The Merry Anne 16

The Merry Anne 16

They were passing another saloon, and Roche accepted an invitation to

step in.

 

"I've seen Smiley a good deal around the piers," said the young fellow,

when they were seated. "Likes to swagger some, doesn't he?"

 

"Oh, he's no good."

 

"Mean to work for? Those conceited fellows generally are."

 

"He's mean, yes. But that ain't the worst thing about him." Roche paused

guardedly, and glanced around the empty room.

 

"I don't know much about him myself, just seen him now and then. But of

course I've heard things.

 

"I 'll tell you right here, you arn't the only one that 'll be hearin'

things before much longer." Another cautious glance around. "You don't

happen to know anythin' about law, do you?"

 

"I've studied it some."

 

"Well, look here. I know some things about Dick Smiley, and if it was

worth my while, I'd tell 'em. But you see, I am an honest man, an' I've

got my livin' to make, an' he's just cute enough to lie about me an' try

to drag me down with 'im. Folks might say I didn't quit him the first

minute I found 'im out. I can't run no risks, you see."

 

"I can tell you this much--but, of course, it's none of my business."

 

"Go on."

 

"Well, it depends on the case. But if he has done anything serious,

and if the authorities find it hard to get evidence against him, you

probably wouldn't have any trouble, even if you were right in with him.

A man can turn state's evidence, you know."

 

"But I wasn't in with 'im. When I'd found him out, I quit him--the first

good chance I got."

 

"Yes, of course. But it all depends. I couldn't tell you anything more,

because I don't know the case. It all depends on how bad they want him."

 

"They want him bad enough." He dropped his voice, and leaned across the

table. "Did you ever hear o' Whiskey Jim?"

 

"You don't mean to say--"

 

Roche nodded.

 

"Why, man, you're rich."

 

"How do you make that out?"

 

"Haven't you seen the papers?"

 

Roche shook his head.

 

"There's a reward of five thousand up for Whiskey Jim."

 

"Who 'll give it?"

 

"The Consolidated Dealers. You see, there has been a counterfeit label,

of the Red Seal brand, on the market; and I understand the liquor men

have been running it down and putting the Treasury Agents on the track

to protect their business."

 

"Fi' thousand, eh? An' do you think we could make it?"

 

"If you have the evidence to convict this Whiskey Jim, we can. But now,

before we go into this, what sort of an arrangement will you make with

me if I steer it through for you?"

 

"What would you want?"

 

"Well--I should go at it something like this. I should go to the United

States Treasury officials and tell them I could get them the evidence

they want if they would agree not to prosecute us. It would take some

managing, but it can be done. But I can't do it for nothing."

 

"What do you want?"

 

"Say one thousand. That's twenty per cent."

 

"Too much."

 

"Not for the work to be done. Remember, I agree to get you off without

any more trouble than just giving in your evidence."

 

"But I don't need to get off. I ain't done nothin'."

 

"No, I understand. Of course not."

 

"Say five hundred, and it's a go."

 

"No, sir. I can't do it for that. I might take seven hundred and fifty,

but--"

 

"It's too much, a--------sight too much. You'd ought to do it for less."

 

"Couldn't think of it."

 

"Well--"

 

"Is it a go?"

 

"I suppose so."

 

"All right. That's understood. If I can get the five thousand for you,

you will hand me seven hundred and fifty. Now, I suppose the sooner we

get at this, the better for both of us. When can I see you and talk it

over?"

 

"You might come around this afternoon."

 

"Say two o'clock?"

 

"That's all right."

 

"Where do you live?"

 

"I'm stoppin' over on North Clark. Forty-two-seventy-two an' a half,

third floor. You 'll be around, then, will you, Mr.--Mr.--"

 

"Bedloe's my name. Yes, I 'll be there at two sharp."

 

But at two o'clock, when Beveridge called at the boarding-house on North

Clark Street he found that Roche was gone. "He only stopped here a day,"

said the landlady. "This noon he paid me and said he was called out of

town by a telegram."

 

"Did he say when he would be back?"

 

"He didn't know."

 

"Did he leave his things?"

 

"No. What little he had he took along." Beveridge turned thoughtfully

away and walked around the corner, where Wilson was awaiting him. He had

no means of knowing that Roche was already well on the way to Spencer,

where Smiley saw him a few days later.

 

"Not there, Bill?" asked Wilson.

 

"No,--skipped."

 

"Lost his nerve, eh?"

 

"I guess so."

 

"Well, what now?"

 

"Nothing, until I see Madge to-night."

 

"Do you really expect anything there?"

 

"I don't know. It's a chance, that's all."

 

"Do you think she 'll keep her promise?"

 

"Couldn't say. I 'll give her a chance, anyhow."

 

She did keep it. Very shortly after five, while Beveridge was riding

slowly up and down near the meeting-place, he saw her coming, and his

eyes lighted up with surprise. He could not know how much thought had

been given to the effect which pleased him so; he only observed that she

looked like a young girl in her short wheeling skirt and leggings, and

with her natty little cap and well-arranged hair.

 

They found St. Paul's Park gay with lights and music when they arrived.

Dancing had been going on all the afternoon on the open-air

platform. The ring-the-cane booth, the

every-time-you-knock-the-baby-down-you-get-a-five-cent-cigar booth, were

surrounded by uproarious country folk, with only here and there a city

face among them. A little way down the slope, through the grove, ran the

sluggish North Branch, a really inviting spot in the twilight; and to

this spot it was that Beveridge led the way after checking the wheels.

 

"The boats don't amount to much," he said to Madge, as he helped her

down the bank, "but I guess we can have a good time, anyhow."

 

She did not reply to this, but there was a sparkle in her eyes and a

flush on her cheek, as she stepped lightly into the boat, that drew an

admiring glance from Beveridge.

 

He took the clumsy oars, and pulled upstream, under the railroad bridge,

past all the other boats, on into the farming country, where the banks

were green and shaded.

 

"Pretty nice, isn't it?" said he.

 

She nodded. They could hear the music in the distance, and occasionally

the voices; but around them was nothing but the cool depths of an oak

copse. She was half reclining in the stern, looking lazily at the dim

muscular outlines of her oarsman. "You row well," she said.

 

"I ought to. I was brought up on water."

 

"You don't know how this takes me back," said Madge, dreamily. "I

couldn't tell you how long it is since I have been out in the country

like this."

 

He pulled a few strokes before replying, "Didn't McGlory ever take you

out?"

 

"I don't like to think about him now. Let's talk of something else."

 

"I'm glad you don't like to. That's the only thing that bothers me."