up a reasonable doubt.”
“Mr. Cresap, a jag is no identification at all.”
“Nothing is—under a coat of whitewash.”
“Whitewash, did you say? What do you mean by that?”
“You heard me, and you know what I mean.”
My hackles were rising as I saw the drift of his questions, and I got up from my chair, but Mr. Landry came over and pushed me back, trying to keep me quiet. Colonel Rogers started to roar about people who made “wild, reckless charges, without a scintilla of proof,” but I cut in to tell him: “Talk louder, Colonel—so maybe you’ll believe what you’re saying!” Then she got in it, screaming at him furiously: “You think he didn’t take it, this money Burke paid him? Then why weren’t you here yesterday, as I was, to see the look on his face when Mr. Cresap showed him that bill? Why was it he turned white as a sheet? What was he scared of, Colonel, if it wasn’t the truth catching up?”
“Daughter! Please!” said Mr. Landry.
“Are you trying to shut me up?”
But he did shut her up, by putting his hand to her mouth and pushing her back in her chair, the way he’d pushed me. Colonel Rogers walked around, his face purple, trying to get control. At last he whispered: “Bribery charge dismissed.”
“My, I’m surprised,” I said.
“That’ll be all!” he yelled at me.
It was five minutes before he calmed down, shuffled his papers some more, and started over. Then he asked for the trial draft of the informer’s note, the one pasted together from scraps, and I got it out, laying it down in front of him. He studied it, then announced: “There can be no doubt at all, in any fair person’s mind, that the last informer’s note and this trial draft are by one and the same hand.” He was pretty solemn about it, and his tone was cold, so it suddenly dawned on me that with his brother officer whitewashed, he wouldn’t be so lenient as he had been. Or in other words, Jenkins-and-Burke was one thing, Burke alone a different kettle of fish. I caught her eye, and motioned she should keep quiet. She nodded and stared at him. He went on: “The next question is: Whose hand?”
“His!” said Burke, pointing at me.
“Quiet! ... Mr. Cresap, you pasted up these scraps?”
“I did, yes sir.”
“Where did you get them, please?”
“From Burke’s room at the City Hotel.”
Then, as he questioned me, I told of seeing the scraps by accident, of signing on as William Crandall, of having the skeleton key made, of searching the room that night, and of returning to the St. Charles, where I pasted up my exhibit. At first I spilled it freely, being just as annoyed as she was at Mr. Landry’s strange behavior in shushing things up for Burke, and feeling exactly as she did that the point had already been reached where partnership had to end. But little by little, I smelled I was heading for trouble, and that the colonel probably knew I’d had help that night, and what kind. That’s where I began to fence, to protect Marie; after what I’d done to her, I felt I couldn’t involve her. Maybe, as a gambling-house proprietor, she didn’t have much reputation, but I had made the point that to me she was a lady. Yet the questions kept boring in, and at last the colonel said: “Mr. Cresap, here’s what we’re driving at: Burke’s man, Pierre Legrand, who sits here, insists he never left that room, that you couldn’t have made a search, as he was there all the time to stop you. Now please search your memory well, as to whether you can prove he left the room that night. Have you a witness to it?”
“... I have to say I have not.”
“The hotel clerk has informed us that William Crandall, that day, took a room for one Eloise Brisson, and that a veiled woman checked in. Is this true?”
“I prefer not to say.”
“You have to say, Mr. Cresap.”
“I was seeking evidence as counsel, and as such my actions were privileged. I don’t have to say.”
“You do, to sustain your
“Mr. Cresap, a jag is no identification at all.”
“Nothing is—under a coat of whitewash.”
“Whitewash, did you say? What do you mean by that?”
“You heard me, and you know what I mean.”
My hackles were rising as I saw the drift of his questions, and I got up from my chair, but Mr. Landry came over and pushed me back, trying to keep me quiet. Colonel Rogers started to roar about people who made “wild, reckless charges, without a scintilla of proof,” but I cut in to tell him: “Talk louder, Colonel—so maybe you’ll believe what you’re saying!” Then she got in it, screaming at him furiously: “You think he didn’t take it, this money Burke paid him? Then why weren’t you here yesterday, as I was, to see the look on his face when Mr. Cresap showed him that bill? Why was it he turned white as a sheet? What was he scared of, Colonel, if it wasn’t the truth catching up?”
“Daughter! Please!” said Mr. Landry.
“Are you trying to shut me up?”
But he did shut her up, by putting his hand to her mouth and pushing her back in her chair, the way he’d pushed me. Colonel Rogers walked around, his face purple, trying to get control. At last he whispered: “Bribery charge dismissed.”
“My, I’m surprised,” I said.
“That’ll be all!” he yelled at me.
It was five minutes before he calmed down, shuffled his papers some more, and started over. Then he asked for the trial draft of the informer’s note, the one pasted together from scraps, and I got it out, laying it down in front of him. He studied it, then announced: “There can be no doubt at all, in any fair person’s mind, that the last informer’s note and this trial draft are by one and the same hand.” He was pretty solemn about it, and his tone was cold, so it suddenly dawned on me that with his brother officer whitewashed, he wouldn’t be so lenient as he had been. Or in other words, Jenkins-and-Burke was one thing, Burke alone a different kettle of fish. I caught her eye, and motioned she should keep quiet. She nodded and stared at him. He went on: “The next question is: Whose hand?”
“His!” said Burke, pointing at me.
“Quiet! ... Mr. Cresap, you pasted up these scraps?”
“I did, yes sir.”
“Where did you get them, please?”
“From Burke’s room at the City Hotel.”
Then, as he questioned me, I told of seeing the scraps by accident, of signing on as William Crandall, of having the skeleton key made, of searching the room that night, and of returning to the St. Charles, where I pasted up my exhibit. At first I spilled it freely, being just as annoyed as she was at Mr. Landry’s strange behavior in shushing things up for Burke, and feeling exactly as she did that the point had already been reached where partnership had to end. But little by little, I smelled I was heading for trouble, and that the colonel probably knew I’d had help that night, and what kind. That’s where I began to fence, to protect Marie; after what I’d done to her, I felt I couldn’t involve her. Maybe, as a gambling-house proprietor, she didn’t have much reputation, but I had made the point that to me she was a lady. Yet the questions kept boring in, and at last the colonel said: “Mr. Cresap, here’s what we’re driving at: Burke’s man, Pierre Legrand, who sits here, insists he never left that room, that you couldn’t have made a search, as he was there all the time to stop you. Now please search your memory well, as to whether you can prove he left the room that night. Have you a witness to it?”
“... I have to say I have not.”
“The hotel clerk has informed us that William Crandall, that day, took a room for one Eloise Brisson, and that a veiled woman checked in. Is this true?”
“I prefer not to say.”
“You have to say, Mr. Cresap.”
“I was seeking evidence as counsel, and as such my actions were privileged. I don’t have to say.”
“You do, to sustain your
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