BOOK II
THE MAN
XVII
THE MONOGRAM
I had made my promise to Miss Meredith with an apparent hopefulnesswhich may have deceived her, but did not deceive myself. When the glowof my first enthusiasm passed, I sat down in the solitude of my ownroom to reconsider the events of the day, but one thing was clear tome, and that was the unpromising nature of the task I had set myselfto perform. What excuse had I for the self-confidence I had shown?What means were at my command which were not also at the command ofthe police? She herself had asked this same question, and I hadparried it. But I could not parry the demands of my own intelligence.They must be met and answered. But how? In vain I pondered ways andmeans; laid innumerable plans and relentlessly discarded them;projected interviews which I knew were fruitless, and worked myselfthrough labyrinths of reasoning which ended in nothing and left me nofarther advanced at the end than I was in the beginning.
Wearied at last in mind and body, I retired, and during my sleep hadan inspiration upon which I proceeded to act early the next morning.Revisiting Sam Underhill's apartment, I told him my difficulty andopened up my scheme. Sam Underhill, with all his faults and numberlesseccentricities, was a good fellow at bottom, and just the man torespect my confidence. He was, besides, the only person within therange of my acquaintances who could assist me in the plan I hadformed; a plan which demanded the active cooperation of someone not sowell known to the police as myself. Hampered as I was by my well-knownconnection with the Gillespie poisoning case, I could not personallymake a move towards the ravelment of its mystery without subjectingmyself to the curiosity of the people among whom my investigationsmight carry me, even if I escaped drawing upon myself the attention ofthe District Attorney's office and the suspicion of the men whosebusiness I was in a measure attempting to usurp. But he was a freeagent; he could come and go without arousing distrust or awakeningprofessional jealousy. At all events he, and he alone, could put meinto communication with the private detective whom I had decided toemploy. As I had always been accustomed to visit Sam's rooms, mypresence there at any hour of the day or night would raise no comment.I had only his laziness to fear, a laziness which with him was asmarked a characteristic as it was with Alfred Gillespie, whom he socarelessly criticised.
Seated with him over an impromptu chafing-dish breakfast, I firsttested his good nature by a sally or two, and finding it well up tothe mark, took him, as I have already said, sufficiently into myconfidence to rouse his interest; then I put the blunt question:
"Which of the three Gillespie boys do you, upon mature reflection,consider the most capable of the crime attributed to this family?"
His manner changed at once.
"Oh, come now!" he cried, "don't calculate upon putting me in thatbox. Like the rest of the world I prefer to await developments beforecommitting myself on so delicate a matter. Why, Outhwaite, prejudiceis as bad as the hangman! If I had settled positively in my own mindwhich of the three had emptied that phial of poison into the oldgentleman's evening glass, I would not impart my convictions. Thesefellows have enough to carry without my throwing the least weight intoso trembling a balance."
I girded myself for the struggle.
"Wait," said I; "have I fully made clear to you Miss Meredith'sposition?"
"Yes, I comprehend that well enough."
"Very well, then. Which is most important; to assist this unhappywoman to escape from her anomalous position, or to prevent prejudicefrom being formed in my mind, when you know how impossible it would befor me to misuse it to my advantage?"
"I am not so sure of that," he retorted. "I don't know of a fellowmore likely to be carried away by his convictions than yourself. Ifyou were not a lawyer you would be doing all sorts of quixotic things;but, being hemmed in by professional conventionalities, you show somerestraint, though not enough to warrant me in trusting you with myopinion on this matter--since it is only an opinion."
Naturally, I became eager to know what lay behind this break. Opinionsare not formed without some show of reason, and the lightest reasonmight suffice to put me on the track I sought. He saw my resolution inmy face, and made an effort to resist.
"I am as sorry as you are for Miss Meredith," he drawled, helping meto fresh coffee. "If I had seen her the day she gave her testimony Imight be sorrier still; but I did not have that pleasure, and so amwilling to leave the matter with those whose duty it is to see thatjustice is meted out to the guilty."
"Do you think their efforts are likely to be successful?"
"Oh, the question will be solved some day."
"Do you think so?"
At this repetition of the phrase, which I had made forcible by myintonation, he raised his eyebrows and, emptying his cup beforeanswering, gave me an opportunity to add:
"With nothing to go upon but an accusation which, while involving allthree of Mr. Gillespie's sons, specifies none, how can any officialaction be taken beyond that very ordinary one of submitting the wholehousehold to a continual surveillance? Unless fresh evidence comes in,or conscience drives the guilty to confession, weeks, months, nay,years will go by, and the hand which hesitates to move now willhesitate still; justice needing something more definite to go uponthan a suspicion equally divided amongst three men."
"You are right there, but what can you do to better the situation? Itappears to me that you will have to wait too."
"Which contradicts your former assertion."
"Very possibly; man is full of contradictions at so early an hour asthis, and with only one cup of coffee between him and the possiblenightmare of the night before."
"Drink another cup, then, while I tell you what my hopes are. Guidedby impressions which more than once in my life have proved infallible,I mean to run my man down till he succumbs to the pressure I willbring upon him, and confesses. This, I believe, can be done if all myforce is concentrated on one man. At all events it is the only way Isee of attaining the desired end. Now, will you assist me to choosethe one out of these three most open to attack?"
"I don't like it; it is against all my principles, but if you mustknow the exact state of my feelings on this matter, come to theserooms to-night at nine sharp and I will allow you to hear from thelips of a certain acquaintance of mine a story which may serve to giveyou some enlightenment. He's not a man you will want to meet, so Imust ask you to content yourself with an easy chair in my den. _He_will be received in this room, and the door yonder can be leftconveniently open. Do you object to this arrangement? It smacks ofconspiracy and other things not altogether agreeable; but it's thebest I can do for you at this time, and poor Yox won't care; it's yourfeelings I am mainly considering."
"I will be here," I doggedly replied. I was resolved to let nothing,not even my prejudices as a gentleman, interfere with the successfulpursuit of this undertaking. "Will his story contain any reference toMiss Meredith?"
"Not the least in the world. Why?"
"Because I always find it difficult to sit still when I hear ladiesspoken of in any way short of the deepest respect; and you say he isnot a gentleman."
"He won't transgress to that degree. If he does, trust to my bringinghim to order. Sorry I must place an embargo on the cigars you willfind on the table. Smoking on your part would give away your presence;for the man whose story you are coming to hear is one of those fellowswho smell a rat round the corner. In other words, he's a privatedetective with whom I was once thrown in a peculiar way. What now?"
"Perhaps he's the very fellow I want. I have use for a privatedetective."
"So--I--suppose."
This sentence, so long in coming, was uttered in a peculiar way, andat the moment we were rising from table. Though I said nothing, Iexperienced an access of courage. Unpromising as Sam's manner hadbeen, he was really in sympathy with me, and willing to lend me ahelping hand.
That day the law suffered, or, rather, I should say, such clients aswere misguided enough to come to my office. The uncertain nature ofthe disclosu
re I awaited, and the doubt as to which of the threebrothers it would chiefly affect, kept me restless up to the hour setapart for my return to Sam Underhill's room. Not till nine o'clockarrived and I found myself in the small apartment called his den, didI recover my poise and show anything like a steady countenance in thelong mirror stretched above the mantel. This has always been acharacteristic of mine. Great agitation up to the moment of action,and then an unnatural calmness. In this case it was an event Iawaited; but the characteristic remained unchanged.
Sam Underhill, on the contrary, never appeared more at his ease. Icould hear him singing between the whiffs of his cigar, and, as Ifollowed the mellow strains of one of the finest tenors I have everknown, I recalled the fact that I myself had not sung a note since theexperience which had made such heavy inroads into my life. Was Igrowing misanthropic? Sam had not been without his dark days. Iremembered quite well all the talk that went about at the time of hismad passion for Dorothy Loring,--that bewitching madcap who afterwardsfound her match in Steve Wilson,--and I could not reconcile thatdisappointment with his present gaiety.
But these reflections cannot be of any interest to my readers; enoughthat they occupied me at the time and killed my impatience, till asudden stoppage in the strain I objected to warned me that theexpected visitor had arrived. I squared myself for the ordeal, held mybreath, and prepared to listen.
The greetings were commonplace. Sam is a proud chap and does not puthimself out much for anybody. To this man he scarcely showed commoncourtesy. Perhaps he was afraid of awakening distrust by any betrayalof interest in the coming interview; perhaps he recognised that abarely civil greeting was all the man expected or desired.
"Halloo, Yox!"
"Good evening, Mr. Underhill."
"Did I ask you to call on me to-night?"
"You certainly did, Mr. Underhill, and set the hour."
"Well, well, I suppose you are correct. Sit down. My memory is notmuch longer than this cigar, which you may observe is almost smokedup. Have one, Yox; you won't get a better in your shop; and now, whathave you come to tell me?"
"Not much. Dennison bought seven shares last Tuesday and Littleinvested in as many more yesterday. Both men show confidence, andto-morrow's report will be all you can wish."
"Good! How much do I owe you? Will that do?"
I heard a rustle, then a short laugh preceding the remark, "You mighthalve it and still please me. Oh, I'll take it. Not too much gristcomes to my mill."
Here there was a silence. Underhill was evidently lighting a freshcigar. When they spoke again it was to drift into generalities, towhich I listened with an impatience in marked contrast to thecomplacency of Sam, who seemed just too tired to live; that is, if Icould judge from his tone and the total absence of interest heexpressed in anything said either by himself or his somewhat vulgarguest. But suddenly there was a change, not in Underhill, whose voicewas even more languishing than before, but in myself; for I heard Samremark between two prolonged whiffs:
"What is that story you were trying to tell me the other night aboutthe row in lower ---- Street? I thought it promised to be interestingat the time, but the other fellows were in such a hurry I couldn'tstay to hear it out. Tell it again, Yox, just as you did then; perhapsit will wake me up."
The answer came more quickly than I expected.
"Oh, that? Well, I don't mind. It was a curious adventure and broughtme too near the police for me to forget it in a hurry. I wish I knewwho that fellow was. Did I show you the match-box I found in one ofthe pockets of the coat he gave me? The monogram----"
"Never mind the monogram. We'll talk about that afterwards," broke inSam in the sleepiest tones imaginable. "I don't care so much about theman as the way he acted. This struck me as being strange for agentleman. But begin, Yox; you relate adventures well. I have heardyou talk more than once."
Yox, who was not above flattery, hemmed, hawed, and launched out inthe following tale. I transcribe his words as nearly as I can rememberthem. At first he did not interest me much.
"You see, I had business at old Mother Merry's. Do you know the place?It's not likely, so I will describe it; you need to know somethingabout it in order to understand my story.
"It's an old fish-market, or, rather, that was its use once; now it'sa sort of lodging-house, standing half on the dock and half on piles,somewhere down near ---- Street. I like the place. That is, it has amysterious air which we fellows don't object to. Seen from the docksand in daylight, it has the appearance of four squat walls withoutwindows. But if you take the trouble to crawl around on the riverside, you will find two glazed loopholes overlooking the water, one onthe lower story and one under the roof. There is also, I am told, asky-light or two up above, but I can't swear to that. By night, theone bright glimmer you see on getting near it shines through the door.This stands open in the summer, or, rather, the upper half of it does,for it is made in two parts, like the old Dutch ones you see in thepictures; but in winter time an agreeable light shines through thefour small holes arranged along the top half. A calico curtain blowsin and out of this door on such nights as we have been having lately;for Mother Merry likes a fire, and the little stove she sits at,netting, heats the one big room below to smotheration, and the menwon't stand it. If this curtain blows high you can, if you're nervyenough, get a peep at the inside, stewing with a horrible smell offish, and bright with kerosene lamps and the busy little stove. Youwon't see much furniture, for Mother Merry don't spend her money onanything she can do without; but there is a table or two and somechairs, and in one of the corners a door which sometimes stands halfopen, but more often is to be seen tight shut. Behind this doorwhatever mischief the house hides takes place. You can tell this fromthe old woman's eye, which is always on it; and, if you know her well,it is quite enough to watch her twitching underlip to satisfyyourself as to whether the mischief is big or little; prosperous inits character, or of a kind likely to damage her reputation and emptyher well-stuffed pockets. She is no fool, this old Mother Merry; andthough she has not much of what we men call nerve, and trembles like aleaf at the approach of a policeman, she has more control than youwould think over the tough crowd of boatmen who knock their headstogether in that little room. I have even been told that she is fearedquite beyond all reason by the few stray females who find a refuge inthe scanty garret rooms, which have given to this shanty thehighfalutin name of lodging-house. What harm goes on under hertwinkling red eye, I do not know. I have been in the place altogetherthree times, but have never yet found out what that door conceals. Themen play at some sort of game around a large table, on which blackbottles and thick glasses take up as much room as the cards; but I donot think it is gambling only which makes it next to impossible for afellow to get in there at night. There is something else--but I won'tstop over that. It is a hell of a place, as you can judge, and unlessone's business led him there, scarcely a spot where a man would bragof being found.
"One night--the night I am telling you about--I got in, but got inlate. There was some sort of password necessary, and I had a hard timegetting hold of it, and a harder time yet making old Mother Merry hearit when I had got hold of it. Yet she isn't deaf and doesn't pretendto be. This trouble over, and the door passed, I encountered anothercheck. A man was there; a slouchy, disreputable wretch, and it washe, instead of Mother Merry, who was watching that mysterious door,which for once stood far enough ajar for one room to share the smells,sights, and uproar of the other. I did not like this man. I did notlike the way he stood, or looked, or held his tongue. There wassomething peculiar and unnatural in his whole manner, and I glanced atMother Merry to see what she thought of him.
"Evidently nothing bad; for she moved about quite comfortable-like,and did not so much as look at the door I had never before seen herlet out of her sight a moment.
"'Who can he be?' I naturally asked myself, a little put out by mydoubts; for my business would soon take me into the inner room, and Idid not like to imagine myself under his eye.
"'Drink!' I suddenly shouted, to see if I could make any impression onhim.
"But I might as well have shouted at a hitching-post. Mother Merrybrought me whiskey, but the man did not budge. I began to think ofputting off my affair to a more convenient season, when I was takenwith a sudden curiosity to see just what he was staring at.
"Approaching gently, I looked over his shoulder. A portion of theinside room was all I could see, but in that portion sat a man with ared face and a cruel jaw. It was this face which held the attention ofthe boatman before me; and while I was wondering what he found in itto hold him stock-still for so long, I heard a sigh escape from underthe coarse jacket I dreaded touching with my own, and, much amazed atthis show of feeling in a den of such boiled-down filth andwickedness, I moved back to where Mother Merry stood, and whispered inher ear:
"'Who's that man? Do you know him? Has he any business here?'
"Her gaunt shoulders lifted in a shrug--she is far from jolly,cheerful as her name is--then she drew near the man and I saw hertouch him. At that, or some low words she uttered, he roused and casta quick look about him, then he pointed towards a door on the otherside of the room.
"She answered by a nod, and he moved off with a poor try at a slouchygait. When I saw this I knew he was no sailor.
"As the door closed behind him, a sound of women screaming andscolding came from the docks, then a child's cry cut into the night,after which there was quiet in that quarter and in the house, too. ForMother Merry, with a scared look, jumped towards the room where themen were sitting, and, pushing her way in, held up her hand so as todraw all eyes.
"'The warning,' she cried. 'It's the cops! See if you can get out bythe window.'
"One of the men arose and went to the window, looked out, and camecrawling back, putting out a light as he did so.
"'They're on the water,' he whispered; and, whether I am a fool ornot, that whisper sent the creeps up my back.
"'Both front and back?' she cried. 'That means business; you'll haveto squeeze into the hole, boys.'
"Another light went out.
"Meanwhile I had crept to the door.
"''Ware there! that fellow's trying to sneak,' shouted a voice.
"I drew back. Old Merry came to my aid.
"'Don't be a fool,' she whispered. 'Stay here or they'll think you'rein with them!'
"The growl of some half-dozen of them brought the warning home. Ilaughed and got in line with the boys, grumbling aloud as I did so:
"'Then they'll make a mistake. If you are wanted by the cops, I am,too. But how about that other fellow?' I whispered, getting close toMother Merry in the hubbub.
"She didn't hear me; she was telling how something was to be done.Then another light went out. The place now was in nearly totaldarkness.
"'Hush!' came from the doorway where the curtain blew in and out.
"'Hush and quick,' came in hoarse echo from Mother Merry's quiveringlips.
"Suddenly the room was empty. Of the half-dozen drunken figures I hadseen moving about me the minute before, not one was in sight. I hearda creak, then a scuffle, and then a bang, and the room stood empty.Only a few bottles and a pack or two of cards were left on the dirtytop of the old pine table, as proof that a tough crowd had been thereraising Cain. The old woman cleared the table and shoved the lot intoa cupboard; then she sat down. Never have I seen a woman so steady andat the same time so frightened.
"'There is room for one more,' she quickly said, pointing to where themen had disappeared. 'It's over the water, and the floor is full ofholes, but the police haven't got on to it yet. Will you go down?'
"'I wasn't with the crowd,' I told her.
"'That won't help you. You're in the house--Ah!'
"It was almost a cry she gave; the door to the upper rooms had openedand the sailor who had struck me as such a peculiar chap stood in theroom before us. 'I forgot,' she wailed out. 'What am I to do with_him_?'
"The sailor, who was no sailor, stared straight before him, as well hemight, for he had left a lighted room and found a dark one. Yet inthat stare there was a look of pain easily to be seen by the lightthrown out by the red-hot stove. He didn't mind Mother Merry's cry. Hehad something else on his mind. He looked like a man suddenly wakenedup, and I had a strange idea that his dreams, if he had had them, heldhim just then in a closer grip than the facts he had come among.
"'Is it so late?' he sighed; and I started, for the voice was thevoice of a gentleman.
"The words, and the way he said them, seemed to bring fresh trouble toMother Merry.
"'Oh, the ill-luck!' she wailed. 'The cops are at the door. The placehas been threatened for a month, and to-night they are closing round.Will you face them, or shall I open the trap again--Oh, don't!' shegroaned, as he gave a sudden reel backward; 'it makes me feel wicked.I ought to have warned you.'
"'It would have made no difference,' he said. 'I should still havegone up. Help me, if you can, and remember what you have sworn.To-morrow I will send money. O God! O God! to leave _now_----'
"'You cannot leave. Hark, that is the second signal! In another momentthey will be here. Do you want to fall into their hands?'
"'I had rather die. Quick! Some place! Money is no object. Let thatfellow I see over there help me. He looks as if he wasn't afraid ofthe police. Let him change togs with me.'
"'I am a private detective,' I whispered, going very close to him inthe dark. 'My name is Yox, and you will find papers to support thename and business in my coat pocket. They may hold you for a day, butno longer,' and I handed over my coat.
"'I am sorry that I cannot confide my name to you with the same ease Ido this coat,' he replied, as he threw me the garment which had sodisfigured him. 'But my name is the secret I would defend with mylife. Say that you are Benjamin Jones.'
"'First fork over the cash which you say is no object to you!' Icried.
"'You must trust me for that,' he answered. 'If I get off withoutdiscovery you will receive a hundred dollars at your address withinthe week. I have left all I had above.'
"'Chaff!' I muttered.
"'He will pay,' Mother Merry assured me.
"'Then here's my cap,' I grumbled, not any too well pleased.
"He took it, and though it was a common one enough, he looked likeanother man in it.
"'Support me in my character!' he ordered, just as that blowingcurtain was caught and held back by a hand from without and the faceof a policeman looked in.
"'Hey, there! lamps up!' was the order. We got a light flashed over usfrom the doorway.
"The man at my side advanced to meet it, and I saw him talking withthe officer who had pushed his head through the upper half of thedoor. Then everything about and before me became mixed in the rush thepolice made from every side, and I failed to see anything again forsome minutes. When a minute's quiet came about again, and I had thechance to use my eyes, I did not find the man to whom I had lent mycoat and my name. He had been allowed to slip away.
"But I had no such luck. The place being turned over, and only a fewwomen found, they turned on me. But I was game, and was soon able toshow them I was one of their own sort. At which there naturally camethe question as to who the other fellow was. But I did not help themout on this, and it ended in my being taken to Jefferson Market withthe rest.
"We all got off next day and without much trouble. I have alwaysthought that fellow paid the fines; at all events, one week from thatday I found an envelope addressed to me, lying on my desk at theoffice. It contained bills to the amount agreed upon.
"Now, Mr. Underhill, who was this man? I have been asking myself thatquestion ever since I pocketed his money. The fellow who can pay outhundreds like that is a man to know."
I waited for the answer, which was slow in coming. But then Underhillwas always slow. When he did speak it was lazily enough.
"Didn't you say you had some clue to his identity; a match-box orsomething of that kind, which you found in one of the pockets of thecoat he gave you?"
<
br /> "Yes, I have that."
"And that there were initials on it which you had not been able todecipher?"
"Oh, yes, initials; but what can a fellow make out of initials?"
"Not much, of course. Have you that match-box with you?"
"I just have. I sport it everywhere. I think so much of it I have eventalked of having my name changed to fit the letters of this monogram."
"Let me see it, will you?"
The fellow drew it out.
A minute passed, then Underhill drawled out:
"It's not as easy to make out as I expected. Will you let me compareit with a collection I have in a book here? I may have its mate."
"Sure, sir."
Underhill came my way. The sudden heat into which I was thrown by thisunexpected move acted as a double warning. I must beware ofself-betrayal, and I must take care not to give away my presence tothe sharp-eyed, sharp-eared man whose perspicacity I had reason todread. I therefore rose as quietly as possible and met Underhill'sentering figure with a silent inquiry, nicely adjusted to theinterest I was supposed to feel in the matter. He was no less careful,but there was a sparkle in his eye as he handed over to my inspectionthe match-box he had just taken from Yox, which contradicted his airof unconsciousness, and led me to inspect with great interest themonogram he displayed to my notice. It was by no means a simple one,as you will see by the sub-joined copy.
As I studied it, Underhill wrote on a sheet of paper lying open on thetable:
"I have seen that match-box a dozen times." Then, separating theletters of the monogram, he wrote them out in a string, thus:
L L D G
"Leighton Gillespie?" I inquired in a kind of soundless whisper.
"Leighton Le Droit Gillespie," he wrote.
It was the name with which my own mind was full; the name with whichit had been full ever since the inquest.