Джеймс Кейн - Mignon

“Hey, hey, hey!” said the major.

“That’s getting kind of personal,” said Dan.

“I want our lawyer,” Mignon exploded.

“Then go get him,” I told her.

She didn’t move, of course, and the major barked at me: “You know what’s good for you, you’ll take the General out.”

“Who’s writing this letter?” I asked him.

“Bill!” said Dan. “You want our help or not?”

“On phraseology,” I said. “Technicalities.”

A chill crept in, and I gave it a moment to settle, knowing that after what I’d read no one was walking out. I went on: “Once intent be fairly examined, it becomes inconceivable that Mr. Landry would have acted disloyally. His record of cooperation with the Army of the Gulf in its policy of humane reconstruction, through his purchases of cotton from those whom reconstruction tries to reach, his resale through a partner acceptable to the Army of the Gulf, his cheerful disbursements to Army personnel to expedite cotton shipment—”

“I’ll take that letter!” snapped the major.

“I haven’t submitted it yet.”

“You’re practically alleging graft, and I warn you, once you registered as this man’s counsel, you became subject to martial law, and I’ll not hesitate to charge you.”

“With what?” I asked.

“Insubordination. Give me that letter.”

“Well,” I said, seeming to think things over, “it may save time, at that. Olsen has his copy, and as submission takes care of him, by putting it on the record—”

At last he saw the trap I was working him into, and when I extended the letter to him pulled back as from a red-hot poker. He jumped up, and kept retreating as I followed him around the room, holding the letter at him. I said, very coldly, as I went: “Tell me some more about martial law — and I’ll tell you more about graft.”

I’d been wondering when Burke would break, and now, sure enough, he did, blurting out: “May I answer the scut, Major?” And then, to me: “If one dime has ever been paid, be Adolphe Landry or me, to anyone in this Army, I hope you’ll tell me when. Come on, me boy, speak up!”

“Yesterday,” I said. “Glad you asked me.”

“... Yesterday, is it? To whom?”

“Our handsome friend here — the major.”

After a long, bellowing pause: “ ’Tis a lie, Cresap! Your own filthy fabrication!” Then, after another bellowing pause: “How much?”

“One hundred dollars, Mr. Burke.”

“Why — that’s ridiculous,” said the major.

But there was no steam in it, and I took my time getting out my torn bill and waving it around. To Burke I said: “You’ll observe it’s the same torn C-note you offered me yesterday morning, in my suite at the St. Charles Hotel, to act as Mr. Laundry’s counsel — the same C-note I declined until I’d done something to earn it.” Then suddenly I wheeled on the major and said: “And you ’ ll observe it’s the same C-note you paid Mr. Lucan with to deliver booze to your billet.” And to all and sundry I said: “You’ll observe it’s the same C-note I bought off Mr. Lucan for a hundred and one dollars, ‘to have a big bill in my poke, to impress my friends with.’ I hope you’re all impressed.”

I took my time returning the bill to my wallet, and was startled when a fist shook under my nose. As I jerked back Burke yelled: “Scut! Liar! ’Tis no appeal you’re making, to reason or anything else! ’Tis a bold bid for scandal, and I’ll not listen to’t!” Then to her: “Lass! Come! Please! We must be going!” With that he broke for the door, but my stick got in his way, somehow slipping between his legs, so he sprawled on the floor. Big as he was, I jerked him up by the collar and flung him back in his chair. “Suppose you stay,” I said. “You may be wanted to answer questions.”

Orderlies gathered, the one on duty at the door and a couple from other offices. Dan dismissed them, brushed off Burke’s trousers, and poured him a glass of water. Olsen was watching me, all excited now, and she was eyeing me too, as though not to miss any cue. But I was studying the major as he sat in a state of collapse, to figure how to handle him. He presented a problem. I’d smashed him all right, but my danger was, if I pressed my advantage too much, he’d begin lunging back and land us all in the soup, still hotter soup than this was, as of now. I wanted to put him together again, give him some self-respect, so the next blast I set off would blow him back to my side more or less in one piece, instead of slamming him around loose, wholly out of control. So, as he wiped his brow with his handkerchief, I said: “Major, I’d like to clear something up. You used the word graft, I didn’t. You scaled this charge down on humane grounds, and in that case a little champagne, in appreciation for your kindness, was no more than decent manners.”

“The whole thing’s a lie!” roared Burke.”

“I’ve admitted nothing,” growled the major.”

“It could have meant nothing,” I said. “ Had it.”

“... What the hell are you getting at now?”

“Major,” I said, very quietly, “you were a dupe. Far from giving a gift in appreciation of humane conduct, this man was using you to subvert the Army’s processes against an innocent man—”

“ ’Tis another lie!” screamed Burke.

“What motive could he have?” asked the major.

I ticked it off for him, the bearing it had on the partnership as an asset, but he cut me off pretty quick. “Naturally,” he said, “any Reb in a godpappy case takes a chance with his partner, but how could a plea profit Burke?”

“It would wind the case up at once.”

“At that, it’s better for Landry than prison. And what proof do you have that that’s what Burke was up to? My God, we can’t go on suspicion alone!”

“I have proof. You were made a sucker of.”

“What proof? In heaven’s name, say!”

“Burke wrote the informer notes.”

“Oh come, come, come!”

“You don’t believe it, Major? I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t been compelled. But you will believe it if you’ll be kind enough to get the latest note, the one that came in this morning naming Rod Purrin of the steamer Nebraska and telling how the shoes were shipped as Christmas gifts.”

His jaw dropped, and at last he turned on Burke with a venomous look. He went out and came back with the same old envelope I’d seen on Mardi Gras. He undid the tapes, took out a sheet of the same cheap paper, and laid it on the table. It showed printing that read:

FEBY 10, 1864

GENL SIR:

ROD PURN NEBRASKA MATE PUT SHOES ASHUR MORGANZA IN GOONY SECS LIKE ADOLPHE LANDRY PUT THEM UP FOR HIM HE TELL NEBRASKA CAPIN WAS XMAS GIFFS FOR REB CHILLERN GENL SIR YOU DON HAF BLEE ME ASK CAPIN GOOL HE TELL YOU ABAT IT BUT TALOR HE GOT SHOES MORE SOON GENL

“Fine,” I said, as everyone stepped up to read. “Now have a look at this — that I fished out of Burke’s wastebasket, seven forty-five last night.” And I put down my pasted-up scraps, which I had folded in my pocket. They read:

February 10, 1864

   FEBY 10, 1864

General Sir:

   GENL SIR:

Rod Purrin the Nebraska mate put the shoes ashore at

   ROD PURN NEBRASKA MATE PUT SHOES ASHUR

Morganza in gunny sacks like Adolphe Landry put

   MORGANZA IN GOONY SECS LIKE ADOLPHE LANDRY PUT

them up for him. He told the Nebraska captain they

   THEM UP FOR HIM HE TELL NEBRASKA CAPIN WAS

were Christmas gifts for Reb children. General sir,

   XMAS GIFTS FOR REB CHILDREN GENL SIR

you don’t have to believe me. Ask Captain Gould, he’ll