Novel 1981 - Comstock Lode (v5.0) (42 page)

Yet he had no patience for building from the ground up. The basic work, the hard work on the Solomon had been done before he seized it.

Sandy and Eilley Bowers were giving a party. The thought returned to him suddenly. He liked neither of them. They were strong, hearty people of little taste, warmhearted and generous, but they were boors-in his estimation, they were boors.

Yet they had friends, and they were generally well-liked, even loved. Hesketh understood that without accepting the reasons why. Their party would be attended by everyone, or almost everyone. The hotel would be crowded, champagne would be flowing like water, and there would be much drunkenness. It would be a night when anything might happen, when anything
could
happen.

Perfect.

Waggoner might come but he would not stay, for Waggoner was unsocial. He preferred his own company to that of anyone else. He would enjoy the free food and drinks and then go back to his cabin; so for a time he would be gone.

Hesketh knew what he would do. The details of the plan fell neatly into place. The panic was gone now, and the blinding rage. He was still, he was cold, he was sure.

He would pick up a newspaper and he would speak to the headwaiter.

For a moment he hesitated, thinking it all over carefully. Yes, it was the way. It all depended on timing and a certain amount of chance. But he could gamble. He had gambled before this.

Albert Hesketh bought a newspaper at the cigarstand and turned toward the dining room. The hotel was already beginning to fill with the Bowerses’ guests.

“I shall be down,” he glanced at his watch, “in thirty minutes. I shall want my usual table.”

“But, Mr. Hesketh, Sandy Bowers has taken over the dining room. He is paying for everything. He will arrange—”

“My usual table,” Hesketh replied coolly, “nothing but that. What goes on here tonight is no concern of mine. I shall dine as usual, and I shall return to my rooms. I shall want my usual dinner for Friday nights. No more, no less. And I shall pay for my own dinner.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

When he returned, he left his door open just a crack to listen to the movements in the hall outside. There was almost no sound as most of the patrons of the hotel were already down on the lower levels sharing the Bowerses’ hospitality. He waited an instant then stepped out, shut his door carefully, and walked down the hall to the stairway. He glanced back. The hall was empty. Swiftly he went down the stairs. He’d had no trouble discovering what room Crockett had been given.

The lower hall was empty, too, so he walked along briskly and tapped lightly at the door. He waited a moment and tapped again, no answer.

He tried the knob and it turned easily in his hand. He opened the door and stepped inside. If anyone found him here, he had just come to see if there was anything he could do for his former employer. After all, he’d say, we had our troubles but I really liked the cantankerous old—

The shades were drawn. A dim light burned at the far side of the room, but other than the man lying on the bed, propped up by pillows, the room was empty.

There was an empty chair near the light and a newspaper folded beside it, as well as a half-empty cup. The nurse, or whoever had been here, must have just stepped out. He had very little time.

A spare pillow lay on the floor near the bed. He picked it up and stood for a moment, looking down at Will Crockett.

The trouble was, he wanted Will to know. He wanted Will Crockett to see him in that last, flickering moment. To see the man he would order around no longer.

Smiling, he touched Will on the chest, shook him gently.

“Will? It’s Al Hesketh, Will.”

Chapter 48

T
HE DINING ROOM was crowded with men and women clad in all their tawdry best, most of them standing. At an improvised bar champagne was being poured, and men were three deep, awaiting their turn.

Easing through the crowd, speaking to no one, Hesketh went to his usual table and sat down, opening his
Territorial Enterprise
to the inside. As a harried waiter passed he spoke quickly, “Waiter? How much longer must I wait?”

“Oh? Sorry, sir. We’ve been busy with the party. Right away, sir. I’ll see to it.”

“You might bring me some more coffee. A fresh cup, if you don’t mind.” He handed the waiter a cup, left standing on the table by some passerby at the party.

He straightened around in his chair and took up the newspaper, yet his eyes did not focus.

Will Crockett was dead. One of the three was gone. One more, at least, must go. He doubted whether anyone in the constantly shifting group in the room had noticed when he had arrived. In any event, they would not be noticing the time.

Will Crockett was dead. Actually, it had been remarkably easy, perhaps the easiest thing he had ever done. At his voice, Crockett’s eyes had flared open and he seemed about to speak or cry out, but the pillow had descended, smothering any outcry, smothering life itself. He could still feel Crockett’s clutching hands grabbing his arms. But he was strong in the hands and had always been.

He had been in the room less than a minute, and then back to his own room, down to the main floor and the dining room.

It was done, finished.

He had hated Will Crockett as he hated anything that stood between him and what he wanted.

Sandy and Eilley Bowers came into the room, glancing his way but neither came over. The fools! Running through their money like a couple of drunken sailors! Didn’t they realize it wouldn’t last forever?

The waiter began to serve his dinner, and he folded his paper and placed it further over on the table. Uneasily, he felt his forearms. Those fingers, he could still feel them.

“Cold, Mr. Hesketh?” the waiter asked.

“No. No, certainly not. Why should I be cold?”

U
PSTAIRS, IN WILL Crockett’s bedroom, the nurse had returned to her station. All was quiet. Mr. Crockett seemed to be sleeping, and it was just as well. She had slipped out for a quick glass of champagne; she had never tasted the stuff before and was faintly disappointed, expecting something more. She opened her book and began to read. More than a half hour passed before she became disturbed. Pausing as she started to turn a page, she listened.

Odd, he was sleeping so quietly she couldn’t even hear him breathe. He…she got up quickly and went to the bed.

D
ELIBERATELY, ALBERT HESKETH took his time over his meal, ignoring the bustle and stir around him. He wanted everybody to be aware of him, and that he had been there a long time. Nobody, he was sure, would remember just when he came in, only that he seemed to have been there forever.

Finally, he took up his paper again, ordered another cup of coffee and a brandy, and sat back slowly, relaxing.

Over an hour; by now they should know, by now they would have discovered that Will Crockett was dead.

Hesketh finished his coffee and was about to rise when he saw Waggoner.

The big man was across the room, standing alone, a glass of champagne in his hand. Waggoner’s eyes swept over the room, passed him, never even halting. Of course, Waggoner did not know him, and would not know him unless there had been some fleeting memory.

The thought made him remember his brief meeting with Trevallion in Margrita Redaway’s rooms. There had been a flicker of something in Trevallion’s eyes, of doubt, the stirring of a memory, of suspicion.

Trevallion had seemed on the verge of recalling something, of remembering.

It did not matter. Trevallion must go. If Waggoner could not handle it, others could. He might even do it himself.

But at once, for now, there was no more time.

T
REVALLION WORE HIS black suit and his gun. He met Margrita in the lobby where she was talking with Clyde and Manfred.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I am afraid I am late.”

“Will Crockett is dead.” She turned to him as she spoke. “Mr. Manfred believes it is murder.”

“How did he die?”

“He was smothered.” Manfred’s eyes were like ice. “I have seen the look before. No matter what the nurse says, she must have left the room.”

“She denies it?”

“She does. I believe she came down to get a drink. In fact, one of the waiters remembers seeing her.”

“Where was Hesketh?”

“In the dining room, in very plain sight, being served his dinner as always, in the same seat as always.”

“He wouldn’t do it himself, anyway,” Clyde said.

Manfred glanced at him. “Of course he would. Have you ever really
looked
at him? I have. He would kill you without turning a hair.”

He turned slightly, looking from Margrita to Trevallion. “You two are next, believe me, I know. Look at it seriously. He now has possession of the Solomon. It represents a lot of money and if one wishes to use it, that money means power. Will Crockett’s return threatened Hesketh’s control. Crockett is conveniently dead. So who threatens him now?”

“I suspect that I do,” Margrita said, “or so somebody seems to believe.”

“And you do,” Manfred said to Trevallion. “For some reason you worry him.”

“I’ve been worrying somebody,” Trevallion replied mildly, “ever since I came to Virginia City.”

“Ever since you came
back,
” Manfred said.

Trevallion gave him a sharp glance. “What’s that mean?”

“Hadn’t you been here before?” Manfred pointed down the canyon. “Isn’t your father buried down there?”

He had their attention now, but suddenly his manner changed. “We’re none of us here by accident. Oh, maybe Clyde is, but we are not. This place,” he gestured widely, “it has a fatal attraction for us. Trevallion and me because we remembered the place, and Miss Redaway because her family was coming west for gold and something drove her to complete what had been begun.

“Don’t ask me why, except, well, my family are buried down there, too.”

“I had no idea,” Margrita exclaimed. “Somehow I never suspected.”

He shrugged. “Nobody does. Because I lived abroad for a while they all believe I’m a bloody foreigner. I’m not.”

He stared at Trevallion. “I remember you, although you don’t remember me. I don’t think you even saw me, although I was around.”

“Saw you? Where?”

“On the wagon train, coming west. My name wasn’t Manfred then. I owe Lord Byron for that. I borrowed the name from his poem because that Manfred sold his soul to the devil and got away with it. When the devil came to take possession, he had become too strong for him, and refused him. I did that, too, in a way. Only I wasn’t strong enough so I ran away. I got away.”

“You were on the wagon train with us?”

“Yes. My name was Thompson then.”

“Thompson! But Thompson was the family that drove off into the basin after a mirage.”

“Exactly. My father was a bull-headed, foolish man, Mr. Trevallion. That does not say he was not kind or a good provider. Also, he was not a trusting man, and that, at least, I inherited from him.”

He paused, looking around, then he added, “One thing you must grasp. Albert Hesketh is a completely self-centered man in its most extreme sense. He has nothing of what we call conscience,and fear in its usual sense is utterly foreign to him.

“My father took us off the trail into the desert after a mirage. By the time he realized the lake we thought we saw kept receding before us, it was too late. He tried to turn the team around and got bogged down. He had valuable tools in the wagon and would not leave them.

“We tried to get him to take the oxen and walk out but he refused. Working in the blazing sun, fighting to get the wagon turned, his heart failed him and he died right there.

“The heat was frightful and we had no water after the first few hours. We buried my father and just doing that took a lot out of us. Two of the oxen died there and we unhitched the others. I got my mother on one of the oxen and my sisters on the other. We’d come miles, and going back was mostly up hill.

“My mother had been ill a lot, and she lasted longer than I expected, but she went, too, and then my sisters.

“I buried them, after a fashion. And then this man came along. He was alone but he had six pack burros. He gave me a little water, when I had almost passed out, then he gave me more.

“‘Where you from, boy? Where’s your wagon?’ I pointed and he told me to get up and we’d go back. He asked what was in it and I told him and he started back. I didn’t want to go. ‘You want to get out of here don’t you, boy? You help me and I’ll take you out.’

“We went back to our wagon, and he had me help him load everything of value on those burros. Then he asked me where the money was. I asked ‘What money?’ and he said, ‘Don’t give me trouble, boy, or you can stay right here an’ die. Everybody has a little money. Where is it?’

“I wanted to get out. I wanted to live, and I was scared of him. Ma had given me what money she’d had from pa when he was dying, so I gave him that.

“We started out and I suddenly realized he intended to kill me or leave me to die, but he needed my help right then.

“Before we got to the trail—he wasn’t using the main emigrant trail—we found another wagon. There was nobody around, so he went through the wagon, taking everything of value and loading it.

“I was exhausted and wanted to quit, but I knew if I did he’d leave me. After a while, it was almost dusk, we started on. He seemed to pay no attention to me and didn’t stop even when I fell. Finally when it was almost dark he called to me. He’d stopped back of a big old sand dune with some rocks around,and some brush. I was scared of him and when he called again, I ran.

“I was behind the mules which were following him, and he had to ride out from them to see me, and I dropped behind a rock and then began to crawl. He started for where I was, and I ran again. He shot at me, and I fell just like I’d been shot, then I rolled over and crawled. There was a big old rock there with a kind of shelf out from it. I crawled under that. He finally gave up hunting and rode off.”