The Devil's Tools

by Melville Davisson Post

　　I WAS ABOUT to follow my Uncle Abner into the garden when at a turn ofthe hedge, I stopped. A step or two beyond me in the sun, screened by alattice of vines, was a scene that filled me full of wonder. Abner wasstanding quite still in the path, and a girl was clinging to his arm,with her face buried against his coat. There was no sound, but thegirl's hands trembled and her shoulders were convulsed with sobs.

　　Whenever I think of pretty women, even now, I somehow always begin withBetty Randolph, and yet, I cannot put her before the eye, for all thememories. She remains in the fairy-land of youth, and her description iswith the poets; their extravagances intrude and possess me, and I giveit up.

　　I cannot say that a woman is an armful of apple blossoms, as they do, oras white as milk, and as playful as a kitten. These are happycollocations of words and quite descriptive of her, but they are notmine. Nor can I draw her in the language of a civilization to which shedoes not belong-one of wheels and spindles with its own type; superior,no doubt, but less desirable, I fancy. The age that grew its women inromance and dowered them with poetic fancies was not so impracticable asyou think. It is a queer world; those who put their faith in the ploware rewarded by the plow, and those who put their faith in miracles arerewarded by miracles.

　　I remained in the shelter of the hedge in some considerable wonder. Wehad come to pay our respects to this young woman on her approachingmarriage, and to be received like this was somewhat beyond ourexpectations. There could be nothing in this marriage on which to founda tragedy of tears. It was a love match if ever there was one.

　　Edward Duncan was a fine figure of a man; his lands adjoined, and he hadancestors enough for Randolph. He stood high in the hills, but I did notlike him. You will smile at that, seeing what I have written of BettyRandolph, and remembering how, at ten, the human heart is desperatelyjealous.

　　The two had been mated by the county gossips from the cradle, and hadlived the prophecy. The romance, too, had got its tang of denial to makeit sharper. The young man had bought his lands and builded his house,but he must pay for them before he took his bride in, Randolph said, andhe had stood by that condition.

　　There had been some years of waiting, and Randolph had been stormed. Thedebt had been reduced, but a mortgage remained, until now, by chance, ithad been removed, and the gates of Paradise were opened. Edward Duncanhad a tract of wild land in the edge of Maryland which his father hadgot for a song at a judicial sale. He had sold this land, he said, to aforeign purchaser, and so got the money to clear off his debt. He hadwritten to Betty, who was in Baltimore at the time, and she had hurriedback with frocks and furbelows. The day was set, we had come to see howhappy she would be, and here she was clinging to my Uncle Abner's armand crying like her heart would break.

　　It was some time before the girl spoke, and Abner stood caressing herhair, as though she were a little child. When the paroxysms of tears wasover she told him what distressed her, and I heard the story, for theturn of the hedge was beside them, and I could have touched the girlwith my hand. She took a worn ribbon from around her neck and held itout to Abner. There was a heavy gold cross slung to it on a tiny ring. Iknew this cross, as every one did; it had been her mother's, and thethree big emeralds set in it were of the few fine gems in the county.They were worth five thousand dollars, and had been passed down from thedivided heirlooms of an English grandmother. I knew what the matter wasbefore Betty Randolph said it. The emeralds were gone. The cross lyingin her hand was bare.

　　She told the story in a dozen words. The jewels had been gone for sometime, but her father had not known it until today. She had hoped hewould never know, but by accident he had found it out. Then he hadcalled an inquisition, and sat down to discover who had done therobbery. And here it was that Betty Randolph's greatest grief came in.The loss of the emeralds was enough; but to have her old Mammy Liza, whohad been the only mother that she could remember, singled out andinterrogated for the criminal, was too much to be borne. Her father wasnow in his office proceeding with the outrage. Would my Uncle Abner goand see him before he broke her heart?

　　Abner took the cross and held it in his hand. He asked a question ortwo, but, on the whole, he said very little, which seemed strange to me,with the matter to clear up. How long had the emeralds been missing? Andshe replied that they had been in the cross before her trip toBaltimore, and missing at her return. She had not taken the cross on thejourney. It had remained among her possessions in her room. She did notknow when she had seen it on her return.

　　And she began once more to cry, and her dainty mouth to tremble, and thebig tears to gather in her brown eyes.

　　Abner promised to go in and brave Randolph at his inquisition, and bringMammy Liza out. He bade Betty walk in the garden until he returned, andshe went away comforted.

　　But Abner did not at once go in. He remained for some moments standingthere with the cross in his hand; then, to my surprise, he turned aboutand went back the way that he had come. I had barely time to get out ofhis way, for he walked swiftly along the path to the gate, and down tothe stable. I followed, for I wondered why he went here instead of tothe house, as he had promised. He crossed before the tables and entereda big shed where the plows and farm tools were kept, the scythes hungup, and the corn hoes. The shed was of huge logs, roofed withclapboards, and open at each end.

　　I lost a little time in making a detour around the stable, but when Ilooked into the shed between a crack of the logs, my Uncle Abner wassitting before the big grindstone, turning it with his foot, and verydelicately holding the cross on the edge of the stone. He paused andexamined his work, and then continued. I could not understand what hewas at. Why had he come here, and why did he grind the cross on thestone? At any rate, he presently stopped, looked about until he found apiece of old leather, and again sat down to rub the cross, as though topolish what he had ground.

　　He examined his work from time to time, until at last it pleased him,and he got up. He went out of the shed and up the path toward thegarden. I knew where he was going now and I took some short cuts.

　　Randolph's office was a wing built on to the main residence, after thefashion of the old Virginia mansion house. It was a single story with aseparate entrance, so arranged that the master of the house couldreceive his official visitors and transact his business withoutdisturbing his domestic household.

　　I was a very good Indian at that period of my life, and skilled in theacts of taking cover. I was ten years old and had lived the life of theMohawk, with much care for accuracy of detail. True, it was a life I hadnow given up for larger affairs, but I retained its advantages. One doesnot spend whole afternoons at the blood-thirsty age of five, in stalkingthe turkeycock in the wooded pasture, noiselessly on his belly, with hiswooden knife in his hand, and not come to the maturity of ten with theaccomplishments of Uncas.

　　I was presently in a snowball bush, with a very good view of Randolph'sinquisition, and I think that if Betty had waited to see it, she neednot have gone away in so great a grief. Randolph was sitting behind histable in his pompous manner and with the dignity of kings. But for allhis attitudes, he took no advantage over Mammy Liza.

　　The old woman sat beyond him, straight as a rod in her chair, her blacksilk dress smoothed into straight folds, her white cap prim andimmaculate, her square-rimmed spectacles on her nose, and her hands inher lap. If there was royal blood on the Congo, she carried it in herveins, for her dignity was real. And there I think she held Randolphback from any definite accusation. He advanced with specious andsententious innuendoes and arguments, a priori and conclusion post hocergo propter hoc to inclose her as the guilty agent. But from thecommanding position of a blameless life, she did not see it, and hecould not make her see it. She regarded this conference as that of twoimportant persons in convention assembled,-a meeting together of theheads of the House of Randolph to consider a certain matter touching itsgoods and its honor. And, for all his efforts, he could not dislodge herfrom the serenity of that position.

　　"Your room adjoins Betty's?" he said.

　　"Yes, Mars Ran," she answered. "I's always slep' next to my chile, eversince her ma handed her to me outen the bed she was borned in."

　　"And no one goes into her room but you?"

　　"No, sah, 'ceptin' when I's there to see what they's doin'."

　　"Then no other servant in this house could have taken anything out ofBetty's room without your knowing it?"

　　"That's right, Mars Ran. I'd 'a' knowed it."

　　"Then," said Randolph, tightening the lines of his premises, "if youalone have access to the room, and no one goes in without your consentor knowledge, how could any other servant in this house have taken thesejewels?"

　　"They didn't!" said the old woman. "I's done had all the niggers upbefore me, an' I's ravaged 'em an' searchified 'em." Her mouth tightenedwith the savage memory. "I knows 'em! I knows 'em all-mopin' niggers,an' mealy mouthed niggers, an' shoutin' niggers, an' cussin' niggers,an' I knows all their carryin's-on, an' all their underhan' oneryness,an' all their low-down contraptions. An' they knows I knows it." Shepaused and lifted a long, black finger.

　　"They fools Miss Betty, an' they fools you, Mars Ran, but they don'tfool Mammy Liza."

　　She replaced her hands together primly in the lap of her silk dress andcontinued in a confidential tone.

　　"'Course we knows niggers steals, but they steals eatables, an' nobodypays any 'tention to that. Your Grandpa never did, nor your pap, nor us.You can't be too hard on niggers, jist as you can't be too easy on 'em.If you's too hard, they gits down in the mouth, an' if you's too easythey takes the place. A down in the mouth nigger is always a wuthlessnigger, an' a biggity nigger is a 'bomination!"

　　She paused a moment, but she had entered upon her discourse, and shecontinued.

　　"I ain't specifyin' but what there's some on this place that would b'arwatchin', an' I's had my eye on 'em; but they's like the unthinkinghorse, they'd slip a fril-fral outen the kitchen, or a side of baconouten the smoke-house, but they wouldn't do none of your gran' stealin'.

　　"No, sah! No, sah! Mars Ran,-them jules wasn't took by nobody in thishouse."

　　She paused and reflected, and her face filled with the energy of battle.

　　"I'd jist like to see a nigger tech a whip-stitch that belongs to mychile. I'd shore peel the hide offen 'em. Tech it! No, sah, they ain'tno nigger on this place that's a-goin' to rile me." And in her energyshe told Randolph some homely truths.

　　"They ain't afeared of you, Mars Ran, 'caase they knows they can make upsome cock an' bull story to fool you; an' they ain't afeared of MissBetty 'cause they knows they can whip it 'roun' her with a pitiful face;but I's different. I rules 'em with the weepen of iron! They ain't noneof 'em that can stand up before me with a lie, for I knows the innermostand hidden searchings of a nigger."

　　She extended her clenched hand with a savage gesture.

　　"An' I tells 'em. Mars Ran'll welt you with a withe, but I'll scarifyyou with a scorpeen!"

　　It was at this moment that my Uncle Abner entered.

　　Mammy Liza immediately assumed her company manners. She rose and made alittle courtesy.

　　"'Eben', Mars Abner," she said; "is you all well?"

　　Abner replied, and Randolph came forward to receive him. He got my unclea chair, and began to explain the matter with which he was engaged.Abner said that he had already got the story from Betty.

　　Randolph went back to his place behind the table, and to his judicialattitudes.

　　"There is no direct evidence bearing upon this robbery," he said,"consequently, in pursuing an investigation of it, we must follow theestablished and orderly formula laid down by the law writers. We mustcarefully scrutinize all the circumstances of time, place, motive,means, opportunity, and conduct. And, while upon a trial, a judge mustassume the innocence of everybody indicated, upon an investigation, theinquisitor must assume their guilt."

　　He compressed his lips and continued with exalted dignity. "No one is tobe exempt from consideration, not even the oldest and most trustedservants. The wisdom of this course was strikingly shown in Lord WilliamRussell's case, where the facts indicated suicide, but a rigidapplication of this rule demonstrated that my Lord Russell had been, infact, murdered by his valet."

　　My uncle did not interrupt. But Mammy Liza could not restrain herenthusiasm. She was very proud of Randolph, and, like all Negroes,associated ability with high sounding words. His grandiloquence and hispomposity were her delight. Her eyes beamed with admiration.

　　"Go on, Mars Ran," she said; "you certainly is a gran' talker." Randolphbanged the table.

　　"Shut up!" he roared. "A man can't open his mouth in this house withoutbeing interrupted."

　　But Mammy Liza only beamed serenely. She was accustomed to theseoutbursts of her lord, and unembarrassed by them. She sat primly in herchair with the radiance of the beloved disciple.

　　It is one of the excellences of vanity that it cannot be overthrown by achance blow. However desperately rammed, it always topples back upon itspedestal. Another would have gone hopelessly to wreckage under that, butnot Randolph. He continued in his finest manner.

　　"Bearing this in mind," he said, "let us analyze the indicatorycircumstances. It is possible, of course, that a criminal agent may planhis crime with skill, execute it without accident, and maintain thesecret with equanimity, and that all interrogation following upon hisact, will be wholly futile; but this is not usually true, as wasconspicuously evidenced in Sir Ashby Cooper's case."

　　He paused and put the tips of his extended fingers together.

　　"What have we here to indicate the criminal agent? No human eye has seenthe robber at his work, and there are no witnesses to speak; but we arenot to abandon our investigation for that. The writers on the law tellus that circumstantial evidence in the case of crimes committed insecret is the most satisfactory from which to draw conclusions of guilt,for men may be seduced to perjury from base motives, but facts, as Mr.Baron Legg so aptly puts it, 'cannot lie'."

　　He made a large indicatory gesture toward his bookshelf.

　　"True," he said, "I would not go so far as Mr. Justice Butler inDonellan's case. I would not hold circumstantial evidence to be superiorto direct evidence, nor would I take the position that it is whollybeyond the reach and compass of human abilities to invent a train ofcircumstances that might deceive the ordinary inexperienced magistrate.I would recall the Vroom case, and the lamentable error of Sir MatthewHale, in hanging some sailors for the murder of a shipmate who was, infact, not dead. But even that error, sir," and he addressed my uncledirectly in the heat and eloquence of his oration, "if in the law onemay ever take an illustration from the poets, bore a jewel in its head.It gave us Hale's Rule."

　　He paused for emphasis, and my uncle spoke.

　　"And what was that rule?" he said.

　　"That rule, sir," replied Randolph, "ought not to be stated from memory.It is a nefarious practice of our judges, whereby errors creep into thesound text. It should be read as it stands, sir, in the elegant languageof Sir Matthew."

　　"Leaving out the elegant language of Sir Matthew," replied Abner, "whatdoes the rule mean?"

　　"In substance and effect," continued Randolph, "but by no means in thesewords, the rule directs the magistrate to be first certain that a crimehas been committed before he undertakes to punish anybody for it."

　　"Precisely!" said my uncle; "and it is the very best sense that I everheard of in the law."

　　He held the gold cross out in his big palm.

　　"Take this case," he said. "What is the use to speculate about who stolethe emeralds, when it is certain that they have not been stolen!"

　　"Not stolen!" cried Randolph. "They are gone!"

　　"Yes," replied Abner, "they are gone, but they are not stolen....Iwould ask you to consider this fact: If these emeralds had been stolenout of the cross, the tines of the metal which held the stones in place,would have been either broken off or pried up, and we would find eitherthe new break in the metal, or the twisted projecting tines...But,instead," he continued, "the points of the setting are all quite smooth.What does that indicate?"

　　Randolph took the cross and examined it with care. "You are right,Abner," he said; "the settings are all worn away. I am not surprised;the cross is very old."

　　"And if the settings are worn away," continued my uncle, "what hasbecome of the stones?" Randolph banged the table with his clenched hand.

　　"They have fallen out. Lost! By gad, sir!" My uncle leaned back in hischair, like one to whom a comment is superfluous. But Randolph deliveredan oration. It was directed to Mammy Liza, and the tenor of it wasfelicitations upon the happy incident that turned aside suspicion fromany member of his household. He grew eloquent, pictured his distress,and how his stern, impartial sense of justice had restrained it, andfinally, with what seigniorial joy he now received the truth.

　　And the old woman sat under it in ecstatic rapture. She made littleaudible sighs and chirrups. Her elbows were lifted and she moved herbody rhythmically to the swing of Randolph's periods. She was entrancedat the eloquence, but the intent of Randolph's speech never reached her.She was beyond the acquittal, as she had been beyond the accusation. Shecontinued to bow radiantly after Randolph had made an end.

　　"Yes, sah," she said; "yes, sah. Mars Ran, I done tole you that themjules wan't took by none of our niggers."

　　But, as for me, I was overcome with wonder. Here was my uncle convincingRandolph by a piece of evidence which he, himself, had deliberatelymanufactured on the face of the grindstone.

　　So that was what he had been at in the shed-grinding off the tines andpolishing the settings with a piece of leather, so they would give theappearance of being worn. From my point of vantage in the snowball bush,I looked upon him with a growing interest. He sat, oblivious toRandolph's vaporings, looking beyond him, through the open window at thefar-off green fields. He had taken these pains to acquit Mammy Liza. Butsome one was guilty then! And who? I got a hint of that within the nextfive minutes, and I was appalled.

　　"Liza," said Randolph, descending to the practical, "who sweeps MissBetty's room?"

　　"Laws, Mars Ran," replied the old negro, "'course I does everything fo'my chile. The house niggers don't do nothin'-that is, they don't donothin' 'thouten I sets an' watches 'em. I sets when they washes thewinders, and I sets when they sweeps, an' I sets when they makes the bedup. I's been a-settin' there all the time Miss Betty's been gone,'ceptin', of course, when Mars Cedward was there."

　　She paused and tittered.

　　"Bless my life, how young folks does carry on! Every day heah comes MarsCedward a-ridin' up, an' he says, 'Howdy, Mammy, I reckon if I can't seeMiss Betty, I'll have to run upstairs an' look at her Ma.' An' he lightsoffen his horse, 'Get your key, Mammy,' he says, 'an' open the sacredpo'tals.' And I gets the key outen my pocket an' unlocks the do' an' hewhippits in there to that little picture of Miss Betty's Ma, that hangsover her bureau."

　　The old woman paused and wiped a mist from her spectacles with animmaculate and carefully folded handkerchief.

　　"Yes, yes, sah, 'co'se Miss Betty does look like her Ma-she's the veryspit-an'-image of her...Well, I goes along back an' sets down on thestair-steps, an' waits till Mars Cedward gets done with his worshiping,an' he comes along an' says, Thankee, Mammy, I reckon that'll have tolast me until tomorrow,' an' then I goes back an' locks the do'. I'smighty keerful to lock do's. I ain't minded to have no 'quisitive niggerramshakin' 'roun'."

　　But my uncle stopped her and sent her to Betty as evidence in the fleshthat she had come acquit of Randolph's inquisition. And the two men fellinto a talk upon other matters.

　　But I no longer listened. I sat within my bush and studied the impassiveface of my Uncle Abner, and tried to join these contradictory incidentsinto something that I could understand. Slowly the thing came to me! ButI did not push on into the inevitable conclusion. Its consequences weretoo appalling. I saw it and let it lie.

　　Somebody had pried the emeralds out of that cross,-somebody havingaccess to the room. And that person was not Mammy Liza! Abner knewthat...And he deliberately falsified the evidence. To acquit MammyLiza? Something more than that, I thought. She was in no danger; evenRandolph behind his judicial attitudes, had never entertained the ideafor a moment. Then, this thing meant that my uncle had deliberatelyscreened the real criminal. But why? Abner was no respecter of men. Hestood for justice-clean and ruthless justice, tempered by nodistinctions. Why, then, indeed?

　　And then I had an inspiration. Abner was thinking of some one beyond thecriminal, and of the consequences to that one if the truth were known;and this thing he had done, he had done for her! And now I thought abouther, too.

　　Her faith, her trust, the dearest illusion of her life had beenimperiled, had been destroyed, but for my uncle's firm, deliberate act.

　　And then, another thing rose up desperately before me. How could he letthis girl go on in ignorance of the truth? Must he not, after all, tellher what he knew? And my tongue grew dry in contemplation of thatordeal. And yet again, why? Love of her had been ultimately the motive.She need never know, and the secret might live out everybody's life.Moreover, for all his iron ways, Abner was a man who saw justice in itslarge and human aspect, and he stood for the spirit, above the letter,of the truth.

　　And yet, even there under the limited horizon of a child, I seemed tofeel that he must tell her. And so when he finally got away fromRandolph, and turned into the garden, I stalked him with desperatecunning. I was on fire to know what he would do. Would he speak? Orwould he keep the thing forever silent? I had sat before two acts ofthis drama, and I would see what the curtains went down on. And I didsee it from the shelter of the tall timothy-grass.

　　He found Betty at the foot of the garden. She ran to him in joy at MammyLiza's vindication, and with pretty evidences of her affection. But hetook her by the hand without a word and led her to a bench.

　　And when she was seated he sat down beside her. I could not see herface, but I could hear his voice and it was wonderfully kind.

　　"My child," he said, "there is always one reason, if no other, why goodpeople must not undertake to work with a tool of the devil, and thatreason is because they handle it so badly."

　　He paused and took the gold cross out of his pocket.

　　"Now here," he continued, "I have had to help somebody out who was thevery poorest bungler with a devil's tool. I am not very skilled myselfwith that sort of an implement, but, dear me, I am not so bad a workmanas this person!...Let me show you...The one who got the emeralds outof this cross left the twisted and broken tines to indicate a deliberatecriminal act, so I had to grind them off in order that the thing mightlook like an accident...That cleared everybody-Mammy Liza, who had nomotive for this act, and Edward Duncan, who had."

　　The girl stood straight up.

　　"Oh," she said, and her voice was a long shuddering whisper, "no onecould think he did it!"

　　"And why not?" continued my uncle. "He had the opportunity and themotive. He was in the room during your absence, and he needed the moneywhich those emeralds would bring in order to clear his lands of debt."

　　The girl clenched her bands and drew them in against her heart.

　　"But you don't think he stole them?" And again her voice was in thatshuddering whisper.

　　I lay trembling.

　　"No," replied Abner, "I do not think that Edward Duncan stole theseemeralds, because I know that they were never stolen at all."

　　He put out his hand and drew the girl down beside him.

　　"My child," he continued, "we must always credit the poorest-thief withsome glimmering of intelligence. When I first saw this cross in yourhand, I knew that this was not the work of a thief, because no thiefwould have painfully pried the emeralds out, in order to leave the crossbehind as an evidence of his guilt. Now, there is a reason why thiscross was left behind, but it is not the reason of a thief-two reasons,in fact: because some one wished to keep it, and because they were notafraid to do so.

　　"Now, my child," and Abner put his arm tenderly around the girl'sshoulders, "who could that person be who treasured this cross and wasnot afraid to keep it?"

　　She clung to my uncle then, and I heard the confession among hersobbings. Edward Duncan was making every sacrifice for her, and she hadmade one for him. She had sold the emeralds in Baltimore, and through anagent, bought his mountain land. But he must never know, never in thisworld, and my Uncle Abner must promise her that upon his honor.

　　And lying in the deep timothy-grass, I heard him promise.