The district attorney, youngish, slim, lithe9, a little sinister10—the impression of a hunting-dog all over him—was examining a witness, a rat-faced man who had something of the old-time bartender or private detective about him.
"It was your business, as attendant at the Oriental Garden, to see that order was kept?"
"Yes, sir."
"No, sir."
"Mr. De Vries was at a table with a party?"
"Yes, sir."
"You heard the shot and you saw Mr. De Vries fall forward?"
"Then you ran to him?"
"Yes, sir."
"You saw the woman Janssen back of the hall with a revolver?"
"Yes, sir."
"What was she doing?"
"She was laughing."
"Was she drunk?"
"The laugh sounded drunk."
"Was she very much under the influence of liquor?"
"She could n't have been, else she would n't have got away."
"You are certain that it was the prisoner?"
All eyes in the court-room were turned to the prisoner in the dock. And there was in the sordid15 trial chamber16 a sense of great disturbance17 in the air, though, from the minds and personalities18 of all gathered there, there rose in gray tendrils a haze19 of doubt, of disbelief, of mystery.
She sat in the dock, in the sordid court-room, among the unseemly officers and the public, as a statue in some public square might stand above the rabble20. Mature, magnificent, the prisoner seemed almost like some goddess from a Norse mythology21.
First, her strange coloring made all catch their breath. Her face was tanned to an absolutely golden hue22, and out of this work of delicate bronze there looked, calm and confident, two eyes that were blue as sea-water. Her eyebrows23, her hair, were bleached24 by the sun until her eyebrows were two half-moons of silver, until her hair was the pale, beautiful gold of honey in dark lights and like vivid strands25 of live silver when the light fell on it. She had the strange, exotic appearance of the women of Saba Isle26, the ancient colony of Holland sailors and Carib Indian belles28, a small dot in the West Indies where there is a town on the top of a mountain, and life is as in the garden of the Hesperides.
It was not alone her coloring, her splendid face. From her there came such an aura of health, of spiritual strength, it seemed impossible that this woman was the chorus girl Janssen who had been the cast-off mistress of the rake and spendthrift De Vries, who had been drunk, who attended cabarets with wine-merchants and Broadway belles. This woman! Impossible! In her own calm eyes there seemed also a look that said more: "This is ridiculous. I can't have done this. Why am I here? Why don't they get up and let me go?"
"The prisoner in the dock?" he said with a sense of puzzled wonder. "The prisoner in the dock?"
"Well, don't mind the prisoner in the dock, then. It was the woman Janssen you saw."
"I am sure of that."
"You were well acquainted with her appearance. You couldn't have been mistaken?"
"No, sir, I could not have been mistaken. She was often at the Oriental with Mr. De Vries. Sometimes every night for a week. I could not have been mistaken. It was she shot Mr. De Vries."
The district attorney sat down, with a gesture of his hand toward Howard Donegan, the prisoner's counsel. With his massive body, with his massive head, with his cruel jurist's face, Howard Donegan was as much a part of the attraction for the public as was the prisoner, the notoriety of the ten-year-old case, the romantic capture of Annette Janssen. The great Irish-American was the foremost criminal lawyer of his day, all but invincible30 when defending a man or a woman with the slightest chance of escape, and right on his side. As a cross-examiner he was dreaded31 as the plague. The public would get the thrill of seeing a superbly cruel and magnificent performance when Donegan arose. Even now the rat-faced witness shook as with ague as Donegan turned casually32 toward him, with hooded33 eyes. But Donegan shook his head. He did not wish to cross-examine.
Even the judge was surprised.
"Did I hear aright?" He leaned forward, his fine mystic's face in lines of doubt and worry. "The counsel for the prisoner does not wish to cross-examine?"
"Your Honor heard aright. I will not cross-examine."
Through the big chamber there was a buzz of comment, of doubt, of all but horror. Was there nothing to be done for this woman? Even if she did kill De Vries, give her a sporting chance for her life! "What is Donegan doing?" the public, the attendants, the newspaper reporters asked themselves with mistrust. Was he throwing her down?
There was a tensing in court, a tightening34, as of drama. Already there was a sense in every one's chilled veins35 of the horrible harness of the electric chair. But Donegan only drowsed.
"You can step down," the Court told the witness.
The rat-faced man crept from the witness-box, white, shaking still with the fear of Donegan's eye. He tried to get a seat in the benches, but none would make room for him. And though he had only done his duty, and that at command of the law, there was about him, as he slunk from the room, the look there was about him who was surnamed Iscariot, as he crept from the garden on the Mount of Olives, on the world's most tragic36 dawn.... Like a story from some old book there unrolled before the public the history of Anna Janssen of ten, or twelve, or fifteen years before, in a New York we know no longer, so changed is it in that brief space. Then it was a riotous37 spendthrift, a glorious waster, hell-roaring, somehow lovable, and now it is a burgess of standing38, with all the burgess virtues39.
And the eyes of the court-room glistened40 as old names appeared like Falstaffian ghosts. The Poodle Dog, the German Village, the Holland House, the Knickerbocker. Gorgeous, blowsy, out of a dim past they rose for an instant. Baron41 Wilkins's and Nigger Mike's. And there was the thin clink of glasses across forgotten bars. And at three o'clock of a morning the flying wedge at Pat's was hurling42 some truculent43 guest to the sidewalk. And gunmen were gunmen then, not strike-breakers.
Old days, great days, and only a dozen years before. And John Barrymore was not Richard III but the comedian44 of "Are You a Mason?" And Mr. Chambers45 had written "The Danger Mark," and Lieutenant46 Becker still patrolled the streets. And Mannie Chappelle and Diamond Jim were still alive and merry, who are now dust, God rest them! And cops grafted48 and politics were corrupt49, after the old and pleasant tradition. And out of the side door of saloons came the old-fashioned drunkard, who with the old-fashioned ghost-story and the old-fashioned Christmas is laid to rest forevermore. And the voice of Dr. Parkhurst was heard through the land.
Ichabod! Gone is glory!
The night life of Paris was hectic50, hysterical51. The night life of Berlin was heavy, somehow sinister. But, lush, extravagant52, now joyous53, now macabre54, the foam55 of New-World liquor, the night life of New York challenged the heavens with streaming rays, retiring only before the chaste56, armored dawn. Like some Thousand and One Nights of some writer of the people, it challenged the imagination, it intrigued57, it repelled58. Overdone59 not seldom, often in bad taste, but virile60, rude, and unabashed, it claimed recognition with brazen61 clamor.
And on this stage, and against this background, now leading woman to De Vries, now being supported by a caste of wasters, brokers62, men about town, there moved Anna Janssen, the Swedish Beauty. Cast in the form and figure of a Norse goddess, fit for great epics63, she was a figurante in a debauched side-show. Her eyes, which were blue as the sea and should have been pure and passionate64 as the sea, were drenched65 with wine, and her mouth, with its clear-cut outlines as of a woman of the painter Zorn's, which should have been firm as a budding flower, was relaxed and wet from kissing.
A woman of Broadway, hungered after and yet despised, she might have gone the accustomed path that leads from the chattering66 magnificence of Broadway to the sinister silence of Potter's Field. Down the old beaten decline toward sordid Death she could have gone, and none would have tried to stay her, none to help. And then the end. And the only result would have been a little chilling in the hearts of the newer Beauties of Broadway, a ghost whispering in their hearts the most terrible of epitaphs: The wages of sin is death. For a moment only. And some celebrity67 of Broadway might feel sad for an hour, with easy sentiment: "Poor Anna! And I knew her when she wore diamonds, and New York was at her feet!" Or some respectable citizen in his warm home might treasure secret, ashamed memories, and never avow68 them. And some one might even seek out her grave to say a hurried prayer and make an offering of flowers. And the rest would be silence.
Of her life there is little to be said. It is a life that a thousand girls have lived. Admit the evidence which satisfied a judge in a trial of murder and it boils down to this: The daughter of a Brooklyn mechanic, she got a place in the chorus of a big musical comedy, and was flattered and courted by the blades of Broadway. And the one to whom she fell victim was Alastair de Vries, who had forsaken70 Fifth Avenue to travel westward71 to Broadway. Of the old patroon stock which had settled New Amsterdam and been lords of the manor72 along the Hudson before the English came, bankers and traders, soldiers and explorers, all there remained of them was one moneyed boy who saw adventure only in ruining the daughters of tradesmen where his forebears had seen it in hacking73 out the destiny of a New World.
Blond, rather chubby74, not yet thirty, Alastair de Vries had already had a large biography in the Sunday papers and weeklies of gossip in New York. Annette Janssen was one of perhaps twenty conquests and she was not the last. She was the all but last.
He took her from the chorus, gave her everything she desired, made her for her brief life the semiannual queen of Broadway.
And then a small brunette came along, acclaimed75 as the Queen of the Ponies76, and, turning like a flash, De Vries hurried to conquer the new arrival. And Anna shot him, not because of jealousy77, not because she loved him, but just to make trouble.
There's her life for you. There are what the dazzling facts of her queendom of Broadway amount to. There they are, without their glitter and romance. Through the black magic of Sinister Alley78 they shine like fireflies, but, like fireflies, in the calm sanity79 of daytime they are nothing but grubby crawling things we flick80 from our palms with a moue of distaste....
Day followed day, and witness witness, and item by item the sordid chronicle was written. Each fact attested81 and proved to the satisfaction of the court, to the satisfaction of the public. It was a sort of journey toward a definite objective—a journey on which the public was invited to see Justice hearken to the call of the people of the State of New York.
There was no doubt about it. Coldly, callously82, for a whim83, in a moment of piqued84 vanity, a chorus girl had shot a gentleman.
And then in the mind of every one there loomed85, as it approached nearer until its horrible lines, its terrifying aura were visible, the objective of the voyage—the dreadful electric chair.
"Why does n't Donegan do something? Why? Why? Why does n't he put up a fight at least?"
But Donegan drowsed on. Only when the prisoner in the dock threw him a swift look of appeal, as she did occasionally when some damning point was raised, did he drop the granite86 mask. Now and then her face would blanch87 under the tan, and her mouth quiver. And then would come a miracle in Donegan. Those harsh bulldog features would relax, the glinting eyes open, and over the hated face would play the smile of—oh, forty years ago—when he was just an innocent, likable Irish boy, and not a great jurist, whom communion with the sinister qualities of the law, and battles for life and liberty, and knowledge of strange strata88 in the minds of men, which is good for none to know, had transformed into a dark angel with a protective and flaming sword.
"Yes, he 's smiling. He 's confident, all right. But why does n't he do something?"
Had the people in the court-room read of this trial in their homes—read the bare facts, the testimony90 of witnesses, there was not one who would have wasted a second thought on Anna Janssen. Perhaps in the hearts of one or two there would have lingered the feeling that it was not right she should be strapped91 horribly in the chair. But that would have been chivalry92, not justice. One and all would have said: "That is what the death penalty is for—to remove from human contact one who has no right to God's sunshine, and who has arrogated93 to her vile94 and puny95 self the right of the Creator, the disposal of human life. Muffle96 her up. Hustle97 her away. Throw on the current and hide her in quicklime. Life is not for such as she!"
But between the woman whom the witnesses had drawn98 in black, sinister colors and the lady in the dock there was a continent of difference. True, she was the same height, the same figure, but for a healthy development of years. True, such marks of identification as Anna Janssen the chorus girl had, might be noted99 on the body of her who was a prisoner at the bar.
But the body of Anna Janssen the chorus girl was soft and white and made for sinister loving, while that of the woman in the dock was healthy and hard and tanned, after the fashion of Eve, whom the Lord God made in the garden. And Anna Janssen's had swayed alluringly100 with provocative101 sophistication, while the carriage of this woman was erect102 and of great dignity. And the eyes of the chorus girl had been full of evil knowledge and unhealthy flame, but this woman's had wistfulness and a strange mystery.
And in the heart of every one there rose a cry: "This is not the same woman. This is a good woman!"
There is a theory of an old medical school whose name—not that it matters—I regret to have forgotten. And it is this: that every seven years the human body changes. We have not the same bones, nor the same skin, the same muscles at thirty-five that we had at twenty-eight. They are worn out and are eliminated, and new tissue takes their place. It may be wrong, but it is a very taking theory. It explains to us how the track athlete of some years ago becomes the paunchy, bald-headed, repulsive103 man of to-day. It explains how the well-fed man of the world may turn into a harsh-faced monk104. It explains to us how the soft, succubine chorus girl of a dozen years before became the splendid amazon that Anna Janssen is to-day.
And yet this may be wrong about the body. But about the mind (and there you have the inner person) there is one thing certain, not a theory but a fact—that people change completely. Like a child's slate105, the mind is, on which a thousand things are written. The young take so much for granted; the old know. And gallantly106 they write this for a fact, that for a falsehood. But day by day they live and learn, as the old saw goes. And simple equations become quadratic. And the writing on the slate is altered month by month, as new factors of life are realized. All is a correction, a readjustment.
This is gradual, but occasionally, very occasionally, by some mental or spiritual cataclysm107 all on the slate is sponged clear. And a new and startling departure takes its place. As we see in the inner personality of Anna Janssen the change from the petty arithmetic of Broadway, the venal108 crooked109 sums of Sinister Street, to the gigantic calculus110 of life as the Lord God conceived it, when He formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils111 the breath of life; and man became a living soul....
The district attorney turned from his last witness to the twelve men in the box. "Gentlemen," he said, in the manner of a workman well satisfied with the progress of the job in hand, "I have proved the crime and proved the perpetrator, the circumstances, the setting, the motive112. There is but one more thing to be done to clinch113 this case home like a nail in a horse's shoe. It is now ten years between the time this murder was committed and the bringing of the prisoner to the bar of justice. There is but one more thing to do to remove the smallest iota114 of doubt that the prisoner at the bar and Anna Janssen, Alastair de Vries's mistress, are one and the same person. And to prove this I shall call to the witness-stand the detective who arrested Anna Janssen in Tahiti, and in whose custody115 the prisoner has been from that day until she was brought to justice here—a period of nine years and four months in all."
"Officer Thomas McCarthy!"
"Officer Thomas McCarthy to the stand."
The public craned forward, and with that strange shifting sound that betokens116 an immensity of interest they settled themselves in their seats for the recital117 of the detective. Here was the great attraction of the trial—the story of McCarthy and Anna Janssen alone on a desert island, a murderess and the officer who arrested her. More than the morbid interest of the killing118 of De Vries, more than the realistic tale of old New York that was, more than the spectacle of a woman dicing119 for her life, more than the prospect120 of watching Donegan, the greatest of criminal lawyers, harass121 the court, and pound the battered122 witnesses, and at last possibly and probably carry off the prisoner as in an old-time rescue from Tyburn, was the promised recital of the adventure in the lonely Southern sea. There had been one romantic story of it in one day of the papers, and then no more, for the matter would have called forth123 intense comment from the papers, arousing sympathy or hatred124, and the case was sub judice.
But that one story stirred the imagination of the public. And the sordid tale told of a woman killing her fickle125 lover in an attack of offended vanity faded into a golden haze of romance. The scented126 smell of the tropics came to their nostrils, and their eyes saw golden sands and phosphorescent seas. And here the palms murmured with a rustle128 as of exotic silks, and the Bird of Paradise winged its iridescent129 flight through the opaque130 Marquesan dusk. And the spirits of strange gods moved upon the face of the waters....
Here was a setting for Scheherazade and here characters for a master writer: a patrolman of New York, young, athletic131, unspoiled, canny132 with the knowledge of his native city, brave as only his kind is brave; and here a woman from the sloughs133 of the Tenderloin, an admitted beauty, a proven murderess.
What drama had happened in that isle of dreams, in that immense act of nine rolling years? And did she love him, or did she hate him? And had he succumbed134 to her, as Adam to Lilith in Eden, before Eve was? Or had he resisted her as Anthony of Egypt resisted the succuba in the desert near Fayum? And did she wheedle135 him with words sweeter than honey? Or did she curse him with strange black blasphemies136? Or was it just one long, dumb vigil of hatred? Or had they become friends, hunter and hunted, marooned137 now on the islands of strange dead gods?
In God's name, what?
At any rate they would soon know.
"Officer Thomas McCarthy, this way!"
Then, of a sudden, up rose Howard Donegan. The judge on his bench, the jurymen, the prosecuting138 attorney, the court, the prisoner herself, all looked at him with a hesitant surprise. Somehow his action was surprisingly dramatic. He stood up slowly and said nothing, but looked around. Into the drama of crime and romance, there was injected a new element, powerful, sluggish139, but immensely sure.
"If it please the Court," went his heavy, significant voice, "may I say a few words?"
"It is hardly regular, at this period, Mr. Donegan," the judge said, puzzled. "Surely you will have an opportunity later on."
"The opportunity is opportune140 only now." Like some strange gargoyle141 in an old cathedral the great animal appeared. His eyes, under their threatening hoods142, were black and beady like the eyes of some malevolent143 creature of the jungle. His mouth, a wide, thin slit144, pouted145 like the mouth of a fish. His sedentary body was massive and grotesque146 like some monster of a mad artist's drawing. His voice creaked like unoiled machinery147. But—God!—what power was there!
"Your Honor, men of the jury, and Mr. District Attorney, at any point I could have obstructed148 the course of this trial until all of you were weary in your chairs. I could have obfuscated149 facts and motives150 and testimony until you were as uncertain of truth as Pilate. The woman Wilkins—I could have shown that her word was no more to be depended on than the word of the village idiot. Mr. Howland Christy, De Vries's relative—I could have shaken him on the stand until he would have been uncertain of his testimony, for he is an honest man. And the usher151 of the cabaret—if I had concentrated on him, I could have made that whisky-sodden brain, that broken will, contradict everything he had said.
"But I did none of these things. I made no haze of doubt out of honest facts. For why? Because these facts are true. I grant them freely!"
There were a rustle and a murmur127 in the room. The public was suddenly aghast. What was this from Donegan? Treachery? Who ever heard of a counsel granting things like that? Good Lord! what was the man doing? The murmuring went on in spite of the judge's gavel, the attendants' cries.
"Your Honor, Mr. District Attorney, men of the jury, a crime is not an instantaneous action. What goes before a crime is important, and not less important is what follows it. Has the affair been brooded over, or has it been the result of momentary153 passion, and has the deed been regarded with smug satisfaction, or with quaking horror?
"And what effect has this had on the prisoner, on the world, on its time? So many things have to be taken into consideration when we are adjudging the crime.
"Gentlemen, the law and legal procedure are as easy to comprehend as a child's primer. The office of the district attorney is to see that a malefactor154 is brought to justice. The office of the jury is to decide whether that action was or was not done. The object of the judge is to weigh, decide, and in the name of the people say what shall be done with a member of the community who has hurt the interests of the community by his or her action. The duty of the counsel for the prisoner is to see that his client is not traduced155 by false witnesses, nor his or her liberty endangered by unfacts.
"But the object of all in the court-room is to see that justice is done, though the heavens crumble156.
"I have examined no witnesses. I shall examine none. But I ask this in the latitude157 of the Court, and in the name of that Justice whose servants we one and all are, as much myself, advocate for the prisoner, as the district attorney for the people of the State of New York, as the jury in the box, as the judge on his bench: that the next witness, Thomas McCarthy, shall be allowed to tell his own story in his own way, relating facts which may not seem germane158 to the case, but which I claim are as pertinent159 as the pistol with which the crime was committed or the corpus delicti itself. I ask this of the Court and I request the Court so to direct."
"This is hardly regular, Mr. Donegan."
"I ask this in the name of Justice!"
"This is a court of Justice, Mr. Donegan." The judge's manner had a slight rebuke160. "But if the district attorney is agreeable—"
The district attorney, a little nettled161, but rather awed162 before the tremendous purpose of Donegan, shrugged163 his shoulders.
"Very well, Mr. Donegan," the judge nodded. "The district attorney—" Donegan addressed the jury—"is calling Thomas McCarthy to prove the identity of Anna Janssen. He is an officer of the City of New York, a witness for the State of New York. The attorney has called him to prove that the prisoner in the dock is Anna Janssen. I shall not examine him. But when he has given his testimony for the district attorney he will have given his testimony for me.
"And I shall have proven that the chorus girl who killed Alastair de Vries is not the woman who stands in the dock!"
There was an instant's sighing from the courtroom, a momentary relaxation164. So Donegan had fought and won his first fight, and now they were going to hear the History of the Spicy165 Isles166. Now all the mystery would be lifted that had been hanging about the court-room like a necromancer's mist.
"Call Thomas McCarthy!" Donegan barked from the side of his mouth.
"Officer Thomas McCarthy."
"Thomas McCarthy to the stand!"
As he stood in the witness-box, McCarthy seemed to bulk tremendously in the room. As Anna Janssen seemed to fill the court spiritually, so he seemed to fill it physically167. Emanations of strength, emanations of power came from him like current from a battery. He was not six feet tall, but so erect did he stand, so free was his carriage that he seemed to tower above all in the court-room. He was not a big man, but he suggested tremendous strength, so easily with the smallest movement did the sinews ripple168 beneath his coat. Brown as copper169, his face had not the strange mystery of Anna Janssen's, because his eyes and hair were black, where hers were fair. Yet he was strange.
It was principally that he was out of place in his city clothes. One could have imagined him easily as some young athlete in the Olympic games, hurling the discus possibly, or flinging himself over the high jump. Or one might have suffered him in the clothes of summer in the country, soft rolling collar and roomy sport coat. But in the "business suit" of some department-store, he seemed like an actor some inept170 stage manager had dressed. Grotesquely171, a police badge was pinned to the lapel of his coat.
As he entered the box, Anna Janssen turned toward him with a swift outpouring of her eyes. It might have been interest, but it was warmer than interest. It might have been appeal, but it was more confident than appeal.
"You are plain-clothes officer Thomas McCarthy?" the district attorney examined.
"Yes, sir. Number eight thousand nine hundred and seventeen."
"Attached to police headquarters?"
"Yes, sir."
"Tell us the circumstances under which you arrested the prisoner."
"Yes, the Commissioner."
But McCarthy seemed struck by sudden panic.
Donegan rose.
"McCarthy," he explained gently, "has had no one to talk to for seven years but my client. He finds it hard to get his words right. Take your time, McCarthy," he told the witness. "Close your eyes. Say it as if you were saying it to yourself."
"I was on the vice176 squad177 under Inspector178 O'Gara." The witness found words at last. "One morning the Commissioner sends for me. It was when the trouble was on about the graft47 in the Raines-law hotels. The Commissioner looks at me kind of hard.
"'Are you on the square, McCarthy?' he says.
"'Yes, Commissioner, I 'm on the square,' I tells him.
"'It's news to me they 's any one on the square,' the Commissioner laughs kind o' mean.
"'Tell me, McCarthy, were you ever mixed up with a woman?' I gets chilled all over, because I thinks some one's trying to frame me.
"'No, sir. Never,' I answers.
"'Then why were n't you?'
"'I don't know,' I says, 'except it was my people were from Ireland and brought me up their own way. When I was a kid, Commissioner, I could go to confession179 without holding out, and I guess I can do it to-day.'
"'Oh, you 're one of them good Irish cops,' he sneers180. 'I heard tell on them, but I never met one before.'
"'Well, you meet him now.' I looks him cold in the eye. And then I 'm sorry, because I sees he means nothing. He 's just sore.
"'Well, square cop,' he says, 'I got a job for you. Anna Janssen,' he says, 'is found. A rich guy hides her and brings her to Tahiti on his yacht. She's there now. The French authorities,' he says, 'have made a pinch. Go get her.'
"'All right,' I says, and turns to go.
"'Just a moment, McCarthy,' he says. 'I said: "Get her." You understand? Get her. And keep her. Was a man to try and escape on you, what would you do?'
"'I 'd shoot,' I says. 'I 'd bring him in, alive or dead.'
"'Well, shoot her.'
"'Well, then, shoot yourself,' he says. 'At any rate, if you come home alone, come home cold storage. I 'll pay the freight. And that 'll be all,' he says.
"I goes to Paris, and from Paris to Marseilles—"
"That's all right, McCarthy," the district attorney waived182. "It does n't matter how you went. Tell us what happened at Tahiti."
"In Tahiti something tells me all is not right. The steamer I come on docks in the morning and leaves that afternoon, and I hopes to make it with Janssen. Maybe it's because I can't get their French and our consul183 is not a well man, but they delay me until the steamer goes and then I 'm left flat. The extradition184 papers must be in order, they say. But there is too much of this belle27-prisoner stuff.
"Well, all's finished and they takes me to her. 'Well, Janssen,' I says, 'we got you.' 'Now that you got me, what are you going to do with me?' she laughs; and every one laughs. Right away I see they 're all rooting for her, and they like me like a souse likes water.
"Honest, Judge, I don't blame them. They's few white women in that place and, such as they are, they 're not lookers. And the Kanaka girls, for all they are pretty as a picture, they ain't human and they ain't healthy, you know, as we white people think. Anna certainly had the looks, and was white, and had the pep, and they were all crazy about her. The Frenchmen are daffy about women, and they don't think nothing about a woman shooting a man—nothing at all.
"So they smiles at me and they says, 'You must see our beautiful island before you sail away with the belle prisoner!'
"'Your island is fine,' I tells them, 'and, no offense185 meant, but it's got nothing on Manhattan Island. And as for the belle prisoner,' I says, 'ain't you folks forgetting something? This dame186 is as nifty a little murderess as ever I sees.'
"'Tell that to the judge,' I says. 'I 'm only the copper.'
"'Well,' they say, 'unfortunately Monsieur will have to enjoy our island for three weeks. The next liner will not be here until then.'
"'Oh, is that so?' I laughs. 'Well, let me tell you something. While you guys was examining the papers for your belle prisoner, I was doing a little scouting188 around the harbor. And they's a schooner189 leaving to-night for San Francisco. I guess that 'll do us all right.'
"'Impossible!' They go wild. 'A lady cannot travel—'
"'Cut the lady stuff,' I says. 'She's my prisoner.'
"She was a trading schooner, dealing190 in copra, oranges, cotton, mother-of-pearl, and such like, but once she must have been a fine yacht. There were state-rooms still aboard her, though now they were filled with junk for trading, but I made a deal with the captain and he cleans one out and fixes it up for Janssen. And then I takes Janssen down to the docks.
"Judge, you'd 'a' thought she'd saved the country instead of killing De Vries, the way they acted about that woman. They lined up on the docks of Papeete, all the men and a good many women, too. And they sang and they danced and they said good-by. 'When you get off, come back,' they says to her. They got on my nerves so much, I had all I could do not to laugh dirty, when they says that about getting off.
"Janssen looks at the boat, and looks at the people. And she goes crazy-mad. 'Damn you, damn you!' She turns on me. 'Only for you, I 'd not be going back!'
"'Yeh, only for me,' I says, 'you would n't have killed De Vries. It's all my fault, hey? Now, listen to me, Janssen. You 're my prisoner, and my prisoner you 'll remain. You had the game; now pay up, and stop hollering. You and I are from the same town, and I know you. You ought to know me a little better. I would n't have been sent for you if I had n't been able to take care of myself. All your French friends won't save you from a New York cop, once he 's out to get you. You 're beat, Janssen,' I tells her; 'you might as well give in.'
"She looks at me a long time.
"'I 'm not beat yet,' she says.
"The captain tells us he's going to stop at Nukahivo and a few other islands to take cargo191 aboard. He 's an old guy and sensible, and Janssen plays up to him to beat the band, so I takes no risks and keeps close. Even if he is an old guy and has n't any ambition, still and all, nobody likes a copper, and every one hates to see a prisoner taken home, especially if it's a woman. So I give Janssen and him no chance for private conversation. Once clear of the islands, I think, and all will be well. Janssen sees my game.
"'You don't give me much chance with the old fellow.'
"'No, ma'am,' I laughs. 'That's your business. I give you no chance. You 're beat, Janssen. What's the use of fooling yourself?'
"She turns in early. 'I suppose you 're going to lock the door?' she asks me.
"'What's the use? They's other keys. The islands are near at hand, and they could put you off in a boat. I 'm not going to lock the door,' I tells her, 'but I 'm going to sleep outside it, up against it. It opens out, and the smallest movement will wake me up. You 're beat.'
"'All right! I 'm beat,' she says, and she turns in.
"I puts myself against the door, and falls asleep on the deck. It might have been ten minutes after it, but it was really hours, the door opens. It's the middle of the night, for the stars are high, and there 's nothing to be seen, and the waves keep lapping the bow of the schooner and she dips pretty like a cantering horse. And suddenly I 'm awake and lonely and wet with dew. I looks up and there 's Janssen above me, big and handsome and her eyes like the stars.
"'You 're not comfortable there, McCarthy,' she whispers.
"'I can't say as I 'm on a bed of roses,' I tells her.
"'Why don't you come inside?'
"'I don't know what you mean,' I says.
"'Never mind what I mean,' she laughs. 'Come on in.'
"'I think I 'll stay where I am,' I says kind of short.
"'I 'm not accustomed to having invitations like this refused.' There was a kind of jar in her voice.
"'They 's lots of things you 're not accustomed to, you better get accustomed to right away,' I says. 'You 're accustomed to fine hotels. Now you got to get used to the Tombs. You 're accustomed to lying down on couches. Now you got to get accustomed to sitting up, very straight, in a chair at Sing Sing.' I did n't want to be brutal192 toward her, Judge, but I did n't want her to be making passes like that at me.
"What she says to me then I could n't tell, Judge. But she closes the door with a slam and leaves me be.
"I notices the wind is getting kind o' high, and that when the schooner pitches she sort of jars, and that under the green light on the starboard sight of the boat the water is rushing past very quick. The boat is lying over and the sailors pass me quick as lightning and in the cordage the air is whining like a broken fiddle-string, but over it all I can hear Janssen cursing in her cabin, cursing just like the
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1
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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meager
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| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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incandescence
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| n.白热，炽热；白炽 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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versus
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| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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ace
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| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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18
personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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19
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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20
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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29
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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31
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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32
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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34
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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35
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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36
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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37
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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38
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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39
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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40
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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42
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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43
truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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44
comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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45
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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46
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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graft
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| n.移植，嫁接，艰苦工作，贪污；v.移植，嫁接 | |
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48
grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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49
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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50
hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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51
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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52
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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53
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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macabre
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| adj.骇人的，可怖的 | |
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55
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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56
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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57
intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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58
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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59
overdone
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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60
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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61
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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62
brokers
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| n.（股票、外币等）经纪人( broker的名词复数 )；中间人；代理商；（订合同的）中人v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的第三人称单数 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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63
epics
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| n.叙事诗( epic的名词复数 )；壮举；惊人之举；史诗般的电影（或书籍） | |
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64
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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65
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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66
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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67
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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68
avow
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| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
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69
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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70
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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71
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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72
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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73
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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74
chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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acclaimed
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| adj.受人欢迎的 | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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78
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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79
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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80
flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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81
attested
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| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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82
callously
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83
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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84
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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85
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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86
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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87
blanch
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| v.漂白；使变白；使(植物)不见日光而变白 | |
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88
strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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89
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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90
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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91
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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92
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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93
arrogated
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| v.冒称，妄取( arrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；没来由地把…归属（于） | |
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94
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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95
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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96
muffle
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| v.围裹；抑制；发低沉的声音 | |
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97
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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98
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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99
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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100
alluringly
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| 诱人地，妩媚地 | |
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101
provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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102
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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103
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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104
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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105
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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106
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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107
cataclysm
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| n.洪水，剧变，大灾难 | |
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108
venal
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| adj.唯利是图的，贪脏枉法的 | |
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109
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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110
calculus
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| n.微积分；结石 | |
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111
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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112
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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113
clinch
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| v.敲弯，钉牢；确定；扭住对方 [参]clench | |
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114
iota
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| n.些微，一点儿 | |
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115
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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116
betokens
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的第三人称单数 ) | |
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117
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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118
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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119
dicing
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| n.掷骰子，（皮革上的）菱形装饰v.将…切成小方块，切成丁（ dice的现在分词 ） | |
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120
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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121
harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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122
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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123
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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124
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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125
fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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126
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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127
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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128
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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129
iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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130
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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131
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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132
canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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133
sloughs
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| n.沼泽( slough的名词复数 )；苦难的深渊；难以改变的不良心情；斯劳(Slough)v.使蜕下或脱落( slough的第三人称单数 )；舍弃；除掉；摒弃 | |
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134
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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135
wheedle
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| v.劝诱，哄骗 | |
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136
blasphemies
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| n.对上帝的亵渎，亵渎的言词[行为]( blasphemy的名词复数 )；侮慢的言词（或行为） | |
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137
marooned
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| adj.被围困的；孤立无援的；无法脱身的 | |
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138
prosecuting
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| 检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 )； 对某人提起公诉； 继续从事（某事物）； 担任控方律师 | |
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139
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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140
opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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141
gargoyle
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| n.笕嘴 | |
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142
hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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143
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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144
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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145
pouted
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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147
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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148
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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149
obfuscated
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| v.使模糊，使混乱( obfuscate的过去式和过去分词 )；使糊涂 | |
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150
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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151
usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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152
minatory
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| adj.威胁的；恫吓的 | |
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153
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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154
malefactor
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| n.罪犯 | |
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155
traduced
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| v.诋毁( traduce的过去式和过去分词 )；诽谤；违反；背叛 | |
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156
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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157
latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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158
germane
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| adj.关系密切的，恰当的 | |
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159
pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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160
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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161
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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162
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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164
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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165
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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166
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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167
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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168
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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169
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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170
inept
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| adj.不恰当的，荒谬的，拙劣的 | |
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171
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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172
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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173
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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174
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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175
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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176
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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177
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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178
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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179
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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180
sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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181
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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182
waived
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| v.宣布放弃( waive的过去式和过去分词 )；搁置；推迟；放弃（权利、要求等） | |
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183
consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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184
extradition
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| n.引渡（逃犯） | |
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185
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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186
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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187
shrugs
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| n.耸肩（以表示冷淡，怀疑等）( shrug的名词复数 ) | |
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188
scouting
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| 守候活动，童子军的活动 | |
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189
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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190
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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191
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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192
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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