Part 61 (2/2)
”If it's a favor, sir, you take it very uppish,” retorts Brooks sulkily, and edging slowly toward the door. ”I'm a poor man, sir, but I ain't bad enough to come to you with a trumped-up story, and if I happened to think that in case you found things as I tell you, you might reward me by and by with a ten-dollar note, why, I don't think there is much harm in that. I liked you and your ways, and wanted to do you a good turn, and if I wanted to do myself a good turn, too, why, there's nater in that.”
”There's nature in that, true enough. Brooks, I wish I had time to hear all the particulars of this affair.”
”I don't want to give them, sir,” replies the man, hastily. ”No more would it be fair for me to do so. I've got some fair friends among the Mill avenue folks. I've come back to W----, because I couldn't get on anywhere else; and I've come back broke. The factory folks will trust me to a night's lodging, when their betters wouldn't. I've told you enough to open your eyes, sir; and you can look into the thing for yourself.”
To ”look into the thing” for himself, is precisely what Jasper Lamotte is not inclined to do; so he says, with growing convictions, and increasing friendliness of manner:
”At least, Brooks, you can give me an idea of the nature of the stories this woman will tell, if brought into court?”
”The Lord knows what she won't tell, sir; she blows hot, and blows cold.
One minute she tells how he was a fairly good husband, until he got into the hands of some city gang, while they lived in New York; and next she raves over all his misdeeds, tells how he was compelled to quit England, or be jugged up; how he forced her into divorcing him; how he bragged over the strong influence he had over you and all your family; how he came to her house time and again, after he was married to your gal; and how he promised her 'pots of old Lamotte's money;' them's her words, sir, 'pots of old Lamotte's money, and heaps of diamonds, for the sake of old times,' when he was drunk enough to be good natured; and how he beat her, and I can testify to that, when he was a little drunker.”
”Brooks,” says Mr. Lamotte, springing a last trap; ”do you suppose _you_ could manage this business of getting away the woman, if I paid you well, and gave you a bribe for her?”
”No, sir. I couldn't do it. I am so well known about Mill avenue; it won't do for a poor broke up devil to turn up flush all at once. I don't want nothing to do with the affair. I've done all I can do.”
Mr. Lamotte slowly draws forth his wallet, and slowly opens it.
”Brooks, here is twenty-five dollars; I've not much money by me; I'll look into this matter, and do more for you after we get quiet again.
Meantime, you can have the first vacancy at the factory; I'll see to that at once.”
”And I'll try and be sober, sir, and ready for it. Now, then, I've been here a good many minutes; you'd better let me take a look at the corpse, and be off.”
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.
BELKNAP OUTWITTED.
”If you please, Mr. Lamotte,” said that gentleman's coachman, appearing before his master, less than an hour before the time appointed for the moving of the funeral cortege, and looking much confused. ”If you please, sir, I've had a misfortune with my hand, sir; at least, my wrist; it's sort of sprained, and I most fear I can't handle the reins proper, for the horses is mighty full of life, bein' so little used of late.”
”Well, well,” broke in Mr. Lamotte. ”I suppose you can get a man to fill your place?”
The man's countenance brightened at once.
”Oh, yes, sir; I've the very man right on hand. A friend of mine, and a master one with horses.”
”Let him take your place then, and see that every thing is in proper order.”
”It's all right,” said the coachman, returning to the stables, and addressing a man who leaned against the loose box, where two blooded carriage horses were undergoing the currying process. ”It's all right; you can drive the horses.”
”Cap'n you're a good fellow,” said the man, enthusiastically, ”and here's your ten dollars. It's a favor I'll never forget, mind, for many's the day I've driven the beauties, before Squire McInnis went up, and we all had to go.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Cap'n, you're a good fellow.”]
”That was a big failure,” replied the coachman, knowingly. ”You just see that the horses are done off all right, won't you? I must look after the carriage.”
”It was lucky for me that I happened to know the history of these horses,” mused Jerry Belknap, for he it was who leaned confidingly over to stroke the sleek sides of one of the splendid bays, and who had bribed Mr. Lamotte's coachman with a ten dollar bill. ”If I drive the Lamottes, I'm sure of a hearing, and no audience; at the worst if they should take in a third party, but they won't, I can find a way to make myself and my wants known.” And he sauntered across to the carriage house and critically inspected the splendid landau that was being rolled out upon the gravel.
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