Within the Capes

“Can’t you leave us a little while?” said Tom to the turnkey.

Will’s note ran thus:

“Dear Tom:

“This is Daly of whom I spoke to you the other day. I thought better to introduce you to him thus than to come with him myself. You had better tell him everything concerning the case, just as you told me. I think you may trust him.

    “W. W. Gaines.”

Tom looked at Daly as he folded Will’s note. I cannot say that he took very much fancy to the man. He was short, rather fat and bow-legged. He had a large, heavy face, with a bluish growth of beard about the lips and chin and cheeks. His head sat close upon his shoulders, and was covered with a mat of close-cropped hair. He had a sly hang-dog look, and anything but a pleasant expression. So Tom, sitting on the edge of the table where he had been reading Will’s note, looked at Daly, and Daly stood returning the look out of the corners of his eyes.

“So you’re John Daly, are you?” said Tom, at last.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Gaines says, in this note, that I may tell you everything.”

“Well, I think you’d better.”

“Sit down.”

“Thank’ee; got a spitpatoon here?”

“There’s one.”

After using the spittoon, the fellow pushed it over beside the chair with his foot. Then he sat down comfortably. “Fire away,” said he.

“In the first place,” said Tom, “I’ll show you, as I did Mr. Gaines, why, in my opinion, I couldn’t have killed this man.” Then he ran over the evidence just as I have already done, showing, by the position of the blow, that he could not have given it. Daly listened in silence, every now and then nodding his head; but he did not speak a word until Tom had ended. Then he looked up.

“Very true – very true, indeed,” said he. “It satisfies me an’ your other friends; but it won’t go down with a jury, just now. Reckon you ha’n’t seen the papers lately?”

“No.”

Daly nodded his head; “I guess your folks ha’ kept ’em from you,” he said; “there’s nasty tales going about in ’em just now – tales about you an’ your mate deserting a ship, an’ leaving the captain and the crew to drown in her.”

“But,” said Tom, “I didn’t leave the ship with my own free will – I was taken off by force.”

“That may all be very true; I don’t question your word at all – only this is the report of the committee who examined you an’ your friend. You ought to ha’ told ’em how you were taken off; you had the chance.”

“But I wasn’t going to tell ugly things against my mate, when he wouldn’t tell of them himself.”

“That’s all very fine, but he ha’n’t in prison for murder.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with the matter, anyhow.”

“Don’t you? Well, I’ll tell you. When your case is before the jury, the prosecuting attorney’ll tell ’em that any man who’ld run away from his captain and his shipmates, and leave ’em to drown, wouldn’t hesitate to strike a man from behind. Of course, it isn’t so, but the jury’ll believe it all the same.”

Tom was silent; he saw the weight of what the man said, and his heart sank within him. Daly sat, meditatively, chewing his tobacco. At last, after expectorating copiously, he broke the silence.

“Never mind, sir,” said he; “I don’t believe that you killed that feller; your argument’s good enough for me. I know too much about this kind o’ thing to believe that you’re the sort of man to strike another from behind. Mr. Gaines tells me that you’re on the track of the man who did do it – let’s have your idee.”

Then Tom told of all the circumstances that led him to suspect Mr. Moor, and once more Daly listened to him without a word. He sat with his elbows on his knees; he had taken a dirty handkerchief out of his hat, and was alternately crushing it together and unfolding it in his hands. When Tom had ended, he looked up at him from under his brows.

“You’ve thought all that out in a mighty derned clever style,” said he. “It’s all as true as gospil. I believe you’re right, and that this man Moor did kill the other feller.”

“I couldn’t make Mr. Gaines believe it as you do,” said Tom.

“Of course, you couldn’t. Mr. Gaines knows this Moor, and always has known him. It’s hard to believe that a man that you’ve seen under your eye every day would do a thing like this. I don’t know anything about him, and I can look at it reasonable like. I believe he did do it. The next thing is to ketch him, and that ain’t goin’ to be so easy, neither, for, without I’m much mistook, he’s as sharp as a steel trap. Never mind, he’ll have to get up early in the morning if he’s going to get ahead of ‘Fatty’ Daly, I can tell you.”

After this he took up his hat and quitted the gaol, and Tom was left alone again.

Two or three days passed before there were any more developments. Will kept Tom well posted as to the agent’s movements, but nothing of any note happened.

The first thing that Daly did was to become acquainted with Mr. Moor’s help, who, being rather old and not over-handsome, was glad for any young man to come courting her – even such an one as Daly. However, the agent was cautious, and nothing was found out for two or three days.

On the morning of the third day after Daly had come to Eastcaster, Will came into Tom’s cell in a great state of hurry and excitement. Daly had found something that he thought was of great moment.

“I want you to tell me your idea of the matter before I give you Daly’s,” said he. “The fellow seems to have a great notion of your ability and told me to find what your opinion was and see whether his agreed with it.” Then he handed Tom a sheet or two of paper, covered with a crooked, blotted scrawl. It was Daly’s report; it ran thus:

“Last evening went to Mr. Moor’s house to see his servant girl Susan. Up to that time had not said anything about murder, but then began to talk about it. Began by asking how Mr. Moor was, and said that I was sorry to hear he was sick. Girl said that he had not been well for three or four days. She said that he was very sick the morning that he was at squire’s office, and that he came home and laid down on the sofa that morning and laid there almost all day. Asked her if he had been sick the day before, and she said not until evening when he came home sick from a ride that he took. Began questioning her about this and got all from her without her suspecting anything, I think. Said that he came home after dark and went straight to his room. Heard him walking up and down for some time. Supper was ready before he came in. He came in at half-past six, for she looked at clock when she heard him open front door. Came down stairs in a half an hour, and she went out to tell him that supper was ready. He spoke sharply to her, and said that he did not want any supper. He turned at the door and spoke more quietly. Said, on second thoughts, that she might save supper for him. He had a carpet-bag in his hand and a hat on at the time. He said that there were papers in the carpet-bag, and that he was going to see a Mr. Henry Sharpley on business. He came back in half an hour, with mud on his shoes, which left tracks in the entry. He went out just about seven o’clock, and came back at half-past seven. Questioned servant girl closely as dared as to time. Said that she noticed time, because she was keeping supper waiting for Mr. Moor. When he came in, drank two cups of coffee, but did not touch any supper.”

Such was Daly’s report. After Tom had read it, he folded it up, and sat for a while thinking deeply. Presently he looked at Will. “Will,” said he, “I believe I know what Daly thinks.”

“What?”

“That Mr. Moor had blood on his clothes, and went out to hide them.”

“That’s just what he does think, Tom.”

“And I believe that he’s right; Mr. Moor certainly had something to hide, and it could have been nothing, without it was evidence. All that Daly gathered from the servant girl goes to show that there was something of the kind. I believe that Mr. Moor would have gone straight home after he had done the deed, if he had dared to do so, and he would have dared, without he had some signs of what he had done upon him. What signs of the deed could he have had about him, if it was not blood spattered on his clothes? Now, if we can find that he has hidden any of his clothes in some out-of-the-way place, we’ll have a great point gained, won’t we?”

“We will, indeed.”

“Has Daly any notion of where they were hidden?”

“No.”

“Have you?”

“Not I.”

“What’s Daly going to do about it?”

“His idea is to hunt in all the likely places near at hand on the chance of finding them. He says that they can’t be far away, because Mr. Moor was such a short time gone; only half an hour.”

“That’s very true, but, without he has something to guide him in his search, it’ll be like hunting for a needle in a hay-stack.”

“Have you any notion about it, Tom?”