Waring's Peril

by Charles King

  CHAPTER XI.

  The sunshine of an exquisite April morning was shimmering over theLouisiana lowlands as Battery "X" was "hitching in," and Mrs. Cram'spretty pony-phaeton came flashing through the garrison gate and reinedup in front of the guns. A proud and happy woman was Mrs. Cram, anddaintily she gathered the spotless, cream-colored reins and slanted herlong English driving-whip at the exact angle prescribed by the vogue ofthe day. By her side, reclining luxuriously on his pillows, was SamWaring, now senior first lieutenant of the battery, taking his firstairing since his strange illness. Pallid and thin though he was, thatyoung gentleman was evidently capable of appreciating to the fullestextent the devoted attentions of which he had been the object ever sincehis return. Stanch friend and fervent champion of her husband's mostdistinguished officer at any time, Mrs. Cram had thrown herself into hiscause with a zeal that challenged the admiration even of the men whomshe mercilessly snubbed because they had accepted the general verdictthat Lascelles had died by Waring's hand. Had they met in the duello aspractised in the South in those days, sword to sword, or armed withpistol at twelve paces, she would have shuddered, but maintained that asa soldier and gentleman Waring could not have refused his opponent'schallenge, inexcusable though such challenge might have been. But thathe could have stooped to vulgar, unregulated fracas, without seconds orthe formality of the cartel, first with fists and those women's weapons,nails, then knives or stilettoes, as though he was some low dago orSicilian,--why, that was simply and utterly incredible. None the lessshe was relieved and rejoiced, as were all Waring's friends, when thefull purport of poor Doyle's dying confession was noised abroad. Eventhose who were sceptical were now silenced. For four days her comfortand relief had been inexpressible; and then came the hour when, with woeand trouble in his face, her husband returned to her from Waring'sbedside with the incomprehensible tidings that he had utterly repudiatedDoyle's confession,--had, indeed, said that which could probably onlyserve to renew the suspicion of his own guilt, or else justify thetheory that he was demented.

  Though Cram and the doctor warned Waring not to talk, talk he would, toPierce, to Ferry, to Ananias; and though these three were pledged byCram to reveal to no one what Waring said, it plunged them in an agonyof doubt and misgiving. Day after day had the patient told and re-toldthe story, and never could cross-questioning shake him in the least.Cram sent for Reynolds and took him into their confidence, and Reynoldsheard the story and added his questions, but to no effect. From first tolast he remembered every incident up to his parting with Lascelles athis own gateway. After that--nothing.

  His story, in brief, was as follows. He was both surprised andconcerned, while smoking and chatting with Mr. Allerton in the rotundaof the St. Charles, to see Lascelles with a friend, evidently watchingan opportunity of speaking with him. He had noticed about a weekprevious a marked difference in the old Frenchman's manner, and threedays before the tragedy, when calling on his way from town to seeMadame and Nin Nin, was informed that they were not at home, andMonsieur himself was the informant; nor did he, as heretofore, inviteWaring to enter. Sam was a fellow who detested misunderstanding.Courteously, but positively, he demanded explanation. Lascelles shruggedhis shoulders, but gave it. He had heard too much of Monsieur'sattentions to Madame his wife, and desired their immediatediscontinuance. He must request Monsieur's assurance that he would notagain visit Beau Rivage, or else the reparation due a man of honor, etc."Whereupon," said Waring, "I didn't propose to be outdone in civility,and therefore replied, in the best French I could command, 'Permit me totender Monsieur--both. Monsieur's friends will find me at thebarracks.'"

  "All the same," said Waring, "when I found Madame and Nin Nin stuck inthe mud I did what I considered the proper thing, and drove them, _corampublico_, to 'bonne maman's,' never letting them see, of course, thatthere was any row on tap, and so when I saw the old fellow with akeen-looking party alongside I felt sure it meant mischief. I wasutterly surprised, therefore, when Lascelles came up with hat off andhand extended, bowing low, praying pardon for the intrusion, but sayinghe could not defer another instant the desire to express his gratitudethe most profound for my extreme courtesy to Madame and his belovedchild. He had heard the whole story, and, to my confusion, insisted ongoing over all the details before Allerton, even to my heroism, as hecalled it, in knocking down that big bully of a cabman. I was confused,yet couldn't shake him off. He was persistent. He was abject. He beggedto meet my friend, to present his, to open champagne and drink eternalfriendship. He would change the name of his _chateau_--the rotten oldrookery--from Beau Rivage to Belle Alliance. He would make this day a_fete_ in the calendar of the Lascelles family. And then it began todawn on me that he had been drinking champagne before he came. I did notcatch the name of the other gentleman, a much younger man. He was veryceremonious and polite, but distant. Then, in some way, came up the factthat I had been trying to get a cab to take me back to barracks, andthen Lascelles declared that nothing could be more opportune. He hadsecured a carriage and was just going down with Monsieur. They had _desaffaires_ to transact at once. He took me aside and said, 'In proof thatyou accept my _amende_, and in order that I may make to you my personalapologies, you must accept my invitation.' So go with them I did. I wasall the time thinking of Cram's mysterious note bidding me return attaps. I couldn't imagine what was up, but I made my best endeavors toget a cab. None was to be had, so I was really thankful for thisopportunity. All the way down Lascelles overwhelmed me with civilities,and I could only murmur and protest, and the other party only murmuredapprobation. He hardly spoke English at all. Then Lascelles insisted ona stop at the Pelican and on bumpers of champagne, and there, as luckwould have it, was Doyle,--drunk, as usual, and determined to join theparty; and though I endeavored to put him aside, Lascelles would nothave it. He insisted on being presented to the comrade of his gallantfriend, and in the private room where we went he overwhelmed Doyle withdetails of our grand reconciliation and with bumper after bumper ofKrug. This enabled me to fight shy of the wine, but in ten minutes Doylewas fighting drunk, Lascelles tipsy. The driver came in for his pay,saying he would go no further. They had a row. Lascelles wouldn't pay;called him an Irish thief, and all that. I slipped my last V into thedriver's hand and got him out somehow. Monsieur Philippes, or whateverhis name was, said he would go out,--he'd get a cab in the neighborhood;and the next thing I knew, Lascelles and Doyle were in a fury of a row.Lascelles said all the Irish were knaves and blackguards and swindlers,and Doyle stumbled around after him. Out came a pistol! Out came aknife! I tripped Doyle and got him into a chair, and was so intent onpacifying him and telling him not to make a fool of himself that Ididn't notice anything else. I handled him good-naturedly, got the knifeaway, and then was amazed to find that he had my own pet paper-cutter. Imade them shake hands and make up. It was all a mistake, said Lascelles.But what made it a worse mistake, the old man _would_ order more wine,and, with it, brandy. He insisted on celebrating this second grandreconciliation, and then both got drunker, but the tall Frenchman hadLascelles's pistol and I had the knife, and then a cab came, and,though it was storming beastly and I had Ferry's duds on and Larkin'sbest tile and Pierce's umbrella, we bundled in somehow and drove on downthe levee, leaving Doyle in the hands of that Amazon of a wife of hisand a couple of doughboys who happened to be around there. Now Lascelleswas all hilarity, singing, joking, confidential. Nothing would do but wemust stop and call on a lovely woman, a _belle amie_. He could rely onour discretion, he said, laying his finger on his nose, and looking slyand coquettish, for all the world like some old _roue_ of a Frenchman.He must stop and see her and take her some wine. 'Indeed,' he said,mysteriously, 'it is a rendezvous.' Well, I was their guest; I had nomoney. What could I do? It was then after eleven, I should judge.Monsieur Philippes, or whatever his name was, gave orders to the driver.We pulled up, and then, to my surprise, I found we were at Doyle's. Thatended it. I told them they must excuse me. They protested, but of courseI couldn't go in there. So they took
a couple of bottles apiece and wentin the gate, and I settled myself for a nap and got it. I don't know howlong I slept, but I was aroused by the devil's own tumult. A shot hadbeen fired. Men and women both were screaming and swearing. Some onesuddenly burst into the cab beside me, really pushed from behind, andthen away we went through the mud and the rain; and the lightning wasflashing now, and presently I could recognize Lascelles, raging.'Infame!' 'Coquin!' 'Assassin!' were the mildest terms he was volleyingat somebody; and then, recognizing me, he burst into maudlin tears,swore I was his only friend. He had been insulted, abused, deniedreparation. Was he hurt? I inquired, and instinctively felt for myknife. It was still there where I'd hid it in the inside pocket of myovercoat. No hurt; not a blow. Did I suppose that he, a Frenchman, wouldpardon that or leave the spot until satisfaction had been exacted? ThenI begged him to be calm and listen to me for a moment. I told him myplight,--that I had given my word to be at barracks that evening; that Ihad no money left, but I could go no further. Instantly he forgot hiswoes and became absorbed in my affairs. _'Parole d'honneur!_' he wouldsee that mine was never unsullied. He himself would escort me to the_maison de_ Capitaine Cram. He would rejoice to say to that braveennemi, Behold! here is thy lieutenant, of honor the most unsullied, ofcourage the most admirable, of heart the most magnanimous. The Lord onlyknows what he wouldn't have done had we not pulled up at his gate. ThereI helped him out on the banquette. He was steadied by his row, whateverit had been. He would not let me expose myself--even under Pierce'sumbrella. He would not permit me to suffer 'from times so of the dog.''You will drive Monsieur to his home and return here for me at once,' heordered cabby, grasped both my hands with fervent good-night and theexplanation that he had much haste, implored pardon for leaving me,--onthe morrow he would call and explain everything,--then darted into thegate. We never could have parted on more friendly terms. I stood amoment to see that he safely reached his door, for a light was dimlyburning in the hall, then turned to jump into the cab, but it wasn'tthere. Nothing was there. I jumped from the banquette into a berthaboard some steamer out at sea. They tell me the first thing I asked forwas Pierce's umbrella and Larkin's hat."

  And this was the story that Waring maintained from first to last."Pills" ventured a query as to whether the amount of Krug and Clicquotconsumed might not have overthrown his mental equipoise. No, Samdeclared, he drank very little. "The only bacchanalian thing I did wasto join in a jovial chorus from a new French opera which Lascelles'sfriend piped up and I had heard in the North:

  Oui, buvons, buvons encore! S'il est un vin qu'on adore De Paris a Macao, C'est le Clicquot, c'est le Clicquot."

  Asked if he had formed any conjecture as to the identity of thestranger, Sam said no. The name sounded like "Philippes," but hecouldn't be sure. But when told that there were rumors to the effectthat Lascelles's younger brother had been seen with him twice or thriceof late, and that he had been in exile because, if anything, of ahopeless passion for Madame his sister-in-law, and that his name wasPhilippe, Waring looked dazed. Then a sudden light, as of newer, freshermemory, flashed up in his eyes. He seemed about to speak, but assuddenly controlled himself and turned his face to the wall. From thattime on he was determinedly dumb about the stranger. What roused him tolively interest and conjecture, however, was Cram's query as to whetherhe had not recognized in the cabman, called in by the stranger, the veryone whom he had "knocked endwise" and who had tried to shoot him thatmorning. "No," said Waring: "the man did not speak at all, that Inoticed, and I did not once see his face, he was so bundled up againstthe storm." But if it was the same party, suggested he, it seemed hardlynecessary to look any further in explanation of his own disappearance.Cabby had simply squared matters by knocking him senseless, helpinghimself to his watch and ring, and turning out his pockets, thenhammering him until frightened off, and then, to cover his tracks,setting him afloat in Anatole's boat.

  "Perhaps cabby took a hand in the murder, too," suggested Sam, witheager interest. "You say he had disappeared,--gone with his plunder.Now, who else could have taken my knife?"

  Then Reynolds had something to tell him: that the "lady" who wrote theanonymous letters, the _belle amie_ whom Lascelles proposed to visit,the occupant of the upper floor of "the dove-cot," was none other thanthe blighted floweret who had appealed to him for aid and sympathy, forfifty dollars at first and later for more, the first year of his armyservice in the South, "for the sake of the old home." Then Waring greweven more excited and interested. "Pills" put a stop to furtherdevelopments for a few days. He feared a relapse. But, in spite of"Pills," the developments, like other maladies, throve. The littledetective came down again. He was oddly inquisitive about that _chansona boire_ from "_Fleur de The_." Would Mr. Waring hum it for him? AndSam, now sitting up in his parlor, turned to his piano, and with long,slender, fragile-looking fingers rattled a lively prelude and thenfaintly quavered the rollicking words.

  "Odd," said Mr. Pepper, as they had grown to call him, "I heard thatsung by a fellow up in Chartres Street two nights hand-running beforethis thing happened,--a merry cuss, too, with a rather loose hand on hisshekels. Lots of people may know it, though, mayn't they?"

  "No, indeed, not down here," said Sam. "It only came out in New Yorkwithin the last four months, and hasn't been South or West at all, thatI know of. What did he look like?"

  "Well, what did the feller that was with you look like?"

  But here Sam's description grew vague. So Pepper went up to have a beerby himself at the _cafe chantant_ on Chartres Street, and didn't returnfor nearly a week.

  Meantime came this exquisite April morning and Sam's appearance in thepony-phaeton in front of Battery "X." Even the horses seemed to prick uptheir ears and be glad to see him. Grim old war sergeants rode up totouch their caps and express the hope that they'd soon have thelieutenant in command of the right section again,--"not but whatLoot'n't Ferry's doing first-rate, sir,"--and for a few minutes, as hisfair charioteer drove him around the battery, in his weak, languidvoice, Waring indulged in a little of his own characteristic chaffing:

  "I expect you to bring this section up to top notch, Mr. Ferry, as I amconstitutionally opposed to any work on my own account. I beg to callyour attention, sir, to the fact that it's very bad form to appear withfull-dress _schabraque_ on your horse when the battery is in fatigue.The red blanket, sir, the red blanket only should be used. Be goodenough to stretch your traces there, right caisson. Yes, I thought so,swing trace is twisted. Carelessness, Mr. Ferry, and indifference toduty are things I won't tolerate. Your cheek-strap, too, sir, is an inchtoo long. Your bit will fall through that horse's mouth. This won't do,sir, not in my section, sir. I'll fine you a box of Partagas if itoccurs again."

  But the blare of the bugle sounding "attention" announced the presenceof the battery commander. Nell whipped up in an instant and whisked herinvalid out of the way.

  "Good-morning, Captain Cram," said he, as he passed his smiling chief."I regret to observe, sir, that things have been allowed to run downsomewhat in my absence."

  "Oh, out with you, you combination of cheek and incapacity, or I'll runyou down with the whole battery. Oh! Waring, some gentlemen in acarriage have just stopped at your quarters, all in black, too. Ah,here's the orderly now."

  And the card, black-bordered, handed into the phaeton, bore a name whichblanched Waring's face:

  +--------------------------------+ | | | _M. Philippe Lascelles_, | | | | | | _N'lle Orleans_.| +--------------------------------+

  "Why, what is it, Waring?" asked Cram, anxiously, bending down from hissaddle.

  For a moment Waring was silent. Mrs. Cram felt her own hand trembling.

  "Can you turn the battery over to Ferry and come with me?" asked thelieutenant.

  "Certainly.--Bugler, report to Lieutenant Ferry and tell him I shallhave to be absent for a while.--Drive on,
Nell."

  When, five minutes later, Waring was assisted up the stair-way, Cramtowering on his right, the little party came upon a group ofstrangers,--three gentlemen, one of whom stepped courteously forward,raising his hat in a black-gloved hand. He was of medium height,slender, erect, and soldierly in bearing; his face was dark and oval,his eyes large, deep, and full of light. He spoke mainly in English,but with marked accent, and the voice was soft and melodious:

  "I fear I have intrude. Have I the honor to address Lieutenant Waring? Iam Philippe Lascelles."

  For a moment Waring was too amazed to speak. At last, with brighteningface and holding forth his hand, he said,--

  "I am most glad to meet you,--to know that it was not you who drove downwith us that night."

  "Alas, no! I left Armand but that very morning, returning to Havana,thence going to Santiago. It was not until five days ago the newsreached me. It is of that stranger I come to ask."

  It was an odd council gathered there in Waring's room in the oldbarracks that April morning while Ferry was drilling the battery to hisheart's content and the infantry companies were wearily going over themanual or bayonet exercise. Old Brax had been sent for, and came.Monsieur Lascelles's friends, both, like himself, soldiers of the South,were presented, and for their information Waring's story was again told,with only most delicate allusion to certain incidents which might beconsidered as reflecting on the character and dignity of the elderbrother. And then Philippe told his. True, there had been certaintransactions between Armand and himself. He had fully trusted hisbrother, a man of affairs, with the management of the little inheritancewhich he, a soldier, had no idea how to handle, and Armand's businesshad suffered greatly by the war. It was touching to see how in everyword the younger strove to conceal the fact that the elder hadmisapplied the securities and had been practically faithless to histrust. Everything, he declared, had been finally settled as between themthat very morning before his return to Havana. Armand had brought to himearly all papers remaining in his possession and had paid him what wasjustly due. He knew, however, that Armand was now greatly embarrassed inhis affairs. They had parted with fond embrace, the most affectionate ofbrothers. But Philippe had been seeing and hearing enough to make himgravely apprehensive as to Armand's future, to know that his businesswas rapidly going down-hill, that he had been raising money in variousways, speculating, and had fallen into the hands of sharpers, and yetArmand would not admit it, would not consent to accept help or to usehis younger brother's property in any way. "The lawyer," said Philippe,"informed me that Beau Rivage was heavily mortgaged, and it is fearedthat there will be nothing left for Madame and Nin Nin, though, for thatmatter, they shall never want." What he had also urged, and he spokewith reluctance here, and owned it only because the detectives told himit was now well known, was that Armand had of late been playing the_role_ of _galant homme_, and that the woman in the case had fled. Ofall this he felt, he said, bound to speak fully, because in coming herewith his witnesses to meet Lieutenant Waring and his friends he had twoobjects in view. The first was to admit that he had accepted as fact thepublished reports that Lieutenant Waring was probably his brother'sslayer; had hastened back to New Orleans to demand justice or obtainrevenge; had here learned from the lawyers and police that there werenow other and much more probable theories, having heard only one ofwhich he had cried "Enough," and had come to pray the forgiveness of Mr.Waring for having believed an officer and a gentleman guilty of so foula crime. Second, he had come to invoke his aid in running down themurderer. Philippe was affected almost to tears.

  "There is one question I must beg to ask Monsieur," said Waring, as thetwo clasped hands. "Is there not still a member of your family whoentertains the idea that it was I who killed Armand Lascelles?"

  And Philippe was deeply embarrassed.

  "Ah, monsieur," he answered, "I could not venture to intrude myself upona grief so sacred. I have not seen Madame, and who is there whocould--who would--tell her of Armand's----" And Philippe broke offabruptly, with despairing shrug, and outward wave of his slender hand.

  "Let us try to see that she never does know," said Waring. "These arethe men we need to find: the driver of the cab, the stranger whose namesounded so like yours, a tall, swarthy, black-haired, black-eyed fellowwith pointed moustache----"

  "_C'est lui! c'est bien lui!_" exclaimed Lascelles,--"the very man whoinsisted on entering the private office where, Armand and I, we closeour affairs that morning. His whispered words make my brother all ofpale, and yet he go off humming to himself."

  "Oh, we'll nail him," said Cram. "Two of the best detectives in theSouth are on his trail now."

  And then came Ananias with a silver tray, champagne, and glasses (fromMrs. Cram), and the conference went on another hour before the guestswent off.

  "Bless my soul!" said Brax, whose diameter seemed in no wise increasedby the quart of Roederer he had swallowed with such gusto,--"bless mysoul! and to think I believed that we were going to have a duel withsome of those fellows a fortnight or so ago!"

  Then entered "Pills" and ordered Waring back to bed. He was sleepingplacidly when, late that evening, Reynolds and Cram came tearing up thestair-way, full of great news; but the doctor said not to wake him.

  Meantime, how fared it with that bruised reed, the lone widow of thelate Lieutenant Doyle? Poor old Jim had been laid away with militaryhonors under the flag at Chalmette, and his faithful Bridget wasspending the days in the public calaboose. Drunk and disorderly was thecharge on which she had been arraigned, and, though she declared herselfabundantly able to pay her fine twice over, Mr. Pepper had warned theauthorities to keep her under lock and key and out of liquor, as hertestimony would be of vital importance, if for nothing better than tosend her up for perjury. Now she was alternately wheedling, cursing,coaxing, bribing; all to no purpose. The agent of the Lemaitre propertyhad swooped down on the dove-cot and found a beggarly array of emptybottles and a good deal of discarded feminine gear scattered about onboth floors. One room in which certain detectives were vastly interestedcontained the unsavory relics of a late supper. Three or four emptychampagne-bottles, some shattered glasses, and, what seemed most toattract them, various stubs of partially-consumed cigarettes, lay aboutthe tables and floor. Adjoining this was the chamber which had beenknown as Mrs. Dawson's, and this, too, had been thoroughly explored.'Louette, who had disappeared after Doyle's tragic death, was found notfar away, and the police thought it but fair that Mrs. Doyle should notbe deprived of the services of her maid. Then came other additions,though confined in other sections of the city. Mr. Pepper wired thatthe party known as Monsieur Philippes had been run to earth and wouldreach town with him by train about the same time that another of theforce returned from Mobile by boat, bringing a young man known as Dawsonand wanted as a deserter, and a very sprightly young lady who appearedto move in a higher sphere of life, but was unquestionably his wife, forthe officer could prove their marriage in South Carolina in the springof '65. As Mr. Pepper expressed it when he reported to Reynolds, "It'salmost a full hand, but, for a fact, it's only a bobtail flush. We needthat cabman to fill."

  "How did you trace Philippes?" asked Reynolds.

  "Him? Oh, he was too darned musical. It was--what do you call it?--Flurede Tay that did for him. Why, he's the fellow that raised all the moneyand most of the h--ll for this old man Lascelles. He'd been sharping himfor years."

  "Well, when can we bring this thing to a head?" asked the aide-de-camp.

  "_Poco tiempo!_ by Saturday, I reckon."

  But it came sooner.

  Waring was seated one lovely evening in a low reclining chair on Mrs.Cram's broad gallery, sipping contentedly at the cup of fragrant tea shehad handed him. The band was playing, and a number of children werechasing about in noisy glee. The men were at supper, the officers, as arule, at mess. For several minutes the semi-restored invalid had notspoken a word. In one of his customary day-dreams he had been calmlygazing at the shapely white hand of his hostess, "al
l queenly with itsweight of rings."

  "Will you permit me to examine those rings a moment?" he said.

  "Why, certainly. No, you sit still, Mr. Waring," she replied, promptlyrising, and, pulling them off her fingers, dropped them into his openpalm. With the same dreamy expression on his clear-cut, pallid face, heturned them over and over, held them up to the light, finally selectedone exquisite gem, and then, half rising, held forth the others. As shetook them and still stood beside his chair as though patiently waiting,he glanced up.

  "Oh, beg pardon. You want this, I suppose?" and, handing her the daintyteacup, he calmly slipped the ring into his waistcoat-pocket andlanguidly murmured, "Thanks."

  "Well, I like that."

  "Yes? So do I, rather better than the others."

  "May I ask what you purpose doing with my ring?"

  "I was just thinking. I've ordered a new Amidon for Larkin, a newninety-dollar suit for Ferry, and I shall be decidedly poor this month,even if we recover Merton's watch."

  "Oh, well, if it's only to pawn one, why not take a diamond?"

  "But it isn't."

  "What then, pray?"

  "Well, again I was just thinking--whether I could find another to matchthis up in town, or send this one--to her."

  "Mr. _Waring_! _Really?_" And now Mrs. Cram's bright eyes are dancingwith eagerness and delight.

  For all answer, though his own eyes begin to moisten and swim, he drawsfrom an inner pocket a dainty letter, post-marked from a far, far cityto the northeast.

  "You _dear_ fellow! How can I tell you how glad I am! I haven't daredto ask you of her since we met at Washington, but--oh, my heart has beenjust full of her since--since this trouble came."

  "God bless the trouble! it was that that won her to me at last. I haveloved her ever since I first saw her--long years ago."

  "Oh! _oh!_ OH! if Ned were only here! I'm wild to tell him. I may,mayn't I?"

  "Yes, the moment he comes."

  But Ned brought a crowd with him when he got back from town a littlelater. Reynolds was there, and Philippe Lascelles, and Mr. Pepper, andthey had a tale to tell that must needs be condensed.

  They had all been present by invitation of the civil authorities at avery dramatic affair during the late afternoon,--the final lifting ofthe veil that hid from public view the "strange, eventful history" ofthe Lascelles tragedy. Cram was the spokesman by common consent. "Withthe exception of the Dawsons," said he, "none of the parties implicatedknew up to the hour of his or her examination that any one of the otherswas to appear." Mrs. Dawson, eager to save her own pretty neck, hadtold her story without reservation. Dawson knew nothing.

  The story had been wrung from her piecemeal, but was finally told infull, and in the presence of the officers and civilians indicated. Shehad married in April, '65, to the scorn of her people, a young Yankeeofficer attached to the commissary department. She had starved allthrough the war. She longed for life, luxury, comforts. She had nothingbut her beauty, he nothing but his pay. The extravagances of a monthswamped him; the drink and desperation of the next ruined him. Hemaintained her in luxury at the best hotel only a few weeks, then all ofhis and much of Uncle Sam's money was gone. Inspection proved him athief and embezzler. He fled, and she was abandoned to her ownresources. She had none but her beauty and a gift of penmanship whichcovered the many sins of her orthography. She was given a clerkship, butwanted more money, and took it, blackmailing a quartermaster. Sheimposed on Waring, but he quickly found her out and absolutely refusedafterwards to see her at all. She was piqued and angered, "a womanscorned," but not until he joined Battery "X" did opportunity presentitself for revenge. She had secured a room under Mrs. Doyle's reputableroof, to be near the barracks, where she could support herself bywriting for Mrs. Doyle and blackmailing those whom she lured, and whereshe could watch _him_, and, to her eager delight, she noted and preparedto make much of his attentions to Madame Lascelles. Incidentally, too,she might inveigle the susceptible Lascelles himself, on the principlethat there's no fool like an old fool. Mrs. Doyle lent herself eagerlyto the scheme. The letters began to pass to and fro again. Lascelles wasfool enough to answer, and when, all on a sudden, Mrs. Doyle's"long-missing relative," as she called him, turned up, a pensioner onher charity, it was through the united efforts of the two women he got asituation as cab-driver at the stable up at the eastern skirt of thetown. Dawson had enlisted to keep from starving, and, though she had nouse for him as a husband, he would do to fetch and carry, and he darenot disobey. Twice when Doyle was battery officer of the day did thisstrangely-assorted pair of women entertain Lascelles at supper andfleece him out of what money he had. Then came Philippes with Lascellesin Mike's cab, as luck would have it, but they could not fleecePhilippes. Old Lascelles was rapidly succumbing to Nita's fascinationswhen came the night of the terrible storm. Mike had got to drinking, andwas laid low by the lieutenant. Mike and Bridget both vowed vengeance.But meantime Doyle himself had got wind of something that was going on,and he and his tyrant had a fearful row. He commanded her never to allowa man inside the premises when he was away, and, though brought homedrunk that awful night, furiously ordered the Frenchman out, and mighthave assaulted them had not Bridget lassoed him with a chloroformedtowel. That was the last he knew until another day. Lascelles,Philippes, and she, Mrs. Dawson, had already drunk a bottle of champagnewhen interrupted by Doyle's coming. Lascelles was tipsy, had snatchedhis pistol and fired a shot to frighten Doyle, but had only enraged him,and then he had to run for his cab. He was bundled in and Doyle disposedof. It was only three blocks down to Beau Rivage, and thither Mike drovethem in all the storm. She did not know at the time of Waring's being inthe cab. In less than fifteen minutes Mike was back and calledexcitedly for Bridget; had a hurried consultation with her; she seized awaterproof and ran out with him, but darted back and took the bottle ofchloroform she had used on her husband, now lying limp and senseless ona sofa below, and then she disappeared. When half an hour passed andLascelles failed to return with them, bringing certain papers of whichhe'd been speaking to Philippes, the latter declared there must besomething wrong, and went out to reconnoitre despite the storm. He couldsee nothing. It was after midnight when Mrs. Doyle came rushing in,gasping, all out of breath "along of the storm," she said. She had beendown the levee with Mike to find a cushion and lap-robe he dropped andcouldn't afford to lose. They never could have found it at all "but forould Lascelles lending them a lantern." He wanted Mike to bring down twobottles of champagne he'd left here, but it was storming so that hewould not venture again, and Lieutenant Waring, she said, was going tospend the night with Lascelles at Beau Rivage: Mike couldn't drive anyfarther down towards the barracks. Lascelles sent word to Philippes thathe'd bring up the papers first thing in the morning, if the stormlulled, and Philippes went out indignant at all the time lost, but Mikeswore he'd not drive down again for a fortune. So the Frenchman got intothe cab and went up with him to town. The moment he was gone Mrs. Doyledeclared she was dead tired, used up, and drank huge goblets of the wineuntil she reeled off to her room, leaving an apron behind. Then Mrs.Dawson went to her own room, after putting out the lights, and when, twodays later, she heard the awful news of the murder, knowing thatinvestigation would follow and she and her sins be brought to light, shefled, for she had enough of his money in her possession, and poordemented Dawson, finding her gone, followed.

  Philippes's story corroborated this in every particular. The last he sawof the cab or of the cabman was near the house of the hook-and-laddercompany east of the French Market. The driver there said his horse wasdead beat and could do no more, so Philippes went into the market,succeeded in getting another cab by paying a big price, slept atCassidy's, waited all the morning about Lascelles's place, and finally,having to return to the Northeast at once, he took the evening train onthe Jackson road and never heard of the murder until ten days after. Hewas amazed at his arrest.

  And then came before his examiners a mere physical wreck,--the shadow ofhis former self
,--caught at the high tide of a career of crime anddebauchery, a much less bulky party than the truculent Jehu of MadameLascelles's cab, yet no less important a witness than that same driver.He was accompanied by a priest. He had been brought hither in anambulance from the Hotel-Dieu, where he had been traced several daysbefore and found almost at death's door. His confession was mostimportant of all. He had struck Lieutenant Waring as that officer turnedaway from Lascelles's gate, intending only to down and then kick andhammer him, but he had struck with a lead-loaded rubber club, and he washorrified to see him drop like one dead. Then he lost his nerve anddrove furiously back for Bridget. Together they returned, and foundWaring lying there as he had left him on the dripping banquette. "You'vekilled him, Mike. There's only one thing to do," she said: "take hiswatch and everything valuable he has, and we'll throw him over on thelevee." She herself took the knife from his overcoat-pocket, lest heshould recover suddenly, and then, said the driver, "even as we werebending over him there came a sudden flash of lightning, and there wasLascelles bending over us, demanding to know what it meant. Then likeanother flash he seemed to realize what was up, sprang back, and drewpistol. He had caught us in the act. There was nothing else to do; weboth sprang upon him. He fired, and hit me, but only in the arm, andbefore he could pull trigger again we both grappled him. I seized hisgun, Bridget his throat, but he screamed and fought like a tiger, thenwilted all of a sudden. I was scared and helpless, but she had her witsabout her, and told me what to do. The lieutenant began to gasp andrevive just then, so she soaked the handkerchief in chloroform andplaced it over his mouth, and together we lifted him into the cab. Thenwe raised Lascelles and carried him in and laid him on his sofa, for hehad left the door open and the lamp on the table. Bridget had been therebefore, and knew all about the house. We set the pistol back in hishand, but couldn't make the fingers grasp it. We ransacked the desk andgot what money there was, locked and bolted the doors, and climbed outof the side window, under which she dropped the knife among the bushes.'They'll never suspect us in the world, Mike,' she said. 'It's thelieutenant's knife that did it, and, as he was going to fight himanyhow, he'll get the credit of it all.' Then we drove up the levee, putWaring in Anatole's boat, sculls and all, and shoved him off. 'I'llmuzzle Jim,' she said. 'I'll make him believe 'twas he that did it whenhe was drunk.' She took most of the money, and the watch and ring. Shesaid she could hide them until they'd be needed. Then I drove Philippesup to town until I began to get so sick and faint I could do no more. Iturned the cab loose and got away to a house where I knew they'd takecare of me, and from there, when my money was gone, they sent me to thehospital, thinking I was dying. I swear to God I never meant to morethan get square with the lieutenant. I never struck Lascelles at all;'twas she who drove the knife into his heart."

  Then, exhausted, he was led into an adjoining room, and Mrs. Doyle wasmarched in, the picture of injured Irish innocence. For ten minutes,with wonderful effrontery and nerve, she denied all personalparticipation in the crime, and faced her inquisitors with brazen calm.Then the chief quietly turned and signalled. An officer led forward fromone side the wreck of a cabman, supported by the priest; a door openedon the other, and, escorted by another policeman, Mrs. Dawsonre-entered, holding in her hands outstretched a gingham apron on whichwere two deep stains the shape and size of a long, straight-bladed,two-edged knife. It was the apron that Bridget Doyle had worn that fatalnight. One quick, furtive look at that, one glance at her trembling,shrinking, cowering kinsman, and, with an Irish howl of despair, a loudwail of "Mike, Mike, you've sworn your sister's life away!" she threwherself upon the floor, tearing madly at her hair. And so ended themystery of Beau Rivage.

  There was silence a moment in Cram's pretty parlor when the captain hadfinished his story. Waring was the first to speak:

  "There is one point I wish they'd clear up."

  "What's that?" said Cram.

  "Who's got Merton's watch?"

  "Oh, by Jove! I quite forgot. It's all right, Waring. Anatole's placewas 'pulled' last night, and he had her valuables all done up in a box.'To pay for his boat,' he said."

  * * * * *

  A quarter of a century has passed away since the scarlet plumes of LightBattery "X" were last seen dancing along the levee below New Orleans.Beau Rivage, old and moss-grown at the close of the war, fell into rapiddecline after the tragedy of that April night. Heavily mortgaged, theproperty passed into other hands, but for years never found a tenant.Far and near the negroes spoke of the homestead as haunted, and none oftheir race could be induced to set foot within its gates. One night thesentry at the guard-house saw sudden light on the westward sky, and thena column of flame. Again the fire-alarm resounded among the echoingwalls of the barracks; but when the soldiers reached the scene, aseething ruin was all that was left of the old Southern home. Somebodysent Cram a marked copy of a New Orleans paper, and in their coseyquarters at Fort Hamilton the captain read it aloud to his devoted Nell:"The old house has been vacant, an object of almost superstitious dreadto the neighborhood," said the _Times_, "ever since the tragic death ofArmand Lascelles in the spring of 1868. In police annals the affair wasremarkable because of the extraordinary chain of circumstantial evidencewhich for a time seemed to fasten the murder upon an officer of the armythen stationed at Jackson Barracks, but whose innocence was triumphantlyestablished. Madame Lascelles, it is understood, is now educating herdaughter in Paris, whither she removed immediately after her marriage afew months ago to Captain Philippe Lascelles, formerly of theConfederate army, a younger brother of her first husband."

  "Well," said Cram, "I'll have to send that to Waring. They're in Viennaby this time, I suppose. Look here, Nell; how was it that when wefellows were fretting about Waring's attentions to Madame, you shouldhave been so serenely superior to it all, even when, as I know, thestories reached you?"

  "Ah, Ned, I knew a story worth two of those. He was in love with NatalieMaitland all the time."

  THE END.