The Titans (42 page)

keeping him in the Almshouse? I've never been there before." "The guards will direct you-was "I like to know the plan of the stage, Josiahf Where is he?" "I-I'm not exactly sure. I only know the soldiers are in wards, and the civilian prisoners in separate cells. I can't be more specific. I've never visited the Almshouse either." Unsatisfied, Lamont asked, "Will a guard stay right outside the cell all the time?" "Not according to my source. Naturally they'll search your satchel when you go in. After that, you'll be pretty much on your own. The guards don't much care what happens to the prisoners. They're mostly young recruits- full of piss and anger because the Yanks are being given decent treatment." "Anything else I should know?" "You shouldn't encounter any medical personnel. The surgeon in charge only calls in the morning. There are no nurses-although from the number of pass applications we've received at the War Department, it seems dozens of our dear Richmond ladies can't wait to hurry to the Almshouse to help relieve the misery of the poor Yanks." Lamont looked cynical. "Southern courtesy does have its drawbacks. What about the pass?" "Right here-was Cheever drew a folded paper from The Titans573 the pocket of his food-spotted coat. "It's been duly signed by the assistant secretary-was "You mean forged." "After a good deal of practice, I don't mind telling you. The countersignature's authentic." He pointed to it. "Secretary Walker's. My work passed the test." Lamont glanced at the flowery handwriting, nodded and slipped the paper in the pocket of his duster. "Got the rest of the things?" One more parcel came from beneath the bed. Lamont opened his satchel to full width and reached down to smooth the cloth in the bottom. The feel of the coarse fabric sent a peculiar stir of anticipation through him; it was almost like the anticipation before bedding a woman. He really shouldn't have taken the article in the bottom of the satchel. It had only caught his eye at the last moment, as he was leaving the flat. Bringing it along had struck him as the perfect touch of theatrics; and appropriately symbolic as well. Fan had been out of the parlor when he took it. She might notice its absence. He had no fears about Gideon. He'd be gone all evening with his young woman- Though he'd acted impulsively, worrying wouldn't change the situation now. Besides, the presence of the stolen item in the satchel did lend the whole proceedings a sharper edge of danger. A bit of nervousness always improved an actor's performance. Cheever handed him articles from the last parcel: "Note paper-was Lamont put it away. "Pencils." Again Lamont's hand dipped into the satchel. "Cigars. I bought cheap ones-was "Why be extravagant for a dead man?" "comanda box of creams from Pizzini's." "Oh, that's a nice fillip." Lamont laid the wrapped 574The Murderer candy away. Cheever reached for the soiled pillow at the head of the bed. The actor shook his head: "I don't need that." "But there are no beds in the Almshouse. No bedding. Will you use the duster?" "Something else." He smiled, relishing Cheever's befuddlement. After a suitable delay, he patted the satchel: "It's already packed away. I'll hide it under my shirt before I get to the Almshouse." "What is it, Edward?" "I'll tell you afterward." "You shouldn't vary the plan! We worked out every detail so nothing would go wrong." "Nothing will go wrongl" Lamont's loud voice cowed the smaller man. "This item won't be detected. They'll be hunting pistols and knives-at least that's what you said." "I'm fairly certain the search will be cursory," Cheever nodded. "Then don't worry." "Damn it, Edward, you owe me an explanation of how you intend-was "No!" Lamont interrupted. His dark eyes glowed as he put on the disreputable hat, pulled its brim low over his forehead and affected a stooping posture. "Like any good actor, I owe you suspense and a pleasing surprise at the final curtain. I'll be back within two hours. And then Mister-was He pulled out the pass. Studied the name inscribed. Blinking and twitching his lips, he modulated his voice until it was shrill; raspy; rustic: "comMr. Artemus McAfee of Mechanicsville, Hanover County, will disappear from Richmond forever- having given a single flawless performance." Cheever clasped his hand. "I'll be waiting." The Titans575 Lamont was embarrassed because Cheever felt the sweat on his palm. He's right about changing the plan. I really shouldn't have surrendered to that impulse and taken- Nonsense! It would work perfectly. He would make it work. Years of training and experience were on his side. The danger was minimal. And the reward- Breathing hard a moment, he remembered his aunt axed down by that rabid, murdering nigger boy. The reward was more than worth the risk. "Good night to ye, sir," Lamont said with a quirky smile. He touched his hat brim with two fingers and slipped out the door carrying his satchel. From the door, Cheever watched him go. A low, cackling laugh echoed along the sour hallway as Lamont clumped down the stairs in a perfect imitation of a countryman's clumsy gait IV Fan hadn't expected her son home so early. Gideon explained that Eliza Marble, energetic as she was, had grown exceedingly tired after tending the wounded Georgians for two nights. Margaret had returned to the shop so her aunt could rest. Both women were sleeping on the premises until the visiting physician pronounced it safe for them to leave their charges alone at night. The Lamont flat was silent except for the wind whining at the windows. Gideon pulled off his boots and flopped in the chair that had become his favorite resting place when he wasn't sleeping or spending time with Margaret. Fan came back from the kitchen where she was heating potato soup-thin, unsatisfying stuff, she'd apologized. But the best she could prepare given Edward's low salary. 576The Murderer She halted in the parlor doorway, stricken silent by her son's odd look. Gideon was staring into the unlit hearth. Ever since coming in a few minutes ago, he'd sensed something wasn't quite right- Maybe it's my own behavior, he thought cynically. Margaret's remarks had accentuated his guilt aljout Jephtha. He raised his head as Fan approached, her skirts rustling softly. She touched his shoulder: "Gideon, you look unhappy." "Not really. Just been thinking." "About what?" "Well, I sort of hate to bring it up, but-was After hesitating, he plunged ahead. "comMargaret and I talked about Papa tonight." Fan didn't seem upset, so he went on: "Margaret thinks it's my duty to ask about him at the Almshouse." "You'll recall the same thing occurred to me when I first learned he was a prisoner." Gideon nodded in a troubled way. "One minute I'm convinced you and Margaret have the right idea. The next, all I can think of is that night in Washington-was "Have you been thinking a lot about your father?" Fan asked softly. "More than I like to admit. I keep wondering whether-whether he's dying. Or if he needs anything we could or should provide-was "I'm a bit surprised at your concern." "Are you angry?" "No. I've been feeling the same way." "Even after what he said about you?" "Gideon, when a human being's hurt or facing death, very little else matters. Especially not the past." He pondered that, then said: "I told Margaret Papa and I could never be close. "i The Titans577 He'll always be a stranger. And a deranged one, at that." Sitting, Fan murmured, "I wonder." "What?" She shook her head. "Go on." Gideon shrugged. "There's nothing more to say. I just can't decide whether Margaret's right." Fan covered her eyes a moment. "I think she is." A wan smile. "It's rather shameful that an outsider should have to remind us of our responsibilities." "If we have any." "I believe we do. Margaret strikes me as a very kind and Christian young woman-was Gideon didn't interrupt to tell his mother that Margaret's willingness to concern herself with others had only surfaced after a hard personal struggle. "comand you're very fortunate she wants to marry you." "I'm glad you feel that way." He rubbed his forehead. "If you don't mind, I'd like to settle this business about Papa-was "We should." "I know he wouldn't want to see me even if I could get into the Almshouse, which I can't. You need a special pass from the War Department. But I could go to the office and ask about him-was He wanted her to agree. It astonished him, but he did. Perhaps deep inside, there ran a blood-river stronger than any of the divisive currents of their yesterdays. He said suddenly: "I could do it tomorrow." "Yes," Fan whispered. "D. I know he isn't one of us. But he-he was my husband and he is your father." "Then I'll go in the morning. I'm glad you approve. While I was walking home, I nearly decided that's what I wanted to do. I hesitated to bring it up because I 578The Murderer thought Edward would object-where is he, by the way?" "Working." Gideon's palms turned cold. "Where?" "Why, at the Treasury." "Mama, Margaret and I passed the Treasury coming back from St. Paul's. There wasn't a light burning in the building. Not one." Confused, she stammered, "But, Gideon, he-he told me his section had important documents to transcribe for the President's signature first thing in the morning." "If that's true, his section is working somewhere else tonight." "He took his satchel-the one he carries every day. I watched him pack it with papers, I-Gideon, what are you thinking?" Scowling, he waved. "I'm not sure." "Please-was She hurried to kneel beside him. He was startled by the troubled expression in her gray-green eyes. "For my sake, speak your mind." "It's probably ridiculous, Mama. But a few times, I've asked myself whether-was He stopped. "No. I don't want to speak ill of Edward-was "Tell me, Gideon!" He drew a deep breath. "All right. I'll say this much. Sometimes I ask myself whether Edward's always truthful. Monday night-Tuesday morning-he said he'd been at the Treasury. He claimed he came straight home. But he smelled of beer." "You noticed that." Her tone said he hadn't been the only one. "Still, I don't suppose it's fair to call a man dishonest because he stops for a drink without telling anyone." "There are some other reasons. I've thought about Papa's accusations in Washington. I was convinced he was out of his head with that story about a murder plot to get control of the money Matt and Jeremiah and I The Titans579 will inherit. Convinced, that is, until a name cropped up in your letter. Cheever." "Gideon-was A look of shame flickered in her eyes. "I'm going to confess something to you." He waited. "I've been suspicious of Edward myself." "Why?" "It's the sum of a lot of little things. The way Edwafrd and Mr. Cheever ignored one another on the street-as if Cheever had never once set foot in our hotel room-was "Which he had." "Of course. I wrote you that Edward lost his temper when I questioned him about the incident. He didn't deny knowing Cheever. How could he? But he's refused to discuss it ever since. I've seen Mr. Cheever a second time, however." "When?" "A week ago. Again on Main Street. He didn't see me. I felt dishonorable, but I turned around and followed him. To the War Department. I approached one of the guards and made a discreet inquiry. Cheever's in Richmond on a permanent basis. He's working for the same government that employs Edward-yet Edward saw fit to deny knowing him, and I don't know why" The wind pushed at the windows, setting up an eerie whine. That was the moment when the pattern began to emerge from scattered fragments of the past: Edward's quiet fury whenever he spoke of the Nergo boy who'd murdered his aunt. Edward's hatred of the Yanks. Edward's worry about the financial plight of the Confederacy. And Edward's professional skill; his ability to simulate virtually any emotion or attitude- Add to that the apparent lie about working at the Treasury tonight and the fragments formed a dreadful whole. In his mind, Gideon posed the nearly unthinkable question: 580The Murderer What ij Papa wasn't lying? He didn't dare voice the question to Fan. He might still be imagining things. If he could only be sure-to He hid his confusion by feigning a smile and chafing her hands: "Well, perhaps there's a proper explanation for the business with Cheever. Anyway, visiting the Almshouse is more important-was She looked disappointed, as if she'd hoped he could answer her questions. But he had too many of his own. He had to get out of the flat. Think it through. He jerked on his left boot: "I need a bit of air. Keep the soup warm." "When you came in, you said you were famished-was "I am. I'll just take a turn around the block and come right back." He stamped his foot down in his right boot and stood up. His eyes came level with the mantel. Then he knew why he'd sensed something awry the moment he walked into the parlor. Fretting over the problem of his father, he hadn't been alert enough to notice the flag he was duty-bound to send to Miss Wonderly at White House. The chore was so freighted with sad memories, he hadn't been able to write the accompanying letter yet- Now the flag was gone. "Mama-was He pointed. "Did you move the flag?" Fan clambered to her feet. "Why, no. It was there early this evening. It was there before Edward went-was Round-eyed, she stared at him. "Mama, what the hell is Edward up to?" "I-I have no idea, Gideon, I-was "No one else could have taken that flag." "Certainly not. But why on earth would he-?" "I don't know!" "I'll get my shawl. Let me walk with you-was He shook his head angrily. The Titans581 "Why not?" "Because I'm feeling damned uneasy all at once-was He knew the rest would hurt her. He couldn't help it: "I'm going to the Almshouse right now." "Oh, Gideon-was Tears started in her eyes. "comy don't imagine Edward-his You don't think what your father said could possibly-?" "I don't know. But what other explanation is there? Maybe he really does want us to get control of the California money-was "He's never shown the slightest interest in that money! Although-was "Although what?" Miserable, she forced out the rest: "In Washington, he did express fear that your father would try to deprive you and your brothers of the inheritance-no! It still doesn't make sense! Edward's always assured me he wants no part of the money-was Like a knife, intuition cut through to show Gideon a motive: "Maybe he doesn't want it for himself. Or for us, either." "Then for who-?" "The government." "Oh, God." Her small voice was enough to convince him the idea wasn't so far-fetched. No longer hesitant, he exclaimed: "That must be it! You know how strong he is about the cause. Maybe he has some wild notion about acquiring the money to support the war. He could be working hand in glove with that Cheever to make himself a hero to the whole damn Confederacy!" "That's too terrible even to think abou-was "No, it isn't. Finally it puts all the details in
place. Every one!" Gideon's heart was beating fast. He despised what he 582The Murderer was saying because of the way it hurt her. He put his arms around her. She was stiff; trembling. "Mama, we've got to remember two things. First, how much Edward despises the nigras and the Northerners waging war for them. Second-before he joined the Treasury, he earned his living deceiving people." "Deceiving-?" "Isn't that what an actor does? Isn't that exactly what he does when he takes a part?" Gideon wiped his mouth. "It may all be ridiculous-totally unfair to him-was "Yes. Yes" Fan said it as if she were praying. "Just the same, I'm going to the Almshouse." He left her standing with her head bowed, in tears. He ran down the stairs into the windy dark. He could be as mad as his own father. Yet the theory he'd proposed to Fan explained so much- Patriot; actor. Edward was surely those. But perhaps he planned to play one more role as well. Murderer. The City Almshouse was a sprawling, multistoried building overlooking a weed-grown cemetery where generations of the indigent-and a good number of smallpox victims-had been buried. Strong gusts of wind tugged at Edward Lamont's hat as he climbed the steps of the main entrance. His shoulders slumped like those of an old man. He feigned nervousness as he presented his pass to a guard-a boy with bad skin, an ill-fitting uniform and a rusty musket. The boy was one of two sentries on duty under the lanterns mounted above the doors. "I come to visit one of yer prisoners," Lamont said, pleased with the high-pitched quaver he managed to put The Titans583 into his voice. "Didn't want to, but the bastard's related to my wife." He looked suitably respectful while the boy examined the pass. The boy jerked his head at the doors: "You'll have to show this to the duty sergeant inside." He indicated the satchel. "And have that searched. Your clothes, too." "Yessir, 'course. Thank ye much." Lamont shuffled into the building. Ancient benches lined the yellowing walls of the large, dingy lobby. The old wood floor creaked. From an open door on his left, a voice barked: "In here." A sergeant not much older than the guards studied his pass, then handed it back and pushed a ledger across the counter. "Sign this." Lamont deliberately dropped the pen, mumbled an apology and scratched the words Art emus McAfee, Mechanicsville, Hanover County in handwriting next to illegible. In the appropriate column he added the name of the prisoner he'd come to see. "It's a little late in the day for visiting," the sergeant complained as he rummaged through the satchel. "Yessir, I know. Like I told the young man outside, I didn't want to come at all. Them Yanks can die an" go to hell fer all I care. But my wife, she's cousin to one of "em-was The sergeant turned the ledger. "Kent-that abolitionist reporter?" "Yessir." "I wouldn't go around bragging about it." "No, sir." The sergeant broke the ribbon on the box of Pizzini creams and helped himself to one before he replaced the lid. While he examined the rest of the articles, Lamont fidgeted in a perfect imitation of a semiliterate 584The Murderer man awed by a uniform. At last the sergeant closed the satchel and gestured: "Come around the counter and raise your arms over your head." He searched Lamont's duster, then his pants pockets. He thrust a hand carelessly beneath the duster to pat the homespun shirt. That was the moment Lamont sweated the worst. He'd bunched the flag inside his un-derdrawers- The sergeant's casual search didn't get that far. "All right." The sergeant returned the satchel and walked back to his desk on the other side of the counter. "You're allowed fifteen minutes with him. I expect the prisoner'll be sleeping, though." "I don't even want to talk to the son-of-a-bitch. I'll just leave off these yere things my wife bought for him. I'm sure sorry to rout you fellows out this way. I couldn't come no sooner. Had to finish the evening chores-was Bored, the sergeant was seated again and turning the pages of a paper. He waved at the door: "Go up the stairs to the third floor. Kent's in one of the cells in the south wing. The guard on the landing will unlock it for you." Lamont touched his hat. "Much obliged." The sergeant didn't glance up as he left the office. The draughty, creaking hall smelled of disinfectant. In case anyone was watching, he clutched the sweat- blackened bannister and breathed loudly as he labored up the staircase. On the second floor landing, a laconic guard sat on a stool. Large arched doorways revealed long, dim rooms lit by a few gas fixtures. In each room, rows of straw pallets were arranged on either side of an aisle. Men lay on the pallets. Lamont heard the sounds of restless slumber; an occasional groan of pain- The guard inspected his pass. "On upstairs-was In the ward to the left, a prisoner cried out. "Shut up in therel" The Titans585 Lamont had to force himself to go slowly up the final flights. Excitement was mounting within him. It was working perfectly-more perfectly than he'd ever imagined. As Cheever had said, the callow guards didn't care about the prisoners. Would just as soon see them all die, probably- I'll be happy to oblige. Won't be long till they have one less Yank to worry about. His confidence increased with every step. So did his contempt for the guards. They were no match for a man who'd played everything from a comic rustic to a Roman senator. He'd be in, out and gone in less than half an hour. The guards probably wouldn't detect the death until morning- The third floor guard took his pass, leaned his musket against the wall behind his stool and pulled a ring of keys off his belt. "Follow me." They walked through another of the shadowy wards. Blue-uniformed men tossed on pallets. Some of the Yanks wore foul-smelling bandages. At the end of the ward the guard led him through a second arch and turned right into another, equally dim corridor. Lamont saw bolted doors along both sides. The guard stopped at the fourth door on the left. He peered through the small barred window, then slipped a key into the lock and twisted it. "Used to keep the crazy folks up here," he explained as he unfastened the bolt below the lock. "Did the sergeant tell you fifteen minutes-?" "Right, sir. I don't aim to be here half that long." The guard swung the door back. Lamont entered the sour, narrow room lit by one gas fixture. The furnishings consisted of a stool, a straw pallet and a slop jar in the corner near an unwashed window overlooking the cemetery and the lighted hills of the city. Lamont could barely control his excitement at the 586The Murderer sight of the man curled on his side on the pallet. He recognized the black hair; soiled black suit; swarthy skin. There was a length of linen wrapped around Jephtha Kent's head. He was breathing loudly. Asleep. "Want me to kick him in the head and wake him up?" the guard asked. "No, sir. I got no intention of talkin" to him. Like I' splained to the other officers, he's my wife's kin, not mine. I'm kinda winded from all them stairs, though. I'll set a minute, then unload the stuff my missus bought. After I leave, you hep yourself to whatever you want." He opened the satchel to display the contents. "There's candy. Writin' paper. Some cigars-was "Why, that's white of you, Mister-was "McAfee, Artemus McAfee." Lamont whispered it, fearful of waking Jephtha. This was the critical moment. If the guard stayed- But he didn't: "Shoot the boh when you leave, Mr. McAfee. I'll tend to the lock later. That sumbitch ain't goin' no place. He ain't awake more'n four or five hours every day." Lamont played it for all it was worth: "Is there any chance he's gonna die?" "Don't think so. He ain't hurt that bad." Glumly: "Oh." "But once he's back on his feet, he still ain't goin' anyplace." "Good!" "When you're finished, come back an' see me at the landing. And bring me a couple of them cigars." "Yessir-was Lamont bobbed his head. "Surely will." He waited until the guard tramped off down the corridor. Silently, he put the satchel on the floor. He eased the door shut. Turned. Took two steps. The Titans587 Lifted the stool and placed it beside the pallet without making a sound. He sat down. He propped his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers under his chin, gazing down at the injured man. A smile broke the blankness of his dirty face. He'd never experienced such anticipation. Not even waiting to make his very first professional entrance in a Savannah theater years ago. He'd never felt so fine-or so certain of success. He sat studying Jephtha for perhaps a minute. Then he reached into the waistband of his trousers and started to pull out the bloody flag Gideon had brought home from Manassas. vi "Listen!" the sergeant said from behind the counter. "There's no visiting without a pass from Secretary Walker's office!" Testy, Gideon said, "I don't want to visit Mr. Kent I just want to find out how he is." The sergeant eyed Gideon's uniform. "What unit you with?" "Stuart's First Virginia Cavalry." He touched the sash to make sure the sergeant understood who outranked whom: "First lieutenant." "You must have been at Manassas-was "Yes, I was." "Get hurt?" "Lost my horse. It's practically the same thing. You're wasting my time, Sergeant." Gideon's sharpness made the other man more respectful: "Sorry, sir. You say this Kent is your pa?" "That's right. I want to know how he's getting alon-was 588The Murderer "Sure a popular fellow, that Kent," the sergeant interrupted. Gideon's blue eyes widened: "What do you mean?" "He's already got one visitor." "Now?" "Yes, sir, the man's up in Kent's cell this minute." Shaken, Gideon asked, "Who is he?" "Some old fanner married to a cousin of the prisoner-was The sergeant spun the ledger. Gideon's belly began to ache as the sergeant pointed out the signature: "McAfee of Hanover County. You must know him if Kent's your daddy-was "My father doesn't have any relatives in Hanover County." "How-how's that?" Confused, the sergeant tried to grin. "But the old codger told me-was "He was lying. I don't know who that man is." But he did. He was sure he did. He spun toward the door: "Take me up there right now." The sergeant gnawed his lip. "Lieutenant, I can't do that. The farmer had a proper pass from Walker's office. But you don't. I'm not allowed-was The sergeant yelped as Gideon's left hand shot across the counter and fastened on his throat. With his right hand, Gideon yanked the revolver from his sash. He shoved the muzzle against the sergeant's chin: "This says otherwise. Come around that counter and take me upstairs backslash was "Jesus Christ, Lieutenant, you'll be arrested for pulling something like thi-was Gideon jerked the man by the throat, slamming his belly against the edge of the counter. The sergeant exclaimed in pain. Gideon gouged the Colt's barrel into the sergeant's The Titans589 X left cheek. The man's eyes rolled toward the gun. Sweat beaded his face. "You take me up there," Gideon repeated. "If we meet any guards, you tell them to stay away or I'll blow your head off." The sergeant started to protest. Then he looked into Gideon's eyes. What he saw there made him draw a loud breath. Slowly, he lifted a quaking hand: "All right. All right. Just don't fire that piece accidentally. You'll have to let go so I can come around the counter-was Seated on the stool, Lamont watched Jephtha Kent grimace in his sleep; turn his head slightly on the filthy straw. Time was passing quickly. Lamont knew he'd already stayed longer than necessary. But the moment was too precious to waste. He wanted to savor it; fix it in his mind so he could recall every detail of his accomplishment in the years to come. He'd succeeded beyond all expectation. Let them search the whole damn South for Mr. Artemus McAfee. Let them search till the trumpets of judgment blew! No one would ever connect Edward Lamont with the elderly farmer-or with the death. God, it had worked brilliantly-to Lamont toyed with the blood-stained Stars and Bars. Stroked it. Kneaded it. He was glad now that he'd given in to the impulse. He couldn't have found a more fitting way to end the Me of the man at his feet. He stood up. Jephtha Kent stirred. Muttered in his sleep, then shuddered. Tense, Lamont watched Jephtha's eyelids flutter. 590The Murderer Christ! he woke up now- He inhaled silently and held the breath. Seconds passed- A half minute. A minute. His chest hurt. Suddenly Jephtha uttered a sound that was half sigh, half groan. His restless movement stopped. His eyelids were still. Lamont expelled the breath in a barely audible hiss. Carefully, he squatted down and laid the flag on his right knee. He stretched out his left hand. Grasped the satchel standing by the slop jar. Pulled it- The scrape of the satchel across the floor seemed incredibly loud. But Jephtha didn't rouse. Dipping his hand into the satchel, he found three cigars. He transferred them to a pocket of his duster. So much for the guard. Hands perfectly steady, Lamont picked up the flag. Folded it until he had a pad of sufficient thickness. He could feel little lines of sweat running down his cheeks and neck. Still moving with extreme caution, he knelt beside Jephtha's head. The gaslight flickered. Wind hummed the dirty windowpanes. Thinking of his beloved aunt, he cupped the folded flag in his left hand and closed his right on Jephtha Kent's throat. vui Instantly, the man on the pallet woke. Lamont pressed the folded flag over Jephtha's face, covering his eyes, nose and mouth. Jephtha's right hand groped out. He groaned; thrashed his legs- Lamont put more pressure on the flag. His other hand gripped Jephtha's neck like a claw. The Titans591 Not too hard! Mustn't leave marks- Jephtha couldn't see him; could only feel him. His fingers closed on Lamont's left leg. But feebly. He was still too weak to offer much resistance, even though he must know he was dying- Thick, croaking sounds came from beneath the flag. Lamont pressed harder. Jephtha kicked against the straw. Lamont could barely hear the thumping. A roaring filled his ears; like the sound of a powerful, cleansing wind- Jephtha's nails dug into his trousers. Lamont pressed and choked, breathing in spasmodic gasps. The sweat trickling down his face smeared the blacking and made it run. He felt exhilarated. Exalted. Almost unaware of Jephtha's legs drumming louder and faster. Odd, how loud the hammer of Jephtha's boots sounded. Lamont didn't look at them. He couldn't pull his eyes from the head he held motionless with the grip of his right hand and the weight of his left. Jephtha's hand fell away from the actor's leg. Almost gone, Lamont thought. A moment more and he'll stop making that racket with his boots- Suddenly a line came to mind. China's line, spoken immediately after Caesar's assassination. Lamont's lips peeled back from his teeth. He whispered joyfully:" 'Liberty!"" He pressed harder. was