The Wrong Sign
It was an ancient diary in a faded leather cover. The writingwas fine and delicate, and the ink yellow with age. Sir HenryMarquis turned the pages slowly and with care for the paper wasfragile.We had dined early at the Ritz and come in later to his greathome in St. James's Square.He wished to show me this old diary that had come to him from abranch of his mother's family in Virginia - a branch that hadgone out with a King's grant when Virginia was a crown colony.The collateral ancestor, Pendleton, had been a justice of thepeace in Virginia, and a spinster daughter had written down someof the strange cases with which her father had been concerned.Sir Henry Marquis believed that these cases in their tragicdetails, and their inspirational, deductive handling, equaled anyof our modern time. The great library overlooking St. James'Square, was curtained off from London. Sir Henry read by thefire; and I listened, returned, as by some recession of time tothe Virginia of a vanished decade. The narrative of the diaryfollows:My father used to say that the Justice of God was sometimes swiftand terrible. He said we thought of it usually as remote anddeliberate, a sort of calm adjustment in some supernatural Courtof Equity. But this idea was far from the truth. He had seenthe justice of God move on the heels of a man with appallingswiftness; with a crushing force and directness that simplystaggered the human mind. I know the case he thought about.Two men sat over a table when my father entered. One of them gotup. He was a strange human creature, when you stood and lookedcalmly at him. You thought the Artificer had designed him for apriest of the church. He had the massive features and the fringeof hair around his bald head like a tonsure. At first, to youreye, it was the vestments of the church, he lacked; then you sawthat the lack was something fundamental; something organic in thenature of the man. And as he held and stimulated your attentionyou got a fearful idea, that the purpose for which this humancreature was shaped had been somehow artfully reversed!He was big boned and tall when he stood up."Pendleton," he said, "I would have come to you, but for myguest."And he indicated the elegant young man at the table."But I did not send you word to ride a dozen miles through thehills on any trivial business, or out of courtesy to me. It is amatter of some import, so I will pay ten eagles."My father looked steadily at the man."I am not for hire," he said.My father was a justice of the peace in Virginia, under theEnglish system, by the theory of which the most substantial menin a county undertook to keep the peace for the welfare of theState. Like Washington in the service of the Colonial army, hetook no pay.The big man laughed."We are most of us for purchase, and all of us for hire," hesaid. "I will make it twenty!"The young man at the table now interrupted. He was elegant inthe costume of the time, in imported linen and cloth from anEnglish loom. His hair was thick and black; his eyebrowsstraight, his body and his face rich in the blood and thevitalities of youth. But sensuality was on him like a shadow.The man was given over to a life of pleasure."Mr. Pendleton," he said, with a patronizing pedantic air, "thecommonwealth is interested to see that litigation does not arise;and to that end, I hope you will not refuse us the benefit ofyour experience. We are about to draw up a deed of sale runninginto a considerable sum, and we would have it court proof."He made a graceful gesture with his jeweled hand."I would be secure in my purchase, and Zindorf in his eagles, andyou, Sir, in the knowledge that the State will not be vexed byany suit between us. Every contract, I believe, upon some theoryof the law, is a triangular affair with the State a party. Letus say then, that you represent Virginia!""In the service of the commonwealth," replied my father coldly,"I am always to be commanded."The man flicked a bit of dust from his immaculate coat sleeve."It will be a conference of high powers. I shall represent Eros;Mr. Pendleton, Virginia; and Zindorf" and he laughed - "hisImperial Master!"And to the eye the three men fitted to their legend. TheHellenic God of pleasure in his sacred groves might have chosenfor his disciple one from Athens with a face and figure like thisyouth. My father bore the severities of the law upon him. And Ihave written how strange a creature the third party to thisconference was.He now answered with an oath."You have a very pretty wit, Mr. Lucian Morrow," he said. "I addto my price a dozen eagles for it."The young man shrugged his shoulders in his English coat."Smart money, eh, Zindorf . . . Well, it does not make me smart.It only makes me remember that Count Augsburg educated you inBavaria for the Church and you fled away from it to be a slavetrader in Virginia."He got on his feet, and my father saw that the man was in liquor.He was not drunken, but the effect was on him with its daring andits indiscretions.It was an April morning, bright with sun. The world was whitewith apple blossoms, the soft air entered through the great openwindows. And my father thought that the liquor in the man hadcome with him out of a night of bargaining or revel.Morrow put his hands on the table and looked at Zindorf ; then,suddenly, the laughter in his face gave way to the comprehensionof a swift, striking idea."Why, man," he cried, "it's the devil's truth! Everything aboutyou is a negation! You ought to be a priest by all the lines andfeatures of you; but you're not. . . Scorch me, but you're not!"His voice went up on the final word as though to convey someimpressive, sinister discovery.It was true in every aspect of the man. The very clothes hewore, somber, wool-threaded homespun, crudely patched, remindedone of the coarse fabrics that monks affect for their abasement.But one saw, when one remembered the characteristic of the man,that they represented here only an extremity of avarice.Zindorf looked coldly at his guest."Mr. Lucian Morrow," he said, "you will go on, and my price willgo on!"But the young blood, on his feet, was not brought up by themonetary threat. He looked about the room, at the ceiling, thethick walls. And, like a man who by a sudden recollectionconfounds his adversary with an overlooked illustrative fact, hesuddenly cried out"By the soul of Satan, you're housed to suit! Send me to thepit! It's the very place for you! Eh! Zindorf, do you know whobuilt the house you live in?""I do not, Mr. Lucian Morrow," said the man. "Who built it?"One could see that he wished to divert the discourses of hisguest. He failed."God built it!" cried Morrow.He put out his hands as though to include the hose."Pendleton," he said, "you will remember. The people built thesewalls for a church. It burned, but the stone walls could notburn; they remained overgrown with creeper. Then, finally, oldWellington Monroe built a house into the walls for the young wifehe was about to marry, but he went to the coffin instead of thebride-bed, and the house stood empty. It fell into the courtswith the whole of Monroe's tangled business and finally Zindorfgets it at a sheriff's sale."The big man now confronted the young blood with decision."Mr. Lucian Morrow," he said, "if you are finished with your fooltalk, I will bid you good. morning. I have decided not to sellthe girl."The face of Morrow changed. His voice wheedled in an anxiousnote."Not sell her, Zindorf!" he echoed. "Why man, you have promisedher to me all along. You always said I should have her in spiteof your cursed partner Ordez. You said you'd get her some dayand sell her to me. Now, curse it, Zindorf, I want her . . .I've got the money: ten thousand dollars. It's a big lot ofmoney. But I've got it. I've got it in gold."He went on:"Besides, Zindorf, you can have the money, it'll mean more toyou. But it's the girl I want."He stood up and in his anxiety the effect of the liquor fadedout."I've waited on your promise, Zindorf. You said that some day,when Ordez was hard-pressed he would sell her for money, even ifshe was his natural daughter. You were right; you knew Ordez.You have got an assignment of all the slaves in possession, inthe partnership, and Ordez has cleared out of the country. Iknow what you paid for his half-interest in this business, it'sset out in the assignment. It was three thousand dollars."Think of it, man, three thousand dollars to Ordez for awholesale, omnibus assignment of everything. An elastic legalnote of an assignment that you can stretch to include this girlalong with the half-dozen other slaves that you have on handhere; and I offer you ten thousand dollars for the girl alone!"One could see how the repetition of the sum in gold affectedZindorf.He had the love of money in that dominating control that theApostle spoke of. But the elegant young man was moved by a lureno less potent. And his anxiety, for the time, suppressed theevidences of liquor."I'll take the risk on the title, Zindorf. You and Ordez werepartners in this traffic. Ordez gives you a general assignmentof all slaves on hand for three thousand dollars and lights outof the country. He leaves his daughter here among the others.And this general assignment can be construed to include her. Hermother was a slave and that brings her within the law. We knowprecisely who her mother was, and all about it. You looked it upand my lawyer, Mr. Cable, looked it up. Her mother was theoctoroon woman, Suzanne, owned by old Judge Marquette in NewOrleans."There may have been some sort of church marriage, but there's nolegal record, Cable says."The woman belonged to Marquette, and under the law the girl is aslave. You got a paper title out of Marquette's executors,privily, years ago. Now you have this indefinite assignment byOrdez. He's gone to the Spanish Islands, or the devil, or both.And if Mr. Pendleton can draw a deed of sale that will stand inthe courts between us, I'll take the risk on the validity of mytitle."He paused."The law's sound on slaves, Judge Madison has a dozen himself,not all black either; not three-eighths black!" and he laughed.Then he turned to my father."Mr. Pendleton," he said, "I persuaded Zindorf to send for you todraw up this deed of sale. I have no confidence in the littlepracticing tricksters at the county seat. They take a fee and,with premeditation, write a word or phrase into the contract thatleaves it open for a suit at law."He made a courteous bow, accompanied by a dancing master'sgesture."I do not offend you with the offer of a fee, but I present mygratitude for the conspicuous courtesy, and I indicate theservice to the commonwealth of legal papers in form and courtproof. May I hope, Sir, that you will not deny us the benefit ofyour highly distinguished service."My father very slowly looked about him in calm reflection.He had ridden ten miles through the hills on this April morning,at Zindorf's message sent the night before. The clay of theroads was still damp and plastic from the recent rain. Therewere flecks of mud on him and the splashing of the streams.He was a big, dominating man, in the hardened strength andexperience of middle life. He had come, as he believed, uponsome service of the state. And here was a thing for the littledexterities of a lawyer's clerk. Everybody in Virginia, who knewmy father, can realize how he was apt to meet the vague messageof Zindorf that got him in this house, and the patronizingcourtesies of Mr. Lucian Morrow.He was direct and virile, and while he feared God, like the greatfigures in the Pentateuch, as though he were a judge of Israelenforcing his decrees with the weapon of iron, I cannot writehere, that at any period of his life, or for any concern orreason, he very greatly regarded man.He went over to the window and looked out at the hills and theroad that he had traveled.The mid-morning sun was on the fields and groves like abenediction. The soft vitalizing air entered and took up thestench of liquor, the ash of tobacco and the imported perfumesaffected by Mr. Lucian Morrow.The windows in the room were long, gothic like a church, andturning on a pivot. They ran into the ceiling that Monroe hadbuilt across the gutted walls. The house stood on the crown of ahill, in a cluster of oak trees. Below was the abandonedgraveyard, the fence about it rotted down; the stone slabsovergrown with moss. The four roads running into the hillsjoined and crossed below this oak grove that the early people hadselected for a house of God.My father looked out on these roads and far back on the one thathe had traveled.There was no sound in the world, except the faint tolling of abell in a distant wood on the road. It was far off on the way tomy father's house, and the vague sound was to be heard only whena breath of wind carried from that way.My father gathered his big chin, flat like a plowshare, into thetrough of his bronze hand. He stood for some moments inreflection, then he turned to Mr. Lucian Morrow."I think you are right," he said. "I think this is a triangularaffair with the state a party. I am in the service of the state.Will you kindly put the table by this window."They thought he wished the air, and would thus escape thecloseness of the room. And while my father stood aside, Zindorfand his guest carried the flat writing table to the window andplaced a chair.My father sat down behind the table by the great open window, andlooked at Zindorf.The man moved and acted like a monk. He had the figure and thetonsured head. His coarse, patched clothes cut like the homelygarments of the simple people of the day, were not wholly out ofkeeping to the part. The idea was visualized about him; thesimplicity and the poverty of the great monastic orders in theirvast, noble humility. All striking and real until one saw hisface!My father used to say that the great orders of God were correctin this humility; for in its vast, comprehensive action, thejustice of God moved in a great plain, where every indicatoryevent was precisely equal; a straw was a weaver's beam.God hailed men to ruin in his court, not with spectaculardevices, but by means of some homely, common thing, as though toabase and overcome our pride.My father moved the sheets of foolscap, and tested the point ofthe quill pen like one who considers with deliberation. Hedipped the point into the inkpot and slowly wrote a dozen formalwords.Then he stopped and put down the pen."The contests of the courts," he said, "are usually on thequestion of identity. I ought to see this slave for a correctdescription."The two men seemed for a moment uncertain what to do.Then Zindorf addressed my father."Pendleton," he said, "the fortunes of life change, and the ideassuited to one status are ridiculous in another. Ordez was afool. He made believe to this girl a future that he neverintended, and she is under the glamor of these fancies."He stood in the posture of a monk, and he spoke each word with aclear enunciation."It is a very delicate affair, to bring this girl out of theextravagances with which Ordez filled her idle head, and not bebrutal in it. We must conduct the thing with tact, and we willask you, Pendleton, to observe the courtesies of our pretension."When he had finished, he flung a door open and went down astairway. For a time my father heard his footsteps, echoing,like those of a priest in the under chambers of a chapel. Thenhe ascended, and my father was astonished.He came with a young girl on his arm, as in the ceremony ofmarriage sometimes the priest emerges with the bride. The girlwas young and of a Spanish beauty. She was all in white withblossoms in her hair. And she was radiant, my father said, as inthe glory of some happy contemplation. There was no slave likethis on the block in Virginia. Young girls like this, my fatherhad seen in Havana in the houses of Spanish Grandees."This is Mr. Pendleton, our neighbor," Zindorf said. "He comesto offer you his felicitations."The girl made a little formal curtsy."When my father returns," she said in a queer, liquid accent, "hewill thank you, Meester Pendleton; just now he is on a journey."And she gave her hand to Lucian Morrow to kiss, like a lady ofthe time. Then Zindorf, mincing his big step, led her out.And my father stood behind the table in the enclosure of thewindow, with his arms folded, and his chin lifted above his greatblack stock. I know how my father looked, for I have seen himstand like that before moving factors in great events, when heintended, at a certain cue, to enter.He said that it was at this point that Mr. Lucian Morrow's earlycomment on Zindorf seemed, all at once, to discover the nature ofthis whole affair. He said that suddenly, with a range of visionlike the great figures in the Pentateuch, he saw how things rightand true would work out backward into abominations, if, by anychance, the virtue of God in events were displaced!Zindorf returned, and as he stepped through the door, closing itbehind him, the far-off tolling of the bell, faint, eerie,carried by a stronger breath of April air, entered through thewindow. My father extended his arm toward the distant wood."Zindorf," he said, "do you mark the sign?" The man listened."What sign?" he said."The sign of death!" replied my father.The man made a deprecating gesture with his hands, "I do notbelieve in signs," he said.My father replied like one corrected by a memory."Why, yes," he said, "that is true. I should have rememberedthat. You do not believe in signs, Zindorf, since you abandonedthe sign of the cross, and set these coarse patches on your kneesto remind you not to bend them in the sign of submission to theKing of Kings."The intent in the mended clothing was the economy of avarice, butmy father turned it to his use.The man's face clouded with anger."What I believe," he said, "is neither the concern of you noranother."He paused with an oath."Whatever you may believe, Zindorf," replied my father, "thesound of that bell is unquestionably a sign of death." Hepointed toward the distant wood. "In the edge of the forestyonder is the ancient church that the people built to replace theburned one here. It has been long abandoned, but in itsgraveyard lie a few old families. And now and then, when an oldman dies, they bring him back to put him with his fathers. Thismorning, as I came along, they were digging the grave for oldAdam Duncan, and the bell tolls for him. So you see," and helooked Zindorf in the face, "a belief in signs is justified."Again the big man made his gesture as of one putting something ofno importance out of the way."Believe what you like," he said, "I am not concerned withsigns.""Why, yes, Zindorf," replied my father, "of all men you are thevery one most concerned about them. You must be careful not touse the wrong ones."It was a moment of peculiar tension.The room was flooded with sun. The tiny creatures of the airdroned outside. Everywhere was peace and the gentle benevolenceof peace. But within this room, split off from the great chamberof a church, events covert and sinister seemed preparing toassemble.My father, big and dominant, was behind the table, his greatshoulders blotting out the window;Mr. Lucian Morrow sat doubled in a chair, and Zindorf stood withthe closed door behind him."You see, Zindorf," he said, "each master has his set of signs.Most of us have learned the signs of one master only. But youhave learned the signs of both. And you must be careful not tobring the signs of your first master into the service of yourlast one."The big man did not move, he stood with the door closed behindhim, and studied my father's face like one who feels the presenceof a danger that he cannot locate."What do you mean?" he said."I mean," replied my father, "I mean, Zindorf, that each masterhas a certain intent in events, and this intent is indicated byhis set of signs. Now the great purpose of these two masters, webelieve, in all the moving of events, is directly opposed. Thus,when we use a sign of one of these masters, we express by thesymbol of it the hope that events will take the direction of hisestablished purpose."Don't you see then . . . don't you see, that we dare not use thesigns of one in the service of the other?""Pendleton," said the man, "I do not understand you."He spoke slowly and precisely, like one moving with an excess ofcare.My father went on, his voice strong and level, his eyes onZindorf."The thing is a great mystery," he said. "It is not clear to anyof us in its causes or its relations. But old legends and oldbeliefs, running down from the very morning of the world, tell us- warn us, Zindorf - that the signs of each of these masters areabhorrent to the other. Neither will tolerate the use of hisadversary's sign. Moreover, Zindorf, there is a double peril init."And his voice rose."There is the peril that the new master will abandon theblunderer for the insult, and there is the peril that the old onewill destroy him for the sacrilege!"At this moment the door behind Zindorf opened, and the young girlentered. She was excited and her eyes danced."Oh!" she said, "people are coming on every road!"She looked, my father said, like a painted picture, her darkCastilian beauty illumined by the pleasure in her interpretationof events. She thought the countryside assembled after themanner of my father to express its felicitations.Zindorf crossed in great strides to the window: Mr. LucianMorrow, sober and overwhelmed by the mystery of events about him,got unsteadily on his feet, holding with both hands to the oakback of a chair.My father said that the tragedy of the thing was on him, and heacted under the pressure of it."My child," he said, "you are to go to the house of yourgrandfather in Havana. If Mr. Lucian Morrow wishes to renew hissuit for your hand in marriage, he will do it there. Go now andmake your preparations for the journey."The girl cried out in pleasure at the words."My grandfather is a great person in New Spain. I have alwayslonged to see him . . . father promised . . . and now I am to go. . . when do we set out, Meester Pendleton?""At once," replied my father, "to-day." Then he crossed the roomand opened the door for her to go out. He held the latch untilthe girl was down the stairway. Then he closed the door.The big man, falsely in his aspect, like a monk, looking out atthe far-off figures on the distant roads, now turned about."A clever ruse, Pendleton," he said, "We can send her now, onthis pretended journey, to Morrow's house, after the sale."My father went over and sat down at the table. He took a fadedsilk envelope out of his, coat, and laid it down before him.Then he answered Zindorf."There will be no sale," he said.Mr. Lucian Morrow interrupted."And why no sale, Sir?""Because there is no slave to sell," replied my father. "Thisgirl is not the daughter of the octoroon woman, Suzanne."Zindorf's big jaws tightened."How did you know that?" he said.My father answered with deliberation."I would have known it," he said, from the wording of the paperyou exhibit from Marquette's executors. It is merely a releaseof any claim or color of title; the sort of legal paper oneexecutes when one gives up a right or claim that one has no faithin. Marquette's executors were the ablest lawyers in NewOrleans. They were not the men to sign away valuable property ina conveyance like that; that they did sign such a paper isconclusive evidence to me that they had nothing - and knew theyhad nothing - to release by it." He paused."I know it also," he said, "because I have before me here thegirl's certificate of birth and Ordez's certificate of marriage."He opened the silk envelope and took out some faded papers. Heunfolded them and spread them out under his hand."I think Ordez feared for his child," he said, "and stored thesepapers against the day of danger to her, because they are copiestaken from the records in Havana."He looked up at the astonished Morrow."Ordez married the daughter of Pedro de Hernando. I find, by anote to these papers, that she is dead. I conclude that thisgreat Spanish family objected to the adventurer, and he fled withhis infant daughter to New Orleans." he paused."The intrigue with the octoroon woman, Suzanne, came after that."Then he added:"You must renew your negotiations, Sir, in, a somewhat differentmanner before a Spanish Grandee in Havana!"Mr. Lucian Morrow did not reply. He stood in a sort of wonder.But Zindorf, his face like iron, addressed my father:"Where did you get these papers, Pendleton?" he said."I got them from Ordez," replied my father."When did you see Ordez?""I saw him to-day," replied my father.Zindorf did not move, but his big jaw worked and a faint spray ofmoisture came out on his face. Then, finally, with no change orquaver in his voice, he put his query."Where is Ordez?""Where?" echoed my father, and he rose. "Why, Zindorf, he is onhis way here." And he extended his arm toward the open window.The big man lifted his head and looked out at the men and horsesnow clearly visible on the distant road."Who are these people," he said, "and why do they come?" Hespoke as though he addressed some present but invisibleauthority.My father answered him"They are the people of Virginia," he said, "and they come,Zindorf, in the purpose of events that you have turned terriblybackward!"The man was in some desperate perplexity, but he had steel nervesand the devil's courage.He looked my father calmly in the face."What does all this mean?" he said."It means, Zindorf," cried my father, "it means that the verythings, the very particular things, that you ought to have usedfor the glory of God, God has used for your damnation!"And again, in the clear April air, there entered through the openwindow the faint tolling of a bell."Listen, Zindorf! I will tell you. In the old abandoned churchyonder, when they came to toll the bell for Duncan, the rope fellto pieces; I came along then, and Jacob Lance climbed into thesteeple to toll the bell by hand. At the first crash of sound awolf ran out of a thicket in the ravine below him, and fled awaytoward the mountains. Lance, from his elevated point, could seethe wolf's muzzle was bloody. That would mean, that a lost horsehad been killed or an estray steer. He called down and we wentin to see what thing this scavenger had got hold of."He paused."In the cut of an abandoned road we found the body of Ordezriddled with buckshot, and his pockets rifled. But sewed up inhis coat was the silk envelope with these papers. I tookpossession of them as a Justice of the Peace, ordered the bodysent on here, and the people to assemble."He extended his arm toward the faint, quivering, distant sound."Listen, Zindorf," he cried; "the bell began to toll for Duncan,but it tolls now for the murderer of Ordez. It tolls to raisethe country against the assassin!"The false monk had the courage of his master. He stood out andfaced my father."But can you find him, Pendleton," he said. And his harsh voicewas firm. "You find Ordez dead; well, some assassin shot him andcarried his body into the cut of the abandoned road. But who wasthat assassin? Is Virginia scant of murderers? Do you know theright one?"My father answered in his great dominating voice"God knows him, Zindorf, and I know him! . . . The man whomurdered Ordez made a fatal blunder . . . He used a sign of Godin the service of the devil and he is ruined!"The big man stepped slowly backward into the room, while myfather's voice, filling the big empty spaces of the house,followed after him."You are lost, Zindorf! Satan is insulted, and God is outraged!You are lost!"There was a moment's silence; from outside came the sound of menand horses. The notes of the girl, light, happy, ascended fromthe lower chamber, as she sang about her preparations for thejourney. Zindorf continued to step awfully backward. AndLucian Morrow, shaken and sober, cried out in the extremity offear:"In God's name, Pendleton, what do you mean; Zindorf, using asign of God in the service of the devil."And my father answered him:"The corpse of Ordez lay in the bare cut of the abandoned road,and beside it, bedded in the damp clay where he had knelt down torifle the pockets of the murdered body, were the patch prints ofZindorf's knees!"
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