The Frame Up | Page 7

she's trying to get him with
this murder charge. I know her. If she'd been sober she wouldn't have
shot him; she'd have blackmailed him. She's that sort. I know her,
and----"
With an exclamation the district attorney broke in upon her. "And the
man," he demanded eagerly; "was it HE killed Banf?"
In amazement the woman stared. "Certainly NOT!" she said.
"Then what HAS this to do with Banf?"
"Nothing!" Her tone was annoyed, reproachful. "That was only to bring
you here"
His disappointment was so keen that it threatened to exhibit itself in
anger. Recognizing this, before he spoke Wharton forced himself to
pause. Then he repeated her words quietly.

"Bring me here?" he asked. "Why?"
The woman exclaimed impatiently: "So you could beat the police to it,"
she whispered. "So you could HUSH IT UP!"
The surprised laugh of the man was quite real. It bore no resentment or
pose. He was genuinely amused. Then the dignity of his office, tricked
and insulted, demanded to be heard. He stared at her coldly; his
indignation was apparent.
"You have done extremely ill," he told her. "You know perfectly well
you had no right to bring me up here; to drag me into a row in your
road-house. 'Hush it up!"' he exclaimed hotly. This time his laugh was
contemptuous and threatening. "I'll show you how I'll hush it up!" He
moved quickly to the open window.
"Stop!" commanded the woman. "You can't do that!" She ran to the
door.
Again he was conscious of the rustle of silk, of the stirring of perfumes.
He heard the key turn in the lock. It had Come. It was a frame-up.
There would be a scandal. And to save himself from it they would force
him to "hush up" this other one. But, as to the outcome, in no way was
he concerned. Through the window, standing directly below it, he had
seen Nolan. In the sunlit yard the chauffeur, his cap on the back of his
head, his cigarette drooping from his lips, was tossing the remnants of a
sandwich to a circle of excited hens. He presented a picture of bored
indolence, of innocent preoccupation. It was almost too well done.
Assured of a witness for the defense, he greeted the woman with a
smile. "Why can't I do it?" he taunted.
She ran close to him and laid her hands on his arm. Her eyes were fixed
steadily on his. "Because," she whispered, "the man who shot that
girl-is your brother-in-law, Ham Cutler!"
For what seemed a long time Wharton stood looking down into the

eyes of the woman, and the eyes never faltered. Later he recalled that in
the sudden silence many noises disturbed the lazy hush of the
Indian-summer afternoon: the rush of a motor-car on the Boston Road,
the tinkle of the piano and the voice of the youth with the drugged eyes
singing, "And you'll wear a simple gingham gown," from the yard
below the cluck- cluck of the chickens and the cooing of pigeons.
His first thought was of his sister and of her children, and of what this
bomb, hurled from the clouds, would mean to her. He thought of Cutler,
at the height of his power and usefulness, by this one disreputable act
dragged into the mire, of what disaster it might bring to the party, to
himself.
If, as the woman invited, he helped to "hush it up," and Tammany
learned the truth, it would make short work of him. It would say, for
the murderer of Banf he had one law and for the rich brother-in-law,
who had tried to kill the girl he deceived, another. But before he gave
voice to his thoughts he recognized them as springing only from panic.
They were of a part with the acts of men driven by sudden fear, and of
which acts in their sane moments they would be incapable.
The shock of the woman's words had unsettled his traditions. Not only
was he condemning a man unheard, but a man who, though he might
dislike him, he had for years, for his private virtues, trusted and
admired. The panic passed and with a confident smile he shook his
head.
"I don't believe you," he said quietly.
The manner of the woman was equally calm, equally assured.
"Will you see her?" she asked.
"I'd rather see my brother-in-law," he answered
The woman handed him a card.
"Doctor Muir took him to his private hospital," she said. "I loaned them

my car because it's a limousine. The address is on that card. But," she
added, "both your brother and Sammy-- that's Sam Muir, the
doctor--asked you wouldn't use the telephone; they're afraid of a leak."
Apparently Wharton did not hear her. As though it were