The Marionettes
The policeman was standing at the corner of Twenty-fourth Street and aprodigiously dark alley near where the elevated railroad crosses thestreet. The time was two o'clock in the morning; the outlook a stretchof cold, drizzling, unsociable blackness until the dawn.
A man, wearing a long overcoat, with his hat tilted down in front, andcarrying something in one hand, walked softly but rapidly out of theblack alley. The policeman accosted him civilly, but with the assuredair that is linked with conscious authority. The hour, the alley's mustyreputation, the pedestrian's haste, the burden he carried--these easilycombined into the "suspicious circumstances" that required illuminationat the officer's hands.
The "suspect" halted readily and tilted back his hat, exposing, in theflicker of the electric lights, an emotionless, smooth countenance witha rather long nose and steady dark eyes. Thrusting his gloved hand intoa side pocket of his overcoat, he drew out a card and handed it to thepoliceman. Holding it to catch the uncertain light, the officer read thename "Charles Spencer James, M. D." The street and number of the addresswere of a neighborhood so solid and respectable as to subdue evencuriosity. The policeman's downward glance at the article carried in thedoctor's hand--a handsome medicine case of black leather, with smallsilver mountings--further endorsed the guarantee of the card.
"All right, doctor," said the officer, stepping aside, with an air ofbulky affability. "Orders are to be extra careful. Good many burglarsand hold-ups lately. Bad night to be out. Not so cold, but--clammy."
With a formal inclination of his head, and a word or two corroborativeof the officer's estimate of the weather, Doctor James continued hissomewhat rapid progress. Three times that night had a patrolman acceptedhis professional card and the sight of his paragon of a medicine case asvouchers for his honesty of person and purpose. Had any one of thoseofficers seen fit, on the morrow, to test the evidence of that card hewould have found it borne out by the doctor's name on a handsomedoorplate, his presence, calm and well dressed, in his well-equippedoffice--provided it were not too early, Doctor James being a lateriser--and the testimony of the neighborhood to his good citizenship,his devotion to his family, and his success as a practitioner the twoyears he had lived among them.
Therefore, it would have much surprised any one of those zealousguardians of the peace could they have taken a peep into that immaculatemedicine case Upon opening it, the first article to be seen would havebeen an elegant set of the latest conceived tools used by the "box man,"as the ingenious safe burglar now denominates himself. Speciallydesigned and constructed were the implements--the short but powerful"jimmy," the collection of curiously fashioned keys, the blued drillsand punches of the finest temper--capable of eating their way intochilled steel as a mouse eats into a cheese, and the clamps that fastenlike a leech to the polished door of a safe and pull out the combinationknob as a dentist extracts a tooth. In a little pouch in the inner sideof the "medicine" case was a four-ounce vial of nitroglycerine, now halfempty. Underneath the tools was a mass of crumpled banknotes and a fewhandfuls of gold coin, the money, altogether, amounting to eight hundredand thirty dollars.
To a very limited circle of friends Doctor James was known as "The Swell'Greek.'" Half of the mysterious term was a tribute to his cool andgentlemanlike manners; the other half denoted, in the argot of thebrotherhood, the leader, the planner, the one who, by the power andprestige of his address and position, secured the information upon whichthey based their plans and desperate enterprises.
Of this elect circle the other members were Skitsie Morgan and GumDecker, expert "box men," and Leopold Pretzfelder, a jeweller downtown,who manipulated the "sparklers" and other ornaments collected by theworking trio. All good and loyal men, as loose-tongued as Memnon and asfickle as the North Star.
That night's work had not been considered by the firm to have yieldedmore than a moderate repayal for their pains. An old-style two-storyside-bolt safe in the dingy office of a very wealthy old-style dry-goodsfirm on a Saturday night should have excreted more than twenty-fivehundred dollars. But that was all they found, and they had divided it,the three of them, into equal shares upon the spot, as was their custom.Ten or twelve thousand was what they expected. But one of theproprietors had proved to be just a trifle too old-style. Just afterdark he had carried home in a shirt box most of the funds on hand.
Doctor James proceeded up Twenty-fourth Street, which was, to allappearance, depopulated. Even the theatrical folk, who affect thisdistrict as a place of residence, were long since abed. The drizzle hadaccumulated upon the street; puddles of it among the stones received thefire of the arc lights, and returned it, shattered into a myriad liquidspangles. A captious wind, shower-soaked and chilling, coughed from thelaryngeal flues between the houses.
As the practitioner's foot struck even with the corner of a tall brickresidence of more pretension than its fellows the front door poppedopen, and a bawling negress clattered down the steps to the pavement.Some medley of words came from her mouth, addressed, like as not, toherself--the recourse of her race when alone and beset by evil. Shelooked to be one of that old vassal class of the South--voluble,familiar, loyal, irrepressible; her person pictured it--fat, neat,aproned, kerchiefed.
This sudden apparition, spewed from the silent house, reached the bottomof the steps as Doctor James came opposite. Her brain transferring itsenergies from sound to sight, she ceased her clamor and fixed herpop-eyes upon the case the doctor carried.
"Bress de Lawd!" was the benison the sight drew from her. "Is you adoctor, suh?"
"Yes, I am a physician," said Doctor James, pausing.
"Den fo' God's sake come and see Mister Chandler, suh. He done had a fitor sump'n. He layin' jist like he wuz dead. Miss Amy sont me to git adoctor. Lawd knows whar old Cindy'd a skeared one up from, if you, suh,hadn't come along. Ef old Mars' knowed one ten-hundredth part of desedoin's dey'd be shootin' gwine on, suh--pistol shootin'--leb'm feetmarked off on de ground, and ev'ybody a-duellin'. And dat po' lamb, MissAmy----"
"Lead the way," said Doctor James, setting his foot upon the step, "ifyou want me as a doctor. As an auditor I'm not open to engagements."
The negress preceded him into the house and up a flight of thicklycarpeted stairs. Twice they came to dimly lighted branching hallways. Atthe second one the now panting conductress turned down a hall, stoppingat a door and opening it.
"I done brought de doctor, Miss Amy."
Doctor James entered the room, and bowed slightly to a young ladystanding by the side of a bed. He set his medicine case upon a chair,removed his overcoat, throwing it over the case and the back of thechair, an advanced with quiet self-possession to the bedside.
There lay a man, sprawling as he had fallen--a man dressed richly in theprevailing mode, with only his shoe removed; lying relaxed, and as stillas the dead.
There emanated from Doctor James an aura of calm force and reservestrength that was as manna in the desert to the weak and desolate amonghis patrons. Always had women, especially, been attracted by somethingin his sick-room manner. It was not the indulgent suavity of thefashionable healer, but a manner of poise, of sureness, of ability toovercome fate, of deference and protection and devotion. There was anexploring magnetism in his steadfast, luminous brown eves; a latentauthority in the impassive, even priestly, tranquillity of his smoothcountenance that outwardly fitted him for the part of confidant andconsoler. Sometimes, at his first professional visit, women would tellhim where they hid their diamonds at night from the burglars.
With the ease of much practice, Doctor James's unroving eyes estimatedthe order and quality of the room's furnishings. The appointments wererich and costly. The same glance had secured cognizance of the lady'sappearance. She was small and scarcely past twenty. Her face possessedthe title to a winsome prettiness, now obscured by (you would say)rather a fixed melancholy than the more violent imprint of a suddensorrow. Upon her forehead, above one eyebrow, was a livid bruise,suffered, the physician's eye told him, within the past six hours.
Doctor James's fingers went to the man's wrist. His almost vocal eyesquestioned the lady.
"I am Mrs. Chandler," she responded, speaking with the plaintiveSouthern slur and intonation. "My husband was taken suddenly ill aboutten minutes before you came. He has had attacks of heart troublebefore--some of them were very bad." His clothed state and the latehour seemed to prompt her to further explanation. "He had been out late;to--a supper, I believe."
Doctor James now turned his attention to his patient. In whichever ofhis "professions" he happened to be engaged he was wont to honor the"case" or the "job" with his whole interest.
The sick man appeared to be about thirty. His countenance bore a look ofboldness and dissipation, but was not without a symmetry of feature andthe fine lines drawn by a taste and indulgence in humor that gave theredeeming touch. There was an odor of spilled wine about his clothes.
The physician laid back his outer garments, and then, with a penknife,slit the shirt-front from collar to waist. The obstacles cleared, helaid his ear to the heart and listened intently.
"Mitral regurgitation?" he said, softly, when he rose. The words endedwith the rising inflection of uncertainty. Again he listened long; andthis time he said, "Mitral insufficiency," with the accent of an assureddiagnosis.
"Madam," he began, in the reassuring tones that had so often allayedanxiety, "there is a probability--" As he slowly turned his head to facethe lady, he saw her fall, white and swooning, into the arms of the oldnegress.
"Po' lamb! po' lamb! Has dey done killed Aunt Cindy's own blessed child?May de Lawd'stroy wid his wrath dem what stole her away; what break datangel heart; what left--"
"Lift her feet," said Doctor James, assisting to support the droopingform. "Where is her room? She must be put to bed."
"In here, suh." The woman nodded her kerchiefed head toward a door."Dat's Miss Amy's room."
They carried her in there, and laid her on the bed. Her pulse was faint,but regular. She passed from the swoon, without recoveringconsciousness, into a profound slumber.
"She is quite exhausted," said the physician. "Sleep is a good remedy.When she wakes, give her a toddy--with an egg in it, if she can takeit. How did she get that bruise upon her forehead?"
"She done got a lick there, suh. De po' lamb fell--No, suh"--the oldwoman's racial mutability swept her into a sudden flare of indignation--"old Cindy ain't gwineter lie for dat debble. He done it, suh. May deLawd wither de hand what--dar now! Cindy promise her sweet lamb sheain't gwine tell. Miss Amy got hurt, suh, on de head."
Doctor James stepped to a stand where a handsome lamp burned, and turnedthe flame low.
"Stay here with your mistress," he ordered, "and keep quiet so she willsleep. If she wakes, give her the toddy. If she grows any weaker, let meknow. There is something strange about it."
"Dar's mo' strange t'ings dan dat 'round here," began the negress, butthe physician hushed her in a seldom employed peremptory, concentratedvoice with which he had often allayed hysteria itself. He returned tothe other room, closing the door softly behind him. The man on the bedhad not moved, but his eyes were open. His lips seemed to form words.Doctor James bent his head to listen. "The money! the money!" was whatthey were whispering.
"Can you understand what I say?" asked the doctor, speaking low, butdistinctly.
The head nodded slightly.
"I am a physician, sent for by your wife. You are Mr. Chandler, I amtold. You are quite ill. You must not excite or distress yourself atall."
The patient's eyes seemed to beckon to him. The doctor stooped to catchthe same faint words.
"The money--the twenty thousand dollars."
"Where is this money?--in the bank?"
The eyes expressed a negative. "Tell her"--the whisper was growingfainter--"the twenty thousand dollars--her money"--his eyes wanderedabout the room.
"You have placed this money somewhere?"--Doctor James's voice wastoiling like a siren's to conjure the secret from the man's failingintelligence--"Is it in this room?"
He thought he saw a fluttering assent in the dimming eyes. The pulseunder his fingers was as fine and small as a silk thread.
There arose in Doctor James's brain and heart the instincts of his otherprofession. Promptly, as he acted in everything, he decided to learn thewhereabouts of this money, and at the calculated and certain cost of ahuman life.
Drawing from his pocket a little pad of prescription blanks, hescribbled upon one of them a formula suited, according to the bestpractice, to the needs of the sufferer. Going to the door of the innerroom, he softly called the old woman, gave her the prescription, andbade her take it to some drug store and fetch the medicine.
When she had gone, muttering to herself, the doctor stepped to thebedside of the lady. She still slept soundly; her pulse was a littlestronger; her forehead was cool, save where the inflammation of thebruise extended, and a slight moisture covered it. Unless disturbed, shewould yet sleep for hours. He found the key in the door, and locked itafter him when he returned.
Doctor James looked at his watch. He could call half an hour his own,since before that time the old woman could scarcely return from hermission. Then he sought and found water in a pitcher and a glasstumbler. Opening his medicine case he took out the vial containing thenitroglycerine--"the oil," as his brethren of the brace-and-bit termit.
One drop of the faint yellow, thickish liquid he let fall in thetumbler. He took out his silver hypodermic syringe case, and screwed theneedle into its place, Carefully measuring each modicum of water in thegraduated glass barrel of the syringe, he diluted the one drop withnearly half a tumbler of water.
Two hours earlier that night Doctor James had, with that syringe,injected the undiluted liquid into a hole drilled in the lock of a safe,and had destroyed, with one dull explosion, the machinery thatcontrolled the movement of the bolts. He now purposed, with the samemeans, to shiver the prime machinery of a human being--to rend itsheart--and each shock was for the sake of the money to follow.
The same means, but in a different guise. Whereas, that was the giant inits rude, primary dynamic strength, this was the courtier, whose no lessdeadly arms were concealed by velvet and lace. For the liquid in thetumbler and in the syringe that the physician carefully filled was now asolution of glonoin, the most powerful heart stimulant known to medicalscience. Two ounces had riven the solid door of the iron safe; with onefiftieth part of a minim he was now about to still forever the intricatemechanism of a human life.
But not immediately. It was not so intended. First there would be aquick increase of vitality; a powerful impetus given to every organ andfaculty. The heart would respond bravely to the fatal spur; the blood inthe veins return more rapidly to its source.
But, as Doctor James well knew, over-stimulation in this form of heartdisease means death, as sure as by a rifle shot. When the cloggedarteries should suffer congestion from the increased flow of bloodpumped into them by the power of the burglar's "oil," they would rapidlybecome "no thoroughfare," and the fountain of life would cease to flow.
The physician bared the chest of the unconscious Chandler. Easily andskilfully he injected, subcutaneously, the contents of the syringe intothe muscles of the region over the heart. True to his neat habits inboth professions, he next carefully dried his needle and re-inserted thefine wire that threaded it when not in use.
In three minutes Chandler opened his eyes, and spoke, in a voice faintbut audible, inquiring who attended upon him. Doctor James againexplained his presence there.
"Where is my wife?" asked the patient.
"She is asleep--from exhaustion and worry," said the doctor. "I wouldnot awaken her, unless--"
"It isn't--necessary." Chandler spoke with spaces between his wordscaused by his short breath that some demon was driving too fast. "Shewouldn't--thank you to disturb her--on my--account."
Doctor James drew a chair to the bedside. Conversation must not besquandered.
"A few minutes ago," he began, in the grave, candid tones of his otherprofession, "you were trying to tell me something regarding some money.I do not seek your confidence, but it is my duty to advise you thatanxiety and worry will work against your recovery. If you have anycommunication to make about this--to relieve your mind aboutthis--twenty thousand dollars, I think was the amount you mentioned--youwould better do so."
Chandler could not turn his head, but he rolled his eyes in thedirection of the speaker.
"Did I--say where this--money is?"
"No," answered the physician. "I only inferred, from your scarcelyintelligible words, that you felt a solicitude concerning its safety. Ifit is in this room--"
Doctor James paused. Did he only seem to perceive a flicker ofunderstanding, a gleam of suspicion upon the ironical features of hispatient? Had he seemed too eager? Had he said too much? Chandler's nextwords restored his confidence.
"Where--should it be," he gasped, "but in--the safe--there?"
With his eyes he indicated a corner of the room, where now, for thefirst time, the doctor perceived a small iron safe, half-concealed bythe trailing end of a window curtain.
Rising, he took the sick man's wrist. His pulse was beating in greatthrobs, with ominous intervals between.
"Lift your arm," said Doctor James.
"You know--I can't move, Doctor."
The physician stepped swiftly to the hall door, opened it, and listened.All was still. Without further circumvention he went to the safe, andexamined it. Of a primitive make and simple design, it afforded littlemore security than protection against light-fingered servants. To hisskill it was a mere toy, a thing of straw and paste-board. The moneywas as good as in his hands. With his clamps he could draw the knob,punch the tumblers and open the door in two minutes. Perhaps, in anotherway, he might open it in one.
Kneeling upon the floor, he laid his ear to the combination plate, andslowly turned the knob. As he had surmised, it was locked at only a "daycom."--upon one number. His keen ear caught the faint warning click asthe tumbler was disturbed; he used the clue--the handle turned. He swungthe door wide open.
The interior of the safe was bare--not even a scrap of paper restedwithin the hollow iron cube.
Doctor James rose to his feet and walked back to the bed.
A thick dew had formed upon the dying man's brow, but there was amocking, grim smile on his lips and in his eyes.
"I never--saw it before," he said, painfully, "medicine and--burglarywedded! Do you--make the--combination pay--dear Doctor?"
Than that situation afforded, there was never a more rigorous test ofDoctor James's greatness. Trapped by the diabolic humor of his victiminto a position both ridiculous and unsafe, he maintained his dignity aswell as his presence of mind. Taking out his watch, he waited for theman to die.
"You were--just a shade--too--anxious--about that money. But it neverwas--in any danger--from you, dear Doctor. It's safe. Perfectly safe.It's all--in the hands--of the bookmakers. Twenty--thousand--Amy'smoney. I played it at the races--lost every--cent of it. I've been apretty bad boy, Burglar--excuse me--Doctor, but I've been a squaresport. I don't think--I ever met--such an--eighteen-carat rascal as youare, Doctor--excuse me--Burglar, in all my rounds. Is it contrary--tothe ethics--of your--gang, Burglar, to give a victim--excuseme--patient, a drink of water?"
Doctor James brought him a drink. He could scarcely swallow it. Thereaction from the powerful drug was coming in regular, intensifyingwaves. But his moribund fancy must have one more grating fling.
"Gambler--drunkard--spendthrift--I've been those, but--adoctor-burglar!"
The physician indulged himself to but one reply to the other's caustictaunts. Bending low to catch Chandler's fast crystallizing gaze, hepointed to the sleeping lady's door with a gesture so stern andsignificant that the prostrate man half-lifted his head, with hisremaining strength, to see. He saw nothing; but he caught the cold wordsof the doctor--the last sounds hie was to hear:
"I never yet--struck a woman."
It were vain to attempt to con such men. There is no curriculum that canreckon with them in its ken. Thev are offshoots from the types whereofmen say, "He will do this," or "He will do that." We only know that theyexist; and that we can observe them, and tell one another of their bareperformances, as children watch and speak of the marionettes.
Yet it were a droll study in egoism to consider these two--one anassassin and a robber, standing above his victim; the other baser in hisoffences, if a lesser law-breaker, lying, abhorred, in the house of thewife he had persecuted, spoiled, and smitten, one a tiger, the other adog-wolf--to consider each of them sickening at the foulness of theother; and each flourishing out of the mire of his manifest guilt hisown immaculate standard--of conduct, if not of honor.
The one retort of Doctor James must have struck home to the other'sremaining shreds of shame and manhood, for it proved the coup de grace.A deep blush suffused his face-an ignominous rosa mortis; therespiration ceased, and, with scarcely a tremor, Chandler expired.
Close following upon his last breath came the negress, bringing themedicine. With a hand gently pressing upon the closed eyelids, DoctorJames told her of the end. Not grief, but a hereditary rapprochementwith death in the abstract, moved her to a dismal, watery snuffling,accompanied by her usual jeremiad.
"Dar now! It's in de Lawd's hands. He am de jedge ob de transgressor,and de suppo't of dem in distress. He gwine hab suppo't us now. Cindydone paid out de last quarter fer dis bottle of physic, and it nebbercome to no use."
"Do I understand," asked Doctor James, "that Mrs. Chandler has nomoney?"
"Money, suh? You know what make Miss Amy fall down and so weak?Stahvation, sub. Nothin' to eat in dis house but some crumbly crackersin three days. Dat angel sell her finger rings and watch mont's ago. Disfine house, suh, wid de red cyarpets and shiny bureaus, it's all hired;and de man talkin' scan'lous about de rent. Dat debble--'scuse me,Lawd--he done in Yo' hands fer jedgment, now--he made way wideverything."
The physician's silence encouraged her to continue. The history that hegleaned from Cindy's disordered monologue was an old one, of illusion,wilfulness, disaster, cruelty and pride. Standing out from the blurredpanorama of her gabble were little clear pictures--an ideal home in thefar South; a quickly repented marriage; an unhappy season, full ofwrongs and abuse, and, of late, an inheritance of money that promiseddeliverance; its seizure and waste by the dog-wolf during a two months'absence, and his return in the midst of a scandalous carouse.Unobtruded, but visible between every line, ran a pure white threadthrough the smudged warp of the story--the simple, all-enduring, sublimelove of the old negress, following her mistress unswervingly througheverything to the end.
When at last she paused, the physician spoke, asking if the housecontained whiskey or liquor of any sort. There was, the old womaninformed him, half a bottle of brandy left in the sideboard by thedog-wolf.
"Prepare a toddy as I told you," said Doctor James. "Wake your mistress;have her drink it, and tell her what has happened."
Some ten minutes afterward, Mrs. Chandler entered, supported by oldCindy's arm. She appeared to be a little stronger since her sleep andthe stimulant she had taken. Doctor James had covered, with a sheet, theform upon the bed.
The lady turned her mournful eyes once, with a half-frightened look,toward it, and pressed closer to her loyal protector. Her eyes were dryand bright. Sorrow seemed to have done its utmost with her. The fount oftears was dried; feeling itself paralyzed.
Doctor James was standing near the table, his overcoat donned, his hatand medicine case in his hand. His face was calm and impassive--practicehad inured him to the sight of human suffering. His lambent brown eyesalone expressed a discreet professional sympathy.
He spoke kindly and briefly, stating that, as the hour was late, andassistance, no doubt, difficult to procure, he would himself send theproper persons to attend to the necessary finalities.
"One matter, in conclusion," said the doctor, pointing to the safe withits still wide-open door. "Your husband, Mrs. Chandler, toward the end,felt that he could not live; and directed me to open that safe, givingme the number upon which the combination is set. In case you may need touse it, you will remember that the number is forty-one. Turn severaltimes to the right; then to the left once; stop at forty-one. He wouldnot permit me to waken you, though he knew the end was near.
"In that safe he said he had placed a sum of money--not large--butenough to enable you to carry out his last request. That was that youshould return to your old home, and, in after days, when time shall havemade it easier, forgive his many sins against you."
He pointed to the table, where lay an orderly pile of banknotes,surmounted by two stacks of gold coins.
"The money is there--as he described it--eight hundred and thirtydollars. I beg to leave my card with you, in case I can be of anyservice later on."
So, he had thought of her--and kindly--at the last! So late! And yet thelie fanned into life one last spark of tenderness where she had thoughtall was turned to ashes and dust. She cried aloud "Rob! Rob!" Sheturned, and, upon the ready bosom of her true servitor, diluted hergrief in relieving tears. It is well to think, also, that in the yearsto follow, the murderer's falsehood shone like a little star above thegrave of love, comforting her, and gaining the forgiveness that is goodin itself, whether asked for or no.
Hushed and soothed upon the dark bosom, like a child, by a crooning,babbling sympathy, at last she raised her head--but the doctor was gone.
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