CHAPTER XLVIII
WAR TO THE KNIFE
Barksdale heard the events of the night, as detailed by the general, without apparent emotion. He had gone with them to look upon the remains of Gerald. He brought from the scene only a graver look in his face, a more gentle tone in his voice. These, however, soon passed. He was again the cold, stern, level-headed man of affairs, listening to a strange story. He lost no detail and his quick, trained mind gave the matter its true position.
The death of Gerald was peculiarly unfortunate for Edward. They had now nothing left but the negro, and negro testimony could be bought for little money. He would undertake to buy just such evidence as Dick had given, from a dozen men in ten days and the first man he would have sought was Slippery Dick, and the public would be thrown into doubt as to Royson by the fact of deadly enmity between the men. To introduce Dick upon the stand to testify and not support his testimony would be almost a confession of guilt. The negro was too well known. Gerald's statement would not be admissible, though his picture might. But of what avail would the picture be without the explanation?
Barksdale pointed out this clearly but briefly. Gen. Evan was amazed that such a situation had not already presented itself. The court case would have been Dick's word against Royson's; the result would have been doubtful. The least that could be hoped for, if the State made out a case against Edward, was imprisonment.
But there was more; a simple escape was not sufficient; Edward must not only escape but also show the conspiracy and put it where it belonged. He, Barksdale, had no doubt upon that point. Royson was the guilty man.
This analysis of the situation, leaving as it did the whole matter open again, and the result doubtful, filled Evan with anxiety and vexation.
"I thought," said he, walking the floor, "that we had everything fixed; that the only thing necessary would be to hold to the negro and bring him in at the right time. If he died or got away we had his confession witnessed." Barksdale smiled and shook his head.
"It is of the utmost importance," he said, "to hold the negro and bring him in at the right time, but in my opinion it is vital to the case that the negro be kept from communicating with Royson, and that the fact of his arrest be concealed. Where have you got him?"
"In the stone smoke-house," said Edward.
"Tied."
"No."
"Then," said Barksdale, arising at once, "if not too late you must tie him. There is no smoke-house in existence and no jail in this section that can hold Slippery Dick if his hands are free." Thoroughly alarmed, Gen. Evan led the way and Edward followed. Barksdale waved the latter back.
"Don't risk being seen; we can attend to this." They opened the door and looked about the dim interior; it was empty. With a cry the general rushed in.
"He is gone!" Barksdale stood at the door; the building was a square one, with racks overhead for hanging meat. There was not the slightest chance of concealment. A mound of earth in one corner aroused his suspicions. He went to it, found a burrow and, running his arm into this, he laid hold of a human leg.
"Just in time, General, he is here!" With a powerful effort he drew the negro into the light. In one hour more he would have been under the foundations and gone. Dick rose and glanced at the open door as he brushed the dirt from his eyes, but there was a grip of steel upon his collar, and a look in the face before him that suggested the uselessness of resistance. The general recovered the strap and bound the elbows as before.
"I will bring up shackles," said Barksdale, briefly. "In the meantime, this will answer. But you know the stake! Discharge the house servant, and I will send a man of my own selection. In the meantime look in here occasionally." They returned to the house and into the library, where they found Edward and informed him of the arrangements.
"Now," said Barksdale, "this is the result of my efforts in another direction. The publication of libelous article is almost impossible, with absolute secrecy as to the authorship. A good detective, with time and money, can unravel the mystery and fix the responsibility upon the guilty party. I went into this because Mr. Morgan was away, and the circumstances were such that he could not act in the simplest manner if he found the secret." He had drawn from his pocket a number of papers, and to these, as he proceeded, he from time to time referred.
"We got our first clew by purchase. Sometimes in a newspaper office there is a man who is keen enough to preserve a sheet of manuscript that he 'set up,' when reflection suggests that it may be of future value. Briefly, I found such a man and bought this sheet" – lifting it a moment – "of no value except as to the handwriting.
"The first step toward discovering the name of the Tell-Tale correspondent was a matter of difficulty, from the nature of the paper. There was always in this case the dernier ressort; the editor could be forced at the point of a pistol. But that was hazardous. The correspondent's name was discovered in this way. We offered and paid a person in position to know, for the addresses of all letters from the paper's office to persons in this city. One man's name was frequently repeated. We got a specimen of his handwriting and compared it with the sheet of manuscript; the chirography was identical.
"A brief examination of the new situation convinced me that the writer did not act independently; he was a young man not long in the city and could not have known the facts he wrote of nor have obtained them on his own account without arousing suspicion. He was being used by another party – by some one having confidential relations or connections with certain families, Col. Montjoy's included. I then began to suspect the guilty party.
"The situation was now exceedingly delicate and I called into consultation Mr. Dabney, one of our shrewdest young lawyers, and one, by the way, Mr. Morgan, I will urge upon you to employ in this defense; in fact, you will find no other necessary, but by all means hold to him. The truth is," he added, "I have already retained him for you, but that does not necessarily bind you."
"I thank you," said Edward. "We shall retain him."
"Very good. Now we wanted this young man's information and we did not wish the man who used him to know that anything was being done or had been done, and last week, after careful consultation, I acted. I called in this young fellow and appointed him agent at an important place upon our road, but remote, making his salary a good one. He jumped at the chance and I did not give him an hour's time to get ready. He was to go upon trial, and he went. I let him enjoy the sensation of prosperity for a week before exploding my mine. Last night I went down and called on him with our lawyer. We took him to the hotel, locked the door and terrorized him into a confession, first giving him assurance that no harm should come to him and that his position would not be affected. He gave away the whole plot and conspiracy.
"The man we want is Amos Royson!"
The old general was out of his chair and jubilant. He was recalled to the subject by the face of the speaker, now white and cold, fixed upon him.
"I did not have evidence enough to convict him of conspiracy, nor would the evidence help Mr. Morgan's case, standing alone as it did. The single witness, and he in my employ then, could not have convicted, although he might have ruined, Royson. I am now working upon the murder case. I came to the city at daylight and had just arrived home when your note reached me. My intention was to go straight to Royson's office and give him an opportunity of writing out his acknowledgement of his infamy and retraction. If he had refused I would have killed him as surely as there is a God in heaven."
Edward held out his hand silently and the men understood each other.
"Now," continued Barksdale, "the situation has changed. There is evidence enough to convict Royson of conspiracy, perhaps. We must consult Dabney, but I am inclined to believe that our course will be to go to trial ourselves and spring the mine without having aroused suspicion. When Slippery Dick goes upon the stand he must find Royson confident and in my opinion he will convict himself in open court, if we can get him there. The chances are he will be present. The case will attract a great crowd. He would naturally come. But we shall take no chances; he will come!
"Just one thing more now; you perceive the importance, the vital importance, of secrecy as to your prisoner; under no consideration must his presence here be known outside. To insure this it seems necessary to take one trusty man into our employ. Have you considered how we would be involved if Mr. Morgan should be arrested?"
"But he will not be. Sheriff – "
"You forget Royson. He is merciless and alert. If he discovers Mr. Morgan's presence in this community he will force an arrest. The sheriff will do all in his power for us, but he is an officer under oath, and with an eye, of course, to re-election. I would forestall this; I would let the man who comes to guard Dick guard Mr. Morgan also. In other words, let him go under arrest and accept a guard in his own house. The sheriff can act in this upon his own discretion, but the arrest should be made." Edward and the general were for a moment silent.
"You are right," said the former. "Let the arrest be made." Barksdale took his departure.
The butler appeared and was summarily discharged for having abandoned Virdow during the night.
And then came the deputy, a quiet, confident man of few words, who served the warrant upon Edward, and then, proceeding with his prisoner to the smoke-house, put shackles upon Slippery Dick, and supplemented them with handcuffs.
CHAPTER XLIX
PREPARING THE MINE
This time the coroner was summoned. He came, examined the body of Gerald, heard Virdow's statement and concluded that he could not hold an inquest without subjecting himself to unpleasant criticism and giving candidates for his office something to take hold of.
The funeral was very quiet. Col. Montjoy, Mrs. Montjoy and Mary came in the old family carriage and the general on horseback.
The little group stood around the open coffin and gazed for the last time upon the pale, chaste face. The general could not endure more than the one glance. As it lay exposed to him, it was the perfect image of a face that had never dimmed in his memory. Mary's tears fell silently as she laid her little cross of white autumn rosebuds upon the silent breast and turned away. Edward was waiting for her; she took his arm and went upon the portico.
"It is a sad blow to you, Mr. Morgan," she said.
"It removes the only claim upon me," was his answer. "When all is over and this trial ended, I shall very likely return to Europe for good!" They were silent for a while. "I came here full of hope," he continued; "I have met distrust, accusation, assaults upon my character and life, the loss of friends, disappointments and now am accused of murder and must undergo a public trial. It is enough to satisfy most men with – the south."
"And do you count your real friends as nothing?"
"My real friends are few, but they count for much," he said, earnestly; "it will be hard to part with them – with you. But fate has laid an iron hand upon me. I must go." He found her looking at him with something of wonder upon her face.
"You know best," she said, quietly. There was something in her manner that reminded him of the calm dignity of her father.
"You do not understand me," he said, earnestly, "and I cannot explain, and yet I will go this far. My parents have left me a mystery to unfathom; until I have solved it I shall not come back, I cannot come back." He took her hand in both of his. "It is this that restrains me; you have been a true friend; it grieves me that I cannot share my troubles with you and ask your woman's judgment, but I cannot – I cannot! I only ask that you keep me always in your memory, as you will always be the brightest spot in mine." She was now pale and deeply affected by his tone and manner.
"You cannot tell me, Mr. Morgan?"
"Not even you, the woman I love; the only woman I have ever loved. Ah, what have I said?" She had withdrawn her hand and was looking away. "Forgive me; I did not know what I was saying. I, a man under indictment for murder, a possible felon, an unknown!"
The young girl looked at him fearlessly.
"You are right. You can rely upon friendship, but under the circumstances nothing can justify you in speaking of love to a woman – you do not trust."
"Do not trust! You cannot mean that!" She had turned away proudly and would have left him.
"I have seen so little of women," he said. "Let that be my excuse. I would trust you with my life, my honor, my happiness – but I shall not burden you with my troubles. I have everything to offer you but a name. I have feared to tell you; I have looked to see you turn away in suspicion and distrust – in horror. I could not. But anything, even that, is better than reproach and wrong judging.
"I tell you now that I love you as no woman was ever loved before; that I have loved you since you first came into my life, and that though we be parted by half a world of space, and through all eternity, I still shall love you. But I shall never, so help me heaven, ask the woman I love to share an unknown's lot! You have my reasons now; it is because I do love you that I go away." He spoke the words passionately. And then he found her standing close to his side.
"And I," she said, looking up into his face through tearful but smiling eyes, "do not care anything for your name or your doubts, and I tell you, Edward Morgan, that you shall not go away; you shall not leave me." He caught his breath and stood looking into her brave face.
"But your family – it is proud – "
"It will suffer nothing in pride. We will work out this little mystery together." She extended her hand and, taking it, he took her also. She drew back, shaking her head reproachfully.
"I did not mean that."
He was about to reply, but at that moment a scene was presented that filled them both with sudden shame. How true it is that in the midst of life we are in death.
The hearse had passed the gate. Silently they entered the house.
He led her back to the side of the dead man.
"He loved you," he said slowly. "I shall speak the truth for him." Mary bent above the white face and left a kiss upon the cold brow.
"He was your friend," she said, fearing to look into his eye.
He comprehended and was silent.
It was soon over. The ritual for the dead, the slow journey to the city of silence, a few moments about the open grave, the sound of dirt falling upon the coffin, a prayer – and Gerald, living and dead, was no longer a part of their lives.
The Montjoys were to go home from the cemetery. Edward said farewell to them separately and to Mary last. Strange paradox, this human life. He came from that new-made grave almost happy.
The time for action was approaching rapidly. He went with Dabney and the general to see Slippery Dick for the last time before the trial. There was now but one serious doubt that suggested itself. They took the man at night to the grave of Rita and made him go over every detail of his experience there. Under the influence of the scene he began with the incident of the voodoo's "conjure bag" and in reply to queries showed where it had been inserted in the cedar. Edward took his knife and began to work at the plug, but this action plunged Dick into such terror that Dabney cautioned Edward in a low voice to desist.
"Dick," said the young man finally, with sudden decision, "if you fail us in this matter not only shall I remove that plug but I shall put you in jail and touch you with the bag." Dick was at once voluble with promises. Edward, his memory stirred by the incident, was searching his pockets. He had carried the little charm obtained for him by Mary because of the tender memories of the night before their journey abroad. He drew it out now and held it up. Dick had not forgotten it; he drew back, begging piteously. Dabney was greatly interested.
"That little charm has proved to be your protector, Mr. Morgan," he said aloud for the negro's benefit. "You have not been in any danger. Neither Dick nor anyone else could have harmed you. You should have told me before. See how it has worked. The woman who gave you the bag came to you in the night out on the ocean and showed you the face of this man; you knew him even in the night, although he had never before met you nor you him."
A sound like the hiss of a snake came from the negro; he had never been able to guess why this stranger had known him so quickly. He now gazed upon his captor with mingled fear and awe.
"Befo' Gawd, boss," he said, "I ain't goin' back on you, boss!"
"Going back on him!" said Dabney, laughing. "I should think not. I did not know that Mr. Morgan had you conjured. Let us return; Dick cannot escape that woman in this world or the next. Give me the little bag, Mr. Morgan – no, keep it yourself. As long as you have it you are safe."
Edward was a prisoner, but in name only. Barksdale had not come again, for more reasons than one, the main reason being extra precaution on account of the watchful and suspicious Royson. But he acted quietly upon the public mind. The day following the interview he caused to be inserted in the morning paper an announcement of Edward's return and arrest, and the additional fact that although his business in Paris had not been finished, he had left upon the first steamer sailing from Havre. At the club, he was outspoken in his denunciation of the newspaper attacks and his confidence in the innocence of the man. There was no hint in any quarter that it had been suspected that Rita Morgan was really not murdered. It was generally understood that the defense would rely upon the State's inability to make out a case.
But Edward did not suffer greatly from loneliness. The day after the funeral Mrs. Montjoy and Mary, together with the colonel, paid a formal call and stayed for some hours; and the general came frequently with Dabney and Eldridge, who had also been employed, and consulted over their plans for the defense. Arrangements had been made with the solicitor for a speedy trial and the momentous day dawned.
CHAPTER L
SLIPPERY DICK RIGHTS A WRONG
The prominence of the accused and of his friends, added to the sensational publication, made the case one of immense interest. The court house was crowded to its utmost and room had to be made within the bar for prominent citizens. There was a "color line" feature in the murder, and the gallery was packed with curious black faces. Edward, quiet and self-contained, sat by his lawyers, and near him was the old general and Col. Montjoy. Slightly in the rear was Barksdale, calm and observant. The State had subp[oe]ned Royson as a witness, and, smilingly indifferent, he occupied a seat as a member of the bar, inside the rail. The case was called at last.
"The State versus Edward Morgan, murder. Mr. Solicitor, what do you say for the State?" asked the court.
"Ready."
"What do you say for the defense, gentlemen?"
"Ready."
"Mr. Clerk, call the jury." The panel was called and sworn. The work of striking the jury then proceeded. Eldridge and Dabney were clever practitioners and did not neglect any precaution. The jury list was scanned and undesirable names eliminated with as much care as if the prisoner had small chance of escape.
This proceeding covered an hour, but at last the panel was complete and sworn. The defendant was so little known that this was a simple matter.
The witnesses for the State were then called and sworn. They consisted of the coroner, the physician who had examined the wound, and others, including Gen. Evan, Virdow and Royson. Gen. Evan and Virdow had also been summoned by the defense.
As Royson took the oath it was observed that he was slightly pale and embarrassed, but this was attributed to the fact of his recent conflict and the eager state of the great crowd. No man in the room kept such watch upon him as Barksdale; never once did he take his eyes from the scarred face. Witnesses for the defense were then called – Gen. Evan and Virdow. They had taken the oath. The defense demanded that witnesses for the State be sent out of the room until called. As Royson was rising to comply with the requirement common in such cases, Dabney stood up and said:
"Before Mr. Royson goes out, may it please Your Honor, I would respectfully ask of the solicitor what it is expected to prove by him?"
"We expect to prove, Your Honor, that Mr. Royson wrote a certain letter which charged the prisoner with being a man of mixed blood, and that Rita Morgan, the woman who was killed, was the woman in question and the only authority; an important point in the case. Mr. Royson, I should say, is here by subp[oe]na only and occupying a very delicate situation, since he was afterward, by public report, engaged in a conflict with the prisoner, growing out of the publication of that letter."
"The solicitor is unnecessarily prolix, Your Honor. I asked the question to withdraw our demand in his case as a matter of courtesy to a member of the bar." Royson bowed and resumed his seat.
"I now ask," said Dabney, "a like courtesy in behalf of Gen. Evan and Prof. Virdow, witnesses for both State and defense." This was readily granted.
There was no demurrer to the indictment. The solicitor advanced before the jury and read the document, word for word. "We expect to prove, gentlemen of the jury, that the dead woman, named in this indictment, was for many years housekeeper for the late John Morgan, and more recently for the defendant in this case, Edward Morgan; that she resided upon the premises with him and his cousin, Gerald Morgan; that on a certain night, to wit, the date named in the indictment, she was murdered by being struck in the head with some blunt implement, and that she was discovered almost immediately thereafter by a witness; that there was no one with the deceased at the time of her death but the defendant, Edward Morgan, and that he, only, had a motive for her death – namely, the suppression of certain facts, or certain publicly alleged facts, which she alone possessed; that after her death, which was sudden, he failed to notify the coroner, but permitted the body to be buried without examination. And upon these facts, we say, the defendant is guilty of murder. The coroner will please take the stand."
The officer named appeared and gave in his testimony. He had, some days after the burial of the woman, Rita Morgan, received a hint from an anonymous letter that foul play was suspected in the case, and acting under advice, had caused the body to be disinterred and he had held an inquest upon it, with the result as expressed in the verdict which he proceeded to read and which was then introduced as evidence. The witness was turned over to the defense; they consulted and announced "no questions".
The next witness was the physician who examined the wound. He testified to the presence of a wound in the back of the head that crushed the skull and was sufficient to have caused death. Dabney asked of this witness if there was much of a wound in the scalp, and the reply was "No".
"Was there any blood visible?"
"No." The defense had no other questions for this officer, but announced that they reserved the right to recall him if the case required it.
The next witness was Virdow. He had seen the body after death, but had not examined the back of the head; had seen a small cut upon the temple, which the defendant had explained to him was made by her falling against the glass in the conservatory. There was a pane broken at the point indicated.
And then Evan was put up.
"Gen. Evan," asked the solicitor, "where were you upon the night that Rita Morgan died?"
"At the residence of Edward Morgan, sir."
"Where were you when you first discovered the death of Rita Morgan?"
"Gentlemen of the jury, at the time indicated, I was standing in the glass-room occupied by the late Gerald Morgan, in the residence of the defendant in this county – "
"And state?" interrupted the solicitor.
"And state. I was standing by the bedside of Gerald Morgan, who was ill. I was deeply absorbed in thought and perfectly oblivious to my surroundings, I suppose. I am certain that Edward Morgan was in the room with me. I was aroused by hearing him cry out and then discovered that the door leading into the shrubbery was open. I ran out and found him near the head of the woman."
"Did you notice any cuts or signs of blood?"
"I noticed only a slight cut upon the forehead."
"Did you examine her for other wounds?"
"I did not. I understood then that she had, in a fit of some kind, fallen against the glass, and that seeing her from within, Mr. Morgan had run out and picked her up."
"Did you hear any sound of breaking glass?"
"I think I did. I cannot swear to it; my mind was completely absorbed at that time. There was broken glass at the place pointed out by him."
"That night – pointed out that night?"
"No. I believe some days later."
"Did you hear voices?"
"I heard some one say 'They lied!' and then I heard Edward Morgan cry aloud. Going out I found him by the dead body of the woman."
The defense cross-questioned.
"You do not swear, General Evan, that Mr. Morgan was not in the room at the time the woman Rita was seized with sudden illness?"
"I do not. It was my belief then, and is now – "
"Stop," said the solicitor.
"Confine yourself to facts only," said the court.
"You are well acquainted with Mr. Morgan?"
"As well as possible in the short time I have known him."
"What is his character?"
"He is a gentleman and as brave as any man I ever saw on the field of battle." There was slight applause as the general came down, but it was for the general himself.
"Mr. Royson will please take the stand," said the solicitor. "You were the author of the letter concerning the alleged parentage of Edward Morgan, which was published in an extra in this city a few weeks since?" Royson bowed slightly.
"From whom did you get your information?"
"From Rita Morgan," he said, calmly. There was a breathless silence for a moment and then an angry murmur in the great audience. All eyes were fixed upon Edward, who had grown pale, but he maintained his calmness. The astounding statement had filled him with a sickening horror. Not until that moment did he fully comprehend the extent of the enmity cherished against him by the witness. On the face of Barksdale descended a look as black as night. He did not, however, move a muscle.
"You say that Rita Morgan told you – when?"
"About a week previous to her death. She declared that her own son had secured his rights at last. I had been consulted by her soon after John Morgan's death, looking to the protection of those rights, she being of the opinion that Gerald Morgan would inherit. When it was found that this defendant here had inherited she called, paid my fee and made the statement as given."
"Why did you fight a duel with the defendant, then – knowing, or believing you knew, his base parentage?"
"I was forced to do so by the fact that I was challenged direct and no informant demanded; and by the fact that while my friends were discussing my situation, General Evan, acting under a mistaken idea, vouched for him."
These ingenuous answers took away the general's breath. He had never anticipated such plausible lies. Even Dabney was for the moment bewildered. Edward could scarcely restrain his emotion and horror. As a matter of fact, Rita was not dead when the challenge was accepted. Royson had lied under oath!
"The witness is with you," said the solicitor, with just a tinge of sarcasm in his tones.
"Were the statements of Rita Morgan in writing?" asked Dabney.
"No."
"Then, may it please Your Honor, I move to rule them out." A debate followed. The statements were ruled out. Royson was suffered to descend, subject to recall.
"The State closes," said the prosecuting officer.
Then came the sensation of the day.
The crowd and the bar were wondering what the defense would attempt with no witnesses, when Dabney arose.
"May it please Your Honor, we have now a witness, not here when the case was called, whom we desire to bring in and have sworn. We shall decide about introducing him within a few moments and there is one other witness telegraphed for who has just reached the city. We ask leave to introduce him upon his arrival." And then turning to the sheriff, he whispered direction. The sheriff went to the hall and returned with a negro. Royson was engaged in conversation, leaning over the back of his chair and with his face averted. The witness was sworn and took the stand facing the crowd. A murmur of surprise ran about the room, for there, looking out upon them, was the well-known face of Slippery Dick. The next proceedings were irregular but dramatic. Little Dabney drew himself up to his full height and shouted in a shrill voice:
"Look at that man, gentlemen of the jury." At the same time his finger was pointed at Royson. All eyes were at once fixed upon that individual. His face was as chalk, and the red scar across the nose flamed as so much fiery paint. His eyes were fastened on the witness with such an expression of fear and horror that those near him shuddered and drew back slightly. And as he gazed his left hand fingered at his collar and presently, with sudden haste, tore away the black cravat. Then he made an effort to leave, but Barksdale arose and literally hurled him back in his chair. The court rapped loudly.
"I fine you $50, Mr. Barksdale. Take your seat!"
Dick, unabashed, met that wild, pleading, threatening, futile gaze of Royson, who was now but half-conscious of the proceedings.
"Tell the jury, do you know this man?" shouted the shrill voice again, the finger still pointing to Royson.