Читать книгу Moses and Mrs. Aintree - Talbot Mundy - Страница 6
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ОглавлениеHAVING seen Brice and Allison to the hotel, I went to the office, where I found two letters on top of the morning pile, one from Grim and the other from Jeremy. Grim's was short and to the point.
Confirming my wire, Brice and Allison are O.K. in all respects. Re theft, consult the federal police. Our interest consists in unearthing a conspiracy to control the colored races of the world. Headquarters in U.S.A. Will report Egyptian developments as fast as they occur, and await instructions.
JAMES SCHUYLER GRIM.
Jeremy's, on the other hand, ran to ten or eleven pages, and included a humorously accurate description of Brice and Allison.
He wrote:
There's a sort of colored revival, combining religion and politics and using a secret religious ritual to bind all the darkies together. Mrs. Aintree is perhaps the head of it, and she and Gulad are as thick as thieves. She seems to have a hold on him or else he has on her, I hardly know which. I don't know what they have done with the stolen plates. There is a dusky bishop here—he calls himself an "initiate"— who undoubtedly has seen them. Calls himself Moses Johnson. He is from Baltimore, and the name on his passport is Charles Abraham Ulysses Johnson. He is preaching—since be saw the Aintree woman—about the return of Moses to lead all African peoples into a promised land of their own; and he says that, whereas the law was written formerly on stone tablets, it is graven on gold plates now, together with portraits of the angels —thirty-one of them, he says; and he claims to know the name of every angel on the list. All the texts he uses in his sermons are from the Book of Exodus, and his favorite one seems to be the part about how the Israelites spoiled the Egyptians, looting all their gold and silver before they started for the promised land. Cable instructions.
—JEREMY.
A little before three o'clock I called on Brice and Allison, who were discussing their prospects rather gloomily in a bedroom. Allison had made his mind up that my friend Casey was an impostor, who would melt down that gold plate and turn it into cash.
"In which case," he was saying as I entered the smoke-filled room, "you and I, Brice, are discr-r-edited and ruined men. Nor are we entitled to sympathy. We're simpletons."
Allison refused to be comforted by me. He had reached the stage of doubting everything and everybody.
"Mon, I know nothing at all about ye," he protested. However, Casey came in presently, well pleased with himself, and laid the gold plate on the bed.
"I've a man I'd like ye to meet. Shall I bring him in?"
There appeared an undersized, wizened colored man, who stood in the door spinning a derby hat on one finger, eying us all nervously. He wasn't actually crippled, but produced the effect by shrugging himself up inside a blue serge suit a size or two too large for him. His white collar was about four sizes too big, and he had a thin neck like a tortoise's, all wrinkled horizontally as if he could lengthen or shorten it at will. What with gold-rimmed spectacles, white spats over brown shoes, and a big diamond ring, he was a strange enough apparition even for New York.
"You all wanted me?" he asked.
His voice was wistful. The expression of his mouth was somewhere between a smile and the beginning of a shout for help. He was bold, and yet fearful and suspicious, as one who has made up his mind to a course, but dreads the consequences.
"Come in. Stand there," said Casey, and the colored man obeyed. "Tell these gentlemen what your name is."
"They calls me Aloysius Jackson."
"Where are you from?" demanded Casey.
"Appleton, West Virginny."
"Live there all the time?"
"Mos' all the time."
"Belong to all the lodges in the place?"
"They ain't but one. I's soopreme, gran'—"
"Sure you are. How about religion, now? Member of any church in Appleton?"
"Sholy. The spirit o' man mus' be nutrified, Misto' Casey. I's a P.O.P. original charter member."
"What's P.O.P?"
"People o' Pisgah. Maybe you nevo heard. Folks has lots o' things they's ignorant about."
"Who runs that show?"
"'Tain't no circus, Misto' Casey."
"We won't argue that. Who runs it?"
"It runs itse'f. De inspiration o' de Lo'd providin' tongues o' flame, it jes' nacherly spreads. We's not conscripted into limits. De P.O.P. —"
"Will pop, by thunder if you don't answer me! Who bosses the show? Who holds the money? Who gives orders?" Casey demanded.
"Missis Isobel Aintree is de Lo'd's appointed leader in this heah present dispensation, Misto' Casey. She's white folks." Aloysius Jackson folded both hands in front of him and stood easy, apparently throwing one hip clear out of joint. It seemed that as far as he was concerned having "white folks" for a leader settled everything. Casey thought otherwise.
"Where is Mrs. Aintree?" he demanded.
"De Lo'd knows."
"So do you. In New York?"
Aloysius Jackson opened and shut his mouth, and his Adam's apple moved, but he said nothing.
"You've seen her this morning, haven't you?" said Casey.
"Misto' Casey, I's dumb. I's spiffically laid on not to make no mention o' the movements of de leader of de P.O.P. I claims privilege."
"All right," Casey answered. "Ever hear of jail? Ever been in Georgia?"
Aloysius Jackson's face underwent a subtle change of color and then set hard. Casey continued:
"Take a hold of yourself and think a minute! George Munroe, from Truckton, Georgia, won't go back for quite a while, unless his ghost walks. You recall him? President of the Indaypindent order o' Something-or-other wi' weekly cash benefits attached. Misused the mails, and razored the Federal officer who went to arrest him. That black man talked. He was a great talker. He died talking. You weren't his secretary now, by any chance?"
Aloysius Jackson seemed to prefer not to enter the ranks of great talkers. He swallowed his Adam's apple, regurgitated it, and made no comment.
"You weren't the secretary who couldn't be found to give evidence at the trial, I suppose. Another name, o' course in those days, but as likely as not the identical same fingerprints. Name of Alexander Hammond in those days, I think. That wasn't you?"
"Oh no, no, no, Misto' Casey. You're grievously mistooken. That wasn't me at all."
"Uh-huh! You're not on your trial—yet. Take care and don't commit yourself."
"I shoh won't, Misto' Casey!"
"It 'ud be easy to prove. You'd get ten years."
"Statute o' limitations, Misto' Casey! I provokes that statute. I provokes it consequentially."
"Invoke the Monroe doctrine, if you want to," answered Casey. "You don't know the law, my son. But, as I said, don't commit yourself. The Justice Department won't be bothered with you, unless you get rambunctious."
"Mr. Casey, sah, I's the least rambunctiousest nigger 'at you all know."
"Got pinched the other day, though?"
"Yes, sah, Misto' Casey, Ah got 'rested, but Ah'm not guilty; no, sir."
"Loaded bones, and liquor on the side?"
"True 'nuff."
"Possessing counterfeited money, too, I think?"
"Yes, Misto' Casey, sah, that was indicted against muh, but Ah's the victim o' conspiracy. Ah's the goat, sah."
"Out on two thousand dollars. Who bailed you? Mrs. Aintree?"
"Yes, sah, that lady took compassion on mah predicative."
"Why did she do that?" asked Casey.
"Isn't I a charter 'riginal member o' the P.O.P., an' aren't she leader?"
"That's a part of her duties, eh?"
"A part o' her prerogmative, Misto' Casey, sah. She's de Lo'd's anointed, an' she acts the part, sah, to perfection. She certainly do indeed."
"You've nothing against her, eh?"
"Against de Lo'd's anointed? No, sah, Misto' Casey."
"You'd not be scared to have all her doings known?"
"Ah convokes privilege. De fust rule of the P.O.P. is not to break de ninth commandment o' Moses by bearin' witness against her doings."
"Do you know anything about her that would make you afraid to report her doings?"
"Ah do, sah. Ah'd be plumb skeered to report her doings."
"Why?"
"Haven't Ah said 'at she's de Lo'd's anointed? Ah's not 'xac'ly anxious to be smitten, no, sah."
"So she's a smiter, eh? Then if she had some gold plates in her possession, and you happened to know it, you wouldn't admit it?"
"Ah admits nothin'. Posimetively nothin'. Ah'm dumb."
"Even in view of that case down in Georgia? Even in view of this charge of possessing counterfeited money? Even in view of the fact that you know I'm a Federal officer—and might—might I said—be able to get the case against you dropped—you're dumb, eh? Kind of a—fool, aren't you?"
"What you mean, Misto' Casey, sah, 'bout having the case against muh dropped? You mean Ah could go free?"
"If you're just a plain—ijjit," Casey answered, "you'll go to jail anyhow. Come on; what d'ye know."
"She's de Lo'd's anointed."
"Did she bring any gold plates back with her from Jerusalem?"
"Ah've not seen um, Misto' Casey, sah."
"You've heard about 'em, maybe?"
Aloysius Jackson swallowed his Adam's apple again, and looked miserable, but didn't answer.
"All right," said Casey. "Ever hear of a man named Gulad?"
"No, sir."
That answer was prompt and obviously truthful. You could see by the look of relief on the colored man's face that he was glad to be able to answer unguardedly at last. But Casey wasn't satisfied.
"She was in Jerusalem; you know that? How many people returned in her party?"
"Seven, sah. The sacred numbah, sah."
"Good. There were six when she left the States. Who is the seventh?"
"Misto' Moses."
"First or last name?"
"He ain't got but the one."
"Just plain Moses, eh?"
"Jes' Moses, sah."
"What sort of looking man is this plain Moses?" Casey demanded.
"Colored gel'man, sah."
"What else? Tall—short—fat—thin—medium —two legs or wan—ears or fingers missing—scars?"
"Medium, Misto' Casey, sah. Medium jes' about 'scribes him."
"What kind of medium? Goes off into a trance. Spiritualist? That sort o' medium?"
"Medium-size, sah. His spirit ain't medium. He's de leas' mediumest spirit ever was."
"You know him intimately?"
"No, sah. Ah's jes' heard him talk."
"What did he talk about?"
"Doctrine o' Moses, sah, an' spoilin' the 'Gyptians an' promised lan'."
"Where was that?"
"Colored folks promis' lan' in Africa, Misto' Casey, sah."
"I mean, where was it that you heard him talk?"
Aloysius Johnson closed his mouth tight and put both hands into his hip pockets.
"Ah don't 'xac'ly 'member, sah."
"Show him that gold plate," said Casey, turning suddenly to Allison; and Allison unwrapped it carefully.
"Ever see one like it?" Casey demanded.
"No, sah."
He was obviously lying. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he fidgeted nervously, shifting from foot to foot.
"You've seen a couple o' dozen or more of 'em recently, now haven't you?"
"No, sah."
"All right," said Casey, "that's as good as 'Yes.' " He opened the door and whistled; a plain-clothes policeman appeared.
"Take him downstairs and keep an eye on him until you hear from me," he ordered; and Aloysius Jackson went out as he came in, walking like a cripple.
