# Rich Crooks/Chapter 3

From Adventure magazine, 3 March 1920, pp. 156–158.

### III

JACK had explained to me:
“Ugly old codgers—bet they're rich. Father's Joseph and uncle's Dan. How do I know? She called one Uncle Dan and he called the other Joseph. Think I was asleep? Not me. I was sittin' on the edge of my chair swattin' every question that came over the plate.”
We were met at the door by a servant who did not succeed in hiding the fact that he was surprized to see me. He had no way of knowing from my face or manner that I noticed his surprize, but I did. As there is not one face in a thousand that I can not place immediately, I was a little puzzled to find myself unable to remember one who showed such marked recognition of me.
He was a man somewhat above middle age, slightly bald, rather red of face and well fed. He looked like a hypocrite, as every able-bodied man does when he plays flunkey, bowing in those whom he really does not think are his betters or even his equals. Perhaps they wouldn't be if he did not choose the lap dog's way of keeping his stomach full. This fellow's jaw stiffened and his eyes popped; his hands were pretty unsteady, and I saw drops of sweat on his forehead.
We went through the hall into an old room with a high ceiling. The room appeared musty and full of shadows, though the curtains were up and the Autumnal sun was bright. We were greeted by the two old men.
I say they were old, though at a glance I saw they were aged by something besides years. Mr Daniel Cornwall I had met before—but then I had worn a mask. He was the elder, the larger, the more decisive, and I did not doubt at all but that he was the most criminal, though, excepting that his face was flabby rather than thin, both men looked somewhat alike.
Mr. Joseph Cornwall appeared almost consumptive. I heard him cough frequently. His face was thin, just-skin across bones, his nose prominent and a little twisted. He had a thin mustache that, like a ragged veil, fell over his loose mouth, and the large rimmed glasses accentuated the queerness of his face. His voice was harshly husky. I had not known him except remotely. He had in someway remained entirely outside of my circle of experience during the time I was in Utah. Daniel Cornwall was the dominant character.
Their intentions were something more than friendly. I could not imagine what kind of starling Jack had found in that nest of lean owls. Cora did not come into the room until we had been there for some time. I could not guess what those old fellows actually wanted, but I had known all along that they were after something protective from me.
I am continually having people after me for one reason or another—and not alone from those who think that my gun is for sale. It would not be easy to count the number of people who dislike me and, as the saying goes, have it in for me. I have enemies that I have never seen, never heard of, since some people hold a grudge against me because their own friends have been hurt—some of them buried.
After a few words Joseph mentioned that they too were from the West, as if that put a tribal relation upon us. They sat back with their eyes on me, and Jack imperviously rattled on. He said nothing worth repeating, and they were obviously waiting—for what I did not know, but for something probably that would give them opportunity to talk to me alone. Being a fine pair of old schemers, they had already prepared for that.
I had noticed the man, the footman who met us at the door, trying to attract Daniel Cornwall's attention, when we came into the room, but he had been ignored. Presently he returned and with an obvious effort kept his eyes from me while telling the old fellow, Daniel, that he would like to speak to him on “a matter of great importance, sir.”
Daniel looked at him as one might order away a well-trained dog, made a gesture and said—
“I'm busy, Quiller. I'm busy.”
“It might be important,” said Joseph a little nervously to his brother as Quiller reluctantly turned away, shooting a glance at me.
“His nerves are going,” Daniel growled. “This morning he was all excited over something he dreamed.”
“But Dan——” the other began, and it was plain that his nerves were also jangled
“Being frightened at every shadow isn't going to help matters,” said the more aggressive Daniel, a very hard expression coming into his face for a second. He spoke rather testily.
I knew that Daniel had a temper, a great amount of resolution, much cunning and no honor. I knew also—one who plays poker for a living knows many things by simply looking into a man's face—that Joseph was much like him.
Finally Cora came in, dressed in a plain, neat tailored suit of dark cloth. She was not at all as I had expected. Not at all. I looked at her very hard. She was of the same type, appearance and manner as a woman whom, some ten years before, I had gone out of my way to help. It was strange, indeed, but I rather liked her at once though I knew she had made a dupe of my cousin.
For one thing she wasn't pretty. And, having that blessing, of course did not think that every man was made to sigh for her, to flirt with her, to hover about her and be satisfied with smiles and artificial blushes. It is a great-day in the lives of blond flappers when they learn how to blush by holding their breath. Cora was a blonde but she did not blush. Her eyes were gray and serious. She had probably been matter of fact and serious in the restaurant and actually fascinated Jack where a more pretty and giddy young person would have aroused him to only a flirtation.
She was intelligent and direct. I have given my nights and much of my days to learning across green-topped tables, looking into the eyes of men. One plays most games of cards by watching the pips. One plays poker by watching faces. For a long time I watched her face with a hard scrutiny that must have made her uneasy. I did not care. I wondered if slight; blond, gray-eyed women were all alike.
She had her hat in her hand as if she were going out. After being introduced to me, she said:
“Uncle Dan, something seems wrong with Quiller. He looks ill.”
“Quiller's been drinking again,” Daniel Cornwall said gruffly. Then more personally—“You are going out, my dear?”
She looked at him with a touch of surprize. She was no adept at deception. It was her rôle to go out and take Jack with her. In a few minutes she did; and I was left alone with the two old men.