A Master Hand: The Story of a Crime, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  A GAME OF CARDS

  It was ten o'clock when I had finished my cigar and coffee in thelibrary--where I had gone after dining--and I left the club and startedfor White's. It was a rainy, sloppy night, such as New York oftenprovides in winter, and I hurried over the few blocks that separated mefrom my destination.

  As I approached the house, I saw the light shining beneath theshade--which was not quite down--at the front window, and it held outpromise of cheerful warmth within.

  As I have said, White's rooms were on Nineteenth Street; they were onthe ground floor of a house about midway of the block between Fifth andSixth Avenues and on the north side of the street.

  He had the entire first floor, which consisted of two rooms connected bya short passageway. The front room was the sitting-room, and the backhis bedroom. With the latter I was not familiar at that time, but thesitting-room was a thoroughly delightful apartment. The floor wascarpeted with Eastern rugs, and the walls, papered a Pompeiian red, werehung with old prints and weapons. To the right of the door, as youentered, was a well selected library; to the left a piano.

  The rear of the room was largely taken up by two doors--one leading tothe bedroom through a short passageway, and the other to the bathroom,which again opened into the bedroom. Between these doors stood ahandsome desk with the usual paraphernalia.

  Opposite the entrance was a large fireplace adorned with brass andironsand fender, and over the mantel a mirror. To the left of the fireplacewas a divan, reaching from the wedge of the chimney almost to thepassage door, and on the other side, an antique mahogany sideboard,laden with silver and glass.

  In front of the window was a small table holding a lamp, and in thecentre of the room another and larger one, designed to be used forcards when required, but generally strewn with books and papers. Anumber of armchairs, each of its own old pattern, but all adapted forcomfort, completed the furniture. Everything betokened a man of luxurybut also a man of taste.

  Reaching the house, I mounted the two or three steps that led to theentrance, and stepping into the vestibule, rang the bell. The door waspromptly opened by White's servant, Benton,--for it was but a step fromhis sitting-room door to the front door,--and I entered the hall androom.

  As I expected, my four friends were engaged at their game around thecentre table, White and Littell playing against Van Bult and Davis.White rose and greeted me, while the others nodded informally; mypresence was too usual an event to call for any special demonstration,and after White had directed Benton to look after my wants, the game waspromptly resumed.

  I lighted a fresh cigar, took a brandy and soda, and selecting acomfortable chair, pulled it up between my host--who was to my left--andVan Bult to my right, and settled myself back to look on. The score-cardstood at my elbow, and a glance at it showed that the host and Littellwere winning. The game proceeded in comparative silence, now and thensome one interrupting to ask for a cigar or drink. I noticed thatWhite's orders were rather more frequent than the others, and that theman himself was not looking well. In fact he had not been looking wellfor some time, as his friends had remarked, but it was passed by withthe suggestion that he was "going pretty fast."

  After, perhaps, an hour of play, at the conclusion of one of the "rubs,"White pushed back his chair and declined to play longer. As it stillwanted some time of twelve o'clock, the others suggested that the playbe continued, and Davis, who, with Van Bult, had lost considerably,rather insisted that they be afforded some opportunity to recoup; butWhite, without regarding him, got up from the table and directed the manto serve supper, and Van Bult thereupon counted out four crisp newfifty-dollar bills, and left them on the table in settlement of hislosses. Neither Littell nor White took them up, and Davis in rather anembarrassed way told Littell he would settle with him next day, that hehad not the money with him. I felt sorry for Davis, as I knew the loss,comparatively trifling to Van Bult, must mean some inconvenience to him,but he accepted it gracefully. By this time Benton was ready with supperand the game was apparently forgotten.

  I do not know why it was, but the usual good spirits that prevailed atour little gatherings seemed lacking this night. Perhaps it was due tothe mood of our host, who was evidently out of humor over something.Littell ventured one or two remarks to which we responded perfunctorily,but White was moodily silent. I noticed he was watching me ratherclosely, and was not surprised when after a while he addressed me, butfor his question I was unprepared.

  "Dallas," he said, "you are in a public prosecutor's office and knowsomething of the evil doings of men; do you think the consciousness of awrong done a fellow-man clings to the wrong-doer all his life, or thatin time he may forget it?"

  I answered as I believed, that it depended entirely upon the temperamentof the man, but suggested that a reparation of the injury, where thatwas possible, should help matters.

  "Yes," he said, "but that is not always possible."

  I had nothing more to suggest on a subject so totally foreign to theoccasion and so offered no further opinion. But evidently White was in apsychological mood, for he next directed his questions to Littell.

  "Do you agree with Dallas," he asked him, "that a man's temperamentdetermines the matter, and that where one may find forgetfulness insecurity, another cannot rid himself of the recollection of a wrong hehas done?"

  Littell, indulging White's mood, replied that he had never been a publicprosecutor and was therefore denied my opportunities of speaking fromactual observation of criminals, but that if he might draw conclusionsfrom his own experience of men, he thought there were very few of themwhose consciences, after they had lived long enough to enjoy theopportunity, were not freighted with some evil act or other, and yet hisacquaintanceships led him to conclude that few of them were troubledmuch with their past misdeeds.

  "Indeed," he continued, "I find little entertainment in minutelyreviewing my own history and therefore seldom indulge myself in theluxury. As to my fellow-men, if they don't brand themselves criminals ormalefactors, I am willing to take them as they seem, as I think is therest of the world."

  Van Bult, who had been listening with evident amusement to the ratherlugubrious conversation, here suggested in a whimsical tone that he wasglad to learn that such was the disposition of the world, and of NewYorkers in particular, as it assured him immunity from undue curiosity.

  "That's so, Van," said White; "if we insisted upon knowing our friends'credentials even, you might prove a difficult subject."

  This was rather a daring speech to make to Van Bult, who had neverencouraged any disposition to familiarity or confidence, and I feltsome little concern as to how he might take it, but my fears weregroundless, for he responded very pleasantly, that any investigator inhis case would be poorly repaid for his trouble, and then more heartily,that the unquestioning regard of his friends was a source of muchgratification to him. White could not continue his ill-humored tone withVan Bult after this answer, and I was about to tell Van that it was bestto like a man for himself as we did him, or something to that effect,when White demanded that we all fill our glasses and drink to what wedidn't know of each other, adding that while it might not be a greatdeal, he knew it would be interesting.

  "If that be so," said Littell, "it will be because evil is moreinteresting than good."

  "Then," said Van Bult, "we will abbreviate White's toast, and drink to_evil_."

  White hesitated a moment, and then drained his glass, and threw it intothe fireplace with a crash. We all looked a little surprised, I think,but no one offered any comment. Van Bult and Littell laughed and drankthe toast. I did not altogether fancy the spirit of the thing, andquietly replaced my glass on the table, but Davis openly declared thathe did not like the toast and would not drink it. This seemed to incenseWhite, who by this time was very plainly showing the effects of theliquor he had taken, and he told Davis not to be a fool; that it illbecame him to pose as a paragon of virtue.

  Davis made no answer, and Littell, aft
er a moment's awkward silence,suggested our going. We said good-night to White, who seemed to recoverhimself for the moment and murmured some apologies, mainly addressed toDavis, for his ill-humor. He also asked the latter, who lived in thesame house, to remain with him for a while.

  As we were going out, he called after me that he wanted to come to myoffice the next day to talk to me about something, to which I acceded.Littell delayed a moment for a last word with him, and then joined VanBult and myself on the sidewalk and we walked together toward FifthAvenue.

  Van Bult was the first to speak:

  "What is the matter with White?" he said; "he does not seem likehimself."

  "He has probably some trifling matter on his mind," I suggested, "theseriousness of which he morbidly exaggerates. He is a nervous fellowanyhow, and has several times hinted to me that he wanted to make aconfidant of me about something. I am inclined to believe," I continued,expressing a thought I had entertained before, "that he feels he hasbeen guilty of an injustice to his cousin, Winters, in taking the bulkof his uncle's fortune, and suffers some remorse when he sees the poorfellow going to the bad. For that matter, however," I concluded, "hewould have gone there anyhow, and all the faster for a little money."

  "It may be there is a woman in the case," said Littell; "it seems to meI have heard of an entanglement of some sort."

  "So they say," I answered, "but I don't see why an affair of that sortshould give him cause for much worry."

  "Well, whatever it is," said Van Bult, "he had better pull himselftogether and go away for a change. One of you fellows suggest it to him,you know him better than I do. He may give you an opportunityto-morrow, Dallas," he continued, "if he goes to see you as he said hewould."

  By this time we had reached Fifth Avenue, where our ways separated, VanBult living on Washington Square, Littell at the Terrace Hotel, at FifthAvenue and Fifty-ninth Street, and I, as I have said, at the CrescentClub, on Madison Square. We stood, however, talking for a few minutes,and while doing so Benton passed us, going east toward Broadway. VanBult stopped him to ask how his master was. The man said he haddismissed him soon after we left, and had thrown himself down on thesofa without undressing, and had apparently gone to sleep.

  Littell asked if Davis was still with him, and the man replied, "No";that "Mr. Davis had been leaving at the same time." He then bade usgood-night, and went on.

  Van Bult here left us, and Littell and I walked as far as Madison Squaretogether, where I crossed over and Littell continued on.

  As I entered the club and went up to my room, it was still a littlebefore one o'clock.

  Contrary to the usual experiences as claimed of my fellow-men undersimilar circumstances, I do not recall that I had any misgivings thatnight or premonition of any sort of the terrible work that was to bedone before day. Indeed, as well as I remember, I retired in an entirelyplacid frame of mind, and slept well.

  I doubt if I should ever have thought again of the occurrences of theevening, which after all were commonplace enough, were it not for thesequel that made every word and moment seem fraught with meaning. So,always, it is not the sayings and doings of men that are important butthe sequence and sequel of events for which they are but the signs andtools.