Mignon

Chapter 9

Dan Dorsey was surprised at the visitation, as I hadn’t given him any notice, but sat us down politely, and when I told him what we were there for sent the orderly out for more chairs, then went across the hall himself and came back with Major Jenkins. We had the pleasantries, including introductions to Mignon. Then I said to the officers: “Gentlemen, as Mr. Landry’s counsel, I’ve decided to make an appeal, a man-to-man thing, to the Commanding General himself, asking the release of a citizen who’s broken no law, who’s not even charged yet, who’s done nothing whatever but help those very boys, discharged Confederate vets, this Army is trying to reconstruct.”

“One moment,” said the major. “If this is an appeal for clemency, it can’t be from nothing — has to be from something, the verdict of a court. But no verdict’s been rendered yet. And if he’s going to plead, as you indicated he would, how can he make an appeal from his own admission of guilt? I find myself confused.”

“It’s an appeal to reason. To ordinary sense.”

“On the basis of the evidence?”

“Now you’ve got it, Major.”

“Evidence is for a court to pass upon.”

“Major, the Commanding General’s supreme, even overriding a court, certainly overriding you. Do you presume to decide what letters he may receive?”

That calmed things down somewhat, but my eye crossed hers and, perhaps thinking she saw a cue, she cut in, pretty sharp: “Just a moment! I want our lawyer in this!”

“Certainly,” I said. “I mean to consult him, of course. But first I want to read my letter to these gentlemen, for phraseology, so your father has the benefit—”

“Then revise for final submission?” asked Dan.

“That’s it — with the lawyer’s help.”

“Then all right,” she said.

I glanced around, and everyone looked worried, each for a different reason, except Olsen, who seemed bored and to whom no one was paying attention. It was just about how I wanted it. I started reading the letter, and to the preliminaries like “your attention is respectfully invited,” they hardly seemed to be listening. At my first real point, “intent is the heart of this case,” the major yawned openly. But then suddenly he leaned forward, as very quietly I read: “While we don’t deny that Mr. Landry shipped the shoes, or that some of them may have reached Taylor, we do insist that no proof has been brought that Mr. Landry foresaw this result, or in any way connived at it, and we emphatically take exception to the principle that a man can be held criminally responsible for acts the enemy commits. We would think it passing strange, esteemed Sir, if the President of our country placed you under arrest every time a Confederate guerrilla captured a few supplies.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” said the major.

“That’s getting kind of personal,” said Dan.

“I want our lawyer,” Mignon exploded.

“Then go get him,” I told her.

She didn’t move, of course, and the major barked at me: “You know what’s good for you, you’ll take the General out.”

“Who’s writing this letter?” I asked him.

“Bill!” said Dan. “You want our help or not?”

“On phraseology,” I said. “Technicalities.”

A chill crept in, and I gave it a moment to settle, knowing that after what I’d read no one was walking out. I went on: “Once intent be fairly examined, it becomes inconceivable that Mr. Landry would have acted disloyally. His record of cooperation with the Army of the Gulf in its policy of humane reconstruction, through his purchases of cotton from those whom reconstruction tries to reach, his resale through a partner acceptable to the Army of the Gulf, his cheerful disbursements to Army personnel to expedite cotton shipment—”

“I’ll take that letter!” snapped the major.

“I haven’t submitted it yet.”

“You’re practically alleging graft, and I warn you, once you registered as this man’s counsel, you became subject to martial law, and I’ll not hesitate to charge you.”

“With what?” I asked.

“Insubordination. Give me that letter.”

“Well,” I said, seeming to think things over, “it may save time, at that. Olsen has his copy, and as submission takes care of him, by putting it on the record—”

At last he saw the trap I was working him into, and when I extended the letter to him pulled back as from a red-hot poker. He jumped up, and kept retreating as I followed him around the room, holding the letter at him. I said, very coldly, as I went: “Tell me some more about martial law — and I’ll tell you more about graft.”

I’d been wondering when Burke would break, and now, sure enough, he did, blurting out: “May I answer the scut, Major?” And then, to me: “If one dime has ever been paid, be Adolphe Landry or me, to anyone in this Army, I hope you’ll tell me when. Come on, me boy, speak up!”

“Yesterday,” I said. “Glad you asked me.”

“... Yesterday, is it? To whom?”

“Our handsome friend here — the major.”

After a long, bellowing pause: “ ’Tis a lie, Cresap! Your own filthy fabrication!” Then, after another bellowing pause: “How much?”

“One hundred dollars, Mr. Burke.”

“Why — that’s ridiculous,” said the major.

But there was no steam in it, and I took my time getting out my torn bill and waving it around. To Burke I said: “You’ll observe it’s the same torn C-note you offered me yesterday morning, in my suite at the St. Charles Hotel, to act as Mr. Laundry’s counsel — the same C-note I declined until I’d done something to earn it.” Then suddenly I wheeled on the major and said: “And you’ll observe it’s the same C-note you paid Mr. Lucan with to deliver booze to your billet.” And to all and sundry I said: “You’ll observe it’s the same C-note I bought off Mr. Lucan for a hundred and one dollars, ‘to have a big bill in my poke, to impress my friends with.’ I hope you’re all impressed.”

I took my time returning the bill to my wallet, and was startled when a fist shook under my nose. As I jerked back Burke yelled: “Scut! Liar! ’Tis no appeal you’re making, to reason or anything else! ’Tis a bold bid for scandal, and I’ll not listen to’t!” Then to her: “Lass! Come! Please! We must be going!” With that he broke for the door, but my stick got in his way, somehow slipping between his legs, so he sprawled on the floor. Big as he was, I jerked him up by the collar and flung him back in his chair. “Suppose you stay,” I said. “You may be wanted to answer questions.”

Orderlies gathered, the one on duty at the door and a couple from other offices. Dan dismissed them, brushed off Burke’s trousers, and poured him a glass of water. Olsen was watching me, all excited now, and she was eyeing me too, as though not to miss any cue. But I was studying the major as he sat in a state of collapse, to figure how to handle him. He presented a problem. I’d smashed him all right, but my danger was, if I pressed my advantage too much, he’d begin lunging back and land us all in the soup, still hotter soup than this was, as of now. I wanted to put him together again, give him some self-respect, so the next blast I set off would blow him back to my side more or less in one piece, instead of slamming him around loose, wholly out of control. So, as he wiped his brow with his handkerchief, I said: “Major, I’d like to clear something up. You used the word graft, I didn’t. You scaled this charge down on humane grounds, and in that case a little champagne, in appreciation for your kindness, was no more than decent manners.”

“The whole thing’s a lie!” roared Burke.”

“I’ve admitted nothing,” growled the major.”

“It could have meant nothing,” I said. “Had it.”

“... What the hell are you getting at now?”

“Major,” I said, very quietly, “you were a dupe. Far from giving a gift in appreciation of humane conduct, this man was using you to subvert the Army’s processes against an innocent man—”

“ ’Tis another lie!” screamed Burke.

“What motive could he have?” asked the major.

I ticked it off for him, the bearing it had on the partnership as an asset, but he cut me off pretty quick. “Naturally,” he said, “any Reb in a godpappy case takes a chance with his partner, but how could a plea profit Burke?”

“It would wind the case up at once.”

“At that, it’s better for Landry than prison. And what proof do you have that that’s what Burke was up to? My God, we can’t go on suspicion alone!”

“I have proof. You were made a sucker of.”

“What proof? In heaven’s name, say!”

“Burke wrote the informer notes.”

“Oh come, come, come!”

“You don’t believe it, Major? I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t been compelled. But you will believe it if you’ll be kind enough to get the latest note, the one that came in this morning naming Rod Purrin of the steamer Nebraska and telling how the shoes were shipped as Christmas gifts.”

His jaw dropped, and at last he turned on Burke with a venomous look. He went out and came back with the same old envelope I’d seen on Mardi Gras. He undid the tapes, took out a sheet of the same cheap paper, and laid it on the table. It showed printing that read:

“Fine,” I said, as everyone stepped up to read. “Now have a look at this — that I fished out of Burke’s wastebasket, seven forty-five last night.” And I put down my pasted-up scraps, which I had folded in my pocket. They read:

“You win,” said the major, sitting down very heavily.

“Then,” I said, putting my exhibit back in my pocket, “if you’ll have the prisoner brought and sign an order for his release, I’ll tear up my letter to the General and forget the whole unfortunate incident.”

“... Afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not, Major?”

“Identification of the informer puts a new light on the case, that’s true. It doesn’t change the evidence.”

“Your evidence is worthless. It proves nothing.”

“That’s up to a court to decide.”

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s up to you to decide.”

He looked startled, and I went on: “In the absence of habeas corpus, the Judge Advocate says if his evidence sustains the specification of a charge. I say your evidence doesn’t.”

“I say it does.”

“There’s also my evidence, Major.”

“... What do you mean, your evidence?”

“The bill I have in my wallet and this pasted-up note I just showed you are all I’ll need to prove collusion on your part, for a hundred-dollar bribe, with a skunk, to his profit, in the manufacture of a case against an innocent man.”

“I didn’t! I tell you I didn’t!”

“I know you didn’t. I’ll prove it just the same!”

“Keep it quiet, Bill!” said Dan.

“WHY SHOULD I KEEP IT QUIET?” I bellowed.

When he closed the door quick, the way he did that other time, I felt things going my way, so when he put his arms around me and started wrestling me into my chair, I let him. And I listened intently as he said: “Bill, after all, there’s such a thing as showing some judgment. Your man’s not out, he’s in. And so long as he’s in, wild talk from you can’t help but hurt him. Now, are you going to be sensible, or aren’t you?”

“I am, it’s just what I want.”

“All right — then let’s start over.”

“Fine, we can all relax.”

I went over, patted her on the cheek. I kept on around, and patted Dan on the cheek. I patted Olsen on the cheek. I stood in front of the major, and when I saw that he would take it, patted him on the cheek. I went over to Burke and slapped him sharply on the cheek. Then I came back to my place and sat down. “So,” I said, “in a calm and reasonable way, let’s have a look at this thing. I’d call it a simple dilemma — with one horn and what we might call a handle. The handle is that the major, now that he knows the truth, can admit in a manly way that we all make mistakes and dismiss this case at once. The horn is that if he doesn’t dismiss the case, I have to submit this letter — we mustn’t forget that. The letter, once submitted, lets Olsen in, and also leaves him free to publish what’s been said here. And that brings in the Gooch Committee — we mustn’t forget them. And they bring in a Court of Inquiry — we mustn’t forget it. That’s as far as I’ll take it now, but we all have to realize, now that we’re being sensible, the backwash will be unpleasant. Mind, I don’t think the major was crooked — he was too self-righteous for that. To me, he’s an honest man, fair to middling dumb, who got himself sucked in, then couldn’t take himself out. Unfortunately, we have to go by the evidence, and my evidence—”

“Are you threatening me?” said the major.

“Threatening you?” I yelled. “Goddam it, am I talking English or am I talking Choctaw? You get Mr. Landry up here, you dismiss this case right now, or you stupid son of a bitch I’M SENDING YOU TO PRISON!”

“Bill, stop it!” yelled Dan.

“Try stopping me!” I yelled back.

“Then all right,” whined the major. “I’ll have the case reviewed. You come back tomorrow, and—”

“I give you five minutes! Get Mr. Landry, or—”

“But I can’t—”

“GET HIM!” barked Dan.

The major knifed out into the hall, and then things began happening so fast they’re all mixed up in my memory. First she came running over, and in front of Dan, in front of Burke, in front of Olsen, and in front of the orderly, began kissing my hand. Then Mr. Landry was there, a leather valise in his hand, and she flew to his arms, kissing him and whispering to him in French. Then the major came back with papers for me to sign, and I told her take her father down and wait for me in the cab. They did, but not before Burke got in it, snarling at them in French, and she snarled back, but Mr. Landry answered quite mildly. Then Olsen left, very solemn, bowing to me and saying: “Your faithful cat’s-paw salutes you.” Then it was Burke, me, the major, and Dan, but when Burke tried to go Dan stepped over to block him, and told the major: “You’re holding this man, I think. You’d better — if you know what’s good for you.” Then the major was taking Burke down to the detention room, the orderly going too.

Then it was Dan and me. I held out my hand to thank him for everything, but he didn’t seem to see it. “Bill,” he said, “I won’t forget this day. I bring you in, I extend you courtesies out of personal regard — and then you play me tricks.”

“... I had a client to think of.”

“Oh, he counts more than a friend?”

“Dan, you make me feel bad.”

“Oh, please don’t — I make allowance.”

I supposed he was lining it up to take a crack at Mignon, and on purpose held my tongue so as not to give him the chance. He waited, and then when I said nothing went on: “You’re now in Red River cotton, which messes up everything that it touches — and everyone.”

“Oh no,” I said, “I’m not.”

“You think you’re not but you are.”