We set to work at once with the map and the lists; and soon marked the names which were likely to be of any use to us, those which had at any time lately been let to strangers. Then Cathcart and Gordon and all the detectives, except the chief, went off on horseback with a list of places to visit. They were all to return to report as soon as possible. The chief kept tab of the places to be visited by each. When the rest had gone, I asked him if he knew where any of those supposed to be of the gang lived in the neighbourhood. He said he felt awkward in answering the question, and he certainly looked it. “The fact is,” he said sheepishly, “since that young lady kicked those names on the dirt, and so into my thick head, I know pretty well who they are. Had I known before, I could easily have got those who could identify them; for I never saw them myself. I take it that ‘Feathers’ is none other than Featherstone who was with Whisky Tommy—which was Tom Mason—in the A. T. Stewart ransom case. If those two are in it, most likely the one they called the ‘Dago’ is a half-bred Spaniard that comes from somewheres over here. That Max that she named, if he’s the same man, is a Dutchman; he’s about the worst of the bunch. Then for this game there’s likely to be two Chicago bums from the Levee, way-down politicians and heelers. It’s possible that there are two more; a man from Frisco that they call Sailor Ben—what they call a cosmopolite for he doesn’t come from nowhere in particular; and a buck nigger from Noo Orleans. A real bad ’un he is; of all the.... But I hope he isn’t in the gang. If he is, we haven’t no time to lose.”
His words made my blood run cold. Was this the crowd, within whose danger I had consented that Marjory should stand. The worst kind of scoundrels from all over the earth. Oh! what it was to be powerless, and to know that she was in their hands. It took me all my strength of purpose not to weep, out of very despair. I think the detective must have wished to cheer me a little, for he went on:
“Of course it’s not their game to do her any harm, or let harm come to her. She’s worth too many millions, alive and unharmed, for them to spoil their market by any foolishness. It’s here that I trust Whisky Tommy to keep the rest straight. I suppose you know, Sir, that criminals always work in the same way every time. We know that when the Judge wouldn’t pay up for old A. T., Featherstone threatened to burn up the stiff; but Whisky Tommy knew better than to kill the golden goose like that. Why he went and stole it from Featherstone and hid it somewhere about Trenton till the old lady coughed up about twenty-five thousand. Tommy’s head’s level; and if that black devil isn’t in the squeeze, he’ll keep them up to the collar every time.”
“Who is the negro?” I asked, for I wanted to know the worst. “What has he done?”
“What hasn’t he done that’s vile, is what I’d like to know. They’re a hard crowd in the darkey side of Noo Orleans; and a man doesn’t get a bad name there easily, I tell you. There are dens there that’d make God Almighty blush, or the Devil either; a darkey that is bred in them and gets to the top of the push, doesn’t stick at no trifles!
“But you be easy in your mind as yet, Sir; at present there’s naught to fear. But if once they get safe away, they will try to put the screw on. God knows then what may happen. In the meantime, the only fear is lest, if they’re in a tight place, they may kill her!”
My heart turned to ice at his words. What horrible possibilities were there, when death for my darling was the “only” fear. It was in a faint enough voice I asked him:
“Would they really kill her?”
“Of course they would; if it was their best course. But don’t you be downhearted, Sir. There’s not much fear of killing—as yet at all events. These men are out for dough; and for a good heap of it, too. They’re not going to throw away a chance till the game’s up. If we get on to their curves quick, they’ll have to think of their own skins. It’s only when all’s up that they’ll act; when they themselves must croak if she doesn’t!”
Oh! if I had known! If I had had any suspicion of the dangerous nature of the game we were playing—that I had consented that Marjory should play—I’d have cut my tongue out before I’d have agreed. I might have known that a great nation like the United States would not have concerned itself as to any danger to an individual, unless there had been good cause. Oh fool! fool! that I had been!