CHAPTER XXII.
TWO DEPARTURES.
On the ensuing morning, Carnes and I enacted the "quarrel scene," asplanned by him the previous night.
A more aggravated case of drunkenness than that presented by Carnes, alittle before noon, could not well be imagined. He was a marvel ofreeling stupidity, offensive hiccoughs, and maudlin insolence.
Quite a number of people were lounging about the office when Carnesstaggered in, thus giving me my cue to commence. Among the rest wereDimber Joe and Blake Simpson. Our scene went off with considerable_eclat_; and, having paid Carnes at the office desk, with a magnificentdisregard for expense, I turned to leave the room, looking back over myshoulder, to say with my grandest air:
"If you think yourself sufficiently sober, you may come up-stairs andpack your things. The sooner you, and all that belongs to you, are outof my sight, the better I shall be pleased."
"If you think yourself sufficiently sober, you may comeup-stairs and pack your things."--page 262.]
I had been in my room less than half an hour, when I heard Carnes comestumbling noisily through the passage.
When he was fairly within the room, he straightened himself suddenly,and uttered a sound midway between a laugh and a chuckle.
"Old man," he said, coming slowly toward me, "I don't think I'll takethe down train."
"Why not?"
"Because," winking absurdly, and then staring up at the ceiling while hefinished his sentence, "the snakes are beginning to crawl. Blake Simpsonhas just paid his bill, and ordered his baggage to be sent to the 4:30train."
"Ah! And you will take the same train?"
"Exactly; I'm curious to see where he is going, and to find out why. Wemust not remain together long, old man. Do you go down-stairs and tellthem that I am sleeping off my booze up here. I shan't be very sober by4:30, but I'll manage to navigate to the depot."
I went down to the office, after a few more words with Carnes.
Simpson and Dimber Joe had both disappeared. Two or three men weresmoking outside, and a man by the window was falling asleep over anewspaper three days old. Mine host, in person, was lounging over thedesk. He was idle, and inclined to be talkative.
"You weren't trying to give Barney a scare, I suppose?" he said, as Iapproached the desk. "Do you really mean to let him go?"
"I certainly do," I replied, as I lounged upon the desk.
Then, coming nearer mine host, and increasing the distance betweenmyself and the old man by the window; "I have been tolerably patientwith the fellow. He has his good points, but he has tired me out.Patience has ceased to be a virtue. I can do very well without him now.He never was much of a valet. But I thought him quite necessary as acompanion on my fishing, hunting, and pedestrian excursions. However, Ihave become pretty well acquainted with places and people, and I findthere are plenty of guides and companions to be picked up. I can do verywell without Barney, especially as of late he is drunk oftener than heis sober."
Mine host smiled fraternally. It was not my custom to be socommunicative. Always, in my character of the wealthy aristocrat, I hadmaintained, for the benefit of those about me, an almost haughtyreserve, only unbending when, because of my supposed financialimportance, I "was made much of" in the social circles of the Trafton_elite_. To-day, however, I had an object to gain, and I did not bestowmy condescending confidence without the expectation of "value received."
"You'll have no trouble about finding company," said mine host, with abenign smile. "As you say, Barney has been a good many times off. Hehasn't kept the best of company. He's been too much with that Briggs."
"Yes," I assented, carelessly; "I have repeatedly warned him to let thefellow alone. Has he no occupation?"
"Briggs? he's a sort of extra hand for 'Squire Brookhouse; but, heplays more than he works," trifling with the leaves of his register, andthen casting his eye slowly down the page before him. "Here's an oddthing, you might say," laughing, as he lifted his eye from the book,"I'm losing my most boisterous boarder and my quietest one at the sametime."
"Indeed; who else is going?"
My entertainer cast a quick glance towards the occupant of the window,and lowered his voice as he replied:
"The gentleman in gray."
"In gray?" absently. "Oh! to be sure, a--a patent-right agent, is henot?"
Another glance toward the window, then lowering his voice an additionalhalf tone, and favoring me with a knowing wink, he said:
"Have you heard anything concerning him?"
"Concerning the gentleman in gray?"
My entertainer nodded.
"Assuredly not," said I, affecting languid surprise. "Nothing wrongabout the gentleman, I hope?"
"Nothing wrong, oh, no," leaning over the desk, and speaking slowly."They say he is a _detective_."
"A detective!" This time my surprise was not entirely feigned. "Oh--isnot that a sensationalism?"
"Well," said my host, reflectively, "I might think so if I had heard itfrom any of the ordinary loungers;--the fact is, I had no right tomention the matter. I don't think it is guessed at by many."
He was beginning to retire within himself. I felt that I must not losemy ground, and became at once more interested, more affable.
"Oh, I assure you, Mr. Holtz, I am quite interested. Do you really thinkthe man a detective? Pray, rely on my discretion."
There were two hard, unpainted chairs behind the office desk, and someboxes containing cheap cigars, upon a shelf against the wall. Iinsinuated myself into one of the chairs, and presently, Mr. Holtz wasseated near me in the other, smoking one of his own cigars, at myexpense, while I, with a similar weed between my lips, drew from him, asbest I could, all that he had heard and thought concerning Mr. BlakeSimpson, the gentleman in gray.
It was not much when all told, but Mr. Holtz consumed a full hour intelling it.
Jim Long had been so frequently at the hotel since the advent of Blakeand Dimber Joe, that mine host had remarked upon the circumstance, and,only two days ago, had rallied Jim upon his growing social propensities.
Whereupon, Jim had taken him aside, "quite privately and mysteriously,"and confided to him the fact that he, Jim, had very good reason forbelieving Blake and Dimber, or, as my informer put it, "The gent in grayand the other stranger," to be detectives, who were secretly working inthe interest of 'Squire Brookhouse.
What these very good reasons were, Jim had declined to state. But hehad conjured Mr. Holtz to keep silent about the matter, as to bring the"detectives" into notice would be to impair their chances of ultimatesuccess.
Mr. Holtz had promised to keep the secret, and he had kept it--two days.He should never think of mentioning the matter to any of his neighbors,he assured me fervently, as they, for the most part, being already muchexcited over the recent thefts, could hardly be expected to keep adiscreet silence; but I, "being a stranger, and a different personaltogether," might, in Mr. Holtz's opinion, be safely trusted.
I assured Mr. Holtz that he might rely upon me as he would upon himself,and he seemed quite satisfied with this rather equivocal statement.
Having heard all that mine host could tell, I remained in furtherconversation with him long enough to avoid any appearance of abruptness,and then, offering the stereotyped excuse, "letters to write," I took asecond cigar, pressed another upon my companion, and nodding to him withfriendly familiarity, sauntered away to meditate in solitude upon what Ihad just learned.
And so, if Mr. Holtz had not exaggerated, and Jim Long was not mistaken,Blake Simpson and Dimber Joe, two notorious prison birds, werevegetating in Trafton in the character of detectives!
What a satire on my profession! And yet, absurd and improbable as itseemed, it was not impossible. Indeed, did not this theory account fortheir seemingly aimless sojourn here?
Jim Long was not the man to perpetrate a causeless jest. Neither was heone to form a hasty conclusion, or to make an assertion without amotive.
Whether his statement were true or false, w
hat had been his reason forconfiding it to Mr. Holtz? It was not because of any especial friendshipfor, or attachment to, that gentleman. Jim had no intimates, and had hechosen such, Mr. Holtz, gossipping, idle, stingy, and shallow of brain,would scarcely have been the man.
Why, then, had he confided in the man?
Did he wish the report to circulate, and himself remain unknown as itsauthor? Was there some individual whose ears he wished it to reachthrough the talkative landlord?
I paused in my reflections, half startled by a sudden thought.
Had this shrewd, incomprehensible Yankee guessed my secret? And was Mr.Holtz's story intended for _me_?
I arose to my feet, having formed a sudden resolution.
I _would_ know the truth concerning Jim Long. I _would_ prove him myfriend or my enemy, and the story told by Mr. Holtz should be my weaponof attack.
As for Blake and Dimber, if they _were_ figuring as dummy detectives,who had instigated their masquerade?
Again I started, confronted by a strange new thought.
'Squire Brookhouse had telegraphed to an agent to employ for him twodetectives. My Chief had been unable to discover what officers had beenemployed. Carnes and myself, although we had kept a faithful lookout,had been able to discover no traces of a detective in Trafton. Indeed,except for ourselves and the two crooks, there were no strangers in thevillage, nor had there been since the robbery.
If Blake and Dimber were playing at detectives, why was it? Had theagent employed by 'Squire Brookhouse played him a trick, or had he beenhimself duped?
'Squire Brookhouse had telegraphed to his _lawyer_, it was said. Alawyer could have no motive for duping a wealthy client, nor would he belikely to be imposed upon or approached by such men as Blake and Dimber.
Had 'Squire Brookhouse procured the services of these men? And if so,why?
Carnes was endeavoring to sustain his _role_ by taking a much needed napupon his cot, but I now roused him with eager haste, and regaled hissleepy ears with the story I had just listened to below stairs.
At first he seemed only to see the absurdity of the idea, and he buriedhis face in the pillow, to stifle the merriment which rose to his lipsat the thought of the protection such detectives would be likely toafford the innocent Traftonites.
Then he became wide awake and sufficiently serious, and we hastilydiscussed the possibilities of the case.
There was not much to be done in the way of investigation just then;Carnes would follow after Blake so long as it seemed necessary, or untilhe could inform me how to guard against any evil the crook might beintent upon.
Meantime I must redouble my vigilance, and let no movement of Dimber'sescape my notice.
To this end I abandoned, for the present, my hastily formed resolution,to go at once in search of Jim Long, and bring about a betterunderstanding between us. That errand, being of less importance than thesurveillance of the rascal Dimber, could be left to a more convenientseason, or so I reasoned in my pitiful blindness.
Where was my professional wisdom then? Where the unerring foresight, thefine instinct, that should have warned me of danger ahead?
Had these been in action, one man might have been saved a shamefulstigma, and another, from the verge of the grave.
Out of a Labyrinth Page 22
