“Robert Babson was a fine young man,” said Mercer, with a thin smile. His forefinger tapped on the arm of his chair. “I was proud that my daughter was going to marry him. I would have had no qualms about supporting them until he could get on his feet in a respectable business or profession. What else have I worked and saved for all these years, if not to see my children happy?”
“That’s a fine sentiment,” said Mr. Clemens. “Mighty fine, indeed. I have three daughters, myself, and any fellow who comes looking to marry one of ’em is going to have a hard job convincing the old man he’s worthy of the honor. So I can understand your point. In fact, if the likes of Bobby Babson had come knocking on my door, I might have slammed it in his face, no matter who his father was. Unless, of course, the father had some sort of hold over me, such as being a prosecuting attorney who knew something to my disadvantage.”
Vincent Mercer stared at my employer a long moment before saying, “Mr. Clemens, I realize you have a reputation as a humorist to uphold. However, I must tell you that I find your remarks to be in extremely bad taste.”
Mr. Clemens returned his stare without flinching. “Well, we’re even, then. I get a bad taste in my mouth every time I think about that murdered boy—especially since I learned that the man who was responsible for his death stood aside and let somebody else take the blame.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” said Mr. Mercer. “If you’ve nothing more than unfounded accusations to offer, I fear I must forego the dubious pleasure of hearing any more of them.”
“Then I reckon it’s time to bring in somebody who can put some flesh on the bones,” said Mr. Clemens. “I knew this was going to be a tough nut to crack, so I made sure I had all the t’s crossed and all the i’s dotted before I told the captain I could put my finger on the killer. Wentworth, go ask Herbert Watts to come in.”
Babson had a puzzled expression. “Herbert Watts? I never heard of such a fellow.”
Mr. Clemens smiled. “I guess not—you probably don’t even believe such a man exists. He’s something foreign to your world of backroom deals and brokered elections: a man with principles. Bring him in, Wentworth.”
I stepped to a door leading to a sort of anteroom adjacent to the captain’s office, where Herbert Watts waited—along with Mr. Smythe, the minister. Watts looked up, as if startled, when I opened the door, but Mr. Smythe patted him on the shoulder and said, “Go ahead, Herbert. Just tell them the simple truth, and you’ll have done your duty.”
Watts shuffled into the office, his cap in his hand, and stopped in front of the captain’s desk. “I’ve come, sir,” he said in a firm but quiet voice.
“Good man, Watts,” said the captain. “Mr. Clemens has a few questions to ask, and I hope you’ll answer them truthfully. I hope you understand that this is very important.”
“I know it is, and I’ll do my level best to tell ’im the truth, sir,” said Watts, looking sideways at Mr. Clemens. I thought I detected fear in his eye, though I had no idea what my employer might have done to give him reason for such an emotion.
“Bring up a chair, Wentworth,” said Mr. Clemens. I brought a stout wooden chair from the far corner and set it in front of the desk. Mr. Clemens gestured to the seaman. “Have a seat, young fellow. This may take a while, and there’s no reason you should be any more uncomfortable than the rest of us while you’re being quizzed.”
Watts stared at the chair a moment, then at the captain and Mr. Jennings. I realized he must be unused to sitting in the company of the ship’s officers. But the captain nodded gravely, and Watts settled into the chair. “Now, Herbert,” said Mr. Clemens, “I’d like you to tell us about Wednesday—when the storm was at its worst. Do you remember what you did that evening?”
“Yes, sir. Me and my mates ’ad been working like Trojans all day long, makin’ everything secure against the blow and seein’ that the ship was safe. Most of us was off duty that evenin’ and mighty worn out, but with a blow so ’eavy, we knew we might be called out any time if the ship was in trouble. So we went to our bunks, but kept ourselves on the ready. A few of the fellows dozed off early, others whittled or played cards—not many that night, it was so rough, y’know. Me, I was readin’ a tract.” The sailor looked around at the circle of eyes fixed on him, as if looking for approval of his reading habits.
Mr. Clemens nodded. “Well, reading’s a fine way to spend an evening,” he said. “I’d rather you were reading my books, but I guess a tract can’t hurt you if it’s not too heavy. Wouldn’t want to try climbing the rigging with one of those things in your pocket.”
“Aye aye, sir,” said the seaman, but from his expression he was puzzled at my employer’s levity.
Evidently realizing that his attempt at humor had gone over Watts’s head, Mr. Clemens put on a serious expression and returned to business. “Now, did anything unusual happen that evening?—besides the storm, I mean.”
“Aye. About six bells, in comes First Mate Gallagher, lookin’ for me and Andy Jones. I didn’t know what it was about, but me and Andy fell to, and Gallagher leads us out into the passageway. I was sort of curious, not knowin’ what ’e ’ad to tell us that couldn’t be said in front of the other lads. ‘’Ere, lads,’ says Gallagher, ‘ow’d you like to make some good money?’ Andy and me looks at each other, and Andy asks what it’s about. ‘I’ll tell you, but you’ve got to keep your trap shut,’ says Gallagher. ‘You’ll not ’ear a dickey bird from me,’ says Andy, and I promise ’im the same. ‘Good,’ says Gallagher, ‘There’s a gentleman wants us to do a job for ’im. Sort ’o rough work, but ’e’s payin’ American gold for it.’ ”
All the while he spoke, Watts kept glancing nervously from Mr. Clemens to the captain and back. The captain’s face was impassive, but behind him I could see Mr. Jennings growing increasingly disturbed at what he was hearing. Watts plowed ahead doggedly, even though he must have recognized the impression he was making.
“Well, I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of the work,” said Watts, “but the sound of the gold was more to my likin’, and so me and Andy followed Gallagher up the ladder to the next deck, where a gentleman was waitin’, all wrapped up in a ’eavy topcoat. And ’e told us there was a fellow makin’ trouble for ’im, and ’e wanted ’im taught a lesson. Gallagher says we’re the lads for it, and the gentleman gives us each a gold eagle and says there’s more when we’re finished. We follow ’im, and I ask ’ow we’re goin’ to know the fellow we’re after. Gallagher says not to worry, ’e knows the bloke. It’s the same one as gave us the cock an’ bull before, when we was about to arrest Mr. Cabot, ’ere. Me and Andy just nodded when we ’eard that. I didn’t like the way the fellow smirked when ’e tried to get Mr. Cabot in trouble, and Gallagher, no way ’e likes to be made out a fool, which is what the fellow done.”
“So you figured you had a chance to get your revenge on him, and get paid for it, as well,” said Mr. Clemens. “Didn’t you worry he might turn you in?”
“Not with Gallagher callin’ the tune, we didn’t ’ave to worry. We knew ’e’d swear we was on duty some-wheres else—and we was ready to do the same for ’im. A man ’as to look after ’is mates.”
Captain Mortimer had looked more and more distressed as the seaman’s testimony had continued. Now at last he stood up behind his desk and interrupted the interrogation. “Good Lord, man, do you mean to tell me you and Jones contracted to kill a man for twenty dollars?”
Watts was indignant. “Kill ’im? I should think not! I’d burn in ’ell for it, and no doubt of it. There’s no sum of money in this world that ’ud pay for that. I’m a Christian man, I’ll ’ave you know!”
“Then what was the money for?” asked Mr. Clemens, signaling the captain to hold off. “What did the gentleman expect you to do for his gold?”
“For me and Andy, just to act gruff and put the young gentleman in mind of the spot ’e was in. ’E was a rich boy, and a soft one, even if ’e thought ’e was a tiger. Gallagher would ’
andle the rough stuff, and we was there to back ’im up if the boy didn’t take ’is medicine nice and quiet-like.”
“I see,” said Mr. Clemens. “And then something went wrong, didn’t it?”
“You might say as ’Ow it did . . .” the seaman began, but he was interrupted.
“This is a complete outrage, and a bald-faced lie,” said Mr. Mercer, all but spitting in his indignation. “This ruffian has evidently murdered my future son-in-law, and possibly poor Signor Rubbia as well, but he has the temerity to come before the captain of his ship and attempt to pass the blame onto me. You should be ashamed of yourself for being taken in by him, Clemens. I’ll have none of it, do you understand? This man and his cronies should be clapped in irons, where they belong.”
“Seems to me you’re getting ahead of the story,” said Mr. Clemens, mildly. “Watts didn’t say he saw the boy killed, and he never said who paid him. What makes you think he was going to accuse you of murder?”
“Yes, Mr. Mercer, please explain yourself,” said the captain, leaning forward with evident interest. “Watts has only referred to a gentleman who gave him money, but he’s said no name, nor even suggested that the man was anyone present here and now. Why do you take the accusation to refer to yourself?”
Vincent Mercer sputtered for a moment, but he quickly recovered his composure and said, “It’s clear enough what the filthy knave is leading up to, and I emphatically deny it. Clemens must have been coaching him—possibly to shift the blame away from that obnoxious foreigner who represents himself as a prince. I don’t know why anyone would believe this man’s lies, in any case. Anyone can see he’s nothing more than scum from the gutters.”
“Scum usually rises to the top,” said Mr. Clemens, in a matter-of-fact voice. Mercer gave him a puzzled look, but the captain nodded, with a tight-lipped smile. “But I think we should hear the rest of Herbert’s story, to find out what really went on that night.”
“I doubt you’ll learn anything of the sort from him,” said Mercer, but Mr. Babson held up his hand.
“Be still, Vincent,” said Babson, in a sad voice. “I want to find out what this fellow knows about what happened to my son.” Mercer turned white, but said nothing more, and the captain nodded to Herbert Watts, who continued his story.
“We followed the gentleman up to the first-class deck,” said Watts. “Hit was rainin’ and blowin’ mighty fierce, but ’e led us out on the promenade deck. Hit was dark as the bottom of a coal scuttle, an’ no fit place to be, but a man don’t lay eyes on gold money every day, so I was game, all right. We came on deck just abaft the stacks, on the port side, and went on aft, all in a line behind the gentleman. Presently ’e stops and says, quietlike, ‘There ’e is—you boys know your business.”
“The fellow we’d come for was leaning over the rail, pale as a fish-belly—I took one look at ’im and knew ’e was drunk as a lord—if we’d been indoors, we’d ’ave smelt ’im. And then ’e puked over the side. Right then, I didn’t much fancy the idea of gettin’ rough with ’im, ’e looked so pitiful, but I knew Gallagher would do most of the work, and me and Andy could just stand by and look mean. Anyways, Gallagher was about to step in and do what we was there for when this gentleman says to wait a minute, and ’e steps forward. ‘Robert,’ ’e says, ’you should be ashamed of yourself. You are a disgrace to your family.’ And the boy looks up at ’im, and he tells ’im to leave ’em alone. I tell you, hit was ’ard not to feel sorry for the poor blighter.”
“Disgusting,” said Mr. Mercer. It wasn’t clear whether he was referring to Watts’s story or young Bab-son’s conduct
“Gallagher looked at this ’ere gentleman, as if ’e wasn’t sure what ’e was to do,” said Watts, shaking his head. “I don’t think ’e’d figured on the boy bein’ so drunk ’e couldn’t take proper care of ’imself. Wasn’t ’ardly sportin’ to give ’im a drubbin’, I thought then. And then the gentleman says, ‘You’ll not spend any more time with my daughter. I’ll tell her to end the engagement.’ And the boy looks at ’im and, sick as ’e was, ’e laughs right in ’is face. ‘It’s a bit late for that, Mr. Mercer,’ says the boy, smirkin’. And that’s when the gentleman lost ’is temper.”
“That is a damnable lie,” shouted Mr. Mercer, jumping to his feet so rapidly that his chair nearly fell backwards. “I never saw this man before today!”
There was a shocked silence in the room. Now that Watts had unequivocally placed Mr. Mercer at the scene of the murder, there was no escaping the significance of his testimony. “Good Lord,” said Mr. Jennings. “I can’t believe it.”
“Well, don’t strain yourself trying,” said Mr. Mercer. “It’s all lies, every word of it.” He turned and started for the door, but Mr. Jennings interposed himself between him and the exit. Mercer looked at him with undisguised fury. “Don’t you dare try to stop me. You’ll hear from my lawyer if you lay a finger on me!”
“Vincent, I am your lawyer,” said Mr. Babson, rising from his seat. All his bluster was gone, and there was a terribly sad expression on his face. I thought for a moment I saw a tear glisten at the corner of his eye. “Tell me it isn’t so, Vincent. Look me in the eye and say it isn’t!”
The captain stood behind his desk, leaning forward with his hands on the desktop, a shocked expression on his face. Watts stared fixedly at the floor, clearly embarrassed by the scene. Meanwhile, Mr. Clemens stood calmly by Watts’s chair, his hand resting lightly on the sailor’s shoulder, but there was a grim expression on his face.
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” shouted Mr. Mercer, after an awkward pause. But his face changed as Babson took a threatening step forward. Now Mercer lowered his voice and pleaded, “Julius, you don’t have to believe these lies. Come with me and let them stew in their own juices. They have no proof of anything.”
“I think we’d better both sit down and hear the rest of this man’s story,” said Babson firmly. “I tell you, Vincent, if you leave this room now, you will have forfeited any claim to my friendship.”
The banker stared around the room, as if searching for an ally. Then he looked at Jennings, standing firmly in front of the door. I had risen to my feet as well, ready to assist the officer if the need arose. Finally, Mr. Mercer hung his head and returned to his chair.
Mr. Clemens nodded. “Now, Herbert, why don’t you tell us what happened when the gentleman lost his temper. What did he do?”
Watts began speaking again, almost as if the interruption had never occurred. “The gentleman lost ’is temper bad, when the boy said that about ’is daughter. ’E stepped up to ’im and said, ’You better not ’ave touched ’er, you ’ear me?’ The boy, ’e just snickered and said, ’What’ll you do about it if I ’ave?’ That’s when the gentlemen ’auled off and took a poke at the boy. The boy blocked it with ’is arm, not fightin’ back but just blockin’ the punch, y’know? And that’s when Andy decided ’e’d better start earnin’ ’is money and stepped in. ’E put a ’ammerlock on the boy and said, ‘Easy now, and you’ll not get ’urt,’ and I think he meant it. I tell you gentlemen right now, I was ready to throw down my gold eagle on the deck and walk right away. But the boy started to squirm, and ’e cursed—I don’t know if it was Andy or the gentleman ’e meant it for, but the gentleman must ’ave took it personal, cause ’e waded in and gave the boy a good whack right on the Adam’s apple. Andy let go, and the boy went down and started to gag, and the gentleman gave ’im a kick square in the belly, and then another in the ’ead. That last one knocked the boy’s ’ead into the rail, and ’e just stopped movin’. Me and Andy just stood there, not knowin’ what to do. But Gallagher knelt down and listened for the boy’s ’eart, and then looked up at us and said, ‘’E’s gone.’ And so ’e was.”
“Merciful Lord,” said Captain Mortimer. “Is this true, Mr. Mercer?”
“I deny every word of it,” said the banker loudly. I could see beads of sweat on his brow. “This villain has murdered my daughter’s fiancé, and now h
e tries to throw the blame on me. I demand that you put him in irons, and deliver him to the authorities for trial as soon as we land in England.” Mr. Mercer looked around belligerently, his muscles tensed. For a moment I thought he was ready to flee, but somehow he kept his seat.
“Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor,” said Herbert Watts, in an utterly calm voice, and if I had had any doubt about his testimony before, I had none now.
For his part, Captain Mortimer sat at his desk, his arms folded, looking from his crewman to the passenger, and at last he said coldly, “Mr. Mercer, I suggest that you refrain from trying to teach me how to run my ship. For now, I am going to listen to this man’s story, and I can assure you that when I am satisfied of the truth of the matter, I will take appropriate action to secure the persons of the most likely suspects.”
Mercer sat bolt-upright, stiff as a board, saying nothing. Next to him, Mr. Babson’s hands were over his face. “No,” he said in a barely audible voice, and again, “No.”
“Speaking of false witness,” said Mr. Clemens, taking charge of the proceedings once again, “where does Giorgio Rubbia come into this? Why did he suddenly crawl out of the woodwork and claim to have seen Prinz Karl shove the boy overboard?”
“Well,” said Herbert Watts, “when we realized the boy was gone, the gentleman”—here he pointed directly at Mr. Mercer—“went all frantic, ’e did. ’We must keep this quiet,’ ’e says. ‘You’re all accomplices, and we’ll all ’ang together if we don’t.’ Well, the rest of us didn’t know what to do, ’avin’ taken ’is money, but when ’e asked us to all ’elp ’im throw the boy in the water and let people think it was a haccident, it seemed to make sense. So we all four turned to and ’eaved the body up over the rail—over it goes, splash. Mr. Mercer sees ’e’s got some blood on ’is ’and, and ’e takes out ’is pocket ’andkerchief and wipes it off and throws it away, and just as ’e turns around, there’s that Italian fellow, the painter, lookin’ at us, and my ’eart like to stopped. Now we ’re in for it, says I to myself, and Mr. Mercer says, ‘What did you see, Rubbia?’ And Rubbia says, ‘A man might see almost anything out ’ere; let’s go talk about it.’ Then the gentleman, Mr. Mercer, gives us each another twenty dollars, and tells us again not to say anything about what ’appened or we’ll all ’ang, for sure. And then ’e went away with the painter, and that’s the story.”
[Mark Twain Mysteries 03] - The Prince and the Prosecutor Page 31
