The Dead Letter · Part II · Chapter 2 6 (2/2)

The scenery now became wild beyond mere picturesqueness⁠—it was startling, desolate, grand. Traces of old mines, once worked, but now deserted, were everywhere visible. Finally they came to a new “lead,” which was being successfully worked by the peons of Don Miguel. There were some forty of these men at work, under an overseer. Dr. Seltzer showed his companion the recent improvements which had been made; the machinery which he himself had introduced, and a portion of which he had invented; stating that, under the system which he himself had introduced, Don Miguel was growing a rich man faster than he previously had any idea was possible. The mountain-stream, spoken of as being visible at a great distance, glittering from height to height, was here made to do the unromantic work of washing the ore and grinding it. The overseer was called upon by the host to give every desirable information to the traveler, and here a long visit was made. Lunch was partaken of under the cool shadow of a ledge of rock; and then Dr. Seltzer proposed, if his visitor was not already too much fatigued, to take him higher up, to a spot which he had discovered only the day before, and which he had every reason to believe contained a richer deposit of silver than any vein heretofore opened⁠—in fact, he thought a fortune lay hidden in the wild gorge to which he referred, and he anxiously invited the scientific observation of his guest.

This was just the opportunity for being alone with his man that Mr. Burton desired. It may seem strange that he proposed to confront the murderer with his guilt in this solitary manner with no witnesses to corroborate any testimony he might wring from the guilty; but the detective knew enough of human nature to know that the confronted criminal is almost always a coward, and he had no fear that this person, if guilty, accused of his false name and falser character, would refuse to do what he demanded of him. Again, his principal object, more important by far than the discovery of the actual hired assassin, was to gain from the frightened accomplice a full, explicit confession of who had tempted him to the crime⁠—who was really the most guilty murderer⁠—whose money had paid for the deed which his own dastardly hand had shrunk from. Strong in resources which never yet had failed him, Mr. Burton was anxious for the singular encounter he had devised.

Leaving all traces of man behind them, the two climbed a rugged path, and entered a canyon, through the center of which roared a foaming torrent, and which was so deep and sheltered that even at this noon-hour the path was cool and the sunlight tempered. As they walked or clambered on, both men gradually grew silent. Of what Dr. Seltzer might be thinking Mr. Burton did not know⁠—his own mind was absorbed in the scene which he was awaiting the earliest fitting moment to enact. The doctor, who should have acted as guide, had, somehow, chanced to lag behind.

“Which direction shall I take?” asked Mr. Burton, presently.

“Ascend the narrow defile to the right,” called out his companion, pressing after him, “but be cautious of your footing. A misstep may hurl you upon the rocks below. In three minutes we shall be in a safe and beautiful region, with our feet, literally, treading a silver floor.”

As he spoke thus, he drew nearer, but the path was too narrow to allow him to take the advance, and Mr. Burton continued to lead the way.

The subtle perceptions of the detective, a magnetism which amounted almost to the marvelous, I have so frequently referred to, that my reader will understand how it was that Mr. Burton, thus in the van, and not looking at all at his companion, felt a curious, prickly sensation run along his nerves. He came to the narrowest part of the dangerous path. An immense rock reached up, a mighty wall, upon the right, and to the left, far below the uneven, stony and brier-grown ledge along which he was picking his steps, foamed and roared the torrent, over rocks which thrust themselves here and there above the yeasty water. Directly in front arose an obstacle in the shape of a projection of the rock some three or four feet in height, covered with tough little bushes, one of which he took hold of to draw himself up by.

However, instead of pulling himself up, as his action seemed to indicate that he was about to do, he turned and grasped the arm of Dr. Seltzer. His movement was rapid as lightning, but it was not made a moment too soon. The arm which he held in a clasp of steel was raised to strike, and a Spanish dirk was in the hand.

A stealthy, murderous light, almost red in its intensity, burned in the eyes which now sunk before his. An instant the foiled assassin stood surprised; then commenced a struggle between the two men. Dr. Seltzer made desperate efforts to hurl his antagonist into the torrent beneath; but, though frantic with rage and hate, his violent exertions did not effect their object. On the contrary, Mr. Burton, calm and self-possessed, despite an instant’s astonishment, pressed his adversary backward along the narrow path until they were both on safe ground, in the middle of a little grassy plateau, which they had lately traversed, where he held him, having disarmed him of his knife.

What had caused his momentary astonishment was the fact that Dr. Seltzer knew him and suspected his object, which truth he instantly comprehended, upon turning and reading the murderous eyes that met his. Now, as he held him, he remarked,

“Another stab in the back, George Thorley?”

“Well, and what did you come here for, you accursed New York detective?”

“I came to persuade you to turn State’s evidence.”

“What about?”⁠—there was a slight change in the voice, which told, against his will, that the adventurer felt relieved.

“I want you to give your written and sworn testimony as to who it was hired you, for the sum of two thousand dollars, to murder Mr. Moreland, at Blankville, on the 17th of October, 1857.”

“Who said I murdered him? Humph! you must think I’m decidedly simple to be coaxed or frightened into committing myself.”

“We’ll not waste words, Thorley. I know you, all your history, all your bad deeds⁠—or enough of them to hang you. I have a warrant for your arrest in my pocket, which I brought from the States with me. I could have brought an escort from Acapulco, and arrested you at once, without giving you any chance for explanation. But I have my own reasons for desiring to keep this matter quiet⁠—one of which is that I do not wish any premature report to alarm your accomplice, man or woman, whichever it is, until I can put my hand on the right person.”

“What makes you think that I did it?”

“No matter what makes me think so⁠—I don’t think, I know. I have the instrument with which you committed the act, with your initials on the handle. I have the letter you wrote to your accomplice, claiming your reward. In short, I’ve proof enough to convict you twice over. The only hope you have of any mercy from me is in at once doing all that I ask of you⁠—which is to give a full written statement, over your real name, of all the circumstances which led to the murder.”

“I’m not such a fool as to tie the rope around my own neck.”

As he made this answer, he gave a powerful jerk to extricate himself from the unpleasant position in which he was held. Mr. Burton drew a revolver from his breast-pocket, remarking,

“I will not hold you, Thorley; but just as sure as you make an attempt to get away, I will shoot you. Supposing you succeeded in getting free from me⁠—what good would that do you? Your prospects here would be ruined; for I should expose you to Don Miguel. You would have to flee from wife, country and fortune; all you would preserve would be your rascally life, which I do not propose, at present, to take.”

“A man’s life is his best possession.”

“A truth you would have done well to remember before you took away the life of another. I can’t talk to such a scoundrel as you, Thorley; I fairly ache to inflict upon you the punishment you deserve. It is for the sake of others, in whom I am interested, that I give you this one chance of mercy. Here is paper, pen and ink; sit down on that stone there, and write what I asked of you.”

“What security do you offer me against the consequences of criminating myself? I want you to promise I shall be none the worse off for it.”

“You are too fully in my power to demand promises of me. Yet this I will consent to, as I said before, for the sake of others⁠—to let you go unprisoned by the warrant I hold against you, and never to put the officers of justice on your track. One thing, however, I must and shall do. I can not leave this Paradise, into which you have crept like the serpent, without warning Don Miguel what manner of creature he is trusting and sheltering.”

“Oh, don’t do that, Mr. Burton! He’ll turn me off on the world again, and I shall be exposed to the same temptations as ever⁠—and here I was leading a better life⁠—I was indeed⁠—reformed, quite reformed and repentant.”

“So reformed and repentant, so very excellent, that you were only prevented, but now, from killing me and tumbling me into this convenient ravine, by my own prudence.”

“Everything was at stake, you know. I was desperate. You must forgive me. It would not be natural for me to submit to see all I had gained snatched away from me⁠—my life periled. I recognized you within five minutes after sitting down to the supper-table last night.”

“I had no idea you had ever seen me,” said Mr. Burton, willing to hear how it was that this man knew him, when he had never met Thorley until yesterday.

“I was interested, once, in a forgery case in which you were employed to detect the criminals, by the examination of several handwritings which were given you. You accused a highly respectable fellow-citizen, to the astonishment of everybody, and convicted him, too. I, whom he had employed as an agent in some transactions, but who did not appear in any manner in the case, saw you in the courtroom once or twice. I accidentally found out that you were a secret agent of the detective police. When I saw you here, playing the scientific gentleman, my conscience was not so easy as to blind me. I saw the game, and what was at stake. I had the choice between my own safety or yours. I wasn’t so self-denying as to decide in your favor, and so⁠—”

“You visited my room last night.”

“Yes. But, on second thought, I decided that today would give me the better opportunity. Had you waited a second longer, your friends would have had a hard time tracing your fate. An excuse to my father-in-law, that you had returned to Acapulco without stopping, by a nearer route, would have ended inquiry here.” He set his teeth, as he concluded, unable to conceal how much he regretted that this convenient denouement had been interrupted. “Was it chance caused you to turn?” he continued, after a moment’s silence.

“It was watchfulness. I thought I saw murder in your eyes once before, today, when I met them suddenly; but as I believed myself unknown to you, I could hardly credit my own impression. It grew upon me, however, as we proceeded, and ‘by the pricking of my ribs,’ I turned in time to prevent the compliment you were about to pay me. But this is wasting time. Write what I expect of you. I shall permit no lies. I can tell when I see one, or hear one. If you say anything which is not true, I shall make you correct it.”

Coerced by the eye which never ceased to watch his slightest movement, and by the revolver held in range of his breast, the reluctant doctor took the sheet of paper and the fountain-pen which were offered him, sat down on the stone, and, with the top of his sombrero for a desk, wrote slowly for ten or fifteen minutes. Then he arose and handed the document, which was signed with his real name, to the detective, who, with one eye on his prisoner, and one on the paper, continued to read the evidence without giving his companion a chance to profit by any relaxation of his vigilance.

“You have told the truth, for once in your life,” was his remark, as he finished reading the paper. “I had found this out myself, fact for fact, all but one or two facts which you give here; but I preferred having your testimony before I brought the matter before the proper parties, therefore I came here after it”⁠—speaking as if a trip to Acapulco were one of the easiest and most commonplace of things.

“You’re d⁠—d cool about it,” remarked the adventurer, eying his adversary with a glance of hate, with which was mingled a forced admiration of a “sharpness” which, had he himself possessed it, he could have used to such advantage. “And now, maybe you’ll be good enough to tell me if the affair kicked up much of a row.”

“I can not talk with you. I want you to lead the way back to our horses, for, since my business with you is finished, I may say that I do not fancy your company. You must go with me before Don Miguel, and we will enlighten him as to your true character, since with him to be ‘forewarned may be forearmed.’ ”

“Oh, don’t do that! I beg you to spare me for my wife’s sake⁠—it would kill her, she loves me so much!” and the creature dropped on his knees.

“I would, indeed, rather than blast her innocent heart with such knowledge, allow you still to play your part in that little family; but I know that, sooner or later, you will contrive to break the heart of that confiding woman, and it might be worse in the future than even now. She has yet no children; she is young, and the wound may heal. It is an unpleasant duty, which I must perform.”

Then followed a scene of begging, prayers, even tears upon one side, and relentless purpose on the other.