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The Big-Town Round-Up, a fiction by William MacLeod Raine |
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Chapter 33. Bromfield Makes An Offer |
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_ CHAPTER XXXIII. BROMFIELD MAKES AN OFFER A youth with a face like a fox sidled up to Durand in the hotel lobby and whispered in his ear. Jerry nodded curtly, and the man slipped away as furtively as he had come. Presently the ex-prize-fighter got up, sauntered to the street, and hailed a taxi. Twenty minutes later he paid the driver, turned a corner, and passed into an apartment house for bachelors. He took the elevator to the third floor and rang an electric bell at a door which carried the name "Mr. Clarendon Bromfield." From the man who came to the door Mr. Bromfield's visitor learned that he was not well and could receive no callers. "Just mention the Omnium Club, and say I'm here on very important business," said Jerry with a sour grin. The reference served as a password. Jerry was admitted to meet a host quite unable to control his alarm. At sight of his visitor Bromfield jumped up angrily. As soon as his man had gone he broke out in a subdued scream. "You rotten traitor! Get out of my room, or I'll call the police." Durand found a comfortable chair, drew a case from his pocket, and selected a cigar. He grinned with evil mirth. "You will, eh? Like hell you will. You're hidin' from the cops this blessed minute. I've just found out myself where you live." "You took my money and threw me down. You hired a gunman to kill me." "Now, what would I do that for? I hadn't a thing in the world against you, an' I haven't now." "That damned ruffian shot at me. He was still shooting when I struck him with the chair," cried Bromfield, his voice shaking. "He didn't know it was you--mistook you for Lindsay in the darkness." "My God, I didn't mean to kill him. I had to do something." "You did it all right." "I told you there wasn't to be any violence. It was explicitly stated. You promised. And all the time you were planning murder. I'll tell all I know. By God, I will." "Go easy, Mr. Bromfield," snarled Jerry. "If you do, where do ye think you'll get off at?" "I'll go to the police and tell them your hired gunman was shooting at us." "Will you now? An' I'll have plenty of good witnesses to swear he wasn't." Durand bared his teeth in a threat. "That's not all either. I'll tie you up with the rube from the West and send you up to Sing Sing as accessory. How'd you like that?" "If I tell the truth--" "You'll be convicted of murder in place of him and he'll go up as accessory. I don't care two straws how it is. But you'd be a damned fool. I'll say that for you." "I'm not going to let an innocent man suffer in my place. It wouldn't be playing the game." Durand leaned forward and tapped the table with his finger-tips. His voice rasped like a file. "You can't save him. He's goin' to get it right. But you can hurt yourself a hell of a lot. Get out of the country and stay out till it's over with. That's the best thing you can do. Go to the Hawaiian Islands, man. That's a good healthy climate an' the hotel cooking's a lot better than it is at Sing Sing." "I can't do it," moaned the clubman. "My God, man, if it ever came out--that I'd paid you money to--to--ruin his reputation, and that I'd run away when I could have saved an innocent man--I'd be done for. I'd be kicked out of every club I'm in." "It won't ever come out if you're not here. But if you force my hand--well, that's different." Again Jerry's grin slit his colorless face. He had this poor devil where he wanted him, and he was enjoying himself. "What do you want me to do, then?" cried Bromfield, tiny beads of perspiration on his forehead. "You'll do as I say--beat it outa the country till the thing's over with." "But Lindsay will talk." "The boob's padlocked his mouth. For some fool reason he's protectin' you. Get out, an' you're safe." Bromfield sweated blood as he walked up and down the room looking for a way out of his dilemma. He had come to the parting of the road again. If he did this thing he would be a yellow cur. It was one thing to destroy Lindsay's influence with Beatrice by giving her a false impression. From his point of view their friendship was pernicious anyhow and ought to be wiped out. At most the cattleman would have gone back unhurt to the Arizona desert he was always talking about. Nobody there would care about what had happened to him in New York. But to leave him, an innocent man, to go to his death because he was too chivalrous to betray his partner in an adventure--this was something that even Bromfield's atrophied conscience revolted at. Clay was standing by him, according to Durand's story. The news of it lifted a weight from his soul. But it left him too under a stronger moral obligation to step out and face the music. The clubman made the only decision he could, and that was to procrastinate, to put off making any choice for the present. "I'll think it over. Give me a day to make up my mind," he begged. Jerry shrugged his heavy shoulders. He knew that every hour counted in his favor, would make it more difficult for the tortured man to come forward and tell the truth. "Sure. Look it over upside and down. Don't hurry. But, man, what's there to think about? I thought you hated this guy--wanted to get rid of him." "Not that way. God, no! Durand, I'll give you any sum in reason to let him go without bringing me into it. You can arrange it." Jerry slammed down a fist heavily on the table. "I can, but I won't. Not if you was to go fifty-fifty with me to your last cent. I'm goin' to get this fellow. See? I'm goin' to get him good. He'll be crawlin' on his hands and knees to me before I'm through with him." "What good will that do you? I'm offering you cold cash just to let the truth get out--that Collins was trying to kill him when he got hit." "Nothin' doin'. I've been layin' for this boob. I've got him now. I'm goin' to turn the screws on and listen to him holler." Bromfield's valet stepped into the room. "Mr. and Miss Whitford to see you, sir." _ |
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