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THE CRUISE OF THE JASPER B。
years before was now working in him with cumulative effect。 Wharton；
only partially recovered from the shock of Cleggett's sudden arraignment；
began to stammer and bluster； using the words nearest his tongue：
〃You d…damned im…p…pertinent〃
〃Just a moment；〃 Cleggett interrupted； growing visibly angrier； and
seeming to enjoy his anger more and more。 〃Just a word more。
I had intended to conclude my remarks by telling you that my
contempt for YOU； personally； is unbounded。 It is boundless； sir！ But
since you have sworn at me； I am forced to conclude this interview in
another fashion。〃
And with a gesture which was not devoid of dignity Cleggett drew
from an upper waistcoat pocket a card and flung it on Wharton's desk。
After which he stepped back and made a formal bow。
Wharton looked at the card。 Bewilderment almost chased the anger
from his face。
〃Eh；〃 he said； 〃what's this？〃
〃My card； sir！ A friend will wait on you tomorrow！〃
〃Tomorrow？ A friend？ What for？〃
Cleggett folded his arms and regarded the managing editor with a
touch of the supercilious in his manner。
〃If you were a gentleman；〃 he said； 〃you would have no difficulty in
understanding these things。 I have just done you the honor of
challenging you to a duel。〃
Mr。 Wharton's mouth opened as if he were about to explode in a roar
of incredulous laughter。 But meeting Cleggett's eyes； which were； indeed；
sparkling with a most remarkable light； his jaw dropped； and he turned
slightly pale。 He rose from his chair and put the desk between himself
and Cleggett； picking up as he did so a long pair of shears。
〃Put down the scissors；〃 said Cleggett； with a wave of his hand。 〃I do
not propose to attack you now。〃
And he turned and left the managing editor's little office； closing the
door behind him。
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THE CRUISE OF THE JASPER B。
The managing editor tiptoed over to the door and； with the scissors
still grasped in one hand； opened it about a quarter of an inch。 Through
this crack Wharton saw Cleggett walk jauntily towards the corner where
his hat and coat were hanging。 Cleggett took off his worn office jacket；
rolled it into a ball； and flung it into a waste paper basket。 He put on his
street coat and hat and picked up the drab…colored cane。 Swinging the
stick he moved towards the door into the hall。 In the doorway he paused；
cocked his hat a trifle； turned towards the managing editor's door； raised
his hand with his pipe in it with the manner of one who points a dueling
pistol； took careful aim at the second button of the managing editor's
waistcoat； and clucked。 At the cluck the managing editor drew back
hastily； as if Cleggett had actually presented a firearm； Cleggett's manner
was so rapt and fatal that it carried conviction。 Then Cleggett laughed；
cocked his hat on the other side of his head and went out into the corridor
whistling。 Whistling； and； since faults as well as virtues must be told；
swaggering just a little。
When the managing editor had heard the elevator come up； pause； and
go down again； he went out of his room and said to the city editor：
〃Mr。 Herbert； don't ever let that man Cleggett into this office again。
He is offoff mentally。 He's a dangerous man。 He's a homicidal maniac。
More'n likely he's been a quiet； steady drinker for years； and now it's
begun to show on him。〃
But nothing was further from Cleggett than the wish ever to go into the
Enterprise office again。 As he left the elevator on the ground floor he
stabbed the astonished elevator boy under the left arm with his cane as a
bayonet； cut him harmlessly over the head with his cane as a saber； tossed
him a dollar； and left the building humming：
〃Oh； the Beau Sabreur of the Grande Armee Was the
Captain Tarjeanterre！〃
It is thus； with a single twitch of her playful fingers； that Fate will
sometimes pluck from a man the mask that has obscured his real identity
for many years。 It is thus that Destiny will suddenly draw a bright blade
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THE CRUISE OF THE JASPER B。
from a rusty scabbard！
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THE CRUISE OF THE JASPER B。
CHAPTER II
THE ROOM OF ILLUSION
That part of Brooklyn in which Cleggett lived overlooks a wide sweep
of water where the East River merges with New York Bay。 From his
windows he could gaze out upon the bustling harbor craft and see the
ships going forth to the great mysterious sea。
He walked home across the Brooklyn Bridge； and as he walked he still
hummed tunes。 Occasionally； still with the rapt and fatal manner which
had daunted the managing editor； he would pause and flex his wrist； and
then suddenly deliver a ferocious thrust with his walking…stick。
The fifth of these lunges had an unexpected result。 Cleggett directed
it toward the door of an unpainted toolhouse； a temporary structure near
one of the immense stone pillars from which the bridge is swung。 But； as
he lunged； the toolhouse door opened； and a policeman； who was coming
out wiping his mouth on the back of his hand； received a jab in the pit of a
somewhat protuberant stomach。
The officer grunted and stepped backward； then he came on； raising
his night…stick。
〃Why； it'sit's McCarthy！〃 exclaimed Cleggett； who had also sprung
back； as the light fell on the other's face。
〃Mr。 Cleggett； by the powers！〃 said the officer； pausing and lowering
his lifted club。 〃Are ye soused； man？ Or is it your way of sayin' good
avenin' to your frinds？〃
Cleggett smiled。 He had first known McCarthy years before when he
was a reporter； and more recently had renewed the acquaintance in his
walks across the bridge。
〃I didn't know you were there； McCarthy；〃 he said。