Джеймс Кейн - Mignon

I stumped over, snatched the papers from his hand.

“Mr. Cresap,” he said, very peevishly “you were the one who insisted this stuff must be burned! Here it is, just as you said, the forged Navy receipt, with the signature traced on, identical with the one signed to the pass, that thing he got for Mignon. I even found his tracing outfit, the stand, the glass, the mirror for reflecting light — the thing is completely damning. What’s the matter now? Why did you grab those papers? Why shouldn’t they be destroyed?”

“Suppose it doesn ’ t happen?”

“You mean, suppose he doesn’t die? ”

“Yes — for the hell of it, just suppose.”

“Well all the more reason, I’d think—”

“Think again, Mr. Landry. Found by a party searching Burke’s house, that stuff could hang you — and probably hang Mignon — as accessories to Powell’s murder; they’d tie you in, close enough. But found, by you , and duly presented to them, it would be your exoneration — not only of any connection with Powell, but for this fracas today, as well! When I came in just now, with news of last night’s shooting and with what I’d been told by Ball up at the hotel earlier, you began to have your suspicions, and when Burke came, you asked some sharp questions. He didn’t answer, but tried to shoot you, and when he pulled his gun, you smashed him with the stick. Then you took his keys, went over, and made your search. You think it clears everything up — and they’ll have to think so too. It’ll take care of what worries Mignon, why we let time go by, without even calling a doctor. To you, I think you can say, it seemed more important to check this evidence over, though it might take a while, than to worry too much about a skunk who wasn’t worth saving anyhow .”

“Thank God!” she said. “Willie has the answer!”

“... Bill, you could be right.”

We went over it two or three times, to have it clear and straight, especially about Pierre and how we’d bring him in. Because it was all right the night before for me not to recognize him, as no one could rightly say whether I knew him or not, but now for Mr. Landry not to have a suspicion when I told of the shooting would have a fishy look. We decided suspicion was really the key, that for him it was one more thing he wanted Burke to explain, but not something he was sure of to the extent he’d have to report what he thought. That way he wouldn’t look dumb, and at the same time he’d be in the position a sensible man would take, of hesitating quite a while before shooting off his mouth with charges he couldn’t prove. All that seemed rock-ribbed enough, especially since Burke could not contradict — we’d assumed, for some reason, that he was due to die, if not there in the kitchen with us, then later somewhere, in custody. So with things pretty well settled, I put the papers away in the grand piano, there in the sitting room, taking a tip from Burke. When I went back to the kitchen, it was all in the soup, every last thing we’d cooked up.

Burke had started to groan.

The three of us looked at each other, then looked away in consternation. “He’s coming to,” said Mignon.

“... What now?” her father groaned.

“By me,” I said. “I’m stumped.”

However, I wasn’t too stumped to give Burke a kick, a hard one, right in the rump, and he let out a muffled yell. Then he sat up. Then, dragging himself to a spot near the wall, where he could lean his head against it, he touched his knot with one hand, while he leaned on the other and cussed. He called me scut, crud, and dirty son of a bitch. He called Mr. Landry a Judas. He called her whore, drab, queen of the swampland strumpets. He called on the Holy Mother of God to be his witness what a fine hombre he was, and told all the good he’d done, from Nicaragua to Mexico and back, as well as special good deeds in Limerick. He kept it up for some time, until I began wondering why any of us had to listen. I went over and gave him another kick. He shut up and lay there panting. And then suddenly, from over on Second Street somewhere, I heard: “Column, halt! ”

I looked, and in front of Burke’s house the whole bunch had halted — Hager, Dan, Sandy, Ball, four or five Navy ensigns, some seamen, and a detail from the Provost Guard. I heard my mouth say to Burke: “Skunk, they’ve identified their corpse, and they’re looking for you at your house. They’ll be here, and listen what I’m telling you: We have all that cotton stuff, including the forged receipt. Mr. Landry found it, in your square piano. It can hang you, do you hear?”

“What are you getting at, scut?”

“We can show them that receipt. We don’t mind.”

“Then show’t, and be damned to you!”

“We prefer not. We’d enjoy seeing you hang, but the thing could ramify against these two wonderful people that you’ve got into this mess — especially if you dragged them in, trying to save yourself. So we’re not showing it to them! At least, not yet . To get the curtain down, to close the case, to hush up the real truth, we’re giving you your chance to tell it your own way. So when they come, see that you talk right.”

“Tell him,” wailed Mr. Landry, “what he’s to say!”

“Well, what is he to say?” I asked.

“We — have to think of something, now! ”

“I’ve completely run out of think. And besides,” I went on, somewhat annoyed, “who the hell are we to be teaching a liar how to cook up a lie?”

“ Here they come! ”

There was panic in her voice, and when I looked out the window, here came the column of twos, Dan and Hager in front, marching down the side street.

But no one came to the door, and it wasn’t until a knock sounded on the other side of the building that I realized that Burke, the last he’d been seen by the guard, was being ordered by me to report to my flat in the morning. So I went down and around to answer. Hager was up on the stoop, with Dan, Ball, and Sandy, banging to get in, the rest down below, standing around in the alley. I spoke, and when they said they were looking for Burke, I explained where he was and said: “We’re having our talk over there.” Then Dan said: “Good morning, Bill,” and said he’d been detailed “to sit in as Headquarters observer, on this shooting thing, whatever it amounts to.” I said a dead man, especially one that I killed, amounted to plenty with me, and that I’d give any help that I could, if more information was wanted. Then I led the way around, and Mignon opened the door. I introduced Hager and Ball, reminding her: “You know Captain Dan Dorsey, and also, I think, Lieutenant Gregg.” Sandy stared when he saw her, but took her hand when she gave it, and called her Mrs. Fournet. Then Burke appeared behind her, but balked when Hager told him he was wanted at the courthouse for questioning. “I’m not feeling too well,” he said. “I don’t care for marching about.”

“And what seems to be the trouble?” asked Hager.

“The wallop I took on my head.”

He pointed at the knot, and while Hager was peering at it, said: “I was out, looking for me gippo, and banged me head at the market on the awning over a stall.”

“It’s your gippo that brings us here.”

“I’ve deduced as much, Captain.”

“He’s dead.”

“Aye.”

Adolphe Landry got in it then, appearing beside Mignon and asking everyone in. The ensigns and enlisted men were told to stand by below, while Hager, Dan, Ball, and Sandy came in. Hager camped on the sitting-room settee, looking much like a judge, while Mignon, Dan, Ball, and Burke occupied the chairs, and Adolphe, Sandy, and I stood, our backs to one of the bookshelves. Hager got at it immediately, saying: “Mr. Burke, a man was killed last night, in the flat next door, by Mr. Cresap here, identified as Pierre Legrand, your personal servant or, as you call him, your gippo. What do you know about it?”