PAUL LISIMON'S RUIN IS PLOTTED BY HIS ENEMIES.
From the hour in which Augustus Horton first looked upon the noble face
and form of Paul Lisimon, he entertained for the young Mexican that
deadly and unrelenting hatred which jealousy alone can nourish.
Be it distinctly understood, the planter did not love Camillia
Moraquitos.
Lovely as was the Spanish girl, there was one who, in the eyes of
Augustus, was yet lovelier; and that one was Cora, the daughter of
Gerald Leslie, and the hapless quadroon slave, Francilia.
Cora, the Octoroon!
Yes, the fatal word which branded this lovely and innocent being is
contained in those three syllables. She was an octoroon, removed in the
eighth degree from the African race, with a skin purely white as the
tint of the lilies sleeping upon the lakes of her native Louisiana.
One drop of the blood of a slave ran in her veins, poisoned her inmost
life, and stamped her with the curse of Cain.
She was an Octoroon!
Augustus Horton knew this. He knew also, that Gerald Leslie was a
ruined man; and he waited his time.
Cora had inspired in the proud heart of the planter one of those
all-absorbing passions, which, in a bad man's heart, resemble the storm
and tempest. They rage but to destroy. At any price, even at the price
of his own soul as well as hers, she must be his.
The insult she had inflicted upon him in dismissing him from her
presence had infuriated and humiliated him, but it had not abated one
spark of the wild ardor of his guilty passion; notwithstanding this he
was determined upon becoming the husband of Camillia Moraquitos.
The reader is already acquainted with the laxity of Louisianian morals.
The wealthy Creole thought there could be no shame to the Octoroon in
becoming his mistress. What was she but a creature of the inferior
race, born to obey her master, the white man? With Camillia's fortune,
added to his own ample wealth, Augustus Horton would have been one
of the richest men in New Orleans. But the planter felt that he had
discovered his real and only rival in the person of Paul Lisimon, the
Mexican.
He was not slow to act upon this conviction. Early upon the morning
after his first encounter with Paul, he entered the office in which the
young man was seated, and asked to see Silas Craig.
Paul Lisimon raised his eyes, and recognized one of the most constant
admirers of Camillia Moraquitos. But it was with a glance of supreme
indifference that the Mexican regarded his rival. Augustus Horton felt
the sting of that careless look; it was the glance of one who, secure
in the affection of her he loves, is incapable of jealousy.
"Mr. Craig is within?" he inquired, addressing himself especially to
Paul, though a colored lad at a desk near was the person who answered
all inquiries and ushered the clients into Silas Craig's office.
"He is," answered Paul, quietly, dropping his eyes upon his work, and
not lifting them as he spoke; "Marcus, take this gentleman's card to
your master."
Silas was seated at his desk, a ledger open before him, and on the
table by his side a large iron cash-box, the lid of which he dropped
hurriedly as the young planter entered the office.
The ledger contained the secret accounts of the transactions of the
mysterious gambling-house in Columbia Street. The cash-box was nearly
filled with bank notes, lost in that den of iniquity by the miserable
and deluded votaries of the gambler's green cloth-covered altar. Silas
closed the ledger, which was secured with massive brass locks, the key
of which the usurer wore hanging to a thick gold chain, which was never
removed night or day--the iniquitous volume was further secured by
being placed in an iron chest, proof against fire and thieves.
The money gained by these shameful transactions was sent monthly to New
York, where it was banked in the name of Craig & Co., solicitors.
This was done to prevent the possibility of the losers of this money
tracing it, by the numbers of the notes, into the hands of the usurer.
These precautions may seem superfluous, but they were no more than
necessary. Silas Craig felt that he was carrying on an infamous
traffic. He knew that were his name revealed as the proprietor of
a house which bore no very high reputation for fair play, and in
which several deeds of darkness were strongly suspected to have been
committed, universal hatred and execration would be heaped upon his
guilty head. More than this, there was a tribunal he dreaded more
than all the established courts of New Orleans; he knew that for such
an offense as his the infuriated citizens would have recourse to the
horrors of Lynch Law.
He glanced round suspiciously as Augustus Horton entered the room, and
thrust the locked ledger into an open drawer in his desk.
"My dear Augustus," he said, with his accustomed conciliatory smile,
"this is indeed an agreeable surprise. I scarcely expected to see you
so soon again."
"I dare say not," answered the planter, coolly, taking out a cigar and
lighting it at the taper by which Craig sealed his letters.
"And may I ask to what I owe the honor of this visit?" said Silas,
looking, with considerable curiosity, at his client's thoughtful
countenance.
"I'll tell you, Silas Craig. That young Mexican yonder; that Lisimon,
or Lismion, or whatever his name may be--that hanger-on and dependent
of Juan Moraquitos, must leave your office."
Silas started and glanced wonderingly at the planter.
"Ay, you may stare," said Augustus; "never you mind my motives. I say
he must go!"
"But, my dear young friend, my impetuous friend, that is utterly
impossible. I have no particular affection for Mr. Paul Lisimon, I
assure you, but his articles have been signed."
"Let them be canceled, then; let the fellow be kicked out of the
office."
Silas looked thoughtfully at his visitor, and then rubbing his hands,
said, with a sly chuckle:
"But, my dear Mr. Horton, allow me to remind you that, in the first
place, I have no excuse for canceling these articles, or for kicking
Paul Lisimon out of my office; and that, in the second, I cannot see
why I am bound to comply with any absurd whim which even my most
important client may happen to take into his head."
Augustus Horton threw his cigar aside with a contemptuous and impatient
gesture.
"I am not used," he said with a chilling hauteur, "to ask for any
service for which I am not prepared to pay liberally. Send this young
man about his business--making it appear that he has been to blame in
the affair, and besides what you lose by canceling the articles I will
give you five thousand dollars."
"Send him about his business?"
"Yes. If possible in such a manner as to disgust Don Juan with his
protege."
A strange smile illuminated Silas Craig's crafty countenance.
"Disgust Don Juan with his protege?" he said.
"Yes, find this fellow out in some piece of low trickery or dishonor.
He is not obliged to be really guilty, if he only appears so."
"In such a manner that Don Juan may cast him off?" asked Silas, with
the same meaning smile.
"Yes, do that, and I will double your reward. Instead of five thousand
dollars I will give you ten."
"It's rather a critical business."
"Yes, but a sort of business that I should think is scarcely new to
you, my worthy Silas," said Augustus, with a sneer.
That contemptuous curve of the lip was not lost upon Silas Craig; but
the usurer himself entertained a consummate disdain for these men who
despised his character, but were yet content to make use of him in
deeds to which they would have been themselves ashamed to own.
"I think it can be done," he said quietly, "and I have no objection to
do it, upon one condition--"
"And that is--"
"That over and above the ten thousand dollars I am to receive on the
day on which Paul Lisimon is dismissed from this office and from the
house of his patron, Don Juan, you give me twenty thousand more upon
the day of your marriage with Camillia Moraquitos."
The planter bit his lip, and his brow grew crimson with vexation.
"How do you know that I have any thought of seeking to win Camillia
Moraquitos for my wife?" he asked, angrily.
"How do I know?" answered the usurer. "Augustus Horton, it may please
your proud nature to despise me, although you come here to demand my
services. Despise my code of morality, if you will, but do not despise
my powers of penetration. There is not a client who enters this office
whose inmost thoughts I have not reckoned up before he has been five
minutes in my company. It is a knack we lawyers acquire, if we are fit
for our business. Shall I tell you your motive in wishing to thrust
Paul Lisimon from my office?"
"Yes, if you can."
"You dread a rival in this handsome young man. You would brand his
name, already an obscure one, with shame and infamy; you would cause
him to be driven from the doors of Villa Moraquitos, and stamped with
ignominy in the eyes of the woman who loves him."
"Yes," cried Augustus, fiercely; "I would do all this! Dog, what right
has he to cross my path? I accede to your condition, Silas Craig, ten
thousand down, and twenty thousand more upon my wedding day."
"Then the business shall be done."
"Soon?"
"Very soon."
"That is well; Silas, lose no time in turning the fellow from your
doors, and let me be the first to hear of his dismissal. I shall not
grudge you your reward."
As Augustus Horton left the office he once more flung a sinister glance
at the articled clerk; but this time there was triumph as well as
hatred in the flash of the planter's eye.
As he glanced at Paul Lisimon the glitter of some gold ornaments
hanging to the Mexican's watch chain caught his eye. Amongst these was
an oval locket, of dead gold, ornamented with two initials in purple
enamel.
The planter passed so close to Paul that he was enabled to distinguish
these initials.
They were a C and an M.
"So!" he muttered, as he mounted the thorough-bred Arabian waiting him
at the door of Silas Craig's house, "He wears a locket inscribed with
her initials--a locket containing her portrait, no doubt. She loved
him, then; but by the blue sky above me, she shall be taught ere long
to despise and loathe him."
Silas Craig was not long in putting his foul plot into execution.
In order to carry it out, he had recourse to a plan as subtle as it was
diabolical.
The lawyer's private office communicated, as the reader is aware, with
an outer apartment occupied by clerks.
There was but this one door of communication between the two rooms, and
there was no other visible mode of entering the inner office.
But there was a secret entrance through the map of America, which
communicated with the passage leading into the house in Columbia
street. The existence of this secret passage was known only to Silas
Craig, William Bowen, and the banker and manager of the gambling-house.
It was by means of this very passage that the foul plot, which was to
entrap Paul Lisimon, was to be carried out.
Three days after his interview with the planter, Silas Craig summoned
the young Mexican to his private office.
"My dear Lisimon," he said, motioning Paul to a seat, "for once in my
life I am tempted to desert business earlier than usual. I have an
engagement to dine with my client, Mr. Horton. The dinner hour is five,
and I have, unfortunately, an appointment here at half-past five with
a wealthy old client of mine, who is going to bring me a few thousand
dollars he wishes me to invest for him. Now, in this dilemma, I fancy,
my dear Lisimon, that you can assist me."
Paul merely bowed. They were not alone in the office; one of the other
clerks, a young man of the name of Morisson, was standing at the
lawyer's desk waiting for further orders.
"What I want you to do, Lisimon, is to remain here till half-past
five and receive the money from my client. You will give him an
acknowledgment for the sum, and you will place the money, whether it
should be in notes or gold, in this small cash-box, of which I will
leave you the key. I shall also give you the key of the door of this
office, which you will carefully lock on leaving the place. As there is
no other communication, all will be perfectly secure. You understand?"
"Completely, Mr. Craig," said Paul.
"I thought you would be able to do this little bit of business for
me," replied the lawyer, rising and locking his desk; "here are the
keys," he added, handing Paul the key of the door and the smaller
one belonging to the cash-box; "you will keep the office key in
your possession until you see me to-morrow morning. Be very careful
of it, for I have no duplicate. It's now half-past four, so I have
not a minute to lose. You'll find my client, Mr. Graham, a curious
countryfied old fellow, Lisimon, but I've no doubt you'll be able to
manage him. Good afternoon!"
Silas left the office, followed by the clerk, Morisson; and Paul,
taking up one of the New Orleans papers, prepared to await the expected
visitor. The client arrived, punctual to his appointment, at half-past
five. He was an elderly man, a planter, whose estate lay at a distance
of several hundred miles from New Orleans, and who had the highest
opinion of Silas Craig's professional and moral character.
"A worthy man," he would say, shaking his head wisely, when speaking
of the money-lending lawyer; "a moral man, a church-going man, and a
credit to New Orleans. I am sorry there are not more to follow his
pious example."
Paul received the money, which was in the shape of a roll of dollar
bills.
"I have the numbers of the bills in my pocket-book," said the old man,
as he handed the packet to the Mexican; "I'm rather a cautious old
fellow, you know, my dear sir."
Paul wrote an acknowledgment of the sum, and handed it to Silas Craig's
client.
"Perfectly correct, perfectly correct, my dear sir," Mr. Graham
muttered, as he read it over--'Received of John Graham, fifteen
thousand dollars'--dated and signed. "Thank you, sir, and good evening."
Paul summoned the mulatto lad to show Mr. Graham out, and then, after
locking the money in the cash-box--a small metal casket, which might
have easily been carried in the ample pocket of Paul's loose linen
coat--he left the office, and double-locked the door behind him.
"I think that's all right, Marcus," he said to the boy.
"Iss, massa."
"You sleep in this office, don't you?"
"Iss, massa."
"Then there's no likelihood of any one entering that room without your
being aware of it."
"No, massa; not unless Marcus was very deaf."
"Which, fortunately, you are not. Keep a sharp look-out, my lad, and
I'll give you a half dollar to-morrow."
Paul left the office and returned to Villa Moraquitos, where, for once
in a way, he found Camillia alone with Mlle. Corsi. Her father was
absent at a dinner party, given by Augustus Horton.
This very dinner party was a portion of the villainous plot, concocted
by Silas Craig and the planter, for the destruction of Paul Lisimon.
The evening flew by like some blessed dream to the young Mexican.
Camillia was by his side; she sang to him wild and plaintive Spanish
ballads, whose mournful and harmonious cadence drowned his soul in
rapture. The words written in the love-breathing language of that
Southern land, from whose orange groves and palaces the ancestors of
Camillia had emigrated to Southern America.
A happy evening; alas! the very last of happiness that Paul was to
taste for a long time to come.
But even in the society of Camillia Moraquitos, Paul could not quite
repress a certain uneasiness about the money he had left in the cash
box in Silas Craig's office.
He disliked the responsibility of the trust which had been forced upon
him by his employer, and was impatient to return the key of the office
to its owner.
For this reason he was at his post earlier than usual the following
morning.
Silas Craig did not enter the clerk's office till much later than his
customary hour for beginning business. Morisson and one or two others
began to speculate upon the probability of their employer having drank
rather too freely at the planter's dinner table.
The attorney appeared in a peculiarly amiable temper that morning. He
shook hands with Paul, spoke to each of the clerks, commended their
work, and then, holding out his hand, said, very graciously, "Now, my
dear Lisimon, the key of the office. I suppose Mr. Graham lodged that
money in your hands last night?"
"He did, sir; you will find it in the cash-box."
Silas nodded and unlocked the door of the inner office. "Oh, by
the bye," he said, "just step this way, Mr. Morisson; I have some
directions to give you."
The clerk followed his employer into the office. Five minutes afterward
Morisson put his head out of the door: "Mr. Lisimon," he said, "you are
wanted, if you please."
Paul hastened to the inner office. The lawyer was looking very grave,
but he spoke in his usual friendly tone.
"Where did you say you put the money, my dear Lisimon?" he asked.
"In the small cash-box," replied Paul--"there!"
He pointed, as he spoke, to the table upon which he had left the cash
box on the preceding evening.
It was no longer there.
The young Mexican's olive cheek grew suddenly white.
This fact was observed by the clerk, who stood aghast, looking on.
"You must be mistaken, Lisimon; you very likely placed the box in some
other part of the office?"
"No!" cried Paul, with energy, "I left it on that table, and nowhere
else. Come, Mr. Craig, this must be some jest of yours. You have
removed the box since you entered the office, and are doing this to
frighten me."
"Was there any box on yonder table when we entered this room,
Morisson?" said Craig, addressing himself to the clerk.
"No, sir."
"You see, my dear Lisimon, it must be you who are jesting. Were you
any other than the beloved protege of my respected client, Don Juan
Moraquitos, I should positively begin to be alarmed."
"Jesting!" exclaimed Paul; "I swear to you that before leaving this
office last night, I locked the cash-box containing the dollar bills
and placed it upon that table. Search where you will, Morisson,"
he said, looking at the clerk, who, at a whispered order from his
employer, had begun to search the office, "unless there has been
witchcraft about, you will find it there and nowhere else, for there I
left it."
"Come, come, Mr. Lisimon," said Craig, in an altered tone, "this is
really too absurd. We no longer believe in magic, or the juggleries of
the fiend. You say you left the box in this apartment last night. It
must therefore be here this morning, if you have spoken the truth."
"If I have spoken the truth!" echoed Paul, the hue of his cheeks
changing from pale to crimson.
"Not a creature has entered this room since you left it," continued
Silas; "for there is but one key to the door, and that has been in your
possession until within the last ten minutes. The boy Marcus sleeps in
the office; call him, Morisson."
The mulatto lad made his appearance.
"Marcus," said his master, "did any one enter this room last night?"
"No, massa, the door was locked."
"I know that; and no one entered by any means whatever?"
"No one, massa, unless de debil go through de keyhole."
"When Mr. Lisimon left this office last night, had he anything in his
hand?"
"Noting, massa."
"But he might have had something in his pocket," muttered Silas, in an
undertone.
Paul Lisimon turned upon his employer with indignant fury.
"Mr. Craig," he exclaimed, "could you dare to insinuate--"
"No, Mr. Lisimon, it is rather too late in the day for insinuations,"
answered the attorney, with a sardonic laugh, "you were left in charge
of a sum of money; you were told to place it in this room to which
no one but yourself had access. The fact is only too clear; you have
disgraced the bounty of your patron; you are a thief!"
"A thief!" shrieked Paul. The lawyer's gold-headed bamboo cane stood in
one corner of the office; before the clerk, Morisson, could interpose,
Paul Lisimon snatched this cane in his convulsed grasp, and bounding
upon Silas Craig, struck him across the face.
"Liar!" he cried, "I see the drift of this double-dyed villainy. I am
the victim of a plot, so demoniac, that I shudder at the blackness of
its treachery. The money has been removed through your agency--removed
in order that my name may be branded with a crime. I fear you not, vile
schemer; be it yours to tremble, for Heaven looks down upon us, and
will defend the innocent."
He rushed from the office, and had left the house before Silas
recovered from the terror these words had struck to his guilty heart.
"Pursue him!" he cried, hoarse with fury; "pursue him, and drag him to
prison. Yet, stay, it is too late now to overtake him. I know where to
find him--at the Villa Moraquitos."