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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Frame Up, by Richard Harding Davis
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Frame Up
+
+Author: Richard Harding Davis
+
+Posting Date: October 5, 2008 [EBook #1806]
+Release Date: May, 1999
+Last Updated: September 26, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FRAME UP ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Aaron Cannon
+
+
+
+
+
+THE FRAME UP
+
+by Richard Harding Davis
+
+
+When the voice over the telephone promised to name the man who killed
+Hermann Banf, District Attorney Wharton was up-town lunching at
+Delmonico’s. This was contrary to his custom and a concession to
+Hamilton Cutler, his distinguished brother-in-law. That gentleman was
+interested in a State constabulary bill and had asked State Senator
+Bissell to father it. He had suggested to the senator that, in the legal
+points involved in the bill, his brother-in-law would undoubtedly be
+charmed to advise him. So that morning, to talk it over, Bissell had
+come from Albany and, as he was forced to return the same afternoon, had
+asked Wharton to lunch with him up-town near the station.
+
+That in public life there breathed a man with soul so dead who, were he
+offered a chance to serve Hamilton Cutler, would not jump at the chance
+was outside the experience of the county chairman. And in so judging his
+fellow men, with the exception of one man, the senator was right. The
+one man was Hamilton Cutler’s brother-in-law.
+
+In the national affairs of his party Hamilton Cutler was one of the four
+leaders. In two cabinets he had held office. At a foreign court as an
+ambassador his dinners, of which the diplomatic corps still spoke with
+emotion, had upheld the dignity of ninety million Americans. He was
+rich. The history of his family was the history of the State. When the
+Albany boats drew abreast of the old Cutler mansion on the cast bank of
+the Hudson the passengers pointed at it with deference. Even when the
+search lights pointed at it, it was with deference. And on Fifth
+Avenue, as the “Seeing New York” car passed his town house it slowed
+respectfully to half speed. When, apparently for no other reason than
+that she was good and beautiful, he had married the sister of a then
+unknown up State lawyer, every one felt Hamilton Cutler had made his
+first mistake. But, like every thing else into which he entered, for him
+matrimony also was a success. The prettiest girl in Utica showed herself
+worthy of her distinguished husband. She had given him children as
+beautiful as herself; as what Washington calls “a cabinet lady” she had
+kept her name out of the newspapers; as Madame L’Ambassatrice she had
+put archduchesses at their ease; and after ten years she was an adoring
+wife, a devoted mother, and a proud woman. Her pride was in believing
+that for every joy she knew she was indebted entirely to her husband.
+To owe everything to him, to feel that through him the blessings flowed,
+was her ideal of happiness.
+
+In this ideal her brother did not share. Her delight in a sense of
+obligation left him quite cold. No one better than himself knew that
+his rapid-fire rise in public favor was due to his own exertions, to the
+fact that he had worked very hard, had been independent, had kept his
+hands clean, and had worn no man’s collar. Other people believed he owed
+his advancement to his brother-in-law. He knew they believed that,
+and it hurt him. When, at the annual dinner of the Amen Corner, they
+burlesqued him as singing to “Ham” Cutler, “You made me what I am
+to-day, I hope you’re satisfied,” he found that to laugh with the others
+was something of an effort. His was a difficult position. He was a
+party man; he had always worked inside the organization. The fact that
+whenever he ran for an elective office the reformers indorsed him and
+the best elements in the opposition parties voted for him did not shake
+his loyalty to his own people. And to Hamilton Cutler, as one of his
+party leaders, as one of the bosses of the “invisible government,” he
+was willing to defer. But while he could give allegiance to his party
+leaders, and from them was willing to receive the rewards of office,
+from a rich brother-in-law he was not at all willing to accept anything.
+Still less was he willing that of the credit he deserved for years of
+hard work for the party, of self-denial, and of efficient public service
+the rich brother-in-law, should rob him.
+
+His pride was to be known as a self-made man, as the servant only of the
+voters. And now that ambition, now that he was district attorney of
+New York City, to have it said that the office was the gift of his
+brother-in-law was bitter. But he believed the injustice would soon
+end. In a month he was coming up for re-election, and night and day was
+conducting a campaign that he hoped would result in a personal victory
+so complete as to banish the shadow of his brother-in-law. Were he
+re-elected by the majority on which he counted, he would have the party
+leaders on their knees. Hamilton Cutler would be forced to come to him.
+He would be in line for promotion. He knew the leaders did not want
+to promote him, that they considered him too inclined to kick over the
+traces; but were he now re-elected, at the next election, either for
+mayor or governor, he would be his party’s obvious and legitimate
+candidate.
+
+The re-election was not to be an easy victory. Outside his own party,
+to prevent his succeeding himself as district attorney, Tammany Hall
+was using every weapon in her armory. The commissioner of police was a
+Tammany man, and in the public prints Wharton had repeatedly declared
+that Banf, his star witness against the police, had been killed by the
+police, and that they had prevented the discovery of his murderer. For
+this the wigwam wanted his scalp, and to get it had raked his public and
+private life, had used threats and bribes, and with women had tried to
+trap him into a scandal. But “Big Tim” Meehan, the lieutenant the
+Hall had detailed to destroy Wharton, had reported back that for their
+purpose his record was useless, that bribes and threats only flattered
+him, and that the traps set for him he had smilingly side-stepped.
+This was the situation a month before election day when, to oblige his
+brother-in-law, Wharton was up-town at Delmonico’s lunching with Senator
+Bissell.
+
+Down-town at the office, Rumson, the assistant district attorney, was
+on his way to lunch when the telephone-girl halted him. Her voice was
+lowered and betrayed almost human interest.
+
+From the corner of her mouth she whispered: “This man has a note for Mr.
+Wharton--says if he don’t get it quick it’ll be too late--says it will
+tell him who killed ‘Heimie’ Banf!”
+
+The young man and the girl looked at each other and smiled. Their
+experience had not tended to make them credulous. Had he lived, Hermann
+Banf would have been, for Wharton, the star witness against a ring of
+corrupt police officials. In consequence his murder was more than the
+taking off of a shady and disreputable citizen. It was a blow struck
+at the high office of the district attorney, at the grand jury, and the
+law. But, so far, whoever struck the blow had escaped punishment, and
+though for a month, ceaselessly, by night and day “the office” and the
+police had sought him, he was still at large, still “unknown.” There had
+been hundreds of clews. They had been furnished by the detectives of
+the city and county and of the private agencies, by amateurs, by
+news-papers, by members of the underworld with a score to pay off or to
+gain favor. But no clew had led anywhere. When, in hoarse whispers,
+the last one had been confided to him by his detectives, Wharton had
+protested indignantly.
+
+“Stop bringing me clews!” he exclaimed. “I want the man. I can’t
+electrocute a clew!”
+
+So when, after all other efforts, over the telephone a strange voice
+offered to deliver the murderer, Rumson was skeptical. He motioned the
+girl to switch to the desk telephone.
+
+“Assistant District Attorney Rumson speaking,” he said. “What can I do
+for you?”’
+
+Before the answer came, as though the speaker were choosing his words,
+there was a pause. It lasted so long that Rumson exclaimed sharply:
+
+“Hello,” he called. “Do you want to speak to me, or do you want to speak
+to me?”
+
+“I’ve gotta letter for the district attorney,” said the voice. “I’m to
+give it to nobody but him. It’s about Banf. He must get it quick, or
+it’ll be too late.”
+
+“Who are you?” demanded Rumson. “Where are you speaking from?”
+
+The man at the other end of the wire ignored the questions.
+
+“Where’ll Wharton be for the next twenty minutes?”
+
+“If I tell you,” parried Rumson, “will you bring the letter at once?”
+ The voice exclaimed indignantly:
+
+“Bring nothing! I’ll send it by district messenger. You’re wasting time
+trying to reach me. It’s the LETTER you want. It tells----” the voice
+broke with an oath and instantly began again: “I can’t talk over a
+phone. I tell you, it’s life or death. If you lose out, it’s your own
+fault. Where can I find Wharton?”
+
+“At Delmonico’s,” answered Rumson. “He’ll be there until two o’clock.”
+ “Delmonico’s! That’s Forty-fort Street?” “Right,” said Rumson. “Tell the
+messenger----” He heard the receiver slam upon the hook. With the light
+of the hunter in his eyes, he turned to the girl.
+
+“They can laugh,” he cried, “but I believe we’ve hooked something. I’m
+going after it.” In the waiting-room he found the detectives. “Hewitt,”
+ he ordered, “take the subway and whip up to Delmonico’s. Talk to the
+taxi-starter till a messenger-boy brings a letter for the D. A. Let the
+boy deliver the note, and then trail him till he reports to the man he
+got it from. Bring the man here. If it’s a district messenger and he
+doesn’t report, but goes straight back to the office, find out who gave
+him the note; get his description. Then meet me at Delmonico’s.”
+
+Rumson called up that restaurant and had Wharton come to the phone.
+He asked his chief to wait until a letter he believed to be of great
+importance was delivered to him. He explained, but, of necessity,
+somewhat sketchily. “It sounds to me,” commented his chief, “like a plot
+of yours to get a lunch up-town.”
+
+“Invitation!” cried Rumson. “I’ll be with you in ten minutes.”
+
+After Rumson had joined Wharton and Bissell the note arrived. It was
+brought to the restaurant by a messenger-boy, who said that in answer to
+a call from a saloon on Sixth Avenue he had received it from a young man
+in ready-to-wear clothes and a green hat. When Hewitt, the detective,
+asked what the young man looked like, the boy said he looked like a
+young man in ready-to-wear clothes and a green hat. But when the note
+was read the identity of the man who delivered it ceased to be of
+importance. The paper on which it was written was without stamped
+address or monogram, and carried with it the mixed odors of the
+drug-store at which it had been purchased. The handwriting was that of a
+woman, and what she had written was: “If the district attorney will come
+at once, and alone, to Kessler’s Cafe, on the Boston Post Road, near the
+city line, he will be told who killed Hermann Banf. If he don’t come in
+an hour, it will be too late. If he brings anybody with him, he won’t
+be told anything. Leave your car in the road and walk up the drive. Ida
+Earle.”
+
+Hewitt, who had sent away the messenger-boy and had been called in to
+give expert advice, was enthusiastic.
+
+“Mr. District Attorney,” he cried, “that’s no crank letter. This
+Earle woman is wise. You got to take her as a serious proposition. She
+wouldn’t make that play if she couldn’t get away with it.”
+
+“Who is she?” asked Wharton.
+
+To the police, the detective assured them, Ida Earle had been known for
+years. When she was young she had been under the protection of a man
+high in the ranks of Tammany, and, in consequence, with her different
+ventures the Police had never interfered. She now was proprietress of
+the road-house in the note described as Kessler’s Cafe. It was a place
+for joy-riders. There was a cabaret, a hall for public dancing, and
+rooms for very private suppers.
+
+In so far as it welcomed only those who could spend money it was
+exclusive, but in all other respects its reputation was of the worst. In
+situation it was lonely, and from other houses separated by a quarter of
+a mile of dying trees and vacant lots.
+
+The Boston Post Road upon which it faced was the old post road, but
+lately, through this back yard and dumping-ground of the city, had been
+relaid. It was patrolled only and infrequently by bicycle policemen.
+“But this,” continued the detective eagerly, “is where we win out. The
+road-house is an old farmhouse built over, with the barns changed into
+garages. They stand on the edge of a wood. It’s about as big as a city
+block. If we come in through the woods from the rear, the garages will
+hide us. Nobody in the house can see us, but we won’t be a hundred yards
+away. You’ve only to blow a police whistle and we’ll be with you.”
+
+“You mean I ought to go?” said Wharton.
+
+Rumson exclaimed incredulously: “You got to go!”
+
+“It looks to me,” objected Bissell, “like a plot to get you there alone
+and rap you on the head.” “Not with that note inviting him there,”
+ protested Hewitt, “and signed by Earle herself.”
+
+“You don’t know she signed it?” objected the senator.
+
+“I know her,” returned the detective. “I know she’s no fool. It’s her
+place, and she wouldn’t let them pull off any rough stuff there--not
+against the D. A. anyway.”
+
+The D. A. was rereading the note. “Might this be it?” he asked.
+“Suppose it’s a trick to mix me up in a scandal? You say the place is
+disreputable. Suppose they’re planning to compromise me just before
+election. They’ve tried it already several times.”
+
+“You’ve still got the note,” persisted Hewitt. “It proves why you went
+there. And the senator, too. He can testify. And we won’t be hundred
+yards away. And,” he added grudgingly, “you have Nolan.”
+
+Nolan was the spoiled child of ‘the office.’ He was the district
+attorney’s pet. Although still young, he had scored as a detective and
+as a driver of racing-cars. As Wharton’s chauffeur he now doubled the
+parts.
+
+“What Nolan testified wouldn’t be any help,” said Wharton. “They would
+say it was just a story he invented to save me.”
+
+“Then square yourself this way,” urged Rumson. “Send a note now by hand
+to Ham Cutler and one to your sister. Tell them you’re going to Ida
+Earle’s--and why--tell them you’re afraid it’s a frame-up, and for them
+to keep your notes as evidence. And enclose the one from her.”
+
+Wharton nodded in approval, and, while he wrote, Rumson and the
+detective planned how, without those inside the road-house being aware
+of their presence, they might be near it.
+
+Kessler’s Cafe lay in the Seventy-ninth Police Precinct. In taxi-cabs
+they arranged to start at once and proceed down White Plains Avenue,
+which parallels the Boston Road, until they were on a line with
+Kessler’s, but from it hidden by the woods and the garages. A walk of a
+quarter of a mile across lots and under cover of the trees would bring
+them to within a hundred yards of the house.
+
+Wharton was to give them a start of half an hour. That he might know
+they were on watch, they agreed, after they dismissed the taxi-cabs, to
+send one of them into the Boston Post Road past the road-house. When it
+was directly in front of the cafe, the chauffeur would throw away into
+the road an empty cigarette-case.
+
+From the cigar-stand they selected a cigarette box of a startling
+yellow. At half a mile it was conspicuous.
+
+“When you see this in the road,” explained Rumson, “you’ll know we’re on
+the job. And after you’re inside, if you need us, you’ve only to go to a
+rear window and wave.”
+
+“If they mean to do him up,” growled Bissell, “he won’t get to a rear
+window.”
+
+“He can always tell them we’re outside,” said Rumson----“and they are
+extremely likely to believe him. Do you want a gun?”
+
+“No,” said the D. A.
+
+“Better have mine,”’ urged Hewitt.
+
+“I have my own,” explained the D. A.
+
+ Rumson and Hewitt set off in taxi-cabs and, a half-hour later,
+Wharton followed. As he sank back against the cushions of the big
+touring-car he felt a pleasing thrill of excitement, and as he passed
+the traffic police, and they saluted mechanically, he smiled. Had they
+guessed his errand their interest in his progress would have been less
+perfunctory. In half an hour he might know that the police killed Banf;
+in half an hour he himself might walk into a trap they had, in turn,
+staged for him. As the car ran swiftly through the clean October air,
+and the wind and sun alternately chilled and warmed his blood, Wharton
+considered these possibilities.
+
+He could not believe the woman Earle would lend herself to any plot to
+do him bodily harm. She was a responsible person. In her own world
+she was as important a figure as was the district attorney in his. Her
+allies were the man “higher up” in Tammany and the police of the upper
+ranks of the uniformed force. And of the higher office of the district
+attorney she possessed an intimate and respectful knowledge. It was
+not to be considered that against the prosecuting attorney such a woman
+would wage war. So the thought that upon his person any assault was
+meditated Wharton dismissed as unintelligent. That it was upon his
+reputation the attack was planned seemed much more probable. But that
+contingency he had foreseen and so, he believed, forestalled. There then
+remained only the possibility that the offer in the letter was genuine.
+It seemed quite too good to be true. For, as he asked himself, on the
+very eve of an election, why should Tammany, or a friend of Tammany,
+place in his possession the information that to the Tammany candidate
+would bring inevitable defeat. He felt that the way they were playing
+into his hands was too open, too generous. If their object was to lead
+him into a trap, of all baits they might use the promise to tell him who
+killed Banf was the one certain to attract him. It made their invitation
+to walk into the parlor almost too obvious. But were the offer not
+genuine, there was a condition attached to it that puzzled him. It was
+not the condition that stipulated he should come alone. His experience
+had taught him many will confess, or betray, to the district attorney
+who, to a deputy, will tell nothing. The condition that puzzled him was
+the one that insisted he should come at once or it would be “too late.”
+
+Why was haste so imperative? Why, if he delayed, would he be “too late”?
+Was the man he sought about to escape from his jurisdiction, was he
+dying, and was it his wish to make a death-bed confession; or was he so
+reluctant to speak that delay might cause him to reconsider and remain
+silent?
+
+With these questions in his mind, the minutes quickly passed, and it
+was with a thrill of excitement Wharton saw that Nolan had left the
+Zoological Gardens on the right and turned into the Boston Road. It had
+but lately been completed and to Wharton was unfamiliar. On either side
+of the unscarred roadway still lay scattered the uprooted trees and
+boulders that had blocked its progress, and abandoned by the contractors
+were empty tar-barrels, cement-sacks, tool-sheds, and forges. Nor
+was the surrounding landscape less raw and unlovely. Toward the Sound
+stretched vacant lots covered with ash heaps; to the left a few old and
+broken houses set among the glass-covered cold frames of truck-farms.
+
+The district attorney felt a sudden twinge of loneliness. And when an
+automobile sign told him he was “10 miles from Columbus Circle,” he felt
+that from the New York he knew he was much farther. Two miles up the
+road his car overhauled a bicycle policeman, and Wharton halted him.
+
+“Is there a road-house called Kessler’s beyond here?” he asked.
+
+“On the left, farther up,” the officer told him, and added: “You can’t
+miss it Mr. Wharton; there’s no other house near it.”
+
+“You know me,” said the D.A. “Then you’ll understand what I want you to
+do. I’ve agreed to go to that house alone. If they see you pass they may
+think I’m not playing fair. So stop here.”
+
+The man nodded and dismounted.
+
+“But,” added the district attorney, as the car started forward again,
+“If you hear shots, I don’t care how fast you come.”
+
+The officer grinned.
+
+“Better let me trail along now,” he called; “that’s a tough joint.”
+
+But Wharton motioned him back; and when again he turned to look the man
+still stood where they had parted.
+
+Two minutes later an empty taxi-cab came swiftly toward him and, as it
+passed, the driver lifted his hand from the wheel, and with his thumb
+motioned behind him.
+
+“That’s one of the men,” said Nolan, “that started with Mr. Rumson and
+Hewitt from Delmonico’s.”
+
+Wharton nodded; and, now assured that in their plan there had been no
+hitch, smiled with satisfaction. A moment later, when ahead of them on
+the asphalt road Nolan pointed out a spot of yellow, he recognized the
+signal and knew that within call were friends.
+
+The yellow cigarette-box lay directly in front of a long wooden building
+of two stories. It was linked to the road by a curving driveway marked
+on either side by whitewashed stones.
+
+On verandas enclosed In glass Wharton saw white-covered tables under
+red candle-shade and, protruding from one end of the house and hung with
+electric lights in paper lanterns, a pavilion for dancing. In the rear
+of the house stood sheds and a thick tangle of trees on which the
+autumn leaves showed yellow painted fingers and arrows pointing, and an
+electric sign, proclaimed to all who passed that this was Kessler’s. In
+spite of its reputation, the house wore the aspect of the commonplace.
+In evidence nothing flaunted, nothing threatened From a dozen other inns
+along the Pelham Parkway and the Boston Post Road it was no way to be
+distinguished.
+
+As directed in the note, Wharton left the car in the road. “For five
+minutes stay where you are,” he ordered Nolan; “then go to the bar and
+get a drink. Don’t talk to any one or they’ll think you’re trying to get
+information. Work around to the back of the house. Stand where I can see
+you from the window. I may want you to carry a message to Mr. Rumson.”
+
+On foot Wharton walked up the curved drive-way, and if from the house
+his approach was spied upon, there was no evidence. In the second story
+the blinds were drawn and on the first floor the verandas were empty.
+Nor, not even after he had mounted to the veranda and stepped inside
+the house, was there any sign that his visit was expected. He stood in a
+hall, and in front of him rose a broad flight of stairs that he guessed
+led to the private supper-rooms. On his left was the restaurant.
+
+Swept and garnished after the revels of the night previous, and as
+though resting in preparation for those to come, it an air of peaceful
+inactivity. At a table a maitre d’ho’tel was composing the menu for the
+evening, against the walls three colored waiters lounged sleepily, and
+on a platform at a piano a pale youth with drugged eyes was with one
+hand picking an accompaniment. As Wharton paused uncertainly the young
+man, disdaining his audience, in a shrill, nasal tenor raised his voice
+and sang:
+
+ “And from the time the rooster calls I’ll wear my overalls,
+ And you, a simple gingham gown. So, if you’re strong for a
+shower of rice, We two could make a paradise Of any One-Horse Town.”
+
+At sight of Wharton the head waiter reluctantly detached himself from
+his menu and rose. But before he could greet the visitor, Wharton heard
+his name spoken and, looking up, saw a woman descending the stairs. It
+was apparent that when young she had been beautiful, and, in spite of an
+expression in her eyes of hardness and distrust, which seemed habitual,
+she was still handsome. She was without a hat and wearing a house dress
+of decorous shades and in the extreme of fashion. Her black hair, built
+up in artificial waves, was heavy with brilliantine; her hands, covered
+deep with rings, and of an unnatural white, showed the most fastidious
+care. But her complexion was her own; and her skin, free from paint
+and powder, glowed with that healthy pink that is supposed to be the
+perquisite only of the simple life and a conscience undisturbed.
+
+“I am Mrs. Earle,” said the woman. “I wrote you that note. Will you
+please come this way?”
+
+That she did not suppose he might not come that way was obvious, for, as
+she spoke, she turned her back on him and mounted the stairs. After an
+instant of hesitation, Wharton followed.
+
+As well as his mind, his body was now acutely alive and vigilant. Both
+physically and mentally he moved on tiptoe. For whatever surprise, for
+whatever ambush might lie in wait, he was prepared. At the top of the
+stairs he found a wide hall along which on both sides were many doors.
+The one directly facing the stairs stood open. At one side of this the
+woman halted and with a gesture of the jewelled fingers invited him to
+enter.
+
+“My sitting-room,” she said. As Wharton remained motionless she
+substituted: “My office.”
+
+Peering into the room, Wharton found it suited to both titles. He saw
+comfortable chairs, vases filled with autumn leaves, in silver frames
+photographs, and between two open windows a business-like roller-top
+desk on which was a hand telephone. In plain sight through the windows
+he beheld the garage and behind it the tops of trees. To summon Rumson,
+to keep in touch with Nolan, he need only step to one of these windows
+and beckon. The strategic position of the room appealed, and with a
+bow of the head he passed in front of his hostess and entered it. He
+continued to take note of his surroundings.
+
+He now saw that from the office in which he stood doors led to rooms
+adjoining. These doors were shut, and he determined swiftly that before
+the interview began he first must know what lay behind them. Mrs. Earle
+had followed and, as she entered, closed the door.
+
+“No!” said Wharton.
+
+It was the first time he had spoken. For an instant the woman hesitated,
+regarding him thoughtfully, and then without resentment pulled the door
+open. She came toward him swiftly, and he was conscious of the rustle of
+silk and the stirring of perfumes. At the open door she cast a frown of
+disapproval and then, with her face close to his, spoke hurriedly in a
+whisper.
+
+“A man brought a girl here to lunch,” she said; “they’ve been here
+before. The girl claims the man told her he was going to marry her.
+Last night she found out he has a wife already, and she came here to-day
+meaning to make trouble. She brought a gun. They were in the room at the
+far end of the hall. George, the water, heard the two shots and ran down
+here to get me. No one else heard. These rooms are fixed to keep out
+noise, and the piano was going. We broke in and found them on the floor.
+The man was shot through the shoulder, the girl through the body. His
+story is that after she fired, in trying to get the gun from her, she
+shot herself-by accident. That’s right, I guess. But the girl says
+they came here to die together--what the newspaper call a ‘suicide
+pact’--because they couldn’t marry, and that he first shot her,
+intending to kill her and then himself. That’s silly. She framed it to
+get him. She missed him with the gun, so now she’s trying to get him
+with this murder charge. I know her. If she’d been sober she wouldn’t
+have shot him; she’d have blackmailed him. She’s that sort. I know her,
+and----”
+
+ With an exclamation the district attorney broke in upon her. “And
+the man,” he demanded eagerly; “was it HE killed Banf?”
+
+In amazement the woman stared. “Certainly NOT!” she said.
+
+“Then what HAS this to do with Banf?”
+
+“Nothing!” Her tone was annoyed, reproachful. “That was only to bring
+you here.”
+
+His disappointment was so keen that it threatened to exhibit itself
+in anger. Recognizing this, before he spoke Wharton forced himself to
+pause. Then he repeated her words quietly.
+
+“Bring me here?” he asked. “Why?”
+
+The woman exclaimed impatiently: “So you could beat the police to it,”
+ she whispered. “So you could HUSH IT UP!”
+
+The surprised laugh of the man was quite real. It bore no resentment or
+pose. He was genuinely amused. Then the dignity of his office, tricked
+and insulted, demanded to be heard. He stared at her coldly; his
+indignation was apparent.
+
+“You have done extremely ill,” he told her. “You know perfectly well
+you had no right to bring me up here; to drag me into a row in your
+road-house. ‘Hush it up!’” he exclaimed hotly. This time his laugh was
+contemptuous and threatening. “I’ll show you how I’ll hush it up!” He
+moved quickly to the open window.
+
+“Stop!” commanded the woman. “You can’t do that!” She ran to the door.
+
+Again he was conscious of the rustle of silk, of the stirring of
+perfumes.
+
+He heard the key turn in the lock. It had Come. It was a frame-up. There
+would be a scandal. And to save himself from it they would force him
+to “hush up” this other one. But, as to the outcome, in no way was he
+concerned. Through the window, standing directly below it, he had seen
+Nolan. In the sunlit yard the chauffeur, his cap on the back of his
+head, his cigarette drooping from his lips, was tossing the remnants of
+a sandwich to a circle of excited hens. He presented a picture of bored
+indolence, of innocent preoccupation. It was almost too well done.
+
+Assured of a witness for the defense, he greeted the woman with a smile.
+“Why can’t I do it?” he taunted.
+
+She ran close to him and laid her hands on his arm. Her eyes were
+fixed steadily on his. “Because,” she whispered, “the man who shot that
+girl-is your brother-in-law, Ham Cutler!”
+
+For what seemed a long time Wharton stood looking down into the eyes of
+the woman, and the eyes never faltered. Later he recalled that in the
+sudden silence many noises disturbed the lazy hush of the Indian-summer
+afternoon: the rush of a motor-car on the Boston Road, the tinkle of
+the piano and the voice of the youth with the drugged eyes singing, “And
+you’ll wear a simple gingham gown,” from the yard below the cluck-cluck
+of the chickens and the cooing of pigeons.
+
+His first thought was of his sister and of her children, and of what
+this bomb, hurled from the clouds, would mean to her. He thought
+of Cutler, at the height of his power and usefulness, by this one
+disreputable act dragged into the mire, of what disaster it might bring
+to the party, to himself.
+
+If, as the woman invited, he helped to “hush it up,” and Tammany learned
+the truth, it would make short work of him. It would say, for the
+murderer of Banf he had one law and for the rich brother-in-law, who had
+tried to kill the girl he deceived, another. But before he gave voice to
+his thoughts he recognized them as springing only from panic. They were
+of a part with the acts of men driven by sudden fear, and of which acts
+in their sane moments they would be incapable.
+
+The shock of the woman’s words had unsettled his traditions. Not only
+was he condemning a man unheard, but a man who, though he might dislike
+him, he had for years, for his private virtues, trusted and admired. The
+panic passed and with a confident smile he shook his head.
+
+“I don’t believe you,” he said quietly.
+
+The manner of the woman was equally calm, equally assured.
+
+“Will you see her?” she asked.
+
+“I’d rather see my brother-in-law,” he answered
+
+The woman handed him a card.
+
+“Doctor Muir took him to his private hospital,” she said. “I loaned them
+my car because it’s a limousine. The address is on that card. But,” she
+added, “both your brother and Sammy--that’s Sam Muir, the doctor--asked
+you wouldn’t use the telephone; they’re afraid of a leak.”
+
+Apparently Wharton did not hear her. As though it were “Exhibit A,”
+ presented in evidence by the defense, he was studying the card she had
+given him. He stuck it in his pocket.
+
+“I’ll go to him at once,” he said.
+
+To restrain or dissuade him, the woman made no sudden move. In level
+tones she said:
+
+“Your brother-in-law asked especially that you wouldn’t do that until
+you’d fixed it with the girl. Your face is too well known. He’s afraid
+some one might find out where he is--and for a day or two no one must
+know that.”
+
+“This doctor knows it,” retorted Wharton.
+
+The suggestion seemed to strike Mrs. Earle as humorous. For the first
+time she laughed. “Sammy!” she exclaimed. “He’s a lobbygow of mine. He’s
+worked for me for years. I could send him up the river if I liked. He
+knows it.” Her tone was convincing. “They both asked,” she continued
+evenly, “you should keep off until the girl is out of the country, and
+fixed.” Wharton frowned thoughtfully.
+
+And, observing this, the eyes of the woman showed that, so far, toward
+the unfortunate incident the attitude of the district attorney was to
+her most gratifying. Wharton ceased frowning. “How fixed?” he asked.
+Mrs. Earle shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“Cutler’s idea is money,” she said; “but, believe me, he’s wrong. This
+girl is a vampire. She’ll only come back to you for more. She’ll keep on
+threatening to tell the wife, to tell the papers. The way to fix her is
+to throw a scare into her. And there’s only one man can do that; there’s
+only one man that can hush this thing up--that’s you.”
+
+“When can I see her?” asked Wharton.
+
+“Now,” said the woman. “I’ll bring her.” Wharton could not suppress an
+involuntary “Here?” he exclaimed.
+
+For the shade of a second Mrs. Earle exhibited the slightest evidence of
+embarrassment.
+
+“My room’s in a mess,” she explained; “and she’s not hurt so much as
+Sammy said. He told her she was in bad just to keep her quiet until you
+got here.”
+
+Mrs. Earle opened one of the doors leading from the room. “I won’t be a
+minute,” she said. Quietly she closed the door behind her.
+
+Upon her disappearance the manner of the district attorney underwent an
+abrupt change. He ran softly to the door opposite the one through which
+Mrs. Earle had passed, and pulled it open. But, if beyond it he expected
+to find an audience of eavesdroppers, he was disappointed. The room was
+empty, and bore no evidence of recent occupation.. He closed the door,
+and, from the roller-top desk, snatching a piece of paper, scribbled
+upon it hastily. Wrapping the paper around a coin, and holding it
+exposed to view, he showed himself at the window. Below him, to an
+increasing circle of hens and pigeons, Nolan was still scattering
+crumbs. Without withdrawing his gaze from them, the chauffeur nodded.
+Wharton opened his hand and the note fell into the yard. Behind him he
+heard the murmur of voices, the sobs of a woman in pain, and the rattle
+of a door-knob. As from the window he turned quickly, he saw that toward
+the spot where his note had fallen Nolan was tossing the last remnants
+of his sandwich.
+
+The girl who entered with Mrs. Earle, leaning on her and supported by
+her, was tall and fair. Around her shoulders her blond hair hung in
+disorder, and around her waist, under the kimono Mrs. Earle had
+thrown about her, were wrapped many layers of bandages. The girl moved
+unsteadily and sank into a chair.
+
+In a hostile tone Mrs. Earle addressed her.
+
+“Rose,” she said, “this is the district attorney.” To him she added:
+“She calls herself Rose Gerard.”
+
+One hand the girl held close against her side, with the other she
+brushed back the hair from her forehead. From half-closed eyes she
+stared at Wharton defiantly.
+
+“Well,” she challenged, “what about it?”
+
+Wharton seated himself in front of the roller-top desk.
+
+“Are you strong enough to tell me?” he asked.
+
+His tone was kind, and this the girl seemed to resent.
+
+“Don’t you worry,” she sneered, “I’m strong enough. Strong enough to
+tell all I know--to you, and to the papers, and to a jury--until I get
+justice.” She clinched her free hand and feebly shook it at him. “THAT’S
+what I’m going to get,” she cried, her voice breaking hysterically,
+“justice.”
+
+From behind the arm-chair in which the girl half-reclined Mrs. Earle
+caught the eye of the district attorney and shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“Just what DID happen?” asked Wharton.
+
+Apparently with an effort the girl pulled herself together.
+
+“I first met your brother-in-law----” she began.
+
+Wharton interrupted quietly.
+
+“Wait!” he said. “You are not talking to me as anybody’s brother-in-law,
+but as the district attorney.”
+
+The girl laughed vindictively.
+
+“I don’t wonder you’re ashamed of him!” she jeered.
+
+Again she began: “I first met Ham Cutler last May. He wanted to marry me
+then. He told me he was not a married man.”
+
+As her story unfolded, Wharton did not again interrupt; and speaking
+quickly, in abrupt, broken phrases, the girl brought her narrative to
+the moment when, as she claimed, Cutler had attempted to kill her.
+At this point a knock at the locked door caused both the girl and her
+audience to start. Wharton looked at Mrs. Earle inquiringly, but she
+shook her head, and with a look at him also of inquiry, and of suspicion
+as well, opened the door.
+
+With apologies her head waiter presented a letter.
+
+“For Mr. Wharton,” he explained, “from his chauffeur.”
+
+Wharton’s annoyance at the interruption was most apparent. “What the
+devil----” he began.
+
+He read the note rapidly, and with a frown of irritation raised his eyes
+to Mrs. Earle.
+
+“He wants to go to New Rochelle for an inner tube,” he said. “How long
+would it take him to get there and back?”
+
+The hard and distrustful expression upon the face of Mrs. Earle, which
+was habitual, was now most strongly in evidence. Her eyes searched those
+of Wharton.
+
+“Twenty minutes, she said.
+
+“He can’t go,” snapped Wharton.
+
+“Tell him,” he directed the waiter, “to stay where he is. Tell him I
+may want to go back to the office any minute.” He turned eagerly to the
+girl. “I’m sorry,” he said. With impatience he crumpled the note into a
+ball and glanced about him. At his feet was a waste-paper basket. Fixed
+upon him he saw, while pretending not to see, the eyes of Mrs. Earle
+burning with suspicion. If he destroyed the note, he knew suspicion
+would become certainty. Without an instant of hesitation, carelessly
+he tossed it intact into the waste-paper basket. Toward Rose Gerard he
+swung the revolving chair.
+
+“Go on, Please,” he commanded.
+
+The girl had now reached the climax of her story, but the eyes of
+Mrs. Earle betrayed the fact that her thoughts were elsewhere. With
+an intense and hungry longing, they were concentrated upon her own
+waste-paper basket.
+
+The voice of the girl in anger and defiance recalled Mrs. Earle to the
+business of the moment.
+
+“He tried to kill me,” shouted Miss Rose. “And his shooting himself in
+the shoulder was a bluff. THAT’S my story; that’s the story I’m going
+to tell the judge”--her voice soared shrilly--“that’s the story that’s
+going to send your brother-in-law to Sing Sing!”
+
+For the first time Mrs. Earle contributed to the general conversation.
+
+“You talk like a fish,” she said.
+
+The girl turned upon her savagely.
+
+“If he don’t like the way I talk,” she cried, “he can come across!”
+
+Mrs. Earle exclaimed in horror. Virtuously her hands were raised in
+protest.
+
+“Like hell he will!” she said. “You can’t pull that under my roof!”
+ Wharton looked disturbed.
+
+“Come across?” he asked.
+
+“Come across?” mimicked the girl. “Send me abroad and keep me there. And
+I’ll swear it was an accident. Twenty-five thousand, that’s all I want.
+Cutler told me he was going to make you governor. He can’t make you
+governor if he’s in Sing Sing, can he? Ain’t it worth twenty-five
+thousand to you to be governor? Come on,” she jeered, “kick in!”
+
+With a grave but untroubled voice Wharton addressed Mrs. Earle.
+
+“May I use your telephone?” he asked. He did not wait for her consent,
+but from the desk lifted the hand telephone.
+
+“Spring, three one hundred!” he said. He sat with his legs comfortably
+crossed, the stand of the instrument balanced on his knee, his eyes
+gazing meditatively at the yellow tree-tops.
+
+If with apprehension both women started, if the girl thrust herself
+forward, and by the hand of Mrs. Earle was dragged back, he did not
+appear to know it.
+
+“Police headquarters?” they heard him ask. “I want to speak to the
+commissioner. This is the district attorney.”
+
+In the pause that followed, as though to torment her, the pain, in her
+side apparently turned, for the girl screamed sharply.
+
+“Be still!” commanded the older woman. Breathless, across the top of the
+arm-chair, she was leaning forward. Upon the man at the telephone her
+eyes were fixed in fascination.
+
+“Commissioner,” said the district attorney, “this is Wharton speaking.
+A woman has made a charge of attempted murder to me against my
+brother-in-law, Hamilton Cutler. On account of our relationship, I want
+you to make the arrest. If there were any slip, and he got away, it
+might be said I arranged it. You will find him at the Winona apartments
+on the Southern Boulevard, in the private hospital of a Doctor Samuel
+Muir. Arrest them both. The girl who makes the charge is at Kessler’s
+Cafe, on the Boston Post Road, just inside the city line. Arrest her
+too. She tried to blackmail me. I’ll appear against her.”
+
+Wharton rose and addressed himself to Mrs. Earle.
+
+“I’m, sorry,” he said, “but I had to do it. You might have known I could
+not hush it up. I am the only man who can’t hush it up. The people of
+New York elected me to enforce the laws.” Wharton’s voice was raised to
+a loud pitch. It seemed unnecessarily loud. It was almost as though he
+were addressing another and more distant audience. “And,” he continued,
+his voice still soaring, “even if my own family suffer, even if I
+suffer, even if I lose political promotion, those laws I will enforce!”
+ In the more conventional tone of every-day politeness, he added: “May I
+speak to you outside, Mrs. Earle?”
+
+But, as in silence that lady descended the stairs, the district attorney
+seemed to have forgotten what it was he wished to say.
+
+It was not until he had seen his chauffeur arouse himself from
+apparently deep slumber and crank the car that he addressed her.
+
+“That girl,” he said, “had better go back to bed. My men are all around
+this house and, until the police come, will detain her.”
+
+He shook the jewelled fingers of Mrs. Earle warmly. “I thank you,” he
+said; “I know you meant well. I know you wanted to help me, but”--he
+shrugged his shoulders--“my duty!”
+
+As he walked down the driveway to his car his shoulders continued to
+move.
+
+But Mrs. Earle did not wait to observe this phenomenon. Rid of his
+presence, she leaped, rather than ran, up the stairs and threw open the
+door of her office.
+
+As she entered, two men followed her. One was a young man who held in
+his hand an open note-book, the other was Tim Meehan, of Tammany. The
+latter greeted her with a shout.
+
+“We heard everything he said,” he cried. His voice rose in torment. “An’
+we can’t use a word of it! He acted just like we’d oughta knowed he’d
+act. He’s HONEST! He’s so damned honest he ain’t human; he’s a--gilded
+saint!”
+
+Mrs. Earle did not heed him. On her knees she was tossing to the floor
+the contents of the waste-paper basket. From them she snatched a piece
+of crumpled paper.
+
+“Shut up!” she shouted. “Listen! His chauffeur brought him this.” In a
+voice that quivered with indignation, that sobbed with anger, she read
+aloud:
+
+“‘As directed by your note from the window, I went to the booth
+and called up Mrs. Cutler’s house and got herself on the phone. Your
+brother-in-law lunched at home to-day with her and the children and they
+are now going to the Hippodrome.
+
+“Stop, look, and listen! Back of the bar I see two men in a room, but
+they did not see me. One is Tim Meehan, the other is a stenographer.
+He is taking notes. Each of them has on the ear-muffs of a dictagraph.
+Looks like you’d better watch your step and not say nothing you don’t
+want Tammany to print.’” The voice of Mrs. Earle rose in a shrill
+shriek.
+
+“Him--a gilded saint?” she screamed; “you big stiff! He knew he was
+talking into a dictagraph all the time, and he double-crossed us!”
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Frame Up, by Richard Harding Davis
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