An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge and Other Stories
Page 39
He drew a card from his pocket, handed it to the officer, and made his way toward the door.
"Clear the room--out, all!" said the officer sharply, and the body disappeared as if it had been snatched away, as he shifted the lantern and flashed its beam of light here and there against the faces of the crowd. The effect was amazing! The men, blinded, confused, almost terrified, made a tumultuous rush for the door, pushing, crowding, and tumbling over one another as they fled, like the hosts of Night before the shafts of Apollo. Upon the struggling, trampling mass the officer poured his light without pity and without cessation. Caught in the current, Helberson and Harper were swept out of the room and cascaded down the stairs into the street.
"Good God, doctor! did I not tell you that Jarette would kill him?" said Harper, as soon as they were clear of the crowd.
"I believe you did," replied the other without apparent emotion.
They walked on in silence, block after block. Against the greying east the dwellings of our hill tribes showed in silhouette. The familiar milk-waggon was already astir in the streets; the baker's man would soon come upon the scene; the newspaper carrier was abroad in the land.
"It strikes me, youngster," said Helberson, "that you and I have been having too much of the morning air lately. It is unwholesome; we need a change. What do you say to a tour in Europe?"
"When?"
"I'm not particular. I should suppose that four o'clock this afternoon would be early enough."
"I'll meet you at the boat," said Harper.
V
Seven years afterward these two men sat upon a bench in Madison Square, New York, in familiar conversation. Another man, who had been observing them for some time, himself unobserved, approached and, courteously lifting his hat from locks as white as snow, said: "I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but when you have killed a man by coming to life, it is best to change clothes with him, and at the first opportunity make a break for liberty."
Helberson and Harper exchanged significant glances. They were apparently amused. The former then looked the stranger kindly in the eye, and replied:
"That has always been my plan. I entirely agree with you as to its advant--" He stopped suddenly and grew deathly pale. He stared at the man, open-mouthed; he trembled visibly.
"Ah!" said the stranger, "I see that you are indisposed, doctor. If you cannot treat yourself, Dr. Harper can do something for you, I am sure."
"Who the devil are you?" said Harper bluntly.
The stranger came nearer, and, bending toward them, said in a whisper: "I call myself Jarette sometimes, but I don't mind telling you, for old friendship, that I am Dr. William Mancher."
The revelation brought both men to their feet. "Mancher!" they cried in a breath; and Helberson added: "It is true, by God!"
"Yes," said the stranger, smiling vaguely, "it is true enough, no doubt."
He hesitated, and seemed to be trying to recall something, then began humming a popular air. He had apparently forgotten their presence.
"Look here, Mancher," said the elder of the two, "tell us just what occurred that night--to Jarette, you know."
"Oh yes, about Jarette," said the other. "It's odd I should have neglected to tell you--I tell it so often. You see I knew, by overhearing him talking to himself, that he was pretty badly frightened. So I couldn't resist the temptation to come to life and have a bit of fun out of him--I couldn't, really. That was all right, though certainly I did not think he would take it so seriously; I did not, truly. And afterward--well, it was a tough job changing places with him, and then--damn you! you didn't let me out!"
Nothing could exceed the ferocity with which these last words were delivered. Both men stepped back in alarm.
"We?--why--why--" Helberson stammered, losing his self-possession utterly, "we had nothing to do with it."
"Didn't I say you were Doctors Hellborn and Sharper?" inquired the lunatic, laughing.
"My name is Helberson, yes; and this gentleman is Mr. Harper." replied the former, reassured. "But we are not physicians now; we are--well, hang it, old man, we are gamblers."
And that was the truth.
"A very good profession--very good, indeed; and, by the way, I hope Sharper here paid over Jarette's money like an honest stake-holder. A very good and honourable profession," he repeated, thoughtfully, moving carelessly away; "but I stick to the old one. I am High Supreme Medical Officer of the Bloomingdale Asylum; it is my duty to cure the superintendent."
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