Mignon

by James M. Cain

  I was plenty excited about it, but had to figure how to use it, and went down to the lobby to think. The point was that though I could name the informer, I couldn’t disprove his evidence if the Army insisted on believing it meant anything, and I kept telling myself Burke was incidental; the main thing was Mr. Landry and how to get him out. And then I suddenly saw that my tactic lay not in fine points of what proved what, but in taking the fun out of the Army’s self-righteous zeal for the sport of human sacrifice.

  In a seat beside me watching the theater crowd enter was a newspaperman, John Russell Young, who wrote for a Philadelphia paper. After a moment or two he beckoned and another reporter, Olsen, who wrote for New England papers, came over. Young was just a boy, but Olsen was in his thirties, a bit seedy, with yellow paper stuffed in his pocket and a kind of hatchet face that squinted all the time. I halfway knew them both, and spoke; I couldn’t help hearing what they said. It seemed Young was taking a trip to field headquarters on the Teche and wanted Olsen to cover him here in return for copies of the Franklin dispatches. They fixed it up quick, then Young said: “Olsen, there’s one thing I’m having a look at, and that’s the camp followers they have out there—the bevy of colored girls who cook for the boys, as I hear, and press their pants, and do their laundry—and what else, would you say?”

  “I couldn’t imagine,” said Olsen.

  “I mean to find out,” said John Russell Young.

  That’s when I remembered Dan’s panic at what the press might hear. I leaned over and interrupted: “Mr. Olsen, how’d you like it if I had a story for you?”

  “I’d like it fine, Mr. Cresap. What story?”

  “About a client of mine, falsely accused.”

  “Not Adolphe Landry, by any chance?”

  “I see you keep up with things.”

  “Keeping up is my business. But how is he falsely accused? The way they tell it at headquarters, he’s practically a one-man Q.M. for Dick Taylor’s Army.”

  “They tell it their own way,” I said, pretty grim, “but if you’d like to hear it my way, why don’t you have breakfast with me tomorrow, and I’ll have it all lined up.”

  “Fine. Around eight-thirty, shall we say?”

  “I’ll be expecting you then.”

  I put in a call for 7:30, then went up and went back to work. I wrote a letter to the Commanding General, asking dismissal of the case on the ground of plain reason, but putting in other stuff too, like the motives the Army might have in being unduly severe, and other things the press could be interested in. I made two copies, and turned, in around 1:30. In the morning, shaved and brushed and slicked, I went down to find Olsen waiting, and took him to the main dining room, as the bar wasn’t open yet. When we’d ordered, I handed him one copy of the letter, telling him: “Keep it, I made it especially for you.”

  He whistled as soon as he’d read it, and said: “Hey, hey, hey—I’ll say it’s a story, Cresap. You’ve practically accused this Army of inventing a false accusation in order to earn a bribe—something we’ve known goes on but haven’t been able to prove, as you say you’ll be able to do. You mind my asking how?”

  “Well—I’ll reserve that for the confab.”

  “What confab, Cresap?”

  “At headquarters, today. That’s another thing I wanted to ask you about. How’d you like to attend?”

  “Attend, Cresap? Hell, they wouldn’t let me.”

  “Who is ‘they’? I’m this man’s counsel.”

  “That’s right, so you are. So you are.”

  He eyed me sharply then and read the letter again. Then he said: “But suppose you don’t have proof? This letter alone is a bombshell, enough to bring in the Gooch Committee. They’ll find the proof, if it’s there. And it has to be there, of course! This whole Army’s a mess of corruption, caused by cotton—graft, cumsha, and slipperoo, straight down the line and straight up the line, as this letter intimates. That’s what’ll interest Gooch.”

  “Who’s Gooch, if I may ask?”

  “Chairman of the committee in Congress that investigates this kind of stuff, the conduct of the war.”

  “Oh yes, I’ve heard of him.”

  “He can’t disregard this.”

  I let him run on, through orange, eggs, and coffee, until he’d folded the letter up, tucked it in his pocket, and patted it. Then I said: “Of course, I haven’t submitted it yet.”

  “What do you mean, you haven’t submitted it?”

  “But that’s understood,” I said.

  “Not by me,” he snapped, quite annoyed. “You hand me a letter, a copy you say you made for me, and I supposed it had been sent.”

  “But I told you; I’m having a confab.”

  “Listen, Cresap, you’re not in the newspaper business, so perhaps you don’t get the point. This letter is news, but I can’t touch it until it’s sent—that’s what makes it public, that’s what puts it on the record.”

  “I do get the point. That’s the idea.”

  “Well, thanks. And thanks.”

  “Mr. Olsen,” I said very quietly, “I’m Mr. Landry’s counsel, and I don’t act for you, or the news, or the record. I act for him, and only him. If submitting the letter helps him, I submit. If not, if the confab says I shouldn’t, I don’t submit it. Now if you want to be present—”

  “You know what this sounds like to me?”

  “All right, Mr. Olsen, what?”

  “Like you’re using me for a cat’s-paw.”

  “Then call it that.”

  “I call it what it is.”

  “So I’m using you for a cat’s-paw, but if you don’t want to be one, just hand me the copy back, and I’ll find somebody else.”

  “... What’s the rest of it?”

  “You asking as a cat’s-paw?”

  “As a cat’s-paw, yes. What next?”

  “It’s very simple.”

  I told him there was another person I had to invite to the confab, and that all he had to do was meet me at headquarters in an hour and let nature take its course. By the way he nodded, I knew he would be there.

  I walked down to the City Hotel, turned in the key of 303, and when I got to the third floor, opened the room with my skeleton for a quick look. It was all just as I’d left it, even to the rumpled bed, except the two twenties were gone. I locked up and kept on to 346. Pierre opened as usual, giving no sign he connected me with the goings-on of last night—though of course, except for his brief interlude with a lady, he had no reason to know there’d been any goings-on. While he was calling Burke I had a flash at the basket: it was empty. So there weren’t any dangling ends, and Burke was surprised to see me. I told him: “I’ve been thinking things over since I saw you yesterday, and I’m making one last try on behalf of Mr. Landry, a direct appeal, man to man, to the Commanding General himself.”

  “Me boy, it does you credit.”

  But when he found out I’d already written the letter, he balked and demanded to see it. I said: “Mr. Burke, naturally I’d like your judgment, and I’d show it to you gladly, except for one thing: If I don’t help Mr. Landry, if I actually worsen his case, you’re the one hope he’ll have to undo what I’ve done. But in that case, you must be able to say you had nothing to do with the letter, didn’t even see it. And, naturally, you wouldn’t say so if it weren’t actually true.”

  “... Naturally not.”

  “But, I’m reading it to them first.”

  “Reading to whom? And why?”

  “To that bunch up there—those officers, up at headquarters. As a way of playing it safe, to see how it goes. If I’ve hit a sour note then I can tear it up, and perhaps you’ll step in. But I think you ought to be there.”

  What I actually thought was: He dared not not be there. He stared, while the rheum in his eyes glittered, and then said: “Me boy, I find this peculiar.”

  “But if you don’t want to go, Mr. Burke—”

  “I must, but ... What does this letter say?”
r />   “What can it say? ‘Please sir, let him out.’ ”

  He asked more questions, but now that I knew he would come, I was gaining nerve, and gave him open-faced answers. In the end he had no choice and picked up his hat and coat. Outside I called up a hack, but as we got in he told the driver: “We’re taking another passenger—stop at Lavadeau’s costume shop.”

  At Lavadeau’s, he hopped out and ducked inside, I suspected to find out what she knew about it. When he came out she was with him, her eyes big question marks. I had hopped out by that time too, and as we stood on the banquette I told her: “Mrs. Fournet, I hope you approve this thing I’m about to attempt—it’ll be nice if all of us pull together. But, whether you approve or not, as counsel I must do as I think best. It’s my responsibility.”

  “Well, since I don’t know what you’re doing—”

  “You will, all in due time.”

  We both sounded cold, and he apparently didn’t twig that we were doing an act. When he’d handed her into the cab and taken his place beside her, I took the facing seat, so her eyes could rove my face. They had a fishy look, or a good imitation thereof. At headquarters, he was for holding things up until we could get an order for the guard to fetch Mr. Landry, but that was completely forgotten when Olsen stepped out of the wire office. “We can’t have the press in this,” Burke roared in a kind of panic. “ ’Twould ruin us, me boy—the General makes the announcements! ’Tis how the thing is done!”

  She said stuff of a similar kind, taking cue as I looked at her, but I shrugged it off. “Olsen’s all right,” I said. “He’ll give us a fair report.”

  Then I led the way upstairs.

  Chapter 9

  DAN DORSEY WAS SURPRISED AT the visitation, as I hadn’t given him any notice, but sat us down politely, and when I told him what we were there for sent the orderly out for more chairs, then went across the hall himself and came back with Major Jenkins. We had the pleasantries, including introductions to Mignon. Then I said to the officers: “Gentlemen, as Mr. Landry’s counsel, I’ve decided to make an appeal, a man-to-man thing, to the Commanding General himself, asking the release of a citizen who’s broken no law, who’s not even charged yet, who’s done nothing whatever but help those very boys, discharged Confederate vets, this Army is trying to reconstruct.”

  “One moment,” said the major. “If this is an appeal for clemency, it can’t be from nothing—has to be from something, the verdict of a court. But no verdict’s been rendered yet. And if he’s going to plead, as you indicated he would, how can he make an appeal from his own admission of guilt? I find myself confused.”

  “It’s an appeal to reason. To ordinary sense.”

  “On the basis of the evidence?”

  “Now you’ve got it, Major.”

  “Evidence is for a court to pass upon.”

  “Major, the Commanding General’s supreme, even overriding a court, certainly overriding you. Do you presume to decide what letters he may receive?”

  That calmed things down somewhat, but my eye crossed hers and, perhaps thinking she saw a cue, she cut in, pretty sharp: “Just a moment! I want our lawyer in this!”

  “Certainly,” I said. “I mean to consult him, of course. But first I want to read my letter to these gentlemen, for phraseology, so your father has the benefit—”

  “Then revise for final submission?” asked Dan.

  “That’s it—with the lawyer’s help.”

  “Then all right,” she said.

  I glanced around, and everyone looked worried, each for a different reason, except Olsen, who seemed bored and to whom no one was paying attention. It was just about how I wanted it. I started reading the letter, and to the preliminaries like “your attention is respectfully invited,” they hardly seemed to be listening. At my first real point, “intent is the heart of this case,” the major yawned openly. But then suddenly he leaned forward, as very quietly I read: “While we don’t deny that Mr. Landry shipped the shoes, or that some of them may have reached Taylor, we do insist that no proof has been brought that Mr. Landry foresaw this result, or in any way connived at it, and we emphatically take exception to the principle that a man can be held criminally responsible for acts the enemy commits. We would think it passing strange, esteemed Sir, if the President of our country placed you under arrest every time a Confederate guerrilla captured a few supplies.”

  “Hey, hey, hey!” said the major.

  “That’s getting kind of personal,” said Dan.

  “I want our lawyer,” Mignon exploded.

  “Then go get him,” I told her.

  She didn’t move, of course, and the major barked at me: “You know what’s good for you, you’ll take the General out.”

  “Who’s writing this letter?” I asked him.

  “Bill!” said Dan. “You want our help or not?”

  “On phraseology,” I said. “Technicalities.”

  A chill crept in, and I gave it a moment to settle, knowing that after what I’d read no one was walking out. I went on: “Once intent be fairly examined, it becomes inconceivable that Mr. Landry would have acted disloyally. His record of cooperation with the Army of the Gulf in its policy of humane reconstruction, through his purchases of cotton from those whom reconstruction tries to reach, his resale through a partner acceptable to the Army of the Gulf, his cheerful disbursements to Army personnel to expedite cotton shipment—”

  “I’ll take that letter!” snapped the major.

  “I haven’t submitted it yet.”

  “You’re practically alleging graft, and I warn you, once you registered as this man’s counsel, you became subject to martial law, and I’ll not hesitate to charge you.”

  “With what?” I asked.

  “Insubordination. Give me that letter.”

  “Well,” I said, seeming to think things over, “it may save time, at that. Olsen has his copy, and as submission takes care of him, by putting it on the record—”

  At last he saw the trap I was working him into, and when I extended the letter to him pulled back as from a red-hot poker. He jumped up, and kept retreating as I followed him around the room, holding the letter at him. I said, very coldly, as I went: “Tell me some more about martial law—and I’ll tell you more about graft.”

  I’d been wondering when Burke would break, and now, sure enough, he did, blurting out: “May I answer the scut, Major?” And then, to me: “If one dime has ever been paid, be Adolphe Landry or me, to anyone in this Army, I hope you’ll tell me when. Come on, me boy, speak up!”

  “Yesterday,” I said. “Glad you asked me.”

  “... Yesterday, is it? To whom?”

  “Our handsome friend here—the major.”

  After a long, bellowing pause: “ ’Tis a lie, Cresap! Your own filthy fabrication!” Then, after another bellowing pause: “How much?”

  “One hundred dollars, Mr. Burke.”

  “Why—that’s ridiculous,” said the major.

  But there was no steam in it, and I took my time getting out my torn bill and waving it around. To Burke I said: “You’ll observe it’s the same torn C-note you offered me yesterday morning, in my suite at the St. Charles Hotel, to act as Mr. Laundry’s counsel—the same C-note I declined until I’d done something to earn it.” Then suddenly I wheeled on the major and said: “And you’ll observe it’s the same C-note you paid Mr. Lucan with to deliver booze to your billet.” And to all and sundry I said: “You’ll observe it’s the same C-note I bought off Mr. Lucan for a hundred and one dollars, ‘to have a big bill in my poke, to impress my friends with.’ I hope you’re all impressed.”

  I took my time returning the bill to my wallet, and was startled when a fist shook under my nose. As I jerked back Burke yelled: “Scut! Liar! ’Tis no appeal you’re making, to reason or anything else! ’Tis a bold bid for scandal, and I’ll not listen to’t!” Then to her: “Lass! Come! Please! We must be going!” With that he broke for the door, but my stick got in his way, somehow s
lipping between his legs, so he sprawled on the floor. Big as he was, I jerked him up by the collar and flung him back in his chair. “Suppose you stay,” I said. “You may be wanted to answer questions.”

  Orderlies gathered, the one on duty at the door and a couple from other offices. Dan dismissed them, brushed off Burke’s trousers, and poured him a glass of water. Olsen was watching me, all excited now, and she was eyeing me too, as though not to miss any cue. But I was studying the major as he sat in a state of collapse, to figure how to handle him. He presented a problem. I’d smashed him all right, but my danger was, if I pressed my advantage too much, he’d begin lunging back and land us all in the soup, still hotter soup than this was, as of now. I wanted to put him together again, give him some self-respect, so the next blast I set off would blow him back to my side more or less in one piece, instead of slamming him around loose, wholly out of control. So, as he wiped his brow with his handkerchief, I said: “Major, I’d like to clear something up. You used the word graft, I didn’t. You scaled this charge down on humane grounds, and in that case a little champagne, in appreciation for your kindness, was no more than decent manners.”

  “The whole thing’s a lie!” roared Burke.”

  “I’ve admitted nothing,” growled the major.”

  “It could have meant nothing,” I said. “Had it.”

  “... What the hell are you getting at now?”

  “Major,” I said, very quietly, “you were a dupe. Far from giving a gift in appreciation of humane conduct, this man was using you to subvert the Army’s processes against an innocent man—”