Mignon by James M. Cain Page A

charge.”
    “Then consider my charge withdrawn.”
    “Mr. Cresap, charges aren’t debts, to be canceled at one man’s caprice—they allege crimes, in this case fabrication of false information, and once made they have to be gone into. Now your charge, if true, which we incline to believe, can be substantiated, we think, only by this woman, who was seen by the night maid whispering to Legrand at his door, and who may, as your decoy, have lured him out of that room. It’s essential we question her—but neither police, provost guard, nor city directory has any record of an Eloise Brisson. Was this a false name, Mr. Cresap?”
    “On that I have nothing to say.”
    “You don’t deny it, then?”
    “I make no statement of any kind.”
    “What’s her true name, Mr. Cresap?”
    “I wouldn’t say if I knew.”
    “Can you bring her incog, for interrogation?”
    “Whether I can or not, I won’t.”
    Mignon, by now, had become her stone nymph in a garden, or at least had turned to marble, and I dared not meet her eye as she stared unwinking at me. But who got into it now was Mr. Landry, as he interrupted to say: “Colonel, could I put in a word? In behalf of getting this straightened out?” And as the colonel didn’t stop him, he went on: “No one who knows Mr. Cresap could doubt his word, and the same goes for whoever knows Frank Burke. But , if those scraps were found in that basket, it doesn’t say Frank put ’em there! Think, sir, how many people had passkeys on that floor, and could have planted this evidence, as a way of throwing the blame on Frank for the injury done to me! Think how many people wish me ill—not to go any further with it, the ones that owe me money, right here in New Orleans! I strongly urge on you, that all this could be true that’s been spoken of here today, and at the same time prove nothing at all!”
    “You’re defending this man here?”
    “Frank Burke is my friend.”
    “And your godpappy, no?”
    “He’s my trusted partner.”
    Burke, who had stared in astonishment, got the point at last and put out his hand, to squeeze Mr. Landry’s arm. Then she got in it: “And another thing, Colonel Rogers,” she said, very sweetly: “Frank leads a decent life—he wouldn’t bring some woman in, a honey off the streets, to help with some sneaky search. How could he? Keeping this man in his rooms all the time?”
    “God bless you, lass.”
    Burke put out his hand to her, and she took it, kissing it, then patting him on the cheek. The colonel watched, then turned again to me, asking: “You still refuse to name this woman?”
    “I’ve already told you I won’t.”
    “You spoke of a whitewash just now?”
    “... I thought I detected one.”
    “Of one of our officers here?”
    “Of that officer there, Major Jenkins.”
    “But when it comes to someone else, like the godpappy of your client, you don’t mind a whitewash, do you? You’re perfectly willing to withhold the information we need to proceed against him?”
    “That’s not the idea, Colonel.”
    “ What is the idea , then? ”
    That was Mignon, who jumped up, ran over, leaned close, and screamed: “ Who was this woman? WHO WAS SHE ?”
    “Daughter, that’ll be all.”
    Mr. Landry came over, took her by the arm, and led her back to her chair. The colonel, still disregarding them, said to me: “Whitewash is whitewash.”
    “Could depend on what’s aimed at.”
    “I go by what’s covered up.”
    He then lit into me so bitterly I knew that he knew his case had blown up. But Dan interrupted, asking permission to speak. When the colonel nodded, he said to me very coldly: “Bill, not one word that’s been said here—by you, Mr. Landry, or Mrs. Fournet—is true; but we make allowance, as I told you before, for the Red River cotton, which makes people do queer things. But if you think, by suppressing information now, you’re helping Burke, Mr. Landry, and Mrs. Fournet cash their chips, you were never so wrong in