Part 5

"I found the old thief snug in his den, overlooking the principal street of New Orleans. There was not a merchant trading in the port who did not know this man was the agent of the pirates, that it was he who bribed the authorities to keep their hands off, and that every seafaring enterprise had to pay for his protection. Why men will permit such bloated old spiders to get the upper hand of them," said Anthony, "I cannot understand."

"What did you do?" asked Mr. Weir.

"I laid a loaded pistol on the table before him. I told him that two ships of Montufars were due within a week's time, and that one was to sail, outward bound, directly. And, further, I said, if any harm came to any one of them, be it ever so little, I would shoot him dead."

"And what followed?"

"All three were allowed to pass about their business, unmolested; and in consequence Alvaro still lives, fat as ever, and taking tribute from those who are afraid of him."

Mr. Weir laughed; and as he did the red seam across his jaw looked deeper and darker; the green, flint-like eyes seemed colder.

"That is a deal like your grandfather would have done it," said he. "But what action did the port officials take? for in preventing the looting of these ships you interfered sadly with one of their most cherished privileges."

Anthony made a wry face.

"They made me feel that," said he. "And, because of their hostility, any vessel I sailed in was marked; finally, it was impossible for me to get one; and so I took to the inland trade, which I have followed ever since."

Weir nodded.

"I've heard of some of your doings; it may be," seeing Anthony's questioning look, "that our agent, noting the interest of the house in the matter you've just described, was at some pains afterwards to keep himself in the way of tidings of you. At any rate, he'd often jot down bits of news concerning your enterprises." He studied Anthony for a few moments, and then asked, "Has your interest in land traffic taken away all your desire for the sea?"

"You are taking it for granted that I had such a desire," smiled Anthony.

"No one with a drop of Rufus Stevens's blood in his body could be without it." They talked about old Rufus for a space, and then Weir asked: "Have you seen your uncle since you left here as a boy?"

"No."

"You'll like him," said the other. "And I feel sure he'll like you." And then, after another little period of talk, "Have you ever sailed as master of a ship?"

"No, as mate only."

Mr. Weir nodded.

"Yes," said he, "I think your uncle will be greatly interested in you." And then when Anthony shook hands with him, about to go, he added: "The moment his vessel docks, you shall be notified. Are you lodged at one of the taverns?"

"The Half Moon."

"I shall remember that."

Anthony left the counting-room and started up Water Street. Directly ahead, a carriage was drawn up close to the foot-path, and the traffic of the street was ill-humoredly skirting it. As the young man was on the point of passing, he heard a woman's voice; turning his head he saw Mademoiselle Lafargue leaning from the open window of the vehicle, her eyes wide, her face white.

"Mademoiselle!" said Anthony, shocked.

"I have been awaiting you," she said. He was about to speak, but she gestured him not to do so. "The other day my father and myself gained by your good will. You showed yourself a friend, though a stranger. If you saw us again in need of help, would you come forward, once more, to give it?"

"I would," said Anthony.

"We are in danger," she said. "How great, and how immediate, I do not know, and there is not a soul in the whole world to whom we can appeal but you." She spoke to the coachman and the carriage started. "Thank you," she said to Anthony, gratitude in her frightened eyes. "To-morrow you shall hear from me." With that she was gone; and Anthony, his tall hat in his hand, stood staring after her.

VIII

It was fairly well into the afternoon; Anthony had shaved, dressed his hair, and attired himself smartly. He sat in the public room of the Half Moon, rather cherishing the hope that Mademoiselle Lafargue might show some early sign of requiring his service. A pursy-looking man in top-boots, and with his pockets stuffed with papers, occupied a bench near to a window, and talked with a gentleman wrapped in a greatcoat and with a rug across his knees.

"The watch," said the pursy man, "is all but useless. They cannot prevent wrong-doing, and when it is done they are unable to bring the malefactors to justice."

The man in the greatcoat drew the rug more closely about his knees and seemed unhappy.

"It is very distressing," said he. "A crime like this, and no one to place it upon. For what are we taxed if it is not for the punishment of offenders?"

"No goods were taken," said the pursy man. "No harm was done save to Magruder's life. That alone seems to have been the purpose of the criminal. A stab-wound, says the surgeon; a stab-wound in the neck, and struck not so shrewdly! 'Twas a clumsy hand that did the deed; but," and here the speaker wagged his head, "an apprentice is as good as a journeyman, so long as the task is accomplished."

"There are city lights," said the man in the greatcoat; "there are safeguards for life and property; the watch is well paid. But the streets are not safe; prowlers can go to and fro as they will; houses, places of business are entered, blows are struck, lives are taken. Yet the prisons are unoccupied; the gallows are unused."

"I have heard a whisper," said the pursy man, "that some one is suspicioned." He nodded his head, and panted, as though the thing excited him. "It was not the watch who came upon the thing; the watch is too slow-going for that. But, when all was confusion and every one at his wit's end, it bobs up unexpectedly of its own accord."

"Some one suspicioned?" said the man in the greatcoat, hungrily. "Who is it?"

But the other shook his head.

"I don't know," said he. "It was only a whisper I got, and it was not meant for my ears. This Magruder had a ship in that day, and there was much to occupy him at his place of business. He remained after his clerks and porters had gone, so they tell; and, about eight, went to a tavern for a chop and a glass of ale, for he was none of your great eaters, having a slim stomach and a none too liberal hand. The people of the tavern say he left there before nine, and it's thought that he went straightaway back to his counting-room and there remained."

"But the suspicioned person?" said the man in the greatcoat, anxiously, not caring to miss this chance of putting the prisons and gallows to their proper use. "How came it to fall upon him?"

"Some one," said the pursy man, "was seen to leave Magruder's place by the counting-room door, which is in the back. Very quietly is the manner in which the person is said to have left, and at an hour that was unusual."

"There should be no difficulty in apprehending the villain," said the other man. "All the evilly disposed in the city should be taken charge of; and the man could be picked from among them."

But the pursy man seemed to doubt this method.

"That would not suffice," said he, "for we could not be sure the crime was done by one given to public villainy."

"You would not think of suspecting any honest man!" said the other, aghast.

"What would you say if you heard--only in a whisper, however, and the whisper not meant for you--that the criminal was not a man at all, but a woman?"

Anthony felt his blood chill; he waited to hear no more, but arose and went into the passage. Here, just entering, he encountered Whitaker, who was most gracefully attired in cream-colored pantaloons, a blue coat with dull copper buttons, a frilled neck-cloth, and a fawn-hued beaver, the brim of which curled magnificently.

"I thought I'd chance upon you," said this young gentleman, as he shook Anthony's hand. "I'm on my way to Mrs. Newell's, here in Fourth Street. Charming woman, and loves music. She usually has some one who can finger a harp, or a pianoforte; there's a German who plays upon a flute most excellently; and some of her guests always sing. Come along; Mrs. Newell will be delighted."

Just at that moment Anthony had desire for neither music nor light company; he'd much rather have talked if Whitaker had been a person with whom he could have discussed what was in his mind. But, at the same time, he had no desire to be alone with his thoughts; so, with his arm in that of the fop, he was led away to Fourth Street.

Mrs. Newell's house stood in a little court, just above Chestnut, a brick-paved place, with handsome trees, little spaces about the door-steps for growing plants in summer-time, and trellises for rose-vines under each window. Mrs. Newell herself, as Whitaker had said, was charming, a little mouse of a woman with dark eyes and an engaging manner.

"You are just in time to hear Tosini," she told Anthony. "A fine performer. He will play one of his own sonatas."

Mrs. Newell's drawing-room was crowded, and Anthony was presented here and there to little groups of ladies. Tosini was a dark, Latin-looking man with curly black hair, shot with gray; from the box of his violin he drew sounds that melted and thrilled, and left the ladies fluttering with delight.

"Astonishing tone," commented Whitaker, as he patted approvingly with his gloves. "Wonderful vibrations. Sometimes I think strings and wood have magic in them when brought together. Remarkable playing."

A round-faced man then blew a melody of Blanck's out of a German flute, and a young lady with a small, sweet voice sang "Love in a Village," to the tinkling of a harpsichord. Then another young lady with a harp, and an enterprising youth who bore a violoncello, joined forces with the flute and violin and made their way through a quartet of Bach's, to the gratification of every one. This done, there was a great chattering and clamoring and exclaiming. Anthony stood at one side rather disconsolately, Whitaker having deserted him, when he saw Mrs. King smiling at him from across the room. At once he made his way to her side.

"I saw you as you came in," she said, "but you did not permit your look to go anywhere but straight ahead, and so I couldn't catch your eye until now. I'm sure you enjoyed the music; you looked as though you did."

"It was a treat to me," he returned. "A Spanish sailor thrumming a guitar in the forecastle, or some indifferent fiddling at a trading-post, has been the only music I've listened to for a long time."

"Your mother was a beautiful musician; too beautiful, I'm afraid, for the city of her day. We rather resented finish," with a smile. "Have you made up your mind to remain with us?"

"I have not yet seen my uncle."

"Oh, that wonderful uncle," laughed Mrs. King. "So much depends upon what he does or says. A mere nod of his head will change the plans of hundreds. If he speaks, his intimates seem to expect a magical occurrence. But," and she nodded her assurance, "you'll like him. Charles has not been spoiled by adulation, for the reason that he has not noticed it. In many things he is still a boy. You are twenty-five, and he is fifty; but you are his elder in temperament."

They talked of New Orleans, of Anthony's experiences, of his mother and father; then they returned to music, and Mrs. King, pleased, commented upon the growing taste in such things.

"It must be the large number of people from continental Europe who have come among us, because of the revolutions and disorders going on there. Some of them are so charming that their accomplishments cannot help being imitated. Yesterday at de Lannoy's--Monsieur de Lannoy was a count in France--I heard a young French girl sing in a way that was extraordinary. And she was quite free and self-possessed; not at all like our girls who take a feeling of something like guilt into everything that is not usual. She is here with her father; they are strangers in the city. Monsieur de Lannoy had known her father in a business way at Brest."

"At Brest!" said Anthony. "What was her name?"

"Lafargue. A very beautiful creature, and, it seemed, in the short time I talked with her, with a mind as wonderful as her voice. But in spite of all the sparkle in her manner I could see she felt but little of it. At times her eyes actually seemed to have a look of fear in them. So many of the _émigrés_ have that look. Their experiences must have been dreadful."

"No doubt."

"She said she was a stranger," said Mrs. King, "and had been here less than a week. And yet," amusedly, "at five o'clock young Tarrant called for her. A handsome girl can't be a stranger for long anywhere."

Anthony felt a flush of resentment rise to his face; he fumbled with the fringe upon the arm of the chair in which he sat and glowered at the floor.

"It had been arranged that he should call for her," added Mrs. King. "She, being so newly arrived, was not sure that she'd find her way back to her lodging-place."

"I have met with this Tarrant," said Anthony. "But our dealings were brief. What manner of man is he?"

"He is very well known," said Mrs. King. "And inclined, I think, to play the part of a ruffling blade, such as is common in London. He was once in the navy, a lieutenant, and also in the merchant service."

Just then Whitaker came up; with him was a lady who laughed and talked incessantly.

"We were just speaking of Mr. Tarrant," said Mrs. King. "Perhaps you can tell Anthony more about him than I."

"About Bob?" said Whitaker importantly. "Quite right. I know him like a book. Astonishingly clever fellow. Great ability. And has a real talent for clothes. No better dressed man in the city. Takes his hints from Europe. They say he has correspondents who keep him posted."

The lady who held Whitaker's arm here began to laugh once more.

"Oh," she said, "you are overlooking the most interesting thing about him. Please do tell that."

"Do you mean the altercation?" asked Whitaker.

"To be sure," laughed the lady. "It's so amusing. To think of such a thing happening to Bob Tarrant!"

"It seems," said Whitaker, whose manner showed that he scarcely approved of his companion's mirth, "that Tarrant had an encounter a few evenings ago in which he was taken rather by surprise. The story goes that he was engaged in carrying out a matter of some importance when a certain individual--the name has not yet come out--ran counter to him. They tell me that Bob remonstrated with him, but to no purpose. And then, before he quite realized the turn the affair had taken, the person struck him."

"Oh, Dick!" pleaded the laughing lady, now laughing more than ever. "Do tell it all! Bob was thrashed," she informed Mrs. King and Anthony. "Soundly thrashed, with his hat all broken and red welts across his face. Thoroughly discomfited, they tell me, and raving with rage. What will he do now?" laughed the lady. "He has been so looked up to by all our youths!" with an arch glance at Whitaker. "So patterned after in all the things that make a man of fashion and spirit! How in the world can he redeem himself?"

"Well," said Whitaker, "I suppose it is amusing, if one is inclined to take that view of it. The impulse is to laugh at any awkward thing that happens to one who has carried himself as high as Tarrant. But, at the same time," with a shake of the head, "it may be no laughing matter in the end, for Tarrant, I hear, has spent the last two days at a quiet place up the river with a pair of pistols, improving his eye."

The jolly lady ceased laughing; Mrs. King looked grave.

"Oh, no!" said she.

"I'm afraid it's true," said Whitaker. "He's of that fashion and has winged his man a dozen times or more."

"But the law," said Mrs. King.

"Of course," said the dandy. "There is one. But who would dare appeal to it?"

When they had taken their leave of Mrs. Newell a little later, Whitaker hooked his arm into Anthony's as they turned out of the little court.

"Tarrant will have this fellow's blood," said he. "It will be the regulation number of paces, a quick exchange, and then God send the poor devil a good surgeon!"

Anthony said nothing, and so Whitaker's mind turned to a matter of more immediate moment.

"I'm supping at the Crooked Billet to-night," said he. "If you have nothing urgent to occupy you, suppose you join me. It's an excellent place. Their venison pie is famous."

Anthony gave cordial agreement to this, and the two, still arm in arm, strolled toward the river.

IX

The Crooked Billet stood facing the water, midway between High and Chestnut Streets. Swift packets huddled before it; their masts towered overhead, all stepped with a rake; all the cordage had the taut trimness of government craft.

The tavern was built high from the ground to keep it out of the wash of the tide, which sometimes overflowed the docks; it had a broad comfortable look, and a promise of cheer within. The principal room was set with oaken tables; the floor planks were scrubbed to a degree of whiteness, and overhead the beams were brown with smoke. Outside, after sundown, the air had an eager nip, for it was now well into the time of year; and the open fire and whale-oil lamps of the tavern had a cherry glow. Little groups were already gathered at the tables; waiters were going backward and forward bearing hot, hearty dishes and tumblers of steaming drink.

With the assurance of an old hand, Whitaker selected a table; and an attentive waiter made them comfortable.

"First," said Whitaker, "let us have a trifle of French brandy to put ourselves in humor." Anthony made no objection to this, and the waiter departed to bring the drink. "Old Ned Stapleton, who once was a sort of lord of all the inns in the city and had a master knowledge of cookery, used to say that between meals there was formed a secretion that was a most active poison, and needed to be cut away by ardent spirits before more food was tasted. It is so possible a thing," nodded the dandy, "and the prevention so pleasant a one, that I've always given heed to it."

They drank the brandy, and then Whitaker gave his attention to the ordering of the supper.

"A venison pasty," directed he, "and one of comfortable size and that has stood long enough to make it desirable. Also we'll have some parsnips, roasted potatoes, and greens. Fish?" and he looked at Anthony. "Suppose it is a boiled rock, with eggs shredded upon it?" Anthony nodded, and so rock it was. "And ale," said Whitaker, as the waiter was departing once more; "a tankard each."

Shipmasters and mates, merchants and upper clerks, ate of the good food, drank the excellent liquor of the Crooked Billet, and enjoyed the warm fire and the lights.

"A settled, respectable gathering," said Anthony, with a smile, as his eye went about. "And all out of much the same mold. In New Orleans, now, one would see many breeds and kinds; and not only would honest traffic be talked of, about the tables, but many kinds of devilment as well."

Whitaker wagged a wise head.

"Don't be misled by appearance," said he. "In my travels I've learned that roguery is roguery the world over; it has its place in every port, and all manner of men are engaged in it. If your evil-doer has the air of a church-going man, is he any the less a rascal?"

Anthony shook his head.

"I've found," said Whitaker, growing even more impressive, "that people take on the manner of those about them--in a general way. Now, for example, look at those two gentlemen warming their legs at the fire, and so enjoying the flavor of their drink. A comfortable man of business, and a middle-aged clerk who has possibly been with him for years? No such thing. That old codger is one of the biggest rascals that ever shaved a note, and the other has arranged more stinking villainy than any dozen others in the port."

"It is possible," said Anthony, not at all amazed; "the greatest rogue I ever encountered was at Batavia, and he looked like a comfortable man of family."

"Not more than a good step from here," proceeded Whitaker, "there is a section known to shipping men as the Algerian Coast--and rightly, too, for those who have their trade there are pirates to a man."

"I have always fancied that business was conducted rather primly in this city," said Anthony, "and that your authorities looked after shipping malpractice with a keener eye than is done in warmer waters."

"No eye can catch these gentlemen," stated Whitaker; "for their doings are underground; or, if not that, then bent in some cunning way to the shape of the law. Their whole procedure is rich in rascality; many a ship has gone down, and many a business house, also, to their gain."

The boiled rock arrived, smoking hot, upon a large dish and garnished with egg as desired. Afterward the venison pasty, and a notable dish it looked, was placed before them, with stewed whole parsnips and some tender young cabbages.

"Ned Stapleton was fat," said Whitaker, as he set his ale tankard down, "and if it were not for that I'd agree that his idea of life was the pleasantest and most profitable for a gentleman. What can be more agreeable than snacks of good cookery amid pleasant surroundings, and with well-conditioned liquor to keep it company?"

"It has its virtues," admitted Anthony, filling his plate with the savory contents of the pasty. "I'll never doubt that."

"But to be fat!" exclaimed Whitaker. "That is not a state of body for a person of taste. God save the man that the smallest tailor can't reach around with his tape. He is lost!"

They were engaged interestedly with the food when the door opened and admitted Dr. King and Captain Weir.

"Well," said the physician, as he shook Anthony's hand. "I see that it has not taken you a great while to hear of our advantages. Captain Weir you know, I think."

Anthony once more shook hands with Weir; and as he looked into his face he again noted the level, steady eyes, the fixed expression, and the scar across the jaw. Whitaker had also arisen to greet the new-comers; and a few moments later, while he was engaged in some talk with the captain, Dr. King said in a low tone to Anthony:

"Weir is a man well worth cultivating; he has the strongest hand in all your uncle's affairs. He is firm, sane, reserved, unemotional, never in haste; and little escapes him."

"Different sorts of men," said Whitaker, after the two had left them and taken a table at the other end of the room. "Totally different, but, I should say, equally dependable. Fine quality, both of them. But Weir is none of your easy-mannered ones, like the doctor; courtly conduct isn't taught on the decks of Yankee ships."

"They are close friends, though, I suppose?" said Anthony.

"No," replied Whitaker; "no. I think they admire each other in a practical way; but they are not at all intimate. Their being together to-night is, I think, because of you. Dr. King, I think, desires a place made for you in the counting-house."

"I see," said Anthony.

Active inroads had been made in the pasty; the tankards had run low and been refilled when Anthony, chancing to look up, saw Mademoiselle Lafargue and her father moving among the tables toward him. At once he pushed back his chair and arose. His eyes met hers, but she averted her face and passed him by without a word or sign. A waiter opened a door for them, which apparently led into a smaller room; and then it closed, leaving Anthony standing, stunned.

"That was unkind!" exclaimed Whitaker. "Most devilishly unkind. She hasn't the excuse that she didn't see you; she looked full at you."

Anthony sat down, a frown upon his face.

"I hadn't expected that," said he. "But, then," with a laugh, "under the circumstances, what reason had I to expect anything."