grins, but Mr. Cable acted as if a poisonous snake had come into the room. “What a ridiculous suggestion! I know the kind of superstitious nonsense these voodooists believe. I witnessed some of their heathen rituals, back when I was writing for the Picayune. How can you expect anything useful from them?” He stood up abruptly, as if ready to bring the interview to an end.
“Hold your horses, George,” said Mr. Clemens, furrowing his brows and motioning Cable back toward his seat. “One man’s superstition is another’s simon-pure gospel. We’ve had this argument before. Let me hear Buddy’s idea before you try to convince me it’s no good. We want to prove Leonard is innocent and get him out of prison. And as long as we accomplish that, I for one don’t especially care how we do it—short of murdering somebody on our own, I suppose. Who is this hoodoo woman, and how do you think she can help us?”
The two colored men looked at each other, as if deciding who was willing to risk Mr. Cable’s wrath. At last, Charley Galloway swallowed, looking at Aunt Tillie, then turning to Mr. Clemens. “Her name’s Eulalie Echo, and she lives at Fourth and Howard, right close by. A lot of folks know her—I mean a lot of folks that works in the white people’s houses. She tells fortunes, and she gives advice, and they say she talks to spirits—”
“You mean to devils!” said Cable, with an agitated expression. I was somewhat surprised at how much the subject disturbed him. One of my friends at Yale had dabbled in spiritualism, and after dutifully attending a couple of his séances, I had no doubt that some people could talk to spirits. Whether the spirits ever said anything of interest back to them was another question entirely.
But Mr. Clemens cut Mr. Cable off with a wave of his hand and a look that threatened thunderbolts. “Let the fellow tell us what he has in mind, George. You can say your say when he’s finished, but I’m not about to have you cutting him off after every three words. And if you want to argue religion, argue it with me, on our own time. How do you think this fortune-teller can help us, Charley?”
With hooded eyes, Charley Galloway looked back and forth between Mr. Cable and my employer, as if deciding which of them it was more dangerous to displease. Mr. Clemens’s impatient expression apparently decided him, for he turned to face him and continued his explanation. “Like I explained to you, a lot of folks talks to her, and sometimes they tell her things they won’t tell anybody else. And I reckon if she asks ’em questions, they’ll give her answers they won’t give anybody else. If she knows it’s to help Leonard, maybe she’ll ask some questions about what goes on in the Robinson house—and I bet she knows somebody who’ll tell her what she wants to know.”
Mr. Clemens nodded. “That’s straightforward enough. No deals with the devil, no human sacrifices, no black magic—just asking the right questions of the right people. Do you find anything objectionable in that, George?”
Mr. Cable still looked somewhat uncomfortable, although I wasn’t sure whether it was more at the notion of dealing with a hoodoo woman or at being chastised by Mr. Clemens. But he nodded his head and said, “I suppose not, if that’s as far as it goes. The object is to help Leonard, after all.”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Clemens. “What about you, Aunt Tillie? Do you think Eulalie Echo can help us?”
Aunt Tillie rocked slowly back and forth. “Maybe,” she said, grudgingly. “Maybe she can, and maybe she can’t, and maybe she will, and maybe she won’t. What I want to know is what she’s goin’ to want us to do for her. I never did hear that she was any special friend of Leonard, to be doing him favors. And I sure can’t see her doing us no favors for free.” She began rocking harder, as if to emphasize her opinion.
“That’s a good question,” said Mr. Clemens. “We probably need to know the answer to it before we start counting on this Eulalie Echo. Buddy, you’re the one who suggested talking to her. Can you find out whether she’ll help us, and what she might want in return?”
“Sure, I’ll go see her tonight,” said Bolden.
“I’ll go with him,” said Charley Galloway. He looked at Aunt Tillie and at Mr. Cable. “And maybe some folks ought to think about just how much Leonard’s neck is worth. All I know is, if it was me sittin’ there in Parish Prison, instead of my brother, I’d be mighty unhappy to find out my friends and family was letting me go hang because they didn’t want to do business with Eulalie Echo.”
“That’s settled, then,” said Mr. Clemens, slapping his hand down on the arm of the couch. “Can one of you bring me the answer at Royal Street tomorrow?”
Charley Galloway and Bolden looked at each other, and then Bolden said, “I’ll do it. I don’t got to work until tomorrow evening, anyway. Charley’s got his barbershop to look after.”
“Good,” said Mr. Clemens. “Now, what else can we do to try to clear Leonard? Aunt Tillie, do you know the servants in the Robinson home well enough to talk to them?”
Aunt Tillie thought a moment. “Only one I know to talk to is Arthur, the butler; he goes to our church, and Leonard brought him over a few times on his day off, when they was going to go out to the lake or to the park together. Arthur acted little bit stuck up at first, but he was friendly enough by the second or third time he came by. Now he nods his head and says hello when he sees me.”
“You say you see him in church,” said Mr. Clemens. He leaned forward, closer to Aunt Tillie. “I’d appreciate it if you asked him if he’d be willing to talk to me, somewhere away from the Robinson house. Do you think he’d do that?”
“He always acted friendly with Leonard, so I think maybe he’d talk to you if he thought it could help the boy—seeing as how it’s Leonard’s own family asking,” said the woman. “Day after tomorrow’s Sunday, so I’ll see him then and ask him.”
“Good. Ask him if he’s free to come down to Royal Street to talk, the sooner the better. One more thing you may be able to help with, and then I’m out of ideas. I think Charley and Buddy are right that the killer is a white person. I think it’s even more likely that it’s one of Robinson’s family or close friends, if that’s the right word for somebody that poisoned him.”
“Poisoned him and let the poor colored man go to jail for it,” said Charley Galloway. “There’s lots of words for somebody like that, but I ain’t going to say them in Aunt Tillie’s house, ’cause she’d never let me in the door again.”
“I’ll say ’em, if you want!” said Buddy Bolden, with a sly glance toward Aunt Tillie.
“I’d wash your mouth out with soap, Charles Bolden,” said Aunt Tillie. Her voice was loud and stem, but she had a little smile on her face as she said it.
“That wouldn’t do,” said Charley Galloway, laughing. “Next thing you know, he’d be blowing bubbles through that comet of his, and wouldn’t that sound awful?” Everyone laughed, and some of the tension that had built up in the room began to dissipate.
“Maybe it wouldn’t be so loud,” said Aunt Tillie, and now her smile was bigger. “But Mr. Twain was saying something, and it ain’t polite to go talking on without letting him finish.”
Mr. Clemens was smiling at the exchange, but now his expression became serious again. “I think the murderer is one of Robinson’s acquaintances, and so it would help me solve the case if I can talk to the people he was close to: his family, his close friends, maybe his business partners, if he had any. Now, Cable says to tell them I’m writing a book. He thinks that’ll open the door and get them to talk to me. But Wentworth here
