VI. The Wrong Sign
It was an ancient diary in a faded leather cover. The writing was fineand delicate, and the ink yellow with age. Sir Henry Marquis turned thepages slowly and with care for the paper was fragile.
We had dined early at the Ritz and come in later to his great home inSt. James's Square.
He wished to show me this old diary that had come to him from a branchof his mother's family in Virginia--a branch that had gone out with aKing's grant when Virginia was a crown colony. The collateral ancestor,Pendleton, had been a justice of the peace in Virginia, and a spinsterdaughter had written down some of the strange cases with which herfather had been concerned.
Sir Henry Marquis believed that these cases in their tragic details, andtheir inspirational, deductive handling, equaled any of our modern time.The great library overlooking St. James's Square, was curtained off fromLondon. Sir Henry read by the fire; and I listened, returned, as by somerecession of time to the Virginia of a vanished decade. The narrative ofthe diary follows:
My father used to say that the Justice of God was sometimes swift andterrible. He said we thought of it usually as remote and deliberate, asort of calm adjustment in some supernatural Court of Equity. But thisidea was far from the truth. He had seen the justice of God move onthe heels of a man with appalling swiftness; with a crushing force anddirectness that simply staggered the human mind. I know the case hethought about.
Two men sat over a table when my father entered. One of them got up. Hewas a strange human creature, when you stood and looked calmly at him.You thought the Artificer had designed him for a priest of the church.He had the massive features and the fringe of hair around his baldhead like a tonsure. At first, to your eye, it was the vestments of thechurch, he lacked; then you saw that the lack was something fundamental;something organic in the nature of the man. And as he held andstimulated your attention you got a fearful idea, that the purpose forwhich this human creature was shaped had been somehow artfully reversed!
He was big boned and tall when he stood up.
"Pendleton," he said, "I would have come to you, but for my guest."
And he indicated the elegant young man at the table.
"But I did not send you word to ride a dozen miles through the hills onany trivial business, or out of courtesy to me. It is a matter of someimport, so I will pay ten eagles."
My father looked steadily at the man.
"I am not for hire," he said.
My father was a justice of the peace in Virginia, under the Englishsystem, by the theory of which the most substantial men in a countyundertook to keep the peace for the welfare of the State. LikeWashington in the service of the Colonial army, he took no pay.
The big man laughed.
"We are most of us for purchase, and all of us for hire," he said. "Iwill make it twenty!"
The young man at the table now interrupted. He was elegant in thecostume of the time, in imported linen and cloth from an English loom.His hair was thick and black; his eyebrows straight, his body and hisface rich in the blood and the vitalities of youth. But sensuality wason him like a shadow. The man was given over to a life of pleasure.
"Mr. Pendleton," he said, with a patronizing pedantic air, "thecommonwealth is interested to see that litigation does not arise; and tothat end, I hope you will not refuse us the benefit of your experience.We are about to draw up a deed of sale running into a considerable sum,and we would have it court proof."
He made a graceful gesture with his jeweled hand.
"I would be secure in my purchase, and Zindorf in his eagles, and you,Sir, in the knowledge that the State will not be vexed by any suitbetween us. Every contract, I believe, upon some theory of the law, isa triangular affair with the State a party. Let us say then, that yourepresent Virginia!"
"In the service of the commonwealth," replied my father coldly, "I amalways to be commanded."
The man flicked a bit of dust from his immaculate coat sleeve.
"It will be a conference of high powers. I shall represent Eros; Mr.Pendleton, Virginia; and Zindorf" and he laughed--"his Imperial Master!"
And to the eye the three men fitted to their legend. The Hellenic Godof pleasure in his sacred groves might have chosen for his disciple onefrom Athens with a face and figure like this youth. My father borethe severities of the law upon him. And I have written how strange acreature the third party to this conference was.
He now answered with an oath.
"You have a very pretty wit, Mr. Lucian Morrow," he said. "I add to myprice a dozen eagles for it."
The young man shrugged his shoulders in his English coat.
"Smart money, eh, Zindorf... Well, it does not make me smart. It onlymakes me remember that Count Augsburg educated you in Bavaria for theChurch and you fled away from it to be a slave trader in Virginia."
He got on his feet, and my father saw that the man was in liquor. Hewas not drunken, but the effect was on him with its daring and itsindiscretions.
It was an April morning, bright with sun. The world was white with appleblossoms, the soft air entered through the great open windows. And myfather thought that the liquor in the man had come with him out of anight of bargaining or revel.
Morrow put his hands on the table and looked at Zindorf; then, suddenly,the laughter in his face gave way to the comprehension of a swift,striking idea.
"Why, man," he cried, "it's the devil's truth! Everything about you is anegation! You ought to be a priest by all the lines and features of you;but you're not... Scorch me, but you're not!"
His voice went up on the final word as though to convey some impressive,sinister discovery.
It was true in every aspect of the man. The very clothes he wore,somber, wool-threaded homespun, crudely patched, reminded one of thecoarse fabrics that monks affect for their abasement. But one saw, whenone remembered the characteristic of the man, that they represented hereonly an extremity of avarice.
Zindorf looked coldly at his guest.
"Mr. Lucian Morrow," he said, "you will go on, and my price will go on!"
But the young blood, on his feet, was not brought up by the monetarythreat. He looked about the room, at the ceiling, the thick walls. And,like a man who by a sudden recollection confounds his adversary with anoverlooked illustrative fact, he suddenly cried out:
"By the soul of Satan, you're housed to suit! Send me to the pit! It'sthe very place for you! Eh! Zindorf, do you know who built the house youlive in?"
"I do not, Mr. Lucian Morrow," said the man. "Who built it?"
One could see that he wished to divert the discourses of his guest. Hefailed.
"God built it!" cried Morrow.
He put out his hands as though to include the hose.
"Pendleton," he said, "you will remember. The people built these wallsfor a church. It burned, but the stone walls could not burn; theyremained overgrown with creeper. Then, finally, old Wellington Monroebuilt a house into the walls for the young wife he was about to marry,but he went to the coffin instead of the bride-bed, and the housestood empty. It fell into the courts with the whole of Monroe's tangledbusiness and finally Zindorf gets it at a sheriff's sale."
The big man now confronted the young blood with decision.
"Mr. Lucian Morrow," he said, "if you are finished with your fool talk,I will bid you good morning. I have decided not to sell the girl."
The face of Morrow changed. His voice wheedled in an anxious note.
"Not sell her, Zindorf!" he echoed. "Why man, you have promised her tome all along. You always said I should have her in spite of your cursedpartner Ordez. You said you'd get her some day and sell her to me.Now, curse it, Zindorf, I want her... I've got the money: ten thousanddollars. It's a big lot of money. But I've got it. I've got it in gold."
He went on:
"Besides, Zindorf, you can have the money, it'll mean more to you. Butit's the girl I want."
He stood up and in his anxiety the effect of the liquor faded out.
; "I've waited on your promise, Zindorf. You said that some day, whenOrdez was hard-pressed he would sell her for money, even if she washis natural daughter. You were right; you knew Ordez. You have got anassignment of all the slaves in possession, in the partnership, andOrdez has cleared out of the country. I know what you paid for hishalf-interest in this business, it's set out in the assignment. It wasthree thousand dollars.
"Think of it, man, three thousand dollars to Ordez for a wholesale,omnibus assignment of everything. An elastic legal note of an assignmentthat you can stretch to include this girl along with the half-dozenother slaves that you have on hand here; and I offer you ten thousanddollars for the girl alone!"
One could see how the repetition of the sum in gold affected Zindorf.
He had the love of money in that dominating control that the Apostlespoke of. But the elegant young man was moved by a lure no less potent.And his anxiety, for the time, suppressed the evidences of liquor.
"I'll take the risk on the title, Zindorf. You and Ordez were partnersin this traffic. Ordez gives you a general assignment of all slaves onhand for three thousand dollars and lights out of the country. He leaveshis daughter here among the others. And this general assignment can beconstrued to include her. Her mother was a slave and that brings herwithin the law. We know precisely who her mother was, and all about it.You looked it up and my lawyer, Mr. Cable, looked it up. Her motherwas the octoroon woman, Suzanne, owned by old Judge Marquette in NewOrleans.
"There may have been some sort of church marriage, but there's no legalrecord, Cable says.
"The woman belonged to Marquette, and under the law the girl is a slave.You got a paper title out of Marquette's executors, privily, yearsago. Now you have this indefinite assignment by Ordez. He's gone to theSpanish Islands, or the devil, or both. And if Mr. Pendleton can drawa deed of sale that will stand in the courts between us, I'll take therisk on the validity of my title."
He paused.
"The law's sound on slaves, Judge Madison has a dozen himself, not allblack either; not three-eighths black!" and he laughed.
Then he turned to my father.
"Mr. Pendleton," he said, "I persuaded Zindorf to send for you to drawup this deed of sale. I have no confidence in the little practicingtricksters at the county seat. They take a fee and, with premeditation,write a word or phrase into the contract that leaves it open for a suitat law."
He made a courteous bow, accompanied by a dancing master's gesture.
"I do not offend you with the offer of a fee, but I present my gratitudefor the conspicuous courtesy, and I indicate the service to thecommonwealth of legal papers in form and court proof. May I hope, Sir,that you will not deny us the benefit of your highly distinguishedservice."
My father very slowly looked about him in calm reflection.
He had ridden ten miles through the hills on this April morning, atZindorf's message sent the night before. The clay of the roads was stilldamp and plastic from the recent rain. There were flecks of mud on himand the splashing of the streams.
He was a big, dominating man, in the hardened strength and experienceof middle life. He had come, as he believed, upon some service of thestate. And here was a thing for the little dexterities of a lawyer'sclerk. Everybody in Virginia, who knew my father, can realize how he wasapt to meet the vague message of Zindorf that got him in this house, andthe patronizing courtesies of Mr. Lucian Morrow.
He was direct and virile, and while he feared God, like the greatfigures in the Pentateuch, as though he were a judge of Israel enforcinghis decrees with the weapon of iron, I cannot write here, that atany period of his life, or for any concern or reason, he very greatlyregarded man.
He went over to the window and looked out at the hills and the road thathe had traveled.
The mid-morning sun was on the fields and groves like a benediction. Thesoft vitalizing air entered and took up the stench of liquor, the ash oftobacco and the imported perfumes affected by Mr. Lucian Morrow.
The windows in the room were long, gothic like a church, and turningon a pivot. They ran into the ceiling that Monroe had built across thegutted walls. The house stood on the crown of a hill, in a cluster ofoak trees. Below was the abandoned graveyard, the fence about it rotteddown; the stone slabs overgrown with moss. The four roads running intothe hills joined and crossed below this oak grove that the early peoplehad selected for a house of God.
My father looked out on these roads and far back on the one that he hadtraveled.
There was no sound in the world, except the faint tolling of a bell ina distant wood on the road. It was far off on the way to my father'shouse, and the vague sound was to be heard only when a breath of windcarried from that way.
My father gathered his big chin, flat like a plowshare, into the troughof his bronze hand. He stood for some moments in reflection, then heturned to Mr. Lucian Morrow.
"I think you are right," he said. "I think this is a triangular affairwith the state a party. I am in the service of the state. Will youkindly put the table by this window."
They thought he wished the air, and would thus escape the closeness ofthe room. And while my father stood aside, Zindorf and his guest carriedthe flat writing table to the window and placed a chair.
My father sat down behind the table by the great open window, and lookedat Zindorf.
The man moved and acted like a monk. He had the figure and the tonsuredhead. His coarse, patched clothes cut like the homely garments of thesimple people of the day, were not wholly out of keeping to the part.The idea was visualized about him; the simplicity and the poverty of thegreat monastic orders in their vast, noble humility. All striking andreal until one saw his face!
My father used to say that the great orders of God were correct in thishumility; for in its vast, comprehensive action, the justice of Godmoved in a great plain, where every indicatory event was preciselyequal; a straw was a weaver's beam.
God hailed men to ruin in his court, not with spectacular devices, butby means of some homely, common thing, as though to abase and overcomeour pride.
My father moved the sheets of foolscap, and tested the point of thequill pen like one who considers with deliberation. He dipped the pointinto the inkpot and slowly wrote a dozen formal words.
Then he stopped and put down the pen.
"The contests of the courts," he said, "are usually on the question ofidentity. I ought to see this slave for a correct description."
The two men seemed for a moment uncertain what to do.
Then Zindorf addressed my father.
"Pendleton," he said, "the fortunes of life change, and the ideas suitedto one status are ridiculous in another. Ordez was a fool. He madebelieve to this girl a future that he never intended, and she is underthe glamor of these fancies."
He stood in the posture of a monk, and he spoke each word with a clearenunciation.
"It is a very delicate affair, to bring this girl out of theextravagances with which Ordez filled her idle head, and not be brutalin it. We must conduct the thing with tact, and we will ask you,Pendleton, to observe the courtesies of our pretension."
When he had finished, he flung a door open and went down a stairway. Fora time my father heard his footsteps, echoing, like those of a priestin the under chambers of a chapel. Then he ascended, and my father wasastonished.
He came with a young girl on his arm, as in the ceremony of marriagesometimes the priest emerges with the bride. The girl was young and of aSpanish beauty. She was all in white with blossoms in her hair. Andshe was radiant, my father said, as in the glory of some happycontemplation. There was no slave like this on the block in Virginia.Young girls like this, my father had seen in Havana in the houses ofSpanish Grandees.
"This is Mr. Pendleton, our neighbor," Zindorf said. "He comes to offeryou his felicitations."
The girl made a little formal curtsy.
"When my father returns," she said in a queer, liquid accent, "he willthank you, Meester Pendleton; just now he is on a
journey."
And she gave her hand to Lucian Morrow to kiss, like a lady of the time.Then Zindorf, mincing his big step, led her out.
And my father stood behind the table in the enclosure of the window,with his arms folded, and his chin lifted above his great black stock.I know how my father looked, for I have seen him stand like that beforemoving factors in great events, when he intended, at a certain cue, toenter.
He said that it was at this point that Mr. Lucian Morrow's early commenton Zindorf seemed, all at once, to discover the nature of this wholeaffair. He said that suddenly, with a range of vision like the greatfigures in the Pentateuch, he saw how things right and true would workout backward into abominations, if, by any chance, the virtue of God inevents were displaced!
Zindorf returned, and as he stepped through the door, closing itbehind him, the far-off tolling of the bell, faint, eerie, carried bya stronger breath of April air, entered through the window. My fatherextended his arm toward the distant wood.
"Zindorf," he said, "do you mark the sign?" The man listened.
"What sign?" he said.
"The sign of death!" replied my father.
The man made a deprecating gesture with his hands, "I do not believe insigns," he said.
My father replied like one corrected by a memory.
"Why, yes," he said, "that is true. I should have remembered that. Youdo not believe in signs, Zindorf, since you abandoned the sign of thecross, and set these coarse patches on your knees to remind you not tobend them in the sign of submission to the King of Kings."
The intent in the mended clothing was the economy of avarice, but myfather turned it to his use.
The man's face clouded with anger.
"What I believe," he said, "is neither the concern of you nor another."
He paused with an oath.
"Whatever you may believe, Zindorf," replied my father, "the sound ofthat bell is unquestionably a sign of death." He pointed toward thedistant wood. "In the edge of the forest yonder is the ancient churchthat the people built to replace the burned one here. It has been longabandoned, but in its graveyard lie a few old families. And now andthen, when an old man dies, they bring him back to put him with hisfathers. This morning, as I came along, they were digging the grave forold Adam Duncan, and the bell tolls for him. So you see," and he lookedZindorf in the face, "a belief in signs is justified."
Again the big man made his gesture as of one putting something of noimportance out of the way.
"Believe what you like," he said, "I am not concerned with signs."
"Why, yes, Zindorf," replied my father, "of all men you are the veryone most concerned about them. You must be careful not to use the wrongones."
It was a moment of peculiar tension.
The room was flooded with sun. The tiny creatures of the air dronedoutside. Everywhere was peace and the gentle benevolence of peace. Butwithin this room, split off from the great chamber of a church, eventscovert and sinister seemed preparing to assemble.
My father, big and dominant, was behind the table, his great shouldersblotting out the window.
Mr. Lucian Morrow sat doubled in a chair, and Zindorf stood with theclosed door behind him.
"You see, Zindorf," he said, "each master has his set of signs. Most ofus have learned the signs of one master only. But you have learned thesigns of both. And you must be careful not to bring the signs of yourfirst master into the service of your last one."
The big man did not move, he stood with the door closed behind him, andstudied my father's face like one who feels the presence of a dangerthat he cannot locate.
"What do you mean?" he said.
"I mean," replied my father, "I mean, Zindorf, that each master has acertain intent in events, and this intent is indicated by his set ofsigns. Now the great purpose of these two masters, we believe, in allthe moving of events, is directly opposed. Thus, when we use a signof one of these masters, we express by the symbol of it the hope thatevents will take the direction of his established purpose.
"Don't you see then... don't you see, that we dare not use the signs ofone in the service of the other?"
"Pendleton," said the man, "I do not understand you."
He spoke slowly and precisely, like one moving with an excess of care.
My father went on, his voice strong and level, his eyes on Zindorf.
"The thing is a great mystery," he said. "It is not clear to any of usin its causes or its relations. But old legends and old beliefs, runningdown from the very morning of the world, tell us--warn us, Zindorf--thatthe signs of each of these masters are abhorrent to the other. Neitherwill tolerate the use of his adversary's sign. Moreover, Zindorf, thereis a double peril in it."
And his voice rose.
"There is the peril that the new master will abandon the blunderer forthe insult, and there is the peril that the old one will destroy him forthe sacrilege!"
At this moment the door behind Zindorf opened, and the young girlentered. She was excited and her eyes danced.
"Oh!" she said, "people are coming on every road!"
She looked, my father said, like a painted picture, her dark Castilianbeauty illumined by the pleasure in her interpretation of events. Shethought the countryside assembled after the manner of my father toexpress its felicitations.
Zindorf crossed in great strides to the window: Mr. Lucian Morrow, soberand overwhelmed by the mystery of events about him, got unsteadily onhis feet, holding with both hands to the oak back of a chair.
My father said that the tragedy of the thing was on him, and he actedunder the pressure of it.
"My child," he said, "you are to go to the house of your grandfather inHavana. If Mr. Lucian Morrow wishes to renew his suit for your hand inmarriage, he will do it there. Go now and make your preparations for thejourney."
The girl cried out in pleasure at the words.
"My grandfather is a great person in New Spain. I have always longed tosee him... father promised... and now I am to go ... when do we set out,Meester Pendleton?"
"At once," replied my father, "to-day." Then he crossed the room andopened the door for her to go out. He held the latch until the girl wasdown the stairway. Then he closed the door.
The big man, falsely in his aspect, like a monk, looking out at thefar-off figures on the distant roads, now turned about.
"A clever ruse, Pendleton," he said, "We can send her now, on thispretended journey, to Morrow's house, after the sale."
My father went over and sat down at the table. He took a faded silkenvelope out of his, coat, and laid it down before him. Then he answeredZindorf.
"There will be no sale," he said.
Mr. Lucian Morrow interrupted.
"And why no sale, Sir?"
"Because there is no slave to sell," replied my father. "This girl isnot the daughter of the octoroon woman, Suzanne."
Zindorf's big jaws tightened.
"How did you know that?" he said.
My father answered with deliberation.
"I would have known it," he said, "from the wording of the paper youexhibit from Marquette's executors. It is merely a release of any claimor color of title; the sort of legal paper one executes when one givesup a right or claim that one has no faith in. Marquette's executors werethe ablest lawyers in New Orleans. They were not the men to sign awayvaluable property in a conveyance like that; that they did sign such apaper is conclusive evidence to me that they had nothing--and knew theyhad nothing--to release by it." He paused.
"I know it also," he said, "because I have before me here the girl'scertificate of birth and Ordez's certificate of marriage."
He opened the silk envelope and took out some faded papers. He unfoldedthem and spread them out under his hand.
"I think Ordez feared for his child," he said, "and stored these papersagainst the day of danger to her, because they are copies taken from therecords in Havana."
He looked up at the astonished Morrow.
"Ordez married the da
ughter of Pedro de Hernando. I find, by a noteto these papers, that she is dead. I conclude that this great Spanishfamily objected to the adventurer, and he fled with his infant daughterto New Orleans." he paused.
"The intrigue with the octoroon woman, Suzanne, came after that."
Then he added:
"You must renew your negotiations, Sir, in, a somewhat different mannerbefore a Spanish Grandee in Havana!"
Mr. Lucian Morrow did not reply. He stood in a sort of wonder. ButZindorf, his face like iron, addressed my father:
"Where did you get these papers, Pendleton?" he said.
"I got them from Ordez," replied my father.
"When did you see Ordez?"
"I saw him to-day," replied my father.
Zindorf did not move, but his big jaw worked and a faint spray ofmoisture came out on his face. Then, finally, with no change or quaverin his voice, he put his query.
"Where is Ordez?"
"Where?" echoed my father, and he rose. "Why, Zindorf, he is on hisway here." And he extended his arm toward the open window. The big manlifted his head and looked out at the men and horses now clearly visibleon the distant road.
"Who are these people," he said, "and why do they come?" He spoke asthough he addressed some present but invisible authority.
My father answered him
"They are the people of Virginia," he said, "and they come, Zindorf, inthe purpose of events that you have turned terribly backward!"
The man was in some desperate perplexity, but he had steel nerves andthe devil's courage.
He looked my father calmly in the face.
"What does all this mean?" he said.
"It means, Zindorf," cried my father, "it means that the very things,the very particular things, that you ought to have used for the glory ofGod, God has used for your damnation!"
And again, in the clear April air, there entered through the open windowthe faint tolling of a bell.
"Listen, Zindorf! I will tell you. In the old abandoned church yonder,when they came to toll the bell for Duncan, the rope fell to pieces; Icame along then, and Jacob Lance climbed into the steeple to toll thebell by hand. At the first crash of sound a wolf ran out of a thicketin the ravine below him, and fled away toward the mountains. Lance, fromhis elevated point, could see the wolf's muzzle was bloody. That wouldmean, that a lost horse had been killed or an estray steer. He calleddown and we went in to see what thing this scavenger had got hold of."
He paused.
"In the cut of an abandoned road we found the body of Ordez riddled withbuckshot, and his pockets rifled. But sewed up in his coat was the silkenvelope with these papers. I took possession of them as a Justice ofthe Peace, ordered the body sent on here, and the people to assemble."
He extended his arm toward the faint, quivering, distant sound.
"Listen, Zindorf," he cried; "the bell began to toll for Duncan, butit tolls now for the murderer of Ordez. It tolls to raise the countryagainst the assassin!"
The false monk had the courage of his master. He stood out and faced myfather.
"But can you find him, Pendleton," he said. And his harsh voice wasfirm. "You find Ordez dead; well, some assassin shot him and carried hisbody into the cut of the abandoned road. But who was that assassin? IsVirginia scant of murderers? Do you know the right one?"
My father answered in his great dominating voice
"God knows him, Zindorf, and I know him!... The man who murdered Ordezmade a fatal blunder... He used a sign of God in the service of thedevil and he is ruined!"
The big man stepped slowly backward into the room, while my father'svoice, filling the big empty spaces of the house, followed after him.
"You are lost, Zindorf! Satan is insulted, and God is outraged! You arelost!"
There was a moment's silence; from outside came the sound of men andhorses. The notes of the girl, light, happy, ascended from the lowerchamber, as she sang about her preparations for the journey. Zindorfcontinued to step awfully backward. And Lucian Morrow, shaken and sober,cried out in the extremity of fear:
"In God's name, Pendleton, what do you mean; Zindorf, using a sign ofGod in the service of the devil."
And my father answered him:
"The corpse of Ordez lay in the bare cut of the abandoned road, andbeside it, bedded in the damp clay where he had knelt down to rifle thepockets of the murdered body, were the patch prints of Zindorf's knees!"