mean," said Abner, "that one ought not to have an interest in another's death."
"Why not?" said Gaul.
"Because," replied Abner, "one may be tempted to step in before the providence of God and do its work for it."
Gaul turned the innuendo with a cunning twist.
"You mean," he said, "that these children may come to seek my death?"
I was astonished at Abner's answer.
"Yes," he said; "that is what I mean."
"Man," cried the hunchback, "you make me laugh!"
"Laugh as you like," replied Abner; "but I am sure that these children will not look at this thing as we have looked at it."
"As who have looked at it?" said Gaul.
"As my brother Rufus and Elnathan Stone and I," said Abner.
"And so," said the hunchback, "you gentlemen have considered how to save my life. I am much obliged to you." He made a grotesque, mocking bow. "And how have you meant to save it?"
"By the signing of that deed," said Abner.
"I thank you!" cried the hunchback. "But I am not pleased to save my life that way."
I thought Abner would give some biting answer; but, instead, he spoke slowly and with a certain hesitation.
"There is no other way," he said. "We have believed that the stigma of your death and the odium on the name and all the scandal would in the end wrong these children more than the loss of this estate during the term of your natural life; but it is clear to me that they will not so regard it. And we are bound to lay it before them if you do not sign this deed. It is not for my brother Rufus and Elnathan Stone and me to decide this question."
"To decide what question?" said Gaul.
"Whether you are to live or die!" said Abner.
The hunchback's face grew stern and resolute. He sat down in his chair, put his stick between his knees and looked my uncle in the eyes.
"Abner," he said, "you are talking in some riddle. … Say the thing out plain. Do you think I forged that will?"
"I do not," said Abner.
"Nor could any man!" cried the hunchback. "It is in my brother's hand—every word of it; and, besides, there is neither ink nor paper in this house. I figure on a slate; and when I have a thing to say I go and tell it."
"And yet," said Abner, "the day before your brother's death you bought some sheets of foolscap of the postmaster."
"I did," said Gaul—"and for my brother. Enoch wished to make some calculations with his pencil. I have the paper with his figures on it."
He went to his desk and brought back some sheets.
"And yet," said Abner, "this will is written on a page of foolscap."
"And why not?" said Gaul. "Is it not sold in every store to Mexico?"
It was the truth—and Abner drummed on the table.
"And now," said Gaul, "we have laid one suspicion by looking it squarely in the face; let us lay the other. What did you find about my brother's death to moon over?"
"Why," said Abner, "should he take his own life in this house?"
"I do not know that," said Gaul.
"I will tell you," said Abner; "we found a bloody handprint on your brother!"
"Is that all that you found on him?"
"That is all," said Abner.
"Well," cried Gaul, "does that prove that I killed him? Let me look your ugly suspicion in the face. Were not my brother's hands covered with his blood and was not the bed covered with his finger-prints, where he had clutched about it in his death-struggle?"
"Yes," said Abner; "that is all true."
"And was there any mark or sign in that print," said Gaul, "by which you could know that it was made by any certain hand"—and he spread out his fingers—"as, for instance, my hand?"
"No," said Abner.
There was victory in Gaul's face.
He had now learned all that Abner knew and he no longer feared him. There was no evidence against him—even I saw that.
"And now," he cried, "will you get out of my house? I will have no more words with you. Begone!"
Abner did not move. For the last five minutes he had been at work at something, but I could not see what it was, for his back was toward me. Now he turned to the table beside Gaul and I saw what he had been doing. He had been making a pen out of a goosequill! He laid the pen down on the table and beside it a horn of ink. He opened out the deed that he had brought, put his finger on a line, dipped the quill into the ink and held it out to Gaul.
"Sign there!" he said.
The hunchback got on his feet, with an oath.
"Begone with your damned paper!" he cried.
Abner did not move.
"When you have signed," he said.
"Signed!" cried the hunchback. "I will see you and your brother Rufus, and Elnathan Stone, and all the kit and kittle of you in hell!"
"Gaul," said Abner, "you will surely see all who are to be seen in hell!"
By Abner's manner I knew that the end of the business had arrived. He seized the will and the envelope that Gaul had brought from his secretary and held them out before him.
"You tell me," he said, "that these papers were written at one sitting! Look! The hand that wrote that envelope was calm and steady, but the hand that wrote this will shook. See how the letters wave and jerk! I will explain it. You have kept that envelope from some old letter; but this paper was written in this house—in fear! And it was written on the morning that your brother died. … Listen! When Elnathan Stone stepped back from your brother's bed he stumbled over a piece of carpet. The under side of that carpet was smeared with ink, where a bottle had been broken. I put my finger on it and it was wet."
The hunchback began to howl and bellow like a beast penned in a corner. I crouched under Abner's coat in terror. The creature's cries filled the great, empty house. They rose a hellish crescendo on the voices of the wind; and for accompaniment the sleet played shrill notes on the windowpanes, and the loose shingles clattered a staccato, and the chimney whistled—like weird instruments under a devil's fingers.
And all the time Abner stood looking down at the man—an implacable, avenging Nemesis—and his voice, deep and level, did not change.
"But, before that, we knew that you had killed your brother! We knew it when we stood before his bed. 'Look there,' said Rufus—'at that bloody handprint!' … We looked. … And we knew that Enoch's hand had not made that print. Do you know how we knew that, Gaul? … I will tell you. … The bloody print on your brother's right hand was the print of a right hand!"
Gaul signed the deed, and at dawn we rode away, with the hunchback's promise that he would come that afternoon before a notary and acknowledge what he had signed; but he did not come—neither on that day nor on any day after that.
When Abner went to fetch him he found him swinging from his elm tree.
1 ↑ Referring to the custom of flogging a slave with a shoemaker's strap.
Chapter III: The Angel of the Lord