CHAPTER XI.
PAUL LISIMON'S RUIN IS PLOTTED BY HIS ENEMIES.
From the hour in which Augustus Horton first looked upon the noble face and form of Paul Lisimon, he entertained for the young Mexican that deadly and unrelenting hatred which jealousy alone can nourish.
Be it distinctly understood, the planter did not love Camillia Moraquitos.
Lovely as was the Spanish girl, there was one who, in the eyes of Augustus, was yet lovelier; and that one was Cora, the daughter of Gerald Leslie, and the hapless quadroon slave, Francilia.
Cora, the Octoroon!
Yes, the fatal word which branded this lovely and innocent being is contained in those three syllables. She was an octoroon, removed in the eighth degree from the African race, with a skin purely white as the tint of the lilies sleeping upon the lakes of her native Louisiana. One drop of the blood of a slave ran in her veins, poisoned her inmost life, and stamped her with the curse of Cain.
She was an Octoroon!
Augustus Horton knew this. He knew also, that Gerald Leslie was a ruined man; and he waited his time.
Cora had inspired in the proud heart of the planter one of those all-absorbing passions, which, in a bad man's heart, resemble the storm and tempest. They rage but to destroy. At any price, even at the price of his own soul as well as hers, she must be his.
The insult she had inflicted upon him in dismissing him from her presence had infuriated and humiliated him, but it had not abated one spark of the wild ardor of his guilty passion; notwithstanding this he was determined upon becoming the husband of Camillia Moraquitos.
The reader is already acquainted with the laxity of Louisianian morals. The wealthy Creole thought there could be no shame to the Octoroon in becoming his mistress. What was she but a creature of the inferior race, born to obey her master, the white man? With Camillia's fortune, added to his own ample wealth, Augustus Horton would have been one of the richest men in New Orleans. But the planter felt that he had discovered his real and only rival in the person of Paul Lisimon, the Mexican.
He was not slow to act upon this conviction. Early upon the morning after his first encounter with Paul, he entered the office in which the young man was seated, and asked to see Silas Craig.
Paul Lisimon raised his eyes, and recognized one of the most constant admirers of Camillia Moraquitos. But it was with a glance of supreme indifference that the Mexican regarded his rival. Augustus Horton felt the sting of that careless look; it was the glance of one who, secure in the affection of her he loves, is incapable of jealousy.
"Mr. Craig is within?" he inquired, addressing himself especially to Paul, though a colored lad at a desk near was the person who answered all inquiries and ushered the clients into Silas Craig's office.
"He is," answered Paul, quietly, dropping his eyes upon his work, and not lifting them as he spoke; "Marcus, take this gentleman's card to your master."
Silas was seated at his desk, a ledger open before him, and on the table by his side a large iron cash-box, the lid of which he dropped hurriedly as the young planter entered the office.
The ledger contained the secret accounts of the transactions of the mysterious gambling-house in Columbia Street. The cash-box was nearly filled with bank notes, lost in that den of iniquity by the miserable and deluded votaries of the gambler's green cloth-covered altar. Silas closed the ledger, which was secured with massive brass locks, the key of which the usurer wore hanging to a thick gold chain, which was never removed night or day—the iniquitous volume was further secured by being placed in an iron chest, proof against fire and thieves.
The money gained by these shameful transactions was sent monthly to New York, where it was banked in the name of Craig & Co., solicitors.
This was done to prevent the possibility of the losers of this money tracing it, by the numbers of the notes, into the hands of the usurer.
These precautions may seem superfluous, but they were no more than necessary. Silas Craig felt that he was carrying on an infamous traffic. He knew that were his name revealed as the proprietor of a house which bore no very high reputation for fair play, and in which several deeds of darkness were strongly suspected to have been committed, universal hatred and execration would be heaped upon his guilty head. More than this, there was a tribunal he dreaded more than all the established courts of New Orleans; he knew that for such an offense as his the infuriated citizens would have recourse to the horrors of Lynch Law.
He glanced round suspiciously as Augustus Horton entered the room, and thrust the locked ledger into an open drawer in his desk.
"My dear Augustus," he said, with his accustomed conciliatory smile, "this is indeed an agreeable surprise. I scarcely expected to see you so soon again."
"I dare say not," answered the planter, coolly, taking out a cigar and lighting it at the taper by which Craig sealed his letters.
"And may I ask to what I owe the honor of this visit?" said Silas, looking, with considerable curiosity, at his client's thoughtful countenance.
"I'll tell you, Silas Craig. That young Mexican yonder; that Lisimon, or Lismion, or whatever his name may be—that hanger-on and dependent of Juan Moraquitos, must leave your office."
Silas started and glanced wonderingly at the planter.
"Ay, you may stare," said Augustus; "never you mind my motives. I say he must go!"
"But, my dear young friend, my impetuous friend, that is utterly impossible. I have no particular affection for Mr. Paul Lisimon, I assure you, but his articles have been signed."
"Let them be canceled, then; let the fellow be kicked out of the office."
Silas looked thoughtfully at his visitor, and then rubbing his hands, said, with a sly chuckle:
"But, my dear Mr. Horton, allow me to remind you that, in the first place, I have no excuse for canceling these articles, or for kicking Paul Lisimon out of my office; and that, in the second, I cannot see why I am bound to comply with any absurd whim which even my most important client may happen to take into his head."
Augustus Horton threw his cigar aside with a contemptuous and impatient gesture.
"I am not used," he said with a chilling hauteur, "to ask for any service for which I am not prepared to pay liberally. Send this young man about his business—making it appear that he has been to blame in the affair, and besides what you lose by canceling the articles I will give you five thousand dollars."
"Send him about his business?"
"Yes. If possible in such a manner as to disgust Don Juan with his protege."
A strange smile illuminated Silas Craig's crafty countenance.
"Disgust Don Juan with his protege?" he said.
"Yes, find this fellow out in some piece of low trickery or dishonor. He is not obliged to be really guilty, if he only appears so."
"In such a manner that Don Juan may cast him off?" asked Silas, with the same meaning smile.
"Yes, do that, and I will double your reward. Instead of five thousand dollars I will give you ten."
"It's rather a critical business."
"Yes, but a sort of business that I should think is scarcely new to you, my worthy Silas," said Augustus, with a sneer.
That contemptuous curve of the lip was not lost upon Silas Craig; but the usurer himself entertained a consummate disdain for these men who despised his character, but were yet content to make use of him in deeds to which they would have been themselves ashamed to own.
"I think it can be done," he said quietly, "and I have no objection to do it, upon one condition—"
"And that is—"
"That over and above the ten thousand dollars I am to receive on the day on which Paul Lisimon is dismissed from this office and from the house of his patron, Don Juan, you give me twenty thousand more upon the day of your marriage with Camillia Moraquitos."
The planter bit his lip, and his brow grew crimson with vexation.
"How do you know that I have any thought of seeking to win Camillia Moraquitos for my wife?" he asked, angrily.
"How do I know?" answered the usurer. "Augustus Horton, it may please your proud nature to despise me, although you come here to demand my services. Despise my code of morality, if you will, but do not despise my powers of penetration. There is not a client who enters this office whose inmost thoughts I have not reckoned up before he has been five minutes in my company. It is a knack we lawyers acquire, if we are fit for our business. Shall I tell you your motive in wishing to thrust Paul Lisimon from my office?"
"Yes, if you can."
"You dread a rival in this handsome young man. You would brand his name, already an obscure one, with shame and infamy; you would cause him to be driven from the doors of Villa Moraquitos, and stamped with ignominy in the eyes of the woman who loves him."
"Yes," cried Augustus, fiercely; "I would do all this! Dog, what right has he to cross my path? I accede to your condition, Silas Craig, ten thousand down, and twenty thousand more upon my wedding day."
"Then the business shall be done."
"Soon?"
"Very soon."
"That is well; Silas, lose no time in turning the fellow from your doors, and let me be the first to hear of his dismissal. I shall not grudge you your reward."
As Augustus Horton left the office he once more flung a sinister glance at the articled clerk; but this time there was triumph as well as hatred in the flash of the planter's eye.
As he glanced at Paul Lisimon the glitter of some gold ornaments hanging to the Mexican's watch chain caught his eye. Amongst these was an oval locket, of dead gold, ornamented with two initials in purple enamel.
The planter passed so close to Paul that he was enabled to distinguish these initials.
They were a C and an M.
"So!" he muttered, as he mounted the thorough-bred Arabian waiting him at the door of Silas Craig's house, "He wears a locket inscribed with her initials—a locket containing her portrait, no doubt. She loved him, then; but by the blue sky above me, she shall be taught ere long to despise and loathe him."
Silas Craig was not long in putting his foul plot into execution.
In order to carry it out, he had recourse to a plan as subtle as it was diabolical.
The lawyer's private office communicated, as the reader is aware, with an outer apartment occupied by clerks.
There was but this one door of communication between the two rooms, and there was no other visible mode of entering the inner office.
But there was a secret entrance through the map of America, which communicated with the passage leading into the house in Columbia street. The existence of this secret passage was known only to Silas Craig, William Bowen, and the banker and manager of the gambling-house.
It was by means of this very passage that the foul plot, which was to entrap Paul Lisimon, was to be carried out.
Three days after his interview with the planter, Silas Craig summoned the young Mexican to his private office.
"My dear Lisimon," he said, motioning Paul to a seat, "for once in my life I am tempted to desert business earlier than usual. I have an engagement to dine with my client, Mr. Horton. The dinner hour is five, and I have, unfortunately, an appointment here at half-past five with a wealthy old client of mine, who is going to bring me a few thousand dollars he wishes me to invest for him. Now, in this dilemma, I fancy, my dear Lisimon, that you can assist me."
Paul merely bowed. They were not alone in the office; one of the other clerks, a young man of the name of Morisson, was standing at the lawyer's desk waiting for further orders.
"What I want you to do, Lisimon, is to remain here till half-past five and receive the money from my client. You will give him an acknowledgment for the sum, and you will place the money, whether it should be in notes or gold, in this small cash-box, of which I will leave you the key. I shall also give you the key of the door of this office, which you will carefully lock on leaving the place. As there is no other communication, all will be perfectly secure. You understand?"
"Completely, Mr. Craig," said Paul.
"I thought you would be able to do this little bit of business for me," replied the lawyer, rising and locking his desk; "here are the keys," he added, handing Paul the key of the door and the smaller one belonging to the cash-box; "you will keep the office key in your possession until you see me to-morrow morning. Be very careful of it, for I have no duplicate. It's now half-past four, so I have not a minute to lose. You'll find my client, Mr. Graham, a curious countryfied old fellow, Lisimon, but I've no doubt you'll be able to manage him. Good afternoon!"
Silas left the office, followed by the clerk, Morisson; and Paul, taking up one of the New Orleans papers, prepared to await the expected visitor. The client arrived, punctual to his appointment, at half-past five. He was an elderly man, a planter, whose estate lay at a distance of several hundred miles from New Orleans, and who had the highest opinion of Silas Craig's professional and moral character.
"A worthy man," he would say, shaking his head wisely, when speaking of the money-lending lawyer; "a moral man, a church-going man, and a credit to New Orleans. I am sorry there are not more to follow his pious example."
Paul received the money, which was in the shape of a roll of dollar bills.
"I have the numbers of the bills in my pocket-book," said the old man, as he handed the packet to the Mexican; "I'm rather a cautious old fellow, you know, my dear sir."
Paul wrote an acknowledgment of the sum, and handed it to Silas Craig's client.
"Perfectly correct, perfectly correct, my dear sir," Mr. Graham muttered, as he read it over—'Received of John Graham, fifteen thousand dollars'—dated and signed. "Thank you, sir, and good evening."
Paul summoned the mulatto lad to show Mr. Graham out, and then, after locking the money in the cash-box—a small metal casket, which might have easily been carried in the ample pocket of Paul's loose linen coat—he left the office, and double-locked the door behind him.
"I think that's all right, Marcus," he said to the boy.
"Iss, massa."
"You sleep in this office, don't you?"
"Iss, massa."
"Then there's no likelihood of any one entering that room without your being aware of it."
"No, massa; not unless Marcus was very deaf."
"Which, fortunately, you are not. Keep a sharp look-out, my lad, and I'll give you a half dollar to-morrow."
Paul left the office and returned to Villa Moraquitos, where, for once in a way, he found Camillia alone with Mlle. Corsi. Her father was absent at a dinner party, given by Augustus Horton.
This very dinner party was a portion of the villainous plot, concocted by Silas Craig and the planter, for the destruction of Paul Lisimon.
The evening flew by like some blessed dream to the young Mexican. Camillia was by his side; she sang to him wild and plaintive Spanish ballads, whose mournful and harmonious cadence drowned his soul in rapture. The words written in the love-breathing language of that Southern land, from whose orange groves and palaces the ancestors of Camillia had emigrated to Southern America.
A happy evening; alas! the very last of happiness that Paul was to taste for a long time to come.
But even in the society of Camillia Moraquitos, Paul could not quite repress a certain uneasiness about the money he had left in the cash box in Silas Craig's office.
He disliked the responsibility of the trust which had been forced upon him by his employer, and was impatient to return the key of the office to its owner.
For this reason he was at his post earlier than usual the following morning.
Silas Craig did not enter the clerk's office till much later than his customary hour for beginning business. Morisson and one or two others began to speculate upon the probability of their employer having drank rather too freely at the planter's dinner table.
The attorney appeared in a peculiarly amiable temper that morning. He shook hands with Paul, spoke to each of the clerks, commended their work, and then, holding out his hand, said, very graciously, "Now, my dear Lisimon, the key of the office. I suppose Mr. Graham lodged that money in your hands last night?"
"He did, sir; you will find it in the cash-box."
Silas nodded and unlocked the door of the inner office. "Oh, by the bye," he said, "just step this way, Mr. Morisson; I have some directions to give you."
The clerk followed his employer into the office. Five minutes afterward Morisson put his head out of the door: "Mr. Lisimon," he said, "you are wanted, if you please."
Paul hastened to the inner office. The lawyer was looking very grave, but he spoke in his usual friendly tone.
"Where did you say you put the money, my dear Lisimon?" he asked.
"In the small cash-box," replied Paul—"there!"
He pointed, as he spoke, to the table upon which he had left the cash box on the preceding evening.
It was no longer there.
The young Mexican's olive cheek grew suddenly white.
This fact was observed by the clerk, who stood aghast, looking on.
"You must be mistaken, Lisimon; you very likely placed the box in some other part of the office?"
"No!" cried Paul, with energy, "I left it on that table, and nowhere else. Come, Mr. Craig, this must be some jest of yours. You have removed the box since you entered the office, and are doing this to frighten me."
"Was there any box on yonder table when we entered this room, Morisson?" said Craig, addressing himself to the clerk.
"No, sir."
"You see, my dear Lisimon, it must be you who are jesting. Were you any other than the beloved protege of my respected client, Don Juan Moraquitos, I should positively begin to be alarmed."
"Jesting!" exclaimed Paul; "I swear to you that before leaving this office last night, I locked the cash-box containing the dollar bills and placed it upon that table. Search where you will, Morisson," he said, looking at the clerk, who, at a whispered order from his employer, had begun to search the office, "unless there has been witchcraft about, you will find it there and nowhere else, for there I left it."
"Come, come, Mr. Lisimon," said Craig, in an altered tone, "this is really too absurd. We no longer believe in magic, or the juggleries of the fiend. You say you left the box in this apartment last night. It must therefore be here this morning, if you have spoken the truth."
"If I have spoken the truth!" echoed Paul, the hue of his cheeks changing from pale to crimson.
"Not a creature has entered this room since you left it," continued Silas; "for there is but one key to the door, and that has been in your possession until within the last ten minutes. The boy Marcus sleeps in the office; call him, Morisson."
The mulatto lad made his appearance.
"Marcus," said his master, "did any one enter this room last night?"
"No, massa, the door was locked."
"I know that; and no one entered by any means whatever?"
"No one, massa, unless de debil go through de keyhole."
"When Mr. Lisimon left this office last night, had he anything in his hand?"
"Noting, massa."
"But he might have had something in his pocket," muttered Silas, in an undertone.
Paul Lisimon turned upon his employer with indignant fury.
"Mr. Craig," he exclaimed, "could you dare to insinuate—"
"No, Mr. Lisimon, it is rather too late in the day for insinuations," answered the attorney, with a sardonic laugh, "you were left in charge of a sum of money; you were told to place it in this room to which no one but yourself had access. The fact is only too clear; you have disgraced the bounty of your patron; you are a thief!"
"A thief!" shrieked Paul. The lawyer's gold-headed bamboo cane stood in one corner of the office; before the clerk, Morisson, could interpose, Paul Lisimon snatched this cane in his convulsed grasp, and bounding upon Silas Craig, struck him across the face.
"Liar!" he cried, "I see the drift of this double-dyed villainy. I am the victim of a plot, so demoniac, that I shudder at the blackness of its treachery. The money has been removed through your agency—removed in order that my name may be branded with a crime. I fear you not, vile schemer; be it yours to tremble, for Heaven looks down upon us, and will defend the innocent."
He rushed from the office, and had left the house before Silas recovered from the terror these words had struck to his guilty heart.
"Pursue him!" he cried, hoarse with fury; "pursue him, and drag him to prison. Yet, stay, it is too late now to overtake him. I know where to find him—at the Villa Moraquitos."