by Charles King
CHAPTER VIII.
When four days and nights had passed away without a word or sign fromWaring, the garrison had come to the conclusion that those officers ormen of Battery "X" who still believed him innocent were idiots. So didthe civil authorities; but those were days when the authorities ofLouisiana commanded less respect from its educated people than did eventhe military. The police force, like the State, was undergoing a processcalled reconstruction, which might have been impressive in theory, butwas ridiculous in practice. A reward had been offered by businessassociates of the deceased for the capture and conviction of theassassin. A distant relative of old Lascelles had come to take charge ofthe place until Monsieur Philippe should arrive. The latter's addresshad been found among old Armand's papers, and despatches, _via_ Havana,had been sent to him, also letters. Pierre d'Hervilly had taken theweeping widow and little Nin Nin to _bonne maman's_ to stay. Alphonseand his woolly-pated mother, true to negro superstitions, had decamped.Nothing would induce them to remain under the roof where foul murder hadbeen done. "De hahnts" was what they were afraid of. And so the oldwhite homestead, though surrounded on every side by curiosity-seekersand prying eyes, was practically deserted. Cram went about his dutieswith a heavy heart and light aid. Ferry and Pierce both commandedsections now, as Doyle remained in close arrest and "Pills the Less" inclose attendance. Something was utterly wrong with the fellow. Mrs.Doyle had not again ventured to show her red nose within the limits ofthe "barx," as she called them, a hint from Braxton having provedsufficient; but that she was ever scouting the pickets no one coulddoubt. Morn, noon, and night she prowled about the neighborhood,employing the "byes," so she termed such stray sheep in army blue as adhrop of Anatole's best would tempt, to carry scrawling notes to Jim,one of which, falling with its postman by the wayside and turned over bythe guard to Captain Cram for transmittal, was addressed to MisterLoot'nt James Doyle, Lite Bothery X, Jaxun Barx, and brought the onlylaughter to his lips the big horse-artilleryman had known for nearly aweek. Her customary Mercury, Dawson, had vanished from sight, dropped,with many another and often a better man, as a deserter.
Over at Waring's abandoned quarters the shades were drawn and the green_jalousies_ bolted. Pierce stole in each day to see that everything,even to the augmented heap of letters, was undisturbed, and Ananiasdrooped in the court below and refused to be comforted. Cram had dulynotified Waring's relatives, now living in New York, of his strange andsudden disappearance, but made no mention of the cloud of suspicionwhich had surrounded his name. Meantime, some legal friends of thefamily were overhauling the Lascelles papers, and a dark-complexioned,thick-set, active little civilian was making frequent trips betweendepartment head-quarters and barracks. At the former he compared noteswith Lieutenant Reynolds, and at the latter with Braxton and Cram. Thelast interview Mr. Allerton had before leaving with his family for theNorth was with this same lively party, the detective who joined themthat night at the St. Charles, and Allerton, being a man of muchsubstance, had tapped his pocket-book significantly.
"The difficulty just now is in having a talk with the widow," said thisofficial to Cram and Reynolds, whom he had met by appointment on theThursday following the eventful Saturday of Braxton's "combined" review."She is too much prostrated. I've simply got to wait awhile, andmeantime go about this other affair. Is there no way in which you cansee her?"
Cram relapsed into a brown study. Reynolds was poring over the notewritten to Braxton and comparing it with one he held in his hand,--anold one, and one that told an old, old story. "I know you'll say I haveno right to ask this," it read, "but you're a gentleman, and I'm afriendless woman deserted by a worthless husband. My own people areruined by the war, but even if they had money they wouldn't send any tome, for I offended them all by marrying a Yankee officer. God knows I ampunished enough for that. But I was so young and innocent when hecourted me. I ought to of left--I would of left him as soon as I foundout how good-for-nothing he really was, only I was so much in love Icouldn't. I was fastenated, I suppose. Now I've sold everything, but ifyou'll only lend me fifty dollars I'll work my fingers to the bone untilI pay it. For the old home's sake, please do."
"It's the same hand,--the same woman, Cram, beyond a doubt. She bledWaring for the old home's sake the first winter he was in the South. Hetold me all about it two years ago in Washington, when we heard of herthe second time. Now she's followed him over here, or got here first,tried the same game probably, met with a refusal, and this anonymousnote is her revenge. The man she married was a crack-brained weaklingwho got into the army the fag end of the war, fell in love with herpretty face, married her, then they quarrelled, and he drank himselfinto a muddle-head. She ran him into debt; then he gambled awaygovernment funds, bolted, was caught, and would have been tried and sentto jail, but some powerful relative saved him that, and simply had himdropped;--never heard of him again. She was about a month grass-widowedwhen Waring came on his first duty there. He had an uncongenial lot ofbrother officers for a two-company post, and really had known of thisgirl and her people before the war, and she appealed to him, first forsympathy and help, then charity, then blackmail, I reckon, from whichhis fever saved him. Then she struck some quartermaster or other andlived off him for a while; drifted over here, and no sooner did hearrive, all ignorant of her presence in or around New Orleans, than shebegan pestering him again. When he turned a deaf ear, she probablythreatened, and then came these anonymous missives to you and Braxton.Yours always came by mail, you say. The odd thing about thecolonel's--this one, at least--is that it was with his mail, but nevercame through the post-office."
"That's all very interesting," said the little civilian, dryly, "butwhat we want is evidence to acquit him and convict somebody else ofLascelles's death. What has this to do with the other?"
"This much: This letter came to Braxton by hand, not by mail,--by hand,probably direct from her. What hand had access to the office the daywhen the whole command was out at review? Certainly no outsider. Themail is opened and distributed on its arrival at nine o'clock by thechief clerk, or by the sergeant-major, if he happens to be there, thoughhe's generally at guard mount. On this occasion he was out at review.Leary, chief clerk, tells Colonel Braxton he opened and distributed themail, putting the colonel's on his desk; Root was with him and helped.The third clerk came in later; had been out all night, drinking. Hisname is Dawson. Dawson goes out again and gets fuller, and when nextbrought home is put in hospital under a sentry. Then he hears of themurder, bolts, and isn't heard from since, except as the man who helpedMrs. Doyle to get her husband home. _He_ is the fellow who brought thatnote. He knew something of its contents, for the murder terrified him,and he ran away. Find his trail, and you strike that of the woman whowrote these."
"By the Lord, lieutenant, if you'll quit the army and take my placeyou'll make a name and a fortune."
"And if you'll quit your place and take mine you'll get your _coup degrace_ in some picayune Indian fight and be forgotten. So stay where youare; but find Dawson, find her, find what they know, and you'll befamous."
