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Duson busied himself in the bed-chamber, Mr. Sabin sat motionless in his easy chair. Soon there came a tap at the door. The porter reappeared ushering in a smart-looking young man, who carried a shiny coachman's hat in his hand. "Struck it right fust time," the porter remarked cheerfully. "This is the man, sir." Mr. Sabin turned his head.
He stretched out his hand to the little wad of notes which Duson had left upon the table, but the cabdriver backed away. "Beg pardon, sir," he said. "You've given me plenty. The letter's of no value to me. I came very near tearing it up, but for the peculiar colour pencil it's written with. Kinder took my fancy, sir." "The letter is of value," Mr. Sabin said.
"I only seen the Klu Klux Klan onct. They was a-paradin' the streets here in Brookhaven. They had a Nigger that they was a-goin' to tar an' feather. We travelled on a cotton wagon to Covington, Louisiana. We all worked on a farm there 'bout a year. Then all 'cept me moved to Mandeville, Louisiana an' worked on a farm there. I hired out to Mr. Charlie Duson, a baker.
He bought a newspaper, and glanced through the list of steamers which had sailed during the week. When the train glided into the depot he was on his feet and ready to leave it. "You will reserve our rooms, Duson, for one month," he said on the way to the hotel. "We shall probably leave for Europe a month to-morrow." "Very good, sir." "You were Mrs. Peterson's servant, Duson, before you were mine!"
"I took some roses there and left them," she said "What of that?" "Only that you were the last person seen to enter Mr. Sabin's rooms before Duson was found there dead. And Duson died from a dose of that same poison, a packet of which you procured secretly from Emil Sachs. An empty wineglass was by his side it was one generally used by Mr. Sabin.
"What does this mean?" There was no answer. Mr. Sabin moved quickly forward, and then stopped short. He had seen dead men, and he knew the signs. Duson was stone dead. Mr. Sabin's nerve answered to this demand upon it. He checked his first impulse to ring the bell, and looked carefully on the table for some note or message from the dead man.
He had not the vice of obstinacy, and he knew when to abandon a theory. "I am corrected," he said. "In any case, a mystery remains as well worth solving. Who are these people at whose instigation Duson was to have murdered you these people whom Duson feared so much that suicide was his only alternative to obeying their behests?" Mr. Sabin smiled faintly.
"I am quite ready, Duson!" he said. The servants in the hall stood respectfully aside to let him pass. On the way to the depot he saw nothing of those who saluted him. In the car he sat with folded arms in the most retired seat, looking steadfastly out of the window at the dying day.
"And what have I to do with him, or he with me?" Mr. Sabin asked quietly. Felix shook his head. "I cannot tell you," he said. "Yet I fancy that you and he may some time be drawn together." Mr. Sabin asked no more questions, but he promptly sat down and accepted his niece's invitation. When he looked round Felix had gone. He rang the bell for Duson and handed him the note.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I should have known better than to have used such a word to you. Permit me to take my leave." Mr. Sabin rose. "I thank you, sir," he said, "for the courteous manner in which you have discharged your mission." Lord Robert bowed. "My good wishes," he said, "are yours." Mr. Sabin when alone called Duson to him. "Have you any report to make, Duson?" he asked.
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