CHAPTER XVII
"IF I MEET THE MAN!"
When Edward opened the morning paper, which he did while waiting for the return of the professor, who had wandered away before breakfast, he was shocked by the announcement of Montjoy's defeat. The result of the vote in the remote county had been secured by horseback service organized by an enterprising journal, and telegraphed. The official returns were given.
Already the campaign had drifted far into the past with him; years seemed to have gone by when he arose from the sick-bed and now it scarcely seemed possible that he, Edward Morgan, was the same man who labored among the voters, shouted himself hoarse and kept the headquarters so successfully. It must have been a dream.
But Mary! That part was real. He wrote her a few lines expressing his grief.
And then came the professor, with his adventure! He had met a young man out making photographs and had interested him with descriptions of recent successful attempts to photograph in colors. And then they had gone to the wing-room and examined the results of the young man's efforts to produce pictures upon living substances. "He has some of the most original theories and ideas upon the subject I have heard," said the German. "Not wild beyond the possibilities of invention, however, and I am not sure but that he has taught me a lesson in common sense. 'Find how nature photographs upon living tissue,' said the young man, 'and when you have reduced your pictures to the invisible learn to re-enlarge them; perhaps you will learn to enlarge nature's invisibles.'
"He has discovered that the convolutions of the human brain resemble an embryo infant and that the new map which indicates the nerve lines centering in the brain from different parts of the body shows them entering the corresponding parts of the embryo. He lingers upon the startling idea that the nerve is a formative organ, and that by sensations conveyed, and by impressions, it actually shapes the brain. When sensations are identical and persistent they establish a family form. The brain is a bas-relief composite picture, shaped by all the nerves. Theoretically a man's brain carefully removed, photographed and enlarged ought to show the outlines of a family form, with all the modifications.
"You will perceive that he is working along hereditary lines and not psychologic. And I am not sure but that in this he is pursuing the wisest course, heredity being the primer."
"You believe he has made a new discovery, then?"
"As to that, no. The speculative mind is tolerant. It accepts nothing that is not proven; it rejects nothing that has not been disproved. The original ideas in most discoveries in their crude forms were not less wild than this. All men who observe are friends of science."
The incident pleased Edward. To bring the professor and Gerald together he had feared would be difficult. Chance and the professor's tact had already accomplished this successfully.
"I shall leave you and Gerald to get thoroughly acquainted. When you have learned him you can study him best. I have business of importance."
He at once went to the city and posted his letter. Norton's leave had been exhausted and he had already departed for New York.
At the club and at the almost forsaken headquarters of the Montjoy party all was consternation and regret. The fatal overconfidence in the backwoods county was settled upon as the cause of the disaster. And yet why should that county have failed them? Two companies of Evan's old brigade were recruited there; he had been assured by almost every prominent man in the county of its vote. And then came the crushing blow.
The morning paper had wired for special reports and full particulars, and at 12 o'clock an extra was being cried upon the streets. Everybody bought the paper; the street cars, the hotels, the clubs, the street corners, were thronged with people eagerly reading the announcement. Under triple head lines, which contained the words "Fraud" and "Slander" and "Treachery," came this article, which Edward read on the street:
"The cause of the fatal slump-off of Col. Montjoy's friends in this county was a letter placed in circulation here yesterday and industriously spread to the remotest voting places. It was a letter from Mr. Amos Royson to the Hon. Thomas Brown of this county. Your correspondent has secured and herewith sends a copy:
"'My Dear Sir: In view of the election about to be held in your county, I beg to submit the following facts: Against the honor and integrity of Col. Montjoy nothing can be urged, but it is known here so positively that I do not hesitate to state, and authorize you to use it, that the whole Montjoy movement is in reality based upon an effort to crush Swearingen for his opposition to certain corporation measures in congress, and which by reason of his position on certain committees, he threatens with defeat! To this end money has been sent here and is being lavishly expended by a tool of the corporation. Added to this fact that the man chosen for the business is one calling himself Edward Morgan, the natural son of a late eccentric bachelor lawyer of this city. The mother of this man is an octoroon, who now resides with him at his home in the suburbs. It is certain that these facts are not known to the people who have him in tow, but they are easy of substantiation when necessary. We look to you and your county to save the district. We were "done up" here before we were armed with this information. Respectfully yours,
'Amos Royson.'
"Thousands of these circulars were printed and yesterday put in the hands of every voter. Col. Montjoy's friends were taken by surprise and their enthusiasm chilled. Many failed to vote and the county was lost by twenty-three majority. Intense excitement prevails here among the survivors of Evan's brigade, who feel themselves compromised."
Then followed an editorial denouncing the outrage and demanding proofs. It ended by stating that the limited time prevented the presentation of interviews with Royson and Morgan, neither of whom could be reached by telephone after the news was received.
There are moments when the very excess of danger calms. Half the letter, the political lie alone, would have enraged Edward beyond expression. He could not realize nor give expression. The attack upon his blood was too fierce an assault. In fact, he was stunned. He looked up to find himself in front of the office of Ellison Eldridge. Turning abruptly he ascended the steps; the lawyer was reading the article as he appeared, but would have laid aside the paper.
"Finish," said Edward, curtly; "it is upon that publication I have come to advise with you." He stood at the window while the other read, and there as he waited a realization of the enormity of the blow, its cowardliness, its cruelty, grew upon him slowly. He had never contemplated publicity; he had looked forward to a life abroad, with this wearing mystery forever gnawing at his heart, but publication and the details and the apparent truth! It was horrible! And to disprove it – how? The minutes passed! Would the man behind him never finish what he himself had devoured in three minutes? He looked back; Eldridge was gazing over the paper into space, his face wearing an expression of profound melancholy. He had uttered no word of denunciation; he was evidently not even surprised.
"My God," exclaimed Edward, excitedly; "you believe it – you believe it!" Seizing the paper, he dashed from the room, threw himself into a hack and gave the order for home.
And half an hour after he was gone the lawyer sat as he left him, thinking.
Edward found a reporter awaiting him.
"You have the extra, I see, Mr. Morgan," said he; "may I ask what you will reply to it?"
"Nothing!" thundered the desperate man.
"Will you not say it is false?"
Edward went up to him. "Young man, there are moments when it is dangerous to question people. This is one of them!" He opened the door and stood waiting. Something in his face induced the newspaper man to take his leave. He said as he departed: "If you write a card we shall be glad to publish it." The sound of the closing door was the answer he received.
Alone and locked in his room, Edward read the devilish letter over and over, until every word of it was seared into his brain forever. It could not be denied that more than once in his life the possibility of his being the son of John Morgan had suggested itself to his mind, but he had invariably dismissed it. Now it came back to him with the force almost of conviction. Had the truth been stated at last? It was the only explanation that fitted the full circumstances of his life – and it fitted them all. It was true and known to be true by at least one other. Eldridge's legal mind, prejudiced in his favor by years of association with his benefactor, had been at once convinced; and if the statement made so positively carried conviction to Eldridge himself, to his legal friend, how would the great sensational public receive it?
It was done, and the result was to be absolute and eternal ruin for Edward Morgan. Such was the conclusion forced upon him.
Then there arose in mind the face of the one girl he remembered. He thought of the effect of the blow upon her. He had been her guest, her associate. The family had received him with open arms. They must share the odium of his disgrace, and for him now what course was left? Flight! To turn his back upon all the trouble and go to his old life, and let the matter die out!
And then came another thought. Could any one prove the charge?
He was in the dark; the cards were held with their backs to him. Suppose he should bring suit for libel, what could he offer? His witness had already spoken and her words substantiated the charge against him. Not a witness, not a scrap of paper, was to be had in his defense. A libel suit would be the rivet in his irons and he would face the public, perhaps for days, and be openly the subject of discussion. It was impossible, but he could fight.
The thought thrilled him to the heart. She should see that he was a man! He would not deal with slander suits, with newspapers; he would make the scoundrel eat his words or he would silence his mouth forever. The man soul was stirred; he no longer felt the humiliation that had rendered him incapable of thought. The truth of the story was not the issue; the injury was its use, false or true. He strode into Gerald's room and broke into the experiments of the scientists, already close friends.
"You have weapons here. Lend me one; the American uses the revolver, I believe?"
Gerald looked at him in astonishment, but he was interested.
"Here is one; can you shoot?"
"Badly; the small sword is my weapon."
"Then let me teach you." Gerald was a boy now; weapons had been his hobby years before.
"Wait, let me fix a target!" He brushed a chalk drawing from a blackboard at the end of the room and stood, crayon in hand. "What would you prefer to shoot at, a tree, a figure – "
"A figure!"
Gerald rapidly sketched the outlines of a man with white shirt front and stepped aside. Five times the man with the weapon sighted and fired. The figure was not touched. Gerald was delighted. He ran up, took the pistol and reloaded it and fired twice in succession. Two spots appeared upon the shirt front; they were just where the lower and center shirt studs would have been.
"You are an artist, I believe," he said to Edward.
The latter bowed his head. "Now, professor, I will show you one of the most curious experiments in physics, the one that explains the chance stroke of billiards done upon the spur of the moment; the one rifle shot of a man's life, and the accurately thrown stone. Stand here," he said to Edward, "and follow my directions closely. Remember, you are a draftsman and are going to outline that figure on the board. Draw it quickly with your pistol for a pen, and just as if you were touching the board. Say when you have finished and don't lower the pistol." Edward drew as directed.
"It is done," he said.
"You have not added the upper stud. Fire!"
An explosion followed; a spot appeared just over the heart.
"See!" shouted Gerald; "a perfect aim; the pistol was on the stud when he fired, but beginners always pull the muzzle to the right, and let the barrel fly up. The secret is this, professor," he continued, taking a pencil and beginning to draw, "the concentration of attention is so perfect that the hand is a part of the eye. An artist who shoots will shoot as he draws, well or badly. Now, no man drawing that figure will measure to see where the stud should be; he would simply put the chalk spot in the right place."
Edward heard no more; loading the pistol he had departed. "If I meet the man!" he said to himself.
CHAPTER XVIII
HOW THE CHALLENGE WAS WRITTEN
The search for Royson was unavailing. His determined pursuer tried his office door; it was locked. He walked every business street, entered every restaurant and billiard saloon, every hotel lobby. The politician was not to be found. He himself attracted wide-spread attention wherever he went. Had he met Royson he would have killed him without a word, but as he walked he did a great deal of thinking. He had no friend in the city. The nature of this attack was such that few people would care to second him. The younger Montjoy was away and he was unwilling to set foot in the colonel's house again. Through him, Edward Morgan, however innocently it may be, had come the fatal blow.
He ran over the list of acquaintances he had formed among the younger men. They were not such as pleased him in this issue, for a strong, clear head, a man of good judgment and good balance, a determined man, was needed.
Then there came to his memory the face of one whom he had met at supper his first night in town – the quiet, dignified Barksdale. He sought this man's office. Barksdale was the organizer of a great railroad in process of construction. His reception of Edward was no more nor less than would have been accorded under ordinary circumstances. Had he come on the day before he would have been greeted as then.
"How do you do, Mr. Morgan? Be seated, sir." This with a wave of his hand. Then, "What can I do for you?" His manner affected Edward in the best way; he began to feel the business atmosphere.
"I have called, Mr. Barksdale, upon a personal matter and to ask your assistance. I suppose you have read to-day's extra?"
"I have."
"My first inclination, after fully weighing the intent and effect of that famous publication," said Edward, "was to seek and kill the author. For this purpose I have searched the town. Royson is not to be found. I am so nearly a stranger here that I am forced to come to my acquaintances for assistance, and now I ask that you will advise me as to my next proceeding."
"Demand a retraction and apology at once!"
"And if it is refused?"
"Challenge him!"
"If he refuses to fight?"
"Punish him. That is all you can do."
"Will you make the demand for me – will you act for me?"
Barksdale reflected a moment and then said: "Do not misunderstand my hesitation; it is not based upon the publication, nor upon unwillingness to serve you. I am considering the complications which may involve others; I must, in fact, consult others before I can reply. In the meantime will you be guided by me?"
"I will."
"You are armed and contemplating a very unwise act. Leave your weapon here and take a hack home and remain there until I call. It is now 3:30 o'clock. I will be there at 8. If I do not act for you I will suggest a friend, for this matter should not lie over-night. But under no circumstances can I go upon the field; my position here involves interests covering many hundreds of thousands of invested funds, which I have induced. Dueling is clearly out of vogue in this country and clearly illegal. For the president of a railroad to go publicly into a duel and deliberately break the law would lessen public confidence in the north in both him and his business character and affect the future of his enterprise, the value of its stocks and bonds. You admit the reasonableness of this, do you not?"
"I do. There is my weapon! I will expect you at 8. Good evening, Mr. Barksdale."
The hours wore slowly away at home. Edward studied his features in the cheval glass; he could not find in them the slightest resemblance to the woman in the picture. He had not erred in that. The absence of any portrait of John Morgan prevented his making a comparison there. He knew from descriptions given by Eldridge that he was not very like him in form or in any way that he could imagine, but family likeness is an elusive fact. Two people will resemble each other, although they may differ in features taken in detail.
He went to Gerald's room, moved by a sudden impulse. Gerald was demonstrating one of his theories concerning mind pictures and found in the professor a smiling and tolerant listener.
He was saying: "Now, let us suppose that from youth up a child has looked into its mother's face, felt her touch, heard her voice; that his senses carried to that forming brain their sensations, each nerve touching the brain, and with minute force setting up day by day, month by month, and year by year a model. Yes, go back further and remember that this was going on before the child was a distinct individual; we have the creative force in both stages! Tell me, is it impossible then that this little brain shall grow into the likeness it carries as its most serious impression, and that forced to the effort would on canvas or in its posterity produce the picture it has made – "
"How can you distinguish the mind picture from the memory picture? What is the difference?"
"Not easily, but if I can produce a face which comes to me in my dreams, which haunts my waking hours, which is with me always, the face of one I have never seen, it must come to me as a mind picture; and if that picture is the feminine of my own, have I not reason to believe that it stands for the creative power from which I sprang? Such a picture as this."
He drew a little curtain aside and on the wall shone the fair face of a woman; the face from the church sketch, but robbed of its terror, the counterpart of the little painting upstairs. The professor looked grave, but Edward gazed on it in awe.
"Now a simple brain picture," he said, almost in a whisper; "draw me the face of John Morgan."
The artist made not more than twenty strokes of the crayon upon the blackboard.
"Such is John Morgan, as I last saw him," said Gerald; "a mere photograph; a brain picture!"
Edward gazed from one to the other; from the picture to the artist astounded. The professor had put on his glasses; it was he who broke the silence.
"That is Herr Abingdon," he said. Gerald smiled and said:
"That is John Morgan."
Without a word Edward left the room. Under an assumed name, deterred from open recognition by the sad facts of the son's birth, his father had watched over and cherished him. No wonder the letter had come back. Abingdon was dead!
The front door was open. He plunged directly into the arms of Barksdale as he sought the open air. Barksdale was one of those men who seem to be without sentiment, because they have been trained by circumstances to look at facts from a business standpoint only. Yet the basis of his whole life was sentiment.
In the difficulty that had arisen his quick mind grasped at once the situation. He knew Royson and was sure that he shielded himself behind some collateral fact, not behind the main truth. In the first place he was hardly in position to know anything of Morgan's history more than the general public would have known. In the second, he would not have dared to use it under any circumstances if those circumstances did not protect him. What were these? First there was Morgan's isolation; only one family could be said to be intimate with him, and they could not, on account of the younger Montjoy, act for Edward. The single controlling idea that thrust itself into Barksdale's mind was the proposition that Royson did not intend to fight.
Then the position of the Montjoy family flashed upon him. The blow had been delivered to crush the colonel politically and upon a man who was his unselfish ally. Owing to the nature of the attack Col. Montjoy could ask no favors of Royson, and owing to the relationship, he could not proceed against him in Morgan's interest. He could neither act for nor advise, and in the absence of Col. Montjoy, who else could be found?
Before replying to Edward, a plan of action occurred to him. When he sent that excited individual home he went direct to Royson's office. He found the door open and that gentleman serenely engaged in writing. Even at this point he was not deceived; he knew that his approach had been seen, as had Edward's, and preparations made accordingly.
Royson had been city attorney and in reality the tool of a ring. His ambition was boundless. Through friends he had broached a subject very dear to him; he desired to become counsel for the large corporations that Barksdale represented, and there was a surprised satisfaction in his tones as he welcomed the railroad president and gave him a seat.
Barksdale opened the conversation on this line and asked for a written opinion upon a claim of liability in a recent accident. He went further and stated that perhaps later Royson might be relied upon frequently in such cases. The town was talking of nothing else at that time but the Royson card. It was natural that Barksdale should refer to it.
"A very stiff communication, that of yours, about Mr. Morgan," he said, carelessly; "it will probably be fortunate for you if your informant is not mistaken."
"There is no mistake," said Royson, leaning back in his chair, glad that the subject had been brought up. "It does seem a rough card to write, but I have reason to think there was no better way out of a very ugly complication."
"The name of your informant will be demanded, of course."
"Yes, but I shall not give it!"
"Then will come a challenge."
"Hardly!" Royson arose and closed the door. "If you have a few moments and do not mind hearing this, I will tell you in confidence the whole business. Who would be sought to make a demand upon me for the name of my informant?"
"One of the Montjoys naturally, but your relationship barring them they would perhaps find Mr. Morgan a second."
"But suppose that I prove conclusively that the information came from a member of the Montjoy family? What could they do? Under the circumstances which have arisen their hands are tied. As a matter of fact I am the only one that can protect them. If the matter came to that point, as a last resort I could refuse to fight, for the reason given in the letter."
Barksdale was silent. The whole devilish plot flashed upon him. He knew in advance the person described as a member of the Montjoy family, and he knew the base motives of the man who at that moment was dishonoring him with his confidence. His blood boiled within him. Cool and calm as he was by nature, his face showed emotion as he arose and said:
"I think I understand."
Royson stood by the door, his hand upon the knob, after his visitor had gone.
"It was a mistake; a great mistake," he said to himself in a whisper. "I have simply acted the fool!"
Barksdale went straight to a friend upon whose judgment he relied and laid the matter before him. Together they selected three of the most honorable and prominent men in the city, friends of the Montjoys, and submitted it to them.
The main interest was now centered in saving the Montjoy family. Edward had become secondary. An agreement was reached upon Barksdale's suggestion and all was now complete unless the aggrieved party should lose his case in the correspondence about to ensue.
Barksdale disguised his surprise when he assisted Edward at the door to recover equilibrium.
"I am here sir, as I promised," he said, "but the complications extend further than I knew. I now state that I cannot act for you in any capacity and ask that I be relieved of my promise." Edward bowed stiffly.
"You are released."
"There is but one man in this city who can serve you and bring about a meeting. Gerald Morgan must bear your note!" Edward repeated the name. He could not grasp the idea. "Gerald Morgan," said Barksdale again. "He will not need to go on the field. Good-night. And if that fails you here is your pistol; you are no longer under my guidance. But one word more – my telephone is 280; if during the night or at any time I can advise you, purely upon formal grounds, summon me. In the meantime see to it that your note does not demand the name of Royson's informant. Do not neglect that. The use he has made of his information must be made the basis of the quarrel; if you neglect this your case is lost. Good-night."
The thought flashed into Edward's mind then that the world was against him. This man was fearful of becoming responsible himself. He had named Gerald. It was a bruised and slender reed, but he would lean upon it, even if he crushed it in the use. He returned to the wing-room.
"Professor," he said, "you know that under no possible circumstances would I do you a discourtesy, so when I tell you, as now, that for to-night and possibly a day, we are obliged to leave you alone, you will understand that some vital matter lies at the bottom of it."
"My young friend," exclaimed that gentleman, "go as long as you please. I have a little world of my own, you know," he smiled cheerfully, "in which I am always amused. Gerald has enlarged it. Go and come when you can; here are books – what more does one need?" Edward bowed slightly.
"Gerald, follow me." Gerald, without a word, laid aside his crayon and obeyed. He stood in the library a moment later looking with tremulous excitement upon the man who had summoned him so abruptly. By reflection he was beginning to share the mental disturbance. His frail figure quivered and he could not keep erect.
"Read that!" said Edward, handing him the paper. He took the sheet and read. When he finished he was no longer trembling, but to the astonishment of Edward, very calm. A look of weariness rested upon his face.
"Have you killed him?" he asked, laying aside the paper, his mind at once connecting the incident of the pistol with this one.
"No, he is in hiding."
"Have you challenged him?"
"No! My God, can you not understand? I am without friends! The whole city believes the story." A strange expression came upon the face of Gerald.
"We must challenge him at once," he said. "I am, of course, the proper second. I must ask you in the first place to calm yourself. The records must be perfect." He seated himself at a desk and prepared to write. Edward was walking the room. He came and stood by his side.
"Do not demand the name of his informant," he said; "make the publication and circulation of the letter the cause of our grievance."
"Of course," was the reply. The letter was written rapidly. "Sign it if you please," said Gerald. Edward read the letter and noticed that it was written smoothly and without a break. He signed it. Gerald had already rung for the buggy and disappeared. "Wait here," he had said, "until I return. In the meantime do not converse with anyone upon this subject." The thought that flashed upon the mind of the man left in the drawing-room was that the race courage had become dominant, and for the time being was superior to ill-health, mental trouble and environment. It was in itself a confirmation of the cruel letter. The manhood of Albert Evan had become a factor in the drama.