There was a stir in the back of the auditorium, and the same stout man who’d complained of the noise the night before waddled up to the stage, a smug expression on his face. “Well, it’s about time,” he said, climbing up to the stage. He gave a little bow. “Augustus Knepper, of St. Paul, Minnesota, at your service, sir. You could have solved this whole thing in an instant if you’d just asked me earlier.”
“Why, this is splendid,” said Mr. Clemens. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of calling you before, Mr. Knepper. By all means, tell us what you know.”
Knepper looked out at the audience, squinting into the lights. “Well, I heard the argument, just the same as the lady did, but maybe my ears are a little sharper. Those two fellows were shouting and wrestling around, and I knew there was dirty business of some sort even before your Mr. Cabot came knocking on the door. I came to the door and gave him a piece of my mind, and it seemed to me he went away right quick. And that got me to thinking—wouldn’t an honest man have stood his ground? And just what was he doing out on deck at exactly the same time as this murder took place, at an hour when decent folks are in their beds asleep, or trying to sleep?”
“Sir, I resent your implication!” I said, somewhat angrily, but Mr. Clemens gave me a little smile and lifted his hand. “Let the gentleman have his say, Cabot. I’ll make sure you have a fair chance to defend yourself, if it seems necessary. Please go on, Mr. Knepper.”
“Well, that got me thinking about something I’d seen just that afternoon. I was out on deck, enjoying the scenery and the breeze, and I overheard two people arguing on the rear deck. I peeked around the corner, and saw it was Mr. Berrigan and that fellow there, Mr. Cabot. My ears perked up a little bit, because I had heard that Berrigan was a detective and that he was on the trail of a dangerous criminal from back east. And that Mr. Berrigan as good as said that Mr. Cabot was his suspect: You’re on my little list, he said, and Mr. Cabot cursed him. I didn’t hear everything, because I was afraid to show myself. The detective was playing it very cagey, but I could see he was telling Cabot that he was onto him.
“Well, it wasn’t until this morning that I started to wonder why a detective would warn a criminal that he had the goods on him. But when I remembered that those two men next door had been arguing about money, things fell into place. That detective was looking for a bribe to let his man go, and Cabot must have balked at the price. When the Irishman wouldn’t back down, Cabot went for his knife, and that was the end of it for Berrigan. When the lady came and found him on deck, he had to play along, of course, and pretend he’d come out for some air. But it’s plain as the nose on your face—there’s your murderer right there!” And he pointed straight at me.
There was a stunned silence from the audience, then several audible gasps. I saw Miss Cunningham, toward the front of the audience, looking at me with a shocked expression on her face; then she saw me looking back at her, and quickly turned her face away. I could see heads turning toward one another as people began to pass comments on my presumed guilt back and forth.
“This is sheer fabrication!” I said indignantly. “I never killed anyone! I admit that I argued with Berrigan yesterday, but it’s absurd to think I could have killed him.”
“Let the gentleman have a little more rope, Cabot,” said Mr. Clemens. “Mr. Knepper, are you quite certain it was Mr. Cabot’s voice you heard last night in Berrigan’s cabin?”
“Absolutely,” said Knepper, thrusting his chin forward and narrowing his eyes. “One more thing. After the ruckus died down, everything was quiet, and then I heard him walk to the cabin door and shut it. After a few moments, he walked past my cabin. I went to the door and peeked out, but he was already gone.”
“Interesting,” said Mr. Clemens. “Your cabin door can’t be more than a few feet from the one next door. Why would he delay before coming past?”
“At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I suppose he was locking the door behind him,” said Knepper, thrusting his thumbs through his suspenders.
Mr. Clemens rubbed his chin. “There’s an odd detail. Locking the door behind him? What kind of person stabs a man to death, then takes the time to lock the door behind him?”
“I couldn’t say—a depraved criminal, for certain. I have no desire to know him any better.”
“Nor do I,” said Mr. Clemens. “Let me go back to something. When you saw my secretary at the door, did he show any signs of having been in a struggle—disarranged clothing, bloodstains, or anything of the like?”
“No, but by then he’d had enough time to go to his room and repair his clothing. It must have been twenty minutes or more between when he left and when he came back knocking.”
“But if he’d gone back to his cabin, why do you think he would come back out on deck again? Wouldn’t that attract attention when he least wanted it?”
“The criminal always returns to the scene of his crime,” said Knepper, stubbornly. “Besides, what should I know of how a criminal’s mind works? Perhaps he came back to gloat, like a ghoul, over his victim’s lifeless corpse.” He crossed his arms on his chest.
“That’s about as likely as a boar hog sprouting wings,” said a voice from the audience. It was Dr. Savin, who’d stood up next to the side aisle. “That boy fainted dead away at the sight of the victim.”
“He must have been shamming,” said Knepper, scowling. “What better way to deflect suspicion?”
“I say nonsense,” said the doctor, moving forward up the aisle. “That sort of act might fool a layman, but not a physician. His face was pale, he was breathing shallowly, and there was cold sweat on his forehead. You can’t concoct those symptoms on the spur of the moment. I’d bet my reputation he’d never seen a corpse before in his life, let alone stabbed the man to death twenty minutes before.”
“Well, that’s your opinion,” said Knepper, fidgeting with his watch chain.
“Yes, sir,” said the doctor. “That is my professional opinion.” He stared straight at Knepper, and climbed the steps up to the stage.
“Mr. Knepper, unless you have anything to add, we’ll let you sit back down,” said Mr. Clemens. The man shook his head in the negative. “Thanks for giving us your time and your information. We’ll put off the question of Mr. Cabot’s possible involvement—he’s going to stay right here where everybody can keep an eye on him, and I trust you all to make sure he doesn’t sneak out while my back is turned. But for now, I’d like to get the doctor’s opinion on one other matter. Dr. Savin, would you be so kind as to tell us what you saw last night?”
Mr. Knepper stalked off the stage, still scowling, and the doctor took his place. Mr. Clemens turned to question him. “Dr. Savin, you had a chance to examine Mr. Berrigan’s body last night. In your opinion, what was the cause of death? I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you that there are ladies in the audience, and also that none of us are medical specialists.”
The doctor grimaced. “The cause of death was nothing more nor less than a stab wound to the heart, causing massive loss of blood. Death must have been nearly instantaneous.”
“I see. Can you venture an opinion on the nature of the weapon?”
“My guess, based on the size of the wound, would be a bowie knife, or perhaps a large butcher knife.”
“Not a pocketknife, a letter opener, or anything of that sort?”
“I doubt it,” said Dr. Savin. “The wound indicates a very broad blade, at least an inch across, and probably eight inches long or more.”
“Was there any indication that the victim had attempted to escape, or to defend himself?”
“There were slash marks on the right hand and left forearm, which are consistent with the victim’s attempting to fend off a right-handed attacker. But the main wound was just below the victim’s sternum, and to me that rules out his trying to escape. It’s almost impossible to stab someone frontally after he’s turned to run away.”
“One last question. You say that the victim died almost instantaneously
. How quickly do you mean? Could he have walked across the room to lock the door after his assailant fled?”
“Absolutely not,” said the doctor. “I can say that with no fear of contradiction; the victim bled profusely. He would have left a clear trail of blood anywhere he had gone, and there was nothing of the sort. I would be surprised if he took even two steps between being stabbed and falling to the floor.”
“I see,” said Mr. Clemens thoughtfully. “Well, I can’t think of anything else I need to know, unless you observed something I haven’t asked about that you consider relevant. No? Does anyone else have a question for the doctor?” He peered around the audience. “Thank you then, Dr. Savin. You can sit back down, and I’ll ask Mr. Snipes to come up next.”
Mr. Clemens waited while Dr. Savin stepped off the stage and resumed his seat and Chief Clerk Snipes walked up from his place near the front of the auditorium. “Mr. Snipes, you saw as much of what went on last night as anybody, and maybe the easiest thing is for you just to tell the people everything that happened from the time Mr. Cabot came looking for you.”
Mr. Snipes pulled on his goatee, gathering his thoughts, and then began. “I was keeping an eye on things down in the card room when young Cabot come in the door, and I could see he was a bit flustered.”
“Excuse me, I have one question,” said Mr. Clemens. “How long had you been there when he came in?”
“Practically the whole evening, I’d say. The cap’n wanted somebody to make sure all the card games was on the up-and-up, and I’d taken that chore on myself, being that I know a little about what kind of tricks to look for. I reckon I’d been there since nine o’clock, except for a couple of turns around the deck to get the cigar smoke out of my eyes.”
“Fine, fine. So Cabot came in approximately when?”
“About quarter to one; I remember looking at the clock when we went down to the office shortly after. Anyhow, he comes in and looks around sort of anxious, and then he spotted me and called me over. I said to myself, Something ain’t right—that boy don’t keep these late hours. Then he told me he thought there might be trouble, maybe somebody hurt pretty bad, in one of the staterooms, and he asked me which cabin Mr. Berrigan was in. Well, I didn’t remember exactly, so we went down to my office to check the passenger list.”
Mr. Clemens interrupted him again. “I’m sorry, I’m confused about one thing. I thought you gave the passenger list to Mr. Berrigan—in fact, we found it in his cabin.” He held up the papers we’d recovered.
“Oh, that’s just a copy. When the detective asked me for a list, I had my mud clerk write one out for him. We had to keep the original list in the office, of course.”
“Of course; that explains everything. Please go ahead.”
“Well, the minute I seen the list, I knew that Mr. Berrigan was in the same stateroom the complaint was about. I said to myself right then, Something smells funny. Berrigan wasn’t the sort to cause trouble, although maybe some folks might have got annoyed at him snooping around asking questions. We double-timed it up to the hurricane deck. You and the cap’n was waiting there, and so you know the rest.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. Of course, these other folks weren’t there, so why don’t you just tell them quickly what happened next.”
“Not much else to tell. We opened up the door, and there was Berrigan laying on the floor. Right away I figured he was dead, but I went over to make sure. Next thing I know, that Cabot fellow is falling over on his face. We put Mr. Cabot in an empty cabin I knew about across the hall, and I went and fetched the doctor to look at him. Then the cap’n and I went through Mr. Berrigan’s pockets together. We wanted to see if there was anything that would tell us who might have done him in, but we come up empty. I took the dead man’s money for safekeeping—it came to fifty-three dollars and eighty-five cents—and the cap’n sent me to bed, since he wanted me to search the boat first thing next morning.”
“You have an excellent memory,” said Mr. Clemens. “I’m sure I could never keep track of so many things.”
Snipes smiled broadly. “Well, thank you, Mr. Twain. I do my best. I figure it’s my job to keep an eye on all the little details, and the best way to do that is to have ’em in my head.”
“Well, it’s much appreciated,” said Mr. Clemens. “Just one more thing, and we’ll let you sit down. You said the captain put you in charge of searching the boat the next morning. Did you turn up anything unexpected?”
Snipes laughed. “Oh my, did we ever! We were going along right smooth, everybody present and accounted for, when we got to a cabin on the hurricane deck that was supposed to be vacant. Now, some folks might have passed it by, but I thought I heard something inside. I says to Tiny Williams, We’ll look in this one, too. I pull out my keys and open up the door, and who should be in there but them two good-for-nothing Throckmorton brothers, acting like they owned the place! That little one jumped up and pulled a big ugly knife, and we like to had us a real Arkansas standoff going until the cap’n came in and trumped everybody with a pistol.”
“Yes, there was a good bit of excitement this morning,” said Mr. Clemens. “I suspect a few people here saw the tail end of it. Not to jump to conclusions, but do you have any reason to believe that the Throckmorton brothers were involved in the events in Mr. Berrigan’s cabin?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Snipes. “The little one, Alligator, pulled out his blade at the first sign of trouble, and they’re as mean a pair of rowdies as ever I saw. I didn’t want those two on board the Horace Greeley to begin with; everybody knows that. Odds are they know more about the killing than they’re letting on. Best thing to do is turn ’em over to the police when we hit Memphis, and good riddance to bad rubbage, says I.”
Mr. Clemens nodded. “Well, I think we’ll all breathe easier once we know the killer’s in the proper hands. Thanks very much for your time and help, Mr. Snipes.” The chief clerk left the stage and returned to his seat near the front, and Mr. Clemens moved to the center of the stage again.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve all heard about what happened last night, and we have a few suggestions as to who might have done it. I don’t beat around the bush, so let’s go to the heart of the matter. Captain Fowler, if it’s not too much trouble, could you have the Throckmorton boys brought in?”
At this, a rising murmur went through the audience. I noticed a few of the ladies looking about as if to scout out the nearest exit. The captain nodded his head to Tiny Williams, who took two of his roustabouts and went to get the Throckmortons. Mr. Clemens raised his arms and said, “Now, I want all of you to stay right where you are. It’ll be a few minutes until the Throckmortons are here. While we’re waiting, you all can think about what you’ve just heard, and maybe somebody will remember something the rest of us have missed—something that’ll help us find the real killer. Maybe something that didn’t make sense before fits into a pattern now. Put your minds to work, and let’s see if we can solve these two murders.”
The audience began to buzz with speculation. Meanwhile, I found myself thinking about how best to refute Knepper’s statement that I was the probable murderer, should he reiterate the allegation. I was still trying to decide how I would defend myself from the false accusation when the back doors opened and in came Billy and Alligator Throckmorton, led by Tiny Williams and three of his crewmen.
26
The audience fell quiet as Tiny Williams led the Throckmorton brothers up the aisle. Alligator Throckmorton strode along with a sullen expression on his face, looking neither right nor left; but Billy gawked frankly back at the spectators, grinning like the end man in a minstrel show. They climbed the three steps at the corner of the stage right next to me, and Billy winked at me as they went by.
Williams brought them to center stage, and Captain Fowler nodded. “That’ll be fine, Mr. Williams. You Throckmortons, now, listen to me. I don’t want any trouble from the two of you. You’re up here to answer qu
estions, not clown around. Somebody’s life could be at stake, so you’d best take this seriously. Do you understand me?”
Billy Throckmorton shrugged and said, “Sure, Cap’n,” still grinning. His brother looked up and nodded, not changing his expression. But the captain was evidently satisfied, and he motioned to Mr. Clemens to begin.
“This won’t take long, boys,” said Mr. Clemens. “Do you remember when we first met back in Chicago, that New York detective, Mr. Berrigan, showed you a picture?”
Billy Throckmorton’s grin disappeared. “Sure, I remember. It was Lee Russell. The copper said he got killed in New York. Is that what this is about? You don’t think we killed him, do you? Ain’t neither one of us ever been to New York.”
“If you weren’t in New York, you couldn’t have killed him,” said Mr. Clemens. “But maybe you boys can help us find the no-good dog who did. Are you willing to help us?”
“I don’t know,” said Billy. “It ain’t right to go telling tales on people. My old pap said it was in the Bible, not to be a witness against your neighbor. And like I explained, we ain’t ever been to New York. How would we know about a killing there?”
Mr. Clemens gave Billy Throckmorton a penetrating look. “I think Lee Russell knew the man who killed him before he went to New York, and that means you two might have known the killer, too. Who did Lee use to pal around with? What do you remember about him?”
It was Alligator Throckmorton who answered. “We played poker a few times when Lee first showed up, but after a while, he acted like we weren’t rich enough for his blood. He was always trying to get us to throw more money in the pot, and me and Billy didn’t want no part of that. Not that we couldn’t hold our own, but you got to have the money before you can bet it.”
[Mark Twain Mysteries 01] - Death on the Mississippi Page 25