, nevertheless, spreads its gospel of humility and
help to the ends of the earth; whose followers, whilst always remaining
nobly indifferent to the shafts of misguided ridicule leveled against
them from time to time by members of many far less charitable sects,
never shrink from entering the lowly dwellings of the poorest of the
poor--aye--and the foulest dens of iniquity--in the _practical_
fulfilment of their creed of genuine Christian mercy and succor.
Ellis looked eagerly at the slight figure for a moment. Why not try her?
he reflected. Surely she wouldn't turn him down, like the rest? Didn't
the Salvationists always hold a service for the prisoners in the
guardroom every Sunday morning? And didn't they help out all the poor
devils who were down and out when their sentences were expired--giving
them shelter, food, and clothes, and finding them jobs? Yes, he would
ask _her_!
He crossed over and, with a few quick strides, overtook the little
woman, who stopped at his salutation and turned a worn, patient face to
his, regarding him with astonishment meanwhile, out of a pair of kindly
brown eyes.
Why did he stammer and hesitate like that? she wondered. Surely he could
not be afraid of _her_? For the Sergeant's voice and manner betrayed a
curious timidity just then, that was strangely out of keeping with his
bronzed, hard-bitten face and athletic figure. His recent experiences
had rendered him decidedly nervous in approaching women. She listened to
his request with passive interest, and nodded her acquiescence, gazing
intently, all the time, at his bandaged head.
"I'm afraid you must have got hurt bad," she said sympathetically. "It
was all in this morning's paper, an' everybody's full of it. I came up
on the early train to nurse a sick woman here. I remember seeing you
once before, a long time ago, at the Barracks. I was in the Female Gaol,
talking to Mrs. Stratford, the matron, an' you came over from the
guardroom."
"Would to God you'd been here last night!" he blurted out passionately.
"Aye, would to God I had!" she echoed, with a wistful sadness. "Give me
the key, then, Sergeant. I'll go right on down there now."
Silently he handed it over, and tried to thank her, but somehow--the
words would not come. He only looked at her, with a dumb gratitude
showing in his tired eyes, swallowed a little, and turned quickly away.