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Just And The Unjust, The

<h2>CHAPTER EIGHT</h2> <h3>A GAMBLER AT HOME</h3> It was morning, and Mr. Gilmore sat by his cheerful open fire in that front room of his, where by night were supposed to flourish those games of chance which were such an offense to the "better element" in Mount Hope. Mr. Gilmore was hardly a person of unexceptional taste, though he had no suspicion of this fact, since he counted that room quite all that any gentleman's parlor should be. It was a large room furnished in dark velvet and heavy walnut. The red velvet curtains at the windows, when drawn at night, permitted no ray of light to escape; the carpet was a gorgeous Brussels affair, the like of which both as to cost and enduring splendor was not to be found elsewhere on any floor in Mount Hope. Seated as he then was, Gilmore could look, if so disposed, at the reflection of his own dark but not unhandsome face in a massive gilt-framed mirror that reached from chimneypiece to ceiling; or, glancing about the room, his eyes could dwell with genuine artistic pleasure on numerous copies in crayon of French figure-studies; nor were the like of these to be found elsewhere in Mount Hope. Gilmore had quitted the McBride cottage some three hours before, and in the interim had breakfasted well and napped abstemiously. Presently he must repair to the court-house, where, it had already been intimated, the coroner might wish to confer with him. Marshall Langham he had not seen. He had expected to find him still in his rooms, but the lawyer had left the key under the mat at the door, presumably at an early hour. Gilmore wondered idly if Langham had not made a point of getting away before he himself should arrive; he rather thought so, and he smiled with cheerful malevolence at his own reflection in the mirror. Here his reveries were broken in on by the awkward shuffling of heavy feet in the hallway, and then some one knocked loudly on his door. Gilmore glanced hastily about to assure himself that the tell-tale paraphernalia of his craft were nowhere visible, and that the room was all he liked to fancy it—the parlor of a gentleman with sufficient income and quiet taste. "Come in," he called at last, without quitting his chair. The door slowly opened and the crown of a battered cap first appeared, then a long face streaked with coal-dust and grime and further decorated about the chin by a violently red stubble of several days' growth. With so much of himself showing; the new-comer paused on the threshold in apparent doubt as to whether he would be permitted to enter, or ordered to withdraw. "Come in, Joe, and shut the door!" said Gilmore. At his bidding the shoulders and trunk, and lastly the legs of a slouching shambling man of forty-eight or fifty entered the room. Closing the door Joe Montgomery slipped off one patched and ragged cloth mitten and removed his battered cap. "Well, what the devil do you want?" demanded Gilmore sharply. Joe, shuffling and shambling, edged toward the grate. "Boss, I want to drop a word with you!" he said in a husky voice. His glance did not quite meet Gilmore's, but the moment Gilmore shifted his gaze, that moment Joe's small, bright blue eyes sought the gambler's. Gilmore and Joe Montgomery were distantly related, and while the latter never presumed on the score of this remote connection, the gambler himself tacitly admitted it by the help he now and then extended him, for Montgomery's means of subsistence were at the best precarious. If he had been called on to do so, he would have described himself as a handy-man, since he lived by the doing of odd jobs. He cleaned carpets in the spring; he cut lawns in the summer; in the fall he carried coal into the cellars of Mount Hope, and in the winter he shoveled the snow off Mount Hope's pavements; and at all times and in all seasons, whether these industries flourished or languished, he drank. He now established himself on Mr. Gilmore's hearth,—a necessity—for he bent his hulking body and stuck his curly red head well into the grate; then as he withdrew it, he passed the back of his hand across his discolored lip. "Excuse me, boss, I had to!" he apologized. In Mr. Gilmore's presence Joe inclined toward a humble decency, for he was vaguely aware that he was an unclean thing, and that only the mysterious bond of blood gave him this rich and powerful patron. "Well, you old sot!" said Gilmore pleasantly. "You haven't drunk yourself to death since I saw you in McBride's last night?" The handy-man gave him a wide toothless grin, and his bashful blue eyes shifted, shuttle-wise, in their sockets until he was able to survey in full the splendor of the apartment. "Boss, you got a sure-enough well-dressed room; I never seen anything that could hold a candle to it,—it's a bird!" He stole a shy abashed glance at the pictures on the wall, but becoming aware that Gilmore was watching him, he dropped his eyes in some confusion. "I reckon' them female pictures cost a fortune!" he said. "They cost enough!" rejoined Gilmore, and again Montgomery ventured a covert glance in the direction of one of the works of art. "I reckon it was summer-time!" he hinted modestly. Gilmore laughed. "How would you like one of them?" he asked. Montgomery gave him a swift glance of alarm. "No, boss, I'm a respectable married man, and if I lugged one of them ladies home with me, my old woman wouldn't do a thing but raise hell! Boss, they're raw; yes, sir, that's it—they're raw!" Then fearing he had gone too far in an adverse criticism, he added, "Friends of yours, boss?" "Not all of them!" said Gilmore, with lazy amusement. "Catched unawares?" hinted Montgomery. But Gilmore changed the subject abruptly. "Well, what did you come here for?" he demanded. "I got a lot of things on my mind, boss! I been a-worryin' all morning and then I thinks of you. 'Mr. Gilmore's the man to go to,' I tells myself, and I quit my job and come here." He stuck his head into the grate again, but this time without apology. "I suppose you are in trouble?" said Gilmore, and his genial mood seemed to chill suddenly. "You're right, boss, I'm in a heap of trouble!" "Well, then, clear out of here!" said Gilmore. "Hold on, boss, it ain't that kind of trouble" interposed the handy-man hastily. "What do you want?" "Advice." Gilmore leaned back in his easy-chair and crossed his legs. "Go on!" he ordered briefly. "A handy-man like me doin' all kinds of jobs for all kinds of people is sure to see some curious things, ain't he, boss?" "Well?" "I'm here to tell you what I seen, boss; and every word of it will be God A'mighty's truth!" "It had better be!" rejoined Gilmore quietly, but with significant emphasis. "I don't want no better friend than you been to me," said Montgomery in a sudden burst of grateful candor. "You've paid two fines for me, and you done what you could for me that time I was sent up, when old man Murphy said he found me in his hen-house." Gilmore nodded. "I was outrageous put upon! The judge appointed that fellow Moxlow to defend me! Say, it was a hell of a defense he put up, and I had a friend who was willin' to swear he'd seen me in the alley back of Mike Lonigan's saloon cleaning spittoons when old man Murphy said I was in his chicken house; Moxlow said he wouldn't touch my case except on its merits, and the only merit it had was that friend, ready and willin' to swear to anything!" Montgomery shrugged his great slanting shoulders. "He's too damn perpendicular!" "He is," agreed Gilmore. "But what's this got to do with what you saw?" "Not a thing; but it makes me sweat blood whenever I think of the trick Moxlow served me,—it ain't as if I had no one but myself! I got a family, see? I can't afford to go to jail,—it ain't as if I was single!" "Get back to your starting-point, Joe!" said Gilmore. "Who do you think killed old man McBride, boss?" "How should I know?" "You ain't got any ideas about that?" asked Montgomery. Gilmore shot him a swift glance. "I don't know whether I have or not," he replied. "I have, boss." "You?" His tone betrayed neither eagerness nor interest. "That's what fetches me here, boss!" Joe replied, sinking his voice to a whisper. "I got a damn good notion who killed old McBride; I could go out on the street and put my hand on the man who done it!" "You mustn't come here with these pipe dreams of yours, Joe; you have been drunk and all this talk about the McBride murder's gone to your head!" retorted Gilmore contemptuously. "I hope I may die if I ain't as sober as you this minute, boss!" returned the handy-man impressively. "Well, what do you know—or think you know?" asked Gilmore with affected indifference. "Boss, did I ever lie to you?" demanded Montgomery. "If you did I never found you out." "And why? You never had no chance to find me out; for the reason that I always tell you the almighty everlastin' truth!" "Well?" prompted Mr. Gilmore. "Boss," and again Montgomery dropped his voice to a confidential whisper, "boss, I seen a man climb over old man McBride's shed yesterday just before six. I seen him come up on top of the shed from the inside, look all around, slide down to the eaves and drop into the alley, and then streak off as if all hell was after him!" Gilmore's features were under such admirable control that they betrayed nothing of what was passing in his mind. "Stuff!" he ejaculated at last, disdainfully. "You think I lie, boss?" cried Montgomery, in an intense whisper. "You know best about that," said Gilmore quietly. "He come so close to me I could feel his breath in my face! Boss, he was puffin' and pantin' and his breath burnt,—yes, sir, it burnt; and I heard him say, 'Oh, my God!' like that, 'Oh, my God!'" "And where were you when this happened?" demanded Gilmore with sudden sternness. Montgomery hesitated. "What's that got to do with it, boss?" "A whole lot; come, out with it. Where were you to see and hear all this?" "I was in White's woodshed," said Montgomery rather sullenly. "Oh, ho, you were up to your old tricks!" "He'll never miss it; I couldn't freeze to death; there's a livin' comin' to me," said the handy-man doggedly. "You'll probably have a try for it back of iron bars!" said Gilmore. But it was plain that Montgomery did not enjoy Mr. Gilmore's humor. "White's coal house is right acrost the alley from old McBride's shed. You can go look, boss, if you don't believe me, and there's a small door opening out on to the alley, where the coal is put in." "All the same you should keep out of people's coal houses, or one of these days you'll bring off more than you bargained for; say a load of shot." "Maybe you'd like to know who I seen come over that roof?" said the handy-man impatiently. "How many people have you told this yarn to already?" asked Gilmore, who seemed more anxious to discredit the handy-man in his own eyes than anything else. "Not a living soul, boss; I guess I know enough to hang a man—" "Pooh!" said Gilmore. "You don't believe me?" "Yes, I'll believe that you were stealing White's coal." "Leave me tell it to you just as it happened, boss," said Montgomery. "Then if you say I lie, I won't answer you back; we'll let it go at that." Gilmore appeared to consider for a moment, his look of mingled indifference and contempt had quite passed away. "I guess it sounds straight, Joe!" he said at length slowly. "Why? Because it is straight, every damn word of it, boss." And as if to give emphasis to his words the handy-man swung out a grimy fist and dropped it into an equally grimy palm. "What did you do after that?" asked Gilmore. "Not much. I laid low and presently lifted my sack of coal out and ducked around to Lonigan's saloon. I went in there by the back door and left my sack leanin' against the building. Mike wanted his mail and he give me a drink of whisky if I'd take his keys and go to the post-office for him; I'd just come into the Square when I run into Shrimp who was tellin' how old man McBride was murdered. I went into the store and found you there with Colonel Harbison, you remember, boss?" Gilmore nodded and Montgomery continued. "I hadn't a chance to tell you what I'd seen, and all night long I kept hearin' him say it!" "Say what, Joe?" "Say, 'Oh, my God!' like I told you, boss; I couldn't sleep for it,—I wonder if he slept!" "Joe," said the gambler, "I'll tell you something that I have only told the sheriff. I was in Langham's office late yesterday and John North was there; he left to go to McBride's. Conklin's been looking for him this morning, but he can't find him, and no one seems to know what's become of him. Do you follow me?" "What's North got to do with it, boss?" "How do you know it wasn't North you saw in the alley?" urged Gilmore. "It were not!" said Joe Montgomery positively. "You saw the man's face?" "As plain as I see yours!" "And you know the man?" "Yes." "Then I'll tell you who you saw," said the gambler coolly; "it was Marshall Langham." The handy-man swore a great oath. "You've guessed it, boss! You've guessed it." "It ain't a guess as it happens." "Boss, do you mean to tell me you knew all along?" demanded Montgomery incredulously. "Yes." "But what about North?" "That's his lookout, let him clear himself." Joe, shambling and shuffling, took a turn about the room. "Boss, if it was me that stood in his boots the halter would be as good as about my neck; they wouldn't give me no chance to clear myself,—they wouldn't let me! Them smart lawyers would twist and turn everything I said so that God A'mighty wouldn't know His own truth!" "Well, you were in that alley, Joe; if you feel for him, I expect we could somehow shift it to you!" said Gilmore. The handy-man slouched to the hearth again. "None of that, boss!" he cried. "I've told you what took me there, so none of that!" His voice shook with suppressed feeling, as he stood there scowling down on the gambler. "Sit down, Joe!" said Mr. Gilmore, unruffled. Reluctantly the handy-man sank into the chair indicated. "Now you old sot," began the gambler, "you listen to me! I suppose if they could shift suspicion so that it would appear you had had something to do with the old man's murder, it would take Moxlow and the judge and any decent jury no time at all to hang you; for who would care a damn whether you were hanged or not! But you needn't worry, I'm going to manage this thing for you, I'm going to see that you don't get into trouble. Now, listen, you're to let well enough alone. North is already under suspicion apparently. All right, we'll help that suspicion along. If you have anything to tell, you'll say that the man who came over that shed looked like North!" "Boss, I won't say a word about the shed or the alley!" "Oh, yes you will, Joe! The man looked like North,—you remember, at the time you thought he looked like North, and you thought you recognized his voice when he spoke, and you thought it was North's voice. He had on a black derby hat and a dark brown overcoat; don't forget that, Joe, for we are going to furnish young Mr. North with a bunch of worries." The handy-man looked at him doubtfully, sullenly. "I don't want to hang him, he's always treated me white enough, though I never liked him to hurt." Gilmore laughed unpleasantly. "Oh, there's no chance of that, your evidence won't hang him, but it will give him a whole lot to think about; and Langham's a pretty decent fellow; if you treat him right, he'll keep you drunk for the rest of your days; you'll own him body and soul." "A ignorant man like me couldn't go up against a sharp lawyer like Marsh Langham! Do you know what'd happen to me? I'll tell you; I'd get so damned well fixed I'd never look at daylight except through jail windows; that's the trick I'd serve myself, boss." "I'll take that off your hands," said Gilmore. "And what do you get out of it, boss?" inquired the astute Mr. Montgomery. "You'll have to put your trust in my benevolence, Joe!" said the gambler. "But I am willing to admit I want to see North put where he'll have every inducement to attend strictly to his own business!" <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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