Part 36 (1/2)

WOLFFERT'S MISSION

Wolffert naturally was somewhat surprised to see me come sallying forth from Mrs. Argand's; for he knew what I had not known when I called there, that she was the real owner of ”The Argand Estate.”

I gave him an account of my interview with the lady.

”I was wondering,” he said, laughing, ”what you were doing in there after having beaten her in that suit. I thought you had taken your nerve with you. I was afraid you had fallen a victim to her blandishments.”

”To whose?”

”Mrs. Argand's. She is the true Circe of the time, and her enchantment is one that only the strong can resist. She reaches men through their bellies.”

”Oh!” I was thinking of quite another person, who alone could beguile me, and I was glad that he was not looking at me.

He was, however, too full of another subject to notice me, and as we walked along, I told him of the old lady's views about John Marvel. He suddenly launched out against her with a pa.s.sion which I was scarcely prepared for, as much as I knew he loved John Marvel. Turning, he pointed fiercely back at the great prison-like mansion.

”Do you see that big house?” His long finger shook slightly--an index of his feeling.

”Yes.”

”Every stone in it is laid in mortar cemented with the tears of widows and orphans, and the blood of countless victims of greed and oppression.”

”Oh! nonsense! I have no brief for that old woman. I think she is an ignorant, arrogant, purse-proud, ill-bred old creature, spoiled by her wealth and the adulation that it has brought her from a society of sycophants and parasites; but I do not believe that at heart she is bad.” She had had a good advocate defend her to me and I was quoting her. Wolffert was unappeased.

”That is it. She sets up to be the paragon of Generosity, the patron of Charity, the example of Kindness for all to follow. She never gave a cent in her life--but only a portion--a small portion of the money wrung from the hearts of others. Her fortune was laid in corruption. Her old husband--I knew him!--he robbed every one, even his partners. He defrauded his benefactor, Colonel Tipps, who made him, and robbed his heirs of their inheritance.”

”How?” For I was much interested now.

”By buying up their counsel, and inducing him to sell them out and making him his counsel. And now that old woman keeps him as her counsel and adviser, though he is the worst man in this city, guilty of every crime on the statute-books, sacred and profane.”

”But she does not know that?”

”Not know it? Why doesn't she know it? Because she shuts her doors to the men who do know it, and her ears to the cries of his victims.

Doesn't every one who cares to look into the crimes in this city know that Coll McSheen is the protector of Vice, and that he could not exist a day if the so-called good people got up and determined to abolish him--that he is the owner of the vilest houses in this city--the vilest because they are not so openly vile as some others? Isn't she trying to sell her niece to an adventurer for a t.i.tle, or a reprobate for his money?”

”Is she?” My blood suddenly began to boil, and I began to get a new insight into Wolffert's hostility.

We had turned toward John Marvel's. He appeared a sort of landmark to which to turn as we were dealing with serious subjects, and Wolffert was on his way there when I encountered him. As we walked along, he disclosed a system of vice so widespread, so horrible and so repulsive that I hesitate to set it down. He declared that it extended over not only all the great cities of the country, but over all the great cities of all countries.

I related the story the poor girl I had met that night on the street had told me, but I frankly a.s.serted that I did not believe that it could be as general as he claimed.

”'Smooth Ally,' was it?” said Wolffert, who knew of her. ”She is the smoothest and worst of them all, and she is protected by McSheen, who in turn is protected by clients like The Argand Estate. What became of her?” he demanded.

”Why, I don't know. I turned her over to the Salvationists--and--and I--rather left her to them.”

I was beginning to feel somewhat meek under his scornful expression.

”That is always the way,” he said. ”We look after them for an hour and then drop them back into perdition.”

”But I placed her in good hands. That is their business.”

”Their business! Why is it not your business, too? How can you s.h.i.+ft the responsibility? It is every one's business. Listen!” He had been recently to southern Russia, where, he said, the system of scoundrelism he described had one of its prolific sources, and he gave figures of the numbers of victims--girls of his own race--gathered up throughout the provinces and s.h.i.+pped from Odessa and other ports, to other countries, including America, to startle one.