Part 10

"Now, Monsieur, do you apologise?"

Several cried "Yes," by way of urging Casey to an affirmative.

"No," said he, firmly and emphatically--"never! I stand to what I said. You took my watch--you _stole_ it."

"Liar!" cried the once more infuriated Frenchman, and both at the same instant sprang towards each other.

Fortunately, neither was armed--except with the weapons which nature had provided--and a short game of "fisticuffs"--in which Casey had decidedly the advantage--served as a 'scape valve for the ebullition of their anger.

I might have dreaded the re-drawing of the pistol; but, during the whole interval, the mate and I, to whom I had given a hint, had kept our eyes upon the owner of it, and hindered him from rendering it available.

The combatants were soon separated; and after that commenced the more formal ceremony of the exchange of "cards."

Casey gave his address, "Saint Charles Hotel"--whither we were bound, and towards which we had been steering when "brought to" by the gleaming lights of the _cafe_.

The Frenchman's card was taken in return; and, after a parting glass with the honest mate, and his two or three confreres, we sallied forth from the saloon; traversed the long narrow streets of the First Municipality, and a little before midnight we arrived at that magnificent _caravanserai_ known as the Saint Charles Hotel.

Story 2, Chapter IV.

THE EXCHANGE OF CARDS.

Monsieur Jacques Despard, 9, _Rue Dauphin_.

Such was the little memento that met my eyes as I entered Casey's sleeping apartment, at an early hour in the morning. It lay upon his dressing-table--a sorry substitute for the "twenty guinea repeater" that should have been found there.

My friend was still in the land of dreams. I was loth to awake him to the unpleasant reality which that tiny piece of pasteboard would naturally suggest; for, besides being in itself a symbol of grave import, it would be certain to recall to poor Casey the remembrance of his loss, to whom, being no Croesus, it was a serious one.

In reality he so regarded it; and, when awakened at length, and conscious of what had transpired on the preceding night, he expressed far more concern about the loss he had sustained, than about the expected encounter. The latter he treated as a ridiculous joke-- laughing at it as he pitched the card upon the floor.

"Stay!" said he, picking it up, and carefully placing it in his pocket-book. "It _might_ be the fellow's real name and address. If so, it will enable me to find him again; and, by Jaysus, I'll have that watch, or take the worth of it out of his hide. Hang it, man!--it's a family piece--got our crest on it--has been in the family ever since repeaters came into fashion. Yes, I'll take the worth of it out of his hide! But that's not possible--the whole of his yellow skin isn't worth that watch!"

And so talked Casey, while he performed his toilet as coolly as if he were dressing for a dinner party, instead of preparing himself for what might prove a deadly encounter.

Pistols we had decided it should be. Casey, expecting to be the challenged party, would, of course, be entitled to the choice of weapons. Had it been otherwise, my friend would have been in a bit of a dilemma; for, as he assured me, he had never taken a fencing lesson in his life; and it is notorious that the Creoles of New Orleans are skilled in the use of the small-sword. Some friendly strangers, after the exchange of cards on the preceding night, had made us aware of this fact, at the same time warning us that Casey's intended antagonist, whom they knew, was a noted swordsman. Swords, then, were not to be thought of.

Of course, as the party to be challenged, our duty was to stay at home (at the Hotel) until we should hear from the challenger. For my part, I did not anticipate there would be much delay; and I gave orders for a hurried breakfast.

"Faith! you may take your time about it," said Casey to the retiring waiter. "There's no need to spoil the meal. Never fear--we'll eat our breakfast without being interrupted."

"Nonsense! the friend of Monsieur Despard will be here in ten minutes."

"No--nor in ten hours nayther. You'll ate your dinner without seeing either Misther Despard or his friend."

"Why do you think so?"

"Bah.--Is it a thief send a challenge to a gentleman? All blarney and brag! I tell you the fellow's a thief--he has got my watch, bad luck to him!--and he thinks the givin' of the card a ready way to get out of the scrape: that's the maning of it. We'll never set eyes on him again, barrin' we go after him."

I was at first disposed to ridicule this logic; but, as time passed, I began to think there was some truth in it. We waited for breakfast being prepared, and then ate it in the most leisurely manner. As Casey had predicted, no one interrupted us at the meal; no visitor was announced--no card came in. I had already given rigorous orders to the clerk of the Hotel to forward any application on the instant.

The hour of ten arrived, but no communication from "Monsieur Jacques Despard."

"Perhaps he is hunting up a friend?" I suggested. "We must give him time."

Eleven o'clock.

"Let's have a sherry cobbler!" proposed Casey; "we'll have plenty of time to drink it."

A couple of those magnificent "sherry cobblers," for which the Saint Charles is world renowned, were immediately ordered up; and we passed the better half of an hour with the straw between our lips.

Twelve o'clock. Still no Despard--no friend--no challenge!

"I told you so," said Casey, not triumphantly, but rather in a tone of despondence. "This card's good for nothing," he continued, taking the piece of pasteboard from his pocket, and holding it up before his eyes; "a regular sham, I suspect, like the fellow himself--a false name and address--you see it's in pencil? Ah, mother o' Moses! I'll never see that watch again! Sure enough," continued he, after a pause, "the name's in print--he's gone to the expense of having that engraved, or somebody has for him, which is more likely.--No!--he won't come to time."

"We must remain at home till dinner. Perhaps they keep late hours here."

"Late or early, we won't see Misther Despard till we go after him; an' by gorra!" cried Casey, striking the table in a most violent manner, "that's what I mane to do. A man don't point a pistol at my head, without giving me a chance to return the compliment; and I'm bound to have another try for that watch."

From Casey's earnest speech and manner, I saw that he was resolved; and I knew enough of him to be aware that he was a man of strong resolution. Whether a challenge came or not, he was determined that the affair should not drop, till he had some kind of revenge upon Jacques Despard, or, if no such person existed, upon the "swell" who had stolen his repeater.

It certainly appeared as if the card _was_ a sham: for the dinner hour came, and no one had acknowledged it.

We descended, and ate our dinner at the general _table d'hote_--such a dinner as can be obtained only in the luxurious hostelrie of the Saint Charles.

We sat over our wine till eight o'clock; but although a few friends joined us at the table, we heard nothing of a hostile visitor. Under the influence of _Sillery_ and _Moet_, we for the time forgot the unpleasant incidents of the preceding night.

For my part, I should have been glad to have forgotten them altogether, or at all events to have left the matter where it stood; and such was the tenor of my counsels. But it proved of no avail: the fiery Hibernian was determined, as he expressed it, to have his "whack" out: he would either get back his watch or have a "pop" at the thief who stole it.

So resolved was he on carrying out his intention, that I saw it was idle to oppose him.

Certainly it was rather a singular affair; and now that a whole day had passed without any communication from Monsieur Despard, I became more than half convinced that Casey was right, and that the exquisite really had committed the theft. It was his indignant repudiation of the charge that had misled me; but Casey's constant and earnest asseveration--now strengthened by the after circumstances of the false card, and the failure to make an appearance--satisfied me that we had been in the company of a sharper.

With this conviction I retired for the night, Casey warning me that he should be with me at an early hour in the morning, in order to devise what measures should be taken.

With regard to an early hour, he was too true to his promise. Before six--long before I felt inclined to leave my comfortable bed--he was with me.

He apologised for disturbing me so early, on the score of his being without a watch, and could not tell the time; but I could perceive that the jest was a melancholy one.

"What do you mean to do?"

"Why, to find Master Ruffleshirt, to be sure."

"Will you not give him an hour's grace? Perhaps he may send this morning?"

"No chance whatever."

"It is possible he may have lost your card? Leave it alone till we have had breakfast."

"Lost my card? No. Besides, he might easily have got over that difficulty. He knew we were on our way to this hotel. Don't all the world come here? No; that isn't the fellow's excuse, and I shan't eat till I know what is. So, rouse up, my boy! and come along."

"But where are you going?"

"Number noine, Rue Daw--daw--hang his scribble! Daw--phin, I believe."

I arose, and dressed myself with as little delay as possible.

Whilst making my toilette, Casey gave me a hurried sketch of how he intended to proceed. It amounted to little more than a declaration of his intention to make Monsieur Jacques Despard disgorge the stolen property, or fight. In other words, Casey, believing himself to be in a lawless land (and his experience to some extent seemed to justify the belief), had determined upon taking the law into his own hands.

I saw that he no longer contemplated a duel with his light-fingered adversary. On the contrary, he talked only of "pitching into the fellow," and "taking the worth of his watch out of him." The angry feeling he exhibited convinced me that he meant what he said; and that the moment he should set eyes on the Frenchman, there would be a "row."

I saw that this would not do on any account, and for various reasons. Monsieur Jacques Despard, if found at all, would, no doubt, be found to have a fresh cap on the nipple of his pistol; and to be present at a street fight, either as principal or backer, was not to my liking. I had no ambition, either of catching a stray bullet, or of being locked up in the New Orleans Calaboose; and by yielding to Casey's wish I should be booked for one or the other.

Before completing my toilet, therefore, it occurred to me to suggest a slight change in Casey's programme--which was to the effect that he should stay where he was, and leave it to me to call at the address upon the card. If it should prove that Monsieur Despard lived there, there would be no difficulty in finding him whenever we should want him. If the contrary, my going alone would be no great waste of time; and we could afterwards adopt such measures as were necessary to bring him to terms.

This advice appeared reasonable, and Casey consented to follow it, charging me, as I left him, with the emphatic message--

"Tell the fellow if he don't challenge _me_, I'll challenge _him_, by God!"

In five minutes afterwards, I was on my way with the card between my fingers, and walking rapidly towards the Rue Dauphin.

Story 2, Chapter V.

MONSIEUR LUIS DE HAUTEROCHE.

Following the directions, which I had taken from the hotel-porter, I kept down Saint Charles Street, and crossing the Canal, I entered the Rue Royale into the French _quarter_ or "municipality."

I was informed that by keeping along the Rue Royale for a half-mile or so, I should find the Rue Dauphin leading out of it; and I had, therefore, nothing more to do than to walk directly onward, and look out for the names upon the corners of the streets.

Though it was daylight, the lamps were still faintly glimmering, their nightly allowance of oil not being quite exhausted. The shops and warehouses were yet closed; though here and there might be seen a cabaret or cafe, that had opened its trap-like doors to catch the early birds--small traders on their way to the great vegetable market-- cotton-rollers in sky-blue linen inexpressibles, with their shining steel hooks laid jauntily along their hips; now and then a citizen-- clerk or shopkeeper--hurrying along to his place of business. Only those of very early habits were abroad.

I had proceeded down the Rue Royale about a quarter of a mile, and was beginning to look out for the lettering on the corners of the cross streets, when my attention was drawn to an individual coming in the opposite direction. Though he was still at a considerable distance, and we were on different sides of the street, I fancied I recognised him. Each moment brought us nearer to one another; and as I had kept my eyes upon him from the first, I at length became satisfied of the identity of Monsieur Jacques Despard.

"A fortunate encounter," thought I. "It will save me the trouble of searching for Number 9, Rue Dauphin."

The dress was different: it was a blue coat instead of a claret, and the ruffles were less conspicuously displayed; but the size, shape, and countenance were the same--as also the hair, moustache, and complexion. It must be my man.

Crossing diagonally, I placed myself on the banquette to await the gentleman's approach. My position would have hindered him from passing; and the next moment he halted, and we stood face to face.

"_Bon jour, Monsieur_!" I began.

He made no answer, but stood with his eyes staring widely upon me, in which the expression was simply that of innocent surprise.

"Well counterfeited," thought I.

"You are early abroad," I continued. "May I ask Monsieur, what business has brought him into the streets at such an hour of the morning?"

The thought had struck me that he might be on his way to the Saint Charles, to make some inquiry; and I recalled my conjecture about his having mislaid Casey's card.

"What business, Monsieur, but that of my profession?" and as he made this reply, his dark eye flashed with a kindling indignation--which, of course, I regarded as counterfeit.

"Oh!" said I, in a sneering tone, "it appears that you pursue your profession at all hours. I thought the night was your favourite time. I should have fancied that at this hour you would scarcely have found victims."

"Fool! Who are you? What are you talking of? What means this rudeness?"

"Pooh--pooh! Monsieur Despard; you are not going to get off in that way. Your memory appears short. Perhaps this card will refresh it; or do you repudiate that also?"

"Card!--what card?"

"Look there!--perhaps you will deny having given it?"

"I know nothing of it, Monsieur; but you shall have _my card_; and for this insult I demand yours in return."

"It seems idle to make the exchange, after what has already passed."

Curiosity, however, prompted me. I was desirous of ascertaining whether his first address had been a false one, as Casey had suggested. Hastily scratching the address of the hotel, I handed him my card, taking his in return. To my astonishment I read:--

"_Luis De Hauteroche_, _16, Rue Royale_."

I should have been puzzled, but the solution was evident. The fellow was no doubt well provided with cards--kept a varied "pack" of them, and this was only another sham one.

I was determined, however, that I should not lose sight of him till I had fairly "treed" him.

"Is this your _real_ address?" I inquired, with an incredulous expression.

"_Peste! Monsieur_, do you still continue your insults? But you shall give me full satisfaction. It is my professional address. See for yourself."

And as he said this he pointed to the door of a house, only a few yards from the spot where we were standing.

Among other names painted upon the panel I read:

"_Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche_, _Avocat_."

"I can be found here at all hours," said he, passing me and stepping inside the doorway. "But you will not need to seek me, Monsieur. I promise it, my friend shall call upon you without delay."

The door closing behind him put an end to our "interview."

For some seconds I stood in a kind of "quandary." I could not doubt but that it was the same man whom we had met in the drinking saloon. The dress was different--of a more sober cut, though equally elegant--but this was nothing: it was a different hour, and that might account for the change of garments. The _tout ensemble_ was the same--the features, complexion, colour of hair, curl and all.

And still I could not exactly identify the bearing of Monsieur Jacques Despard with that of Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche. The evil expression of eye which I had noticed formerly was not visible to-day; and certainly the behaviour of the young man on the present occasion, had been that of an innocent and insulted gentleman.

Was it possible I could have made a mistake, and had, in transatlantic phrase "waked up the wrong passenger?"

I began to feel misgivings. There was a simple means of satisfying myself--at least a probability of doing so. The Rue Dauphin could not be far off, and might soon be reached. If it should prove that Monsieur Despard lived at Number 9, the mystery would be at an end.

I turned on my heel, and proceeded in the direction of the Rue Dauphin.

Story 2, Chapter VI.

MONSIEUR JACQUES DESPARD.

A hundred yards brought me to the corner of this famous street, and twenty more to the front of Number 9, a large crazy looking house, that had the appearance of a common hotel, or cheap boarding-house.

The door stood open, and I could see down a long dark hall. But there was no knocker. A brass-handled bell appeared to be the substitute, under which were the words--"_Tirez la sonette_."

I climbed the ricketty steps and rang. A slatternly female--a mulatto-- half asleep, came slippering along the hall; and, on reaching the door, drawled out:--"_Que voulez vous, Mosheu_?"

"Does Monsieur Despard live here?"

"Moss'r Despard? _Oui--oui_."

"Will you have the goodness to say that a gentleman wishes a word with him?"

The girl had not time to reply, before a side door was heard creaking open, and a head and shoulders were protruded into the hall. They were those of a man.

Though the hair of the head was tossed and frowsy, and the shirt that covered the shoulders looked as if it had passed through the "beggar's mangle," I had no difficulty in recognising the wearer. It was Monsieur Despard--Monsieur Despard _en deshabille_.

The gentleman evidently regretted his imprudence, and would have withdrawn himself from view. The shirt and shoulders had already disappeared behind the screening of the lintel; but, before the head could be backed in, I had stepped over the threshold and "nailed him" to an interview.

"Monsieur Despard, I believe?" was the interrogative style of my salutation.

"_Oui, M'sseu_. What is your business?"

"Rather a strange question for you to put, Monsieur Despard. Perhaps you do not remember me?"

"Perfectly."

"And what occurred at our first interview?"

"Equally well--that you were accompanied by a drunken brute who calumniated me."

"It is not becoming to vilify a gentleman after he has given you his card. Of course you intend to challenge him?"

"Of course I intend nothing of the sort. _Parbleu! M'sseu_, I should have a busy time of it, were I to notice the babble of every drunken brawler. I can pardon the slang of sling drinkers."

I had discovered by this time that Monsieur Despard spoke English as fluently as he did French, and also that he was perfectly versed in the slang epithets of our language.

"Come, Monsieur," said I, "this grandeur will not screen you. It shall be my duty to repeat your elegant phraseology to my friend, who I can promise will not pardon _you_."

"That don't signify."

"If you are not disposed to _send_ a challenge, you will be compelled to _receive_ one."

"Oh! that is different. I shall be most happy to accept it."

"It would save time if you give me the address of your second."

"Time enough after I have received the challenge."

"In two hours, then, I shall demand it."

"_Tres bien, M'sseu_."

And with a stiff bow the _caput_ of Monsieur Despard disappeared into the dark doorway.

Turning away, I descended the creaking steps, and walked back along the Rue Dauphin.

On reaching the corner of Rue Royale, I paused to reflect. I had ample food for reflection--sufficient almost to bewilder me. Within ten minutes I had succeeded in filling my hands with business enough to last me for the whole of that day and a portion of the next. The object of my halting, therefore, was that I might think over this business, and if possible arrange it into some kind of a definite programme.

An open cabaret close by offered an empty chair and a table. This invited me to enter; and, seating myself inside, I called for some claret and a cigar. These promised to lend a certain perspicuity to my thoughts, that would enable me to set my proceedings in some order.

My first thought was a feeling of regret at having promised Monsieur Despard to call again. I knew that Casey would insist upon a meeting-- all the more pertinaciously on hearing what had passed--and I was now more than ever convinced of the absurdity of such a step. What had he to gain by fighting with such a man? Certainly not his watch, and as certainly there was no credit to be derived from such an encounter. What I had just seen and heard, perfectly satisfied me that we were not dealing with a gentleman. The appearance of Monsieur Despard in his morning deshabille--his vulgar behaviour and language--the _mise-en-scene_ in the midst of which I had found him--and above all the nonchalant bravado with which he had treated Casey's serious charge against him--convinced me that the charge was true; and that instead of a gentleman we had to do with a _chevalier d'industrie_.

What, then, could Casey gain in measuring weapons with a character of this kind? Certainly nothing to his advantage.

On the other hand he might lose in the encounter, and in all probability he would.

A very painful reflection entered my mind as I dwelt upon this. If the fellow had designed it, he could not have exhibited more skill in bringing circumstances about in his favour; and only now did it occur to me the advantage we had given him. The positions of the parties had become entirely reversed. His adversary now held the citadel: Casey was to be the assailant. If the Frenchman intended to stand up--and under the altered circumstances it was likely he would--I feared for the result. He would have the right of choice; the rapier would unquestionably be the weapon chosen; and from the inexorable laws of the duello there would be no appeal.

As these considerations ran hurriedly through my mind, I began to feel sincerely anxious about the consequences; and blamed myself for permitting my temper--a little frayed by the insulting language--to betray me into, what I now regarded as, a manifest imprudence. "_Facile decensus averni, sed revocare gradum_."

There was no retreating from the step I had taken. Casey's antagonist might be a gambler, a swindler, a suspected thief, but in New Orleans-- more especially at the time of which I write--these titles would not rob him of the right to demand the treatment of a gentleman--that is, if he offered to fight as one.

We had gone too far. I knew that we were so compromised that we must carry the thing to an end.

I had but one hope; and this was that Monsieur Despard might after all prove a _bavard_, and show the white feather.