THE YELLOW ENVELOPE.
For once, by a cruel irony, the adverse reports regarding the stability
of the Conroy mine were true. A few stockholders still clung to the
belief that it was a fabrication to depress the stock, but the fact as
stated in Mr. Dumphy's despatch to Donna Maria was in possession of the
public. The stock, fell to $35, to $30, to $10--to nothing! An hour
after the earthquake it was known in One Horse Gulch that the "lead" had
"dropped" suddenly, and that a veil of granite of incalculable thickness
had been upheaved between the seekers and the treasure, now lost in the
mysterious depths below. The vein was gone! Where?--no one could tell.
There were various theories, more or less learned: there was one party
who believed in the "subsidence" of the vein, another who believed in
the "interposition" of the granite, but all tending to the same
conclusion--the inaccessibility of the treasure. Science pointed with
stony finger to the evidence of previous phenomena of the same character
visible throughout the Gulch. But the grim "I told you so" of Nature
was, I fear, no more satisfactory to the dwellers of One Horse Gulch
than the ordinary prophetic distrust of common humanity.
The news spread quickly and far. It overtook several wandering
Californians in Europe, and sent them to their bankers with anxious
faces; it paled the cheeks of one or two guardians of orphan children,
frightened several widows, drove a confidential clerk into shameful
exile, and struck Mr. Raynor in Boston with such consternation, that
people for the first time suspected that he had backed his opinion of
the resources of California with capital. Throughout the length and
breadth of the Pacific slope it produced a movement of aggression which
the earthquake had hitherto failed to cover. The probabilities of danger
to life and limb by a recurrence of the shock had been dismissed from
the public consideration, but this actual loss of characteristic
property awakened the gravest anxiety. If Nature claimed the privilege
of at any time withdrawing from that implied contract under which so
many of California's best citizens had occupied and improved the
country, it was high time that something should be done. Thus spake an
intelligent and unfettered press. A few old residents talked of
returning to the East.
During this excitement Mr. Dumphy bore himself toward the world
generally with perfect self-confidence, and, if anything, an increased
aggressiveness. His customers dared not talk of their losses before him,
or exhibit a stoicism unequal to his own.
"It's a bad business," he would say; "what do you propose?" And as the
one latent proposition in each human breast was the return of the money
invested, and as no one dared to make that proposition, Mr. Dumphy was,
as usual, triumphant. In this frame of mind Mr. Poinsett found him on
his return from the Mission of San Antonio, the next morning.
"Bad news, I suppose, down there," said Mr. Dumphy, briskly; "and I
reckon the widow, though she has been luckier than her neighbours, don't
feel particularly lively, eh? I'm devilish sorry for you, Poinsett,
though, as a man, you can see that the investment was a good one. But
you can't make a woman understand business. Eh? Well, the Rancho's worth
double the mortgage, I reckon. Eh? Ugly, ain't she--of course! Said
she'd been swindled? That's like a woman! You and me know 'em! eh,
Poinsett?" Mr. Dumphy emitted his characteristic bark, and winked at his
visitor.
Arthur looked up in unaffected surprise. "If you mean Mrs. Sepulvida,"
he said, coldly, "I haven't seen her. I was on my way there when your
telegram recalled me. I had some business with Padre Felipe."
"You don't know then that the Conroy mine has gone up with the
earthquake, eh? Lead dropped out--eh? and the widow's fifty-six
thousand?"--here Mr. Dumphy snapped his finger and thumb, to illustrate
the lame and impotent conclusion of Donna Maria's investment--"don't you
know that?"
"No," said Arthur, with perfect indifference and a languid abstraction
that awed Mr. Dumphy more than anxiety; "no, I don't. But I imagine that
isn't the reason you telegraphed me."
"No," returned Dumphy, still eyeing Poinsett keenly for a possible clue
to this singular and unheard-of apathy to the condition of the fortune
of the woman his visitor was about to marry. "No--of course!"
"Well!" said Arthur, with that dangerous quiet which was the only
outward sign of interest and determination in his nature. "I'm going up
to One Horse Gulch to offer my services as counsel to Gabriel Conroy.
Now for the details of this murder, which, by the way, I don't believe
Gabriel committed, unless he's another man than the one I knew! After
that you can tell me _your_ business with me, for I don't suppose you
telegraphed to me on his account solely. Of course, at first you felt it
was to your interest to get him and his wife out of the way, now that
Ramirez is gone. But now, if you please, let me know what _you_ know
about this murder."
Mr. Dumphy thus commanded, and completely under the influence of
Arthur's quiet will, briefly recounted the particulars already known to
the reader, of which he had been kept informed by telegraph.
"He's been recaptured," added Dumphy, "I learn by a later despatch; and
I don't reckon there'll be another attempt to lynch him. I've managed
_that_," he continued, with a return of his old self-assertion. "I've
got some influence there!"
For the first time during the interview Arthur awoke from his
pre-occupation, and glanced keenly at Dumphy. "Of course," he returned,
coolly, "I don't suppose you such a fool as to allow the only witness
you have of your wife's death to be sacrificed--even if you believed
that the impostor who was personating your wife had been charged with
complicity in a capital crime and had fled from justice. You're not such
a fool as to believe that this Mrs. Conroy won't try to help her
husband, that she evidently loves, by every means in her power--that she
won't make use of any secret she may have that concerns you to save him
and herself. No, Mr. Peter Dumphy," said Arthur significantly; "no,
you're too much of a business man not to see that." As he spoke he noted
the alternate flushing and paling of Mr. Dumphy's face, and read--I fear
with the triumphant and instinctive consciousness of a superior
intellect--that Mr. Dumphy _had_ been precisely such a fool, and had
failed!
"I reckon nobody will put much reliance on the evidence of a woman
charged with a capital crime," said Mr. Dumphy, with a show of
confidence he was far from feeling.
"Suppose that she and Gabriel both swear that _she_ knows your abandoned
wife, for instance; suppose that they both swear that she and you
connived to personate Grace Conroy for the sake of getting the title to
this mine; suppose that she alleges that she repented and married
Gabriel, as she did, and suppose that they both admit the killing of
this Ramirez--and assert that you were persecuting them through him, and
still are; suppose that they show that he forged a second grant to the
mine--through _your_ instigation?"
"It's a lie," interrupted Dumphy, starting to his feet; "he did it from
jealousy."
"Can you _prove_ his motives?" said Arthur.
"But the grant was not in my favour--it was to some old Californian down
in the Mission of San Antonio. I can prove that," said Dumphy,
excitedly.
"Suppose you can? Nobody imagines you so indiscreet as to have had
another grant conveyed to _you directly_, while you were negotiating
with Gabriel for _his_. Don't be foolish! _I_ know you had nothing to do
with the forged grant. I am only suggesting how you have laid yourself
open to the charges of a woman of whom you are likely to make an enemy,
and might have made an ally. If you calculate to revenge Ramirez,
consider first if you care to have it proved that he was a confidential
agent of yours--as they will, if you don't help _them_. Never mind
whether they committed the murder. You are not their judge or accuser.
You must help them for your own sake. No!" continued Arthur, after a
pause, "congratulate yourself that the Vigilance Committee did not hang
Gabriel Conroy, and that you have not to add revenge to the other
motives of a desperate and scheming woman."
"But are you satisfied that Mrs. Conroy _is_ really the person who
stands behind Colonel Starbottle and personates my wife?"
"I am," replied Arthur, positively.
Dumphy hesitated a moment. Should he tell Arthur of Colonel Starbottle's
interview with him, and the delivery and subsequent loss of the
mysterious envelope? Arthur read his embarrassment plainly, and
precipitated his decision with a single question.
"Have you had any further interview with Colonel Starbottle?"
Thus directly adjured. Dumphy hesitated no longer, but at once repeated
the details of his late conversation with Starbottle, his successful
bribery of the Colonel, the delivery of the sealed envelope under
certain conditions, and its mysterious disappearance. Arthur heard him
through with quiet interest, but when Mr. Dumphy spoke of the loss of
the envelope, he fixed his eyes on Mr. Dumphy's with a significance that
was unmistakable.
"You say you lost this envelope trusted to your honour!" said Arthur,
with slow and insulting deliberation. "Lost it, without having opened it
or learned its contents? That was very unfortunate, Mr. Dumphy, ve-ry
un-for-tu-nate!"
The indignation of an honourable man at the imputation of some meanness
foreign to his nature is weak compared with the anger of a rascal
accused of an offence which he might have committed, but didn't. Mr.
Dumphy turned almost purple! It was so evident that he had not been
guilty of concealing the envelope, and did not know its contents, that
Arthur was satisfied.
"He denied any personal knowledge of Mrs. Conroy in this affair?"
queried Arthur.
"Entirely! He gave me to understand that his instructions were received
from another party unknown to me," said Dumphy. "Look yer,
Poinsett--you're wrong! I don't believe it is that woman."
Arthur shook his head. "No one else possesses the information necessary
to blackmail you. No one else has a motive in doing it."
The door opened to a clerk bearing a card. Mr. Dumphy took it
impatiently and read aloud, "Colonel Starbottle of Siskiyou!" He then
turned an anxious face to Poinsett.
"Good," said that gentleman, quietly; "admit him." As the clerk
disappeared, Arthur turned to Dumphy, "I suppose it was to meet this man
you sent for me?"
"Yes," returned Dumphy, with a return of his old brusqueness.
"Then hold your tongue, and leave everything to me."
The door opened as he spoke to Colonel Starbottle's frilled shirt and
expanding bosom, followed at a respectful interval by the gallant
Colonel himself. He was evidently surprised by the appearance of Mr.
Dumphy's guest, but by no means dashed in his usual chivalrous port and
bearing. "My legal adviser, Mr. Poinsett," said Dumphy, introducing
Arthur briefly.
The gallant Colonel bowed stiffly, while Arthur, with a smile of
fascinating courtesy and deference that astonished Dumphy in proportion
as it evidently flattered and gratified Colonel Starbottle, stepped
forward and extended his hand. "As a younger member of the profession I
can hardly claim the attention of one so experienced as Colonel
Starbottle, but as the friend of poor Henry Beeswinger, I can venture to
take the hand of the man who so gallantly stood by him as his second,
two years ago."
"Ged, sir," said Colonel Starbottle, absolutely empurpling with
pleasure, and exploding his handkerchief from his sweltering breast.
"Ged! you--er--er--do me proud! I am--er--gratified, sir, to meet any
friend of--er--er--gentleman like Hank Beeswinger! I remember the whole
affair, sir, as if it was yesterday. I do!" with an oath. "Gratifying,
Mr. Poinsett, to every gentleman concerned. Your friend, sir,--I'm proud
to meet you--I am,----me!--killed, sir, second fire! Dropped like a
gentleman,----me! No fuss; no reporters; no arrests. Friends
considerate. Blank me, sir, one of the finest, d---- me, I may say, sir,
one of the very finest--er--meetings in which I have--er--participated.
Glad to know you, sir. You call to mind, sir, one of the--er--highest
illustrations of a code of honour--that--er--er--under the
present--er--degrading state of public sentiment is er--er--passing
away. We are drifting sir, drifting--drifting to er--er--political and
social condition, where the Voice of Honour, sir, is drowned by the
Yankee watchword of Produce and Trade. Trade, sir, blank me!" Colonel
Starbottle paused with a rhetorical full stop, blew his nose, and gazed
at the ceiling with a plaintive suggestion that the days of chivalry had
indeed passed, and that American institutions were indeed retrograding;
Mr. Dumphy leaned back in his chair in helpless irritability; Mr. Arthur
Poinsett alone retained an expression of courteous and sympathising
attention.
"I am the more gratified at meeting Colonel Starbottle," said Arthur,
gravely, "from the fact that my friend and client here, Mr. Dumphy is at
present in a condition where he most needs the consideration and
understanding of a gentleman and a man of honour. A paper, which has
been entrusted to his safe keeping and custody as a gentleman, has
disappeared since the earthquake, and it is believed that during the
excitement of that moment it was lost! The paper is supposed to be
intact, as it was in an envelope that _had never been opened, and whose
seals were unbroken_. It is a delicate matter, but I am rejoiced that
the gentleman who left the paper in trust is the honourable Colonel
Starbottle, whom I know by reputation, and the gentleman who suffered
the misfortune of losing it is my personal friend Mr. Dumphy. It enables
me at once to proffer my services as mediator, or as Mr. Dumphy's legal
adviser and friend, to undertake _all_ responsibility in the matter."
The tone and manner were so like Colonel Starbottle's own, that Dumphy
looked from Arthur to Colonel Starbottle in hopeless amazement. The
latter gentleman dropped his chin and fixed a pair of astonished and
staring eyes upon Arthur. "Do I understand--that--er--this gentleman,
Mr. Dumphy, has placed you in possession of any confidential
statement--that--er"----
"Pardon me, Colonel Starbottle," interrupted Arthur, rising with
dignity, "the facts I have just stated are sufficient for the
responsibility I assume in this case. I learn from my client that a
sealed paper placed in his hands is missing. I have from him the
statement that I am bound to believe, that it passed from his hands
unopened; where, he knows not. This is a matter, between gentlemen,
serious enough without further complication!"
"And the paper and envelope are lost?" continued Colonel Starbottle,
still gazing at Arthur.
"Are lost," returned Arthur, quietly. "I have advised my friend, Mr.
Dumphy, that as a man of honour, and a business man, he is by no means
freed through this unfortunate accident from any promise or contract
that he may have entered into with you concerning it. Any deposit as a
collateral for its safe delivery which he might have made, _or has
promised to make_, is clearly forfeited. This he has been waiting only
for your appearance to hand to you." Arthur crossed to Mr. Dumphy's side
and laid his hand lightly upon his shoulder, but with a certain
significance of grip palpable to Mr. Dumphy, who, after looking into his
eyes, took out his cheque book. When he had filled in a duplicate of
the cheque he had given Colonel Starbottle two days before, Arthur took
it from his hand and touched the bell. "As we will not burden Colonel
Starbottle unnecessarily, your cashier's acceptance of this paper will
enable him to use it henceforth at his pleasure, and as I expect to have
the pleasure of the Colonel's company to my office, will you kindly have
this done at once?"
The clerk appeared, and at Mr. Poinsett's direction, took the cheque
from the almost passive fingers of Mr. Dumphy.
"Allow me to express my perfect satisfaction with--er--er your
explanation!" said Colonel Starbottle, extending one hand to Arthur,
while at the same moment he gracefully readjusted his shirt-bosom with
the other. "Trouble yourself no further--regarding the--er--er--paper. I
trust it will--er--yet be found; if not, sir, I shall--er--er--" added
the Colonel, with honourable resignation, "hold myself _personally
responsible_ to my client, blank me!"
"Was there no mark upon the envelope by which it might be known without
explaining its contents?" suggested Arthur.
"None, sir, a plain yellow envelope. Stop!" said the Colonel, striking
his forehead with his hand. "Ged, sir! I do remember now that during our
conversation I made a memorandum, ---- me, a memorandum upon the face of
it, across it, a name, Ged, sir, the very name of the party you were
speaking of--Gabriel Conroy!"
"You wrote the name of Gabriel Conroy upon it! Good! That may lead to
its identification without exposing its contents," returned Arthur.
"Well, sir?"
The last two words were addressed to Mr. Dumphy's clerk, who had entered
during the Colonel's speech and stood staring alternately at him and his
employer, holding the accepted cheque in his hand.
"Give it to the gentleman," said Dumphy, curtly.
The man obeyed. Colonel Starbottle took the cheque, folded it, and
placed it somewhere in the moral recesses of his breast-pocket. That
done, he turned to Mr. Dumphy. "I need not say--er--that--er--as far as
my personal counsel and advice to my client can prevail, it will be
my effort to prevent litigation in this--er--delicate affair.
Should the envelope--er--er--turn up! you will of course--er--send
it to me, who am--er--personally responsible for it. Ged, sir,"
continued the Colonel, "I should be proud to conclude this affair,
conducted as it has been on your side with the strictest honour,
over the--er--festive-board--but--er--business prevents me! I
leave here in one hour for One Horse Gulch!"
Both Mr. Dumphy and Poinsett involuntarily started.
"One Horse Gulch?" repeated Arthur.
"---- me! yes! Ged, sir, I'm retained in a murder case there; the case
of this man Gabriel Conroy."
Arthur cast a swift precautionary look at Dumphy. "Then perhaps we may
be travelling companions?" he said to Starbottle, smiling pleasantly. "I
am going there too. Perhaps my good fortune may bring us in friendly
counsel. You are engaged"----
"For the prosecution," interrupted Starbottle, slightly expanding his
chest. "At the request of relatives of the murdered man--a Spanish
gentleman of--er--er--large and influential family connections, I shall
assist the District Attorney, my old friend, Nelse Buckthorne!"
The excitement kindled in Arthur's eyes luckily did not appear in his
voice. It was still pleasant to Colonel Starbottle's ear, as, after a
single threatening glance of warning at the utterly mystified and half
exploding Dumphy, he turned gracefully toward him. "And if, by the
fortunes of war, we should be again on opposite sides, my dear Colonel,
I trust that our relations may be as gratifying as they have been
to-day. One moment! I am going your way. Let me beg you to take my arm a
few blocks and a glass of wine afterwards as a stirrup-cup on our
journey." And with a significant glance at Dumphy, Arthur Poinsett
slipped Colonel Starbottle's arm deftly under his own, and actually
marched off with that doughty warrior, a blushing, expanding, but not
unwilling captive.
When the door closed Mr. Dumphy resumed his speech and action in a
single expletive. What more he might have said is not known, for at the
same moment he caught sight of his clerk, who had entered hastily at the
exit of the others, but who now stood awed and abashed by Mr. Dumphy's
passion. "Dash it all! what in dash are you dashingly doing here, dash
you?"
"Sorry, sir," said the unlucky clerk; "but overhearing that gentleman
say there was writing on the letter that you lost by which it might be
identified, sir--we think we've found it--that is, we know where it is!"
"How?" said Dumphy, starting up eagerly.
"When the shock came that afternoon," continued the clerk, "the express
bag for Sacramento and Marysville had just been taken out by the
expressman, and was lying on top of the waggon. The horses started to
run at the second shock, and the bag fell and was jammed against a
lamp-post in front of our window, bursting open as it did so and
spilling some letters and papers on the side-walk. One of our night
watchmen helped the expressman pick up the scattered letters, and picked
up among them a plain yellow envelope with no address but the name of
Gabriel Conroy written in pencil across the end. Supposing it had
dropped from some package in the express bag, he put it back again in
the bag. When you asked about a blank envelope missing from your desk,
he did not connect it with the one he had picked up, for _that_ had
writing on it. We sent to the express office just now, and found that
they had stamped it, and forwarded it to Conroy at One Horse Gulch, just
as they had always done with his letters sent to our care. That's the
way of it. Daresay it's there by this time, in his hands, sir, all
right!"