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diff --git a/1806-h/1806-h.htm b/1806-h/1806-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e57ef60 --- /dev/null +++ b/1806-h/1806-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1515 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Frame Up, by Richard Harding Davis + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +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 + +Release Date: October 5, 2008 [EBook #1806] +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, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE FRAME UP + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Richard Harding Davis + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Stop bringing me clews!” he exclaimed. “I want the man. I can’t + electrocute a clew!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Assistant District Attorney Rumson speaking,” he said. “What can I do for + you?”’ + </p> + <p> + Before the answer came, as though the speaker were choosing his words, + there was a pause. It lasted so long that Rumson exclaimed sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” he called. “Do you want to speak to me, or do you want to speak + to me?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” demanded Rumson. “Where are you speaking from?” + </p> + <p> + The man at the other end of the wire ignored the questions. + </p> + <p> + “Where’ll Wharton be for the next twenty minutes?” + </p> + <p> + “If I tell you,” parried Rumson, “will you bring the letter at once?” The + voice exclaimed indignantly: + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Invitation!” cried Rumson. “I’ll be with you in ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Hewitt, who had sent away the messenger-boy and had been called in to give + expert advice, was enthusiastic. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” asked Wharton. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean I ought to go?” said Wharton. + </p> + <p> + Rumson exclaimed incredulously: “You got to go!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know she signed it?” objected the senator. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What Nolan testified wouldn’t be any help,” said Wharton. “They would say + it was just a story he invented to save me.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + From the cigar-stand they selected a cigarette box of a startling yellow. + At half a mile it was conspicuous. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “If they mean to do him up,” growled Bissell, “he won’t get to a rear + window.” + </p> + <p> + “He can always tell them we’re outside,” said Rumson——“and + they are extremely likely to believe him. Do you want a gun?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the D. A. + </p> + <p> + “Better have mine,”’ urged Hewitt. + </p> + <p> + “I have my own,” explained the D. A. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is there a road-house called Kessler’s beyond here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The man nodded and dismounted. + </p> + <p> + “But,” added the district attorney, as the car started forward again, “If + you hear shots, I don’t care how fast you come.” + </p> + <p> + The officer grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Better let me trail along now,” he called; “that’s a tough joint.” + </p> + <p> + But Wharton motioned him back; and when again he turned to look the man + still stood where they had parted. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That’s one of the men,” said Nolan, “that started with Mr. Rumson and + Hewitt from Delmonico’s.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I am Mrs. Earle,” said the woman. “I wrote you that note. Will you please + come this way?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “My sitting-room,” she said. As Wharton remained motionless she + substituted: “My office.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Wharton. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + With an exclamation the district attorney broke in upon her. “And the + man,” he demanded eagerly; “was it HE killed Banf?” + </p> + <p> + In amazement the woman stared. “Certainly NOT!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Then what HAS this to do with Banf?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” Her tone was annoyed, reproachful. “That was only to bring you + here.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Bring me here?” he asked. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + The woman exclaimed impatiently: “So you could beat the police to it,” she + whispered. “So you could HUSH IT UP!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” commanded the woman. “You can’t do that!” She ran to the door. + </p> + <p> + Again he was conscious of the rustle of silk, of the stirring of perfumes. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Assured of a witness for the defense, he greeted the woman with a smile. + “Why can’t I do it?” he taunted. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe you,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + The manner of the woman was equally calm, equally assured. + </p> + <p> + “Will you see her?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I’d rather see my brother-in-law,” he answered + </p> + <p> + The woman handed him a card. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go to him at once,” he said. + </p> + <p> + To restrain or dissuade him, the woman made no sudden move. In level tones + she said: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “This doctor knows it,” retorted Wharton. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “When can I see her?” asked Wharton. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said the woman. “I’ll bring her.” Wharton could not suppress an + involuntary “Here?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + For the shade of a second Mrs. Earle exhibited the slightest evidence of + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + In a hostile tone Mrs. Earle addressed her. + </p> + <p> + “Rose,” she said, “this is the district attorney.” To him she added: “She + calls herself Rose Gerard.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she challenged, “what about it?” + </p> + <p> + Wharton seated himself in front of the roller-top desk. + </p> + <p> + “Are you strong enough to tell me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + His tone was kind, and this the girl seemed to resent. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + From behind the arm-chair in which the girl half-reclined Mrs. Earle + caught the eye of the district attorney and shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Just what DID happen?” asked Wharton. + </p> + <p> + Apparently with an effort the girl pulled herself together. + </p> + <p> + “I first met your brother-in-law——” she began. + </p> + <p> + Wharton interrupted quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” he said. “You are not talking to me as anybody’s brother-in-law, + but as the district attorney.” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed vindictively. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wonder you’re ashamed of him!” she jeered. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + With apologies her head waiter presented a letter. + </p> + <p> + “For Mr. Wharton,” he explained, “from his chauffeur.” + </p> + <p> + Wharton’s annoyance at the interruption was most apparent. “What the devil——” + he began. + </p> + <p> + He read the note rapidly, and with a frown of irritation raised his eyes + to Mrs. Earle. + </p> + <p> + “He wants to go to New Rochelle for an inner tube,” he said. “How long + would it take him to get there and back?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty minutes, she said. + </p> + <p> + “He can’t go,” snapped Wharton. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Please,” he commanded. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The voice of the girl in anger and defiance recalled Mrs. Earle to the + business of the moment. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + For the first time Mrs. Earle contributed to the general conversation. + </p> + <p> + “You talk like a fish,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The girl turned upon her savagely. + </p> + <p> + “If he don’t like the way I talk,” she cried, “he can come across!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Earle exclaimed in horror. Virtuously her hands were raised in + protest. + </p> + <p> + “Like hell he will!” she said. “You can’t pull that under my roof!” + Wharton looked disturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Come across?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + With a grave but untroubled voice Wharton addressed Mrs. Earle. + </p> + <p> + “May I use your telephone?” he asked. He did not wait for her consent, but + from the desk lifted the hand telephone. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Police headquarters?” they heard him ask. “I want to speak to the + commissioner. This is the district attorney.” + </p> + <p> + In the pause that followed, as though to torment her, the pain, in her + side apparently turned, for the girl screamed sharply. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Wharton rose and addressed himself to Mrs. Earle. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + But, as in silence that lady descended the stairs, the district attorney + seemed to have forgotten what it was he wished to say. + </p> + <p> + It was not until he had seen his chauffeur arouse himself from apparently + deep slumber and crank the car that he addressed her. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + As he walked down the driveway to his car his shoulders continued to move. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up!” she shouted. “Listen! His chauffeur brought him this.” In a + voice that quivered with indignation, that sobbed with anger, she read + aloud: + </p> + <p> + “‘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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Frame Up, by Richard Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FRAME UP *** + +***** This file should be named 1806-h.htm or 1806-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/0/1806/ + +Produced by Aaron Cannon, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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