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PSIR · PALGRAVE STUDIES IN INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS
The Geopolitics of
U.S. Overseas Troops
and Withdrawal
Jo Jakobsen
Palgrave Studies in International Relations
Series Editors
Mai’a K. Davis Cross, Northeastern University, Boston, MA, USA
Benjamin de Carvalho, Norwegian Institute of International Affairs,
Oslo, Norway
Shahar Hameiri, University of Queensland, St. Lucia, QLD, Australia
Knud Erik Jørgensen, University of Aarhus, Aarhus, Denmark
Ole Jacob Sending, Norwegian Institute of International Affairs, Oslo,
Norway
Ayşe Zarakol, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK
Palgrave Studies in International Relations (the EISA book series),
published in association with European International Studies Associ-
ation, provides scholars with the best theoretically-informed scholar-
ship on the global issues of our time. The series includes cutting-
edge monographs and edited collections which bridge schools of
thought and cross the boundaries of conventional fields of study. EISA
members can access a 50% discount to PSIR, the EISA book series,
here http://www.eisa-net.org/sitecore/content/be-bruga/mci-registrat
ions/eisa/login/landing.aspx.
Mai’a K. Davis Cross is the Edward W. Brooke Professor of Political
Science at Northeastern University, USA, and Senior Researcher at the
ARENA Centre for European Studies, University of Oslo, Norway.
Benjamin de Carvalho is a Senior Research Fellow at the Norwegian
Institute of International Affairs (NUPI), Norway.
Shahar Hameiri is Associate Professor of International Politics and
Associate Director of the Graduate Centre in Governance and Inter-
national Affairs, School of Political Science and International Studies,
University of Queensland, Australia.
Knud Erik Jørgensen is Professor of International Relations at Aarhus
University, Denmark, and at Yaşar University, Izmir, Turkey.
Ole Jacob Sending is the Research Director at the Norwegian Institute
of International Affairs (NUPI), Norway.
Ayşe Zarakol is Reader in International Relations at the University of
Cambridge and a fellow at Emmanuel College, UK.
The Geopolitics
of U.S. Overseas
Troops
and Withdrawal
Jo Jakobsen
Department of Sociology
and Political Science
Norwegian University of Science
and Technology
Trondheim, Norway
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2022
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights
of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
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in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such
names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for
general use.
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tion in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither
the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with
respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been
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and institutional affiliations.
This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Preface
I have written a book about the purported tendency of one thing leading
to another. In fact, the book itself is a manifestation of this tendency of
one thing leading to another, with the end product being almost wholly
unintended. It really started years ago. I was co-authoring an entirely
unrelated paper, using a measure of U.S. overseas troops as a control
variable. In early 2018, I wrote two additional papers, now upgrading
the U.S. troop measure to the status of the main independent variable.
By then, of course, Donald Trump was president of the United States.
That was intriguing, because Trump was a clear-cut Leaver (as I call it in
the book); he expressed, in his usual boisterous manner, a preference for
retrenchment. Many of the troops would thus be coming home.
Except that they wouldn’t. There’s no way that any major withdrawal
of U.S. overseas troops will actually happen, I thought to myself at the
time. This incited me to start keeping track of developments in various
host countries of U.S. troops, though without any further plan. But when
time and energy are expended on something, they come to represent a
sunk cost. And when costs are sunk, the human mind is inclined to work
in such a strange way as to advise sinking even and ever more costs into
this something, even if it would likely be wiser just to cut one’s losses
and find another something to do—a less time-consuming something, or,
perhaps preferably, a nothing.
As it turned out, I couldn’t leave this project for much the same
reasons as the United States cannot leave its empire of bases and troops.
v
vi PREFACE
ix
x ABOUT THIS BOOK
1 Introduction 1
The Stayers Trump the Leavers 1
The Great Continuity of U.S. Overseas Bases and Troops 2
Stayers and Leavers 3
The Election of a Leaver 4
The Leaver Who Didn’t Leave 6
The Literature on U.S. Overseas Bases and Troops 8
The Theory, the Arguments, and the Chapters 10
A Theory of Great-Power Persistence 10
The Theory’s Scope 12
The Book’s Structure 14
References 18
2 Stayers, Leavers, and U.S. Overseas Troops 25
Power and Hegemony and the U.S. Military-Base Network 26
Power and Geography 27
The Emergence of a Superpower 28
The Geography of U.S. Bases and Troops 30
Power-as-Resources and Power-as-Influence 34
Grand Strategies of the United States 36
Pax Americana and the Stayers of the Blob 36
The Offshore Balancers 38
The Primacists 41
Domestic Forces Counteracting Retrenchment 43
xi
xii CONTENTS
Index 295
About the Author
xvii
Abbreviations
xix
List of Figures
xxi
CHAPTER 1
Introduction
Defense [2021]). These two were followed on the list by Guam, a small
piece of U.S. territory in the western Pacific Ocean which continues to
be a fulcrum of Washington’s military-force projection in Asia–Pacific. In
Europe, meanwhile, Italy and the United Kingdom hosted thousands of
U.S. troops in the years after World War II, which they also do today,
and Greece had gained an elevated status in U.S. geostrategic thinking
following the 1947 Truman Doctrine, which it has since kept (though
now for somewhat different reasons). In the Middle East, Saudi Arabia
signed a military-base agreement with Washington in 1946, and it remains
a key ally and host of U.S. troops. Similarly, the United States had major
military facilities in both Cuba (or, rather, in the leased or occupied terri-
tory of Guantánamo Bay) and Greenland in 1950, as it still has. Following
the Korean War, moreover, South Korea became the third largest host of
U.S. troops, which still is almost two-and-a-half generations hence. Spain
as well became a major host in 1954, and the United States continues to
have thousands of soldiers stationed on its soil. Of the major hosts of the
early 1950s, only then-occupied Austria (which was declared permanently
neutral in 1955), Panama (which is still strongly aligned to the United
States), and two countries that are long-standing U.S. treaty allies—the
Philippines and France—do not any longer host a significant amount
of U.S. troops. If we fast forward to the 1990s, Iraq’s onslaught on
Kuwait, as well as lingering U.S. concerns about Iran, meant that U.S.
troops flooded into a few smaller states around the Persian Gulf—namely,
Bahrain, Kuwait, and, a few years later, Qatar. All three are still major
hosts of U.S. military personnel.
subsidized the armies of other countries, while allowing for the very sad
depletion of our military. We’ve defended other nations’ borders while
refusing to defend our own. And spent trillions and trillions of dollars
overseas (...) [making] other countries rich, while the wealth, strength and
confidence of our country has dissipated over the horizon. (Politico, 2017)
United States”; they had massively failed to pay for their own security,
making the world laugh “at America’s politicians as we protect ships we
don’t own, carrying oil we don’t need, destined for allies who won’t
help” (Shanahan, 1987). Throwing Japan into the Middle Eastern mix
only underscored Trump’s view that troop deployments were, more than
anything else, a transaction not dissimilar to ordinary business deals.
Japan was at the time still the economically rising power of the world.
What sense did it make defending it and stationing all those American
troops there when America is “losing hundreds of billions of dollars a year
while they laugh at our stupidity”? Trump bemoaned in a 1990 interview
with Playboy Magazine (Plaskin, 1990).
but had thus far “been stymied at virtually any turn” (DeYoung & Ryan,
2020). The last few months of Trump’s tenure did not change much
either. The exceptions were Afghanistan and Iraq, from each of which a
few thousand U.S. troops left, even as a few thousand remained. He did
also order a pullout from Somalia near the end of his term. However,
Trump was actually the president responsible for putting them there in
the first place (Gaffey, 2017), and the troops were not withdrawn from
the region but instead relocated to bases in neighboring states (Youssef &
Phillips, 2020). Moreover, there were more U.S. troops in Syria when
Trump left office than there were when he entered it. Even more tellingly,
virtually all non-invasion U.S. troops—that is, those that were stationed at
bases in host states that had not been ravaged by recent or ongoing war—
remained where they were; indeed, in some regions, such as Asia–Pacific,
the numbers were now much larger.
Why did the bases and troops remain in place? For all of his and his
administration’s seeming whimsicalness, Trump talked like a Leaver and
he acted like a Leaver. Evidence clearly suggests that he really sought to
withdraw troops from Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Somalia, and Germany,
and he also made what was widely perceived, including by the hosts
themselves, to be credible threats to leave other countries. Numerous
U.S. allies—in the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), in East
Asia, and around the Persian Gulf—were certainly not taking lightly
the repeated signals that the U.S. President considered abrogating long-
standing military and security agreements. Public opinion in the United
States could scarcely have been the cause of base-policy continuation
either: voters are notoriously and enduringly ambivalent on the issue of
U.S. overseas troops (Kagan, 2012, p. 14; Macintyre, 2019; Pew Research
Center, 2016), and Trump had, in the presidential election, benefited
greatly from that half of voters who preferred retrenchment.
More plausible candidates for explaining the geostrategic persistence
of the United States are institutional inertia and the sheer physical
realities of military bases and sunk costs. In combination with the prefer-
ences of domestic actors in the United States—viz., the predilections of
the broader foreign-policy community—they represent obvious barriers
against change. A recent study by Andrew Stravers (2021), for example,
attributes variation in U.S. overseas troop deployments in part to the
political make-up of Congress. As we shall see later, however, the impact
of domestic actors on U.S. overseas military-base and troop policies and
patterns can only rarely be disentangled from system-level properties and
8 J. JAKOBSEN
also Allen et al., 2021). First out were Glen Biglaiser and Karl DeRouen,
who found that U.S. foreign direct investment and trade tend to “follow
the flag” (Biglaiser & DeRouen, 2007, 2009). Others have investigated
the impact of U.S. military presence on various economic or financial
outcomes, such as economic growth and development (Heo & Ye, 2019;
Jones & Kane, 2012) and the financial stability of host countries (Aklin &
Kern, 2019). Still others have explored the relationship between U.S.
troops and various societal and institutional outcomes, such as number
of criminal offenses (Allen & Flynn, 2013), institutional quality (Braith-
waite & Kucik, 2018), human rights protection (Bell et al., 2017), level
of democracy (Stravers & El Kurd, 2020), and transnational terrorism
(Braithwaite, 2015). In a recent article published in The American Polit-
ical Science Review, Michael Allen et al. (2020) draw on public opinion
data covering 14 countries. They find that attitudes toward the U.S. mili-
tary presence are shaped in a positive way both by the level of interaction
between the local population and U.S. military personnel and by the
economic benefits that the host country stands to gain from this presence.
The quantitative part of the literature also contains contributions
centering on military-security outcomes. Some such are published by the
RAND Corporation. A recent one, authored by Bryan Frederick et al.
(2020), finds that deterrence of adversaries is strengthened, and the like-
lihood of conflict is lowered, by a U.S. military presence, so long as that
presence consists of heavy ground forces (as opposed to air and naval
forces). These findings in large part corroborate those of an earlier RAND
study, which concluded that U.S. forward-deployed troops decrease the
likelihood of interstate war even if it increases the risk of low-intensity
militarized conflict (short of a shooting war) (O’Mahoney et al., 2018).
Others use some measure of the defense efforts of the host as their depen-
dent variable. Carla Martinez Machain and Clifton Morgan find that
increased levels of forward-deployed troops decrease the hosts’ own troop
numbers somewhat, presumably because the U.S. troops work as a “trip-
wire” that strengthens the credibility of America’s security commitments
to its allies (Martinez Machain & Morgan, 2013). Additional studies
pursue related issues drawing on quantitative data on U.S. troops (Allen
et al., 2016, 2017; Jakobsen, 2018; Jakobsen & Jakobsen, 2019).
These contributions notwithstanding, those studies whose main ambi-
tion is to account for the geographical patterns of U.S. troops—that is to
say, more general analyses of the drivers of continuity and change in U.S.
10 J. JAKOBSEN
gaining such status along the way. With the end of the World War II came
bipolarity, where only the Soviet Union and the United States counted as
great powers. After the demise of the Soviet Union, the U.S. stood firmly
alone at the apex of the global hierarchy of states, which reduced the
number of great powers to one (Waltz, 2000, pp. 5–6). Others, such as
George Modelski (1978, p. 216), focus on “global” or “world” powers
(in the maritime-supremacy sense), which are “[e]ntities uniquely domi-
nant in the global system,” and of which there have only ever been four
(Portugal, the Netherlands, Great Britain, and the United States). John
Mearsheimer (2001, p. 5) reserves the great-power label for any state
that has “sufficient military assets to put up a serious fight in an all-
out conventional war against the most powerful state in the world.” This
closely resembles the great power of the historian Paul Kennedy (1988,
p. 697), which is “a state capable of holding its own against any other
nation.” This, however, is really unknowable until the state in question
actually has put up a “serious fight” against the most powerful nation
(and the weak do sometimes win or tie against the strong, which should
not automatically suffice to promote them into the club of great powers).
With the attendant risk of being (fairly reasonably) accused of
proposing quite a plastic conception of great powers, I choose instead
to borrow the gist of Zbigniew Brzeziński’s very useful definition of
“active geostrategic players.” This means, in terms of scope, that my
theory encompasses “states that have the capacity and the national will
to exercise power or influence beyond their borders in order to alter (….)
the existing geopolitical state of affairs. They have the potential and/or
the predisposition to be politically volatile” (Brzeziński, 1997, p. 40).
Plastic though it is, the definition is also a conveniently pragmatic one
that fits the often-changing realities of the world and, importantly, its
many constituent regions.
Of course, on the one hand, the United States is in our day and time
the obvious test case for the assumptions and mechanisms I propose
herein. On the other hand, the key factor that separates the United
States from others is material power. The assumptions and mechanisms,
I contend, are really generally working ones that impact several states in
an inherently meaningful way. It is, for example, clear—or so I would
argue—that a prospective regional great power such as Saudi Arabia is
quite heavily imbued by worst-case-scenario thinking and a related urge
to project its power abroad. These fears and this urge are linked to beliefs
in the possibilities of adverse geopolitical chain reactions that might create
14 J. JAKOBSEN
a new, significantly worse reality that does not align with Saudi Arabia’s
reference point (with the Yemen War being one of many manifestations
of Riyadh’s “counter-domino” behavior). Indeed, even states that do not
really aspire to regional major power status (such as Pakistan) tend to
behave in quite a similar fashion, though with a more geographically
limited scope courtesy of a relative lack of means. These mechanisms are
more conspicuous still regarding the geostrategic behavior of Russia and
China.
Importantly, both geopolitical chain reactions and negativity biases are
general features of, respectively, the system and the individual. So this is
really a theory that seeks to explain (some vital parts of) the behavior of
global and regional major powers. But it is also clear that the theory fits
best and most consistently with hegemonic behavior. This means that the
United States is by far the most ideal state to study in the post-Cold War
period, even if it is not the only one.
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24 J. JAKOBSEN
*
Let us begin this second chapter by stating the obvious: The United
States is still immensely powerful in terms of its command of resources,
and it still has an extraordinary amount of global influence. Yet, however
one judges the efficacy of various types of power resources—economic
strength, military capabilities, cultural and ideological attractiveness—
what vitally underpins this influence is the United States’ projection of
military power overseas . In particular, to use the renowned expression of
Barry Posen (2003, p. 21), its “command of the commons”—the way
it essentially dominates the air, the oceans, and space—serves as “the
key enabler of the hegemonic foreign policy that the United States has
pursued since the end of the Cold War.” Command of the commons, in
turn, critically hinges not only on total defense spending and sophisti-
cated military hardware; Posen (2003, pp. 16–19) argues that the military
bases abroad, and the concomitant forward deployment of U.S. troops,
constitute the key piece of the globe-spanning infrastructure that makes
it possible for the United States to shape developments in vital regions.
Military bases cause and represent what George Modelski (1978,
pp. 229–232) calls “functional network control”; they enable global
hegemony, but (mostly and preferably) without the burden that is
associated with direct political control over other peoples’ territories.
It was between two and three o’clock in the morning before Brant
would consent, at Antrim’s solicitation, to give over, or at least to
postpone, the search for William Langford. The midnight wanderings
in the realm of Abaddon were a wholesome corrective for the chief
clerk, whose late aberration lay heavy on his self-respect; but, as he
himself phrased it to Brant, he knew when he had enough. One of
the results of this glimpse into the deeper depths of the pit he had so
narrowly escaped was a fresh stirring of the pool of gratitude, and at
the home-going he sought to put his debt to Brant into fitting terms of
speech. But Brant cut him off with curt brutality:
“Let up on that. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Yes, I do,” insisted the grateful one.
“I say you don’t. But if you choose to think so, you can even things
up by doing your part when we find this addle-brained boy.”
“Oh, I’d do that anyway, and without charging it to your account. He
is Isabel’s brother.”
“Yes—and Dorothy’s.” The last two words said themselves, and it is
conceivable that Brant would have bitten his tongue before letting
that unruly member betray his secret. But Antrim’s quick
apprehension and ready sympathy were answerable.
“I thought maybe she was the power behind the throne,” said the
chief clerk, linking his arm in that of his companion. “You know my
story, George; won’t you tell me yours?”
“There is nothing to tell,” said Brant shortly; and then, after an
interval in which one might cuff ill humour into subjection: “That is to
say, not anything out of the ordinary. I think a great deal of Miss
Langford—I suppose you guessed that much long ago; but there is
nothing between us—of the sort you have in mind, I mean. And there
never will be. When I shall have found her brother I shall go away
and probably never see her again.”
“Go away?” echoed Antrim. “I thought you had given up that idea.
Why are you going away?”
They had reached the house, and Brant turned on the doorstep to
put his hands on Antrim’s shoulders.
“Don’t ask me, Harry,” he said gently. “Passing your own words back
to you, it is a thing I can’t talk about, even to you. You will know all
about it some day, perhaps, and then you will understand—if you
don’t go over to the enemy, horse, foot, and artillery, with the rest of
them.”
Antrim laughed. “I’m not much on making rash promises, and talk is
pretty cheap; but when that day comes you will have a friend who
will stay with you if you haven’t another on the face of the earth.”
“Don’t commit yourself blindfold,” warned Brant, fitting his key to the
nightlatch. “The chances are that you will be ashamed to admit that
you have ever known me.”
They climbed the stair quietly, so as not to disturb the house, and
Antrim entered his room and closed the door. While he was lighting
the gas there was a tap on the panel and Brant came in.
“Will you give me a shakedown on your lounge till morning?” he
asked. “Mrs. Seeley evidently thought I was going to make a night of
it, and she has put some one into my room.”
Antrim made haste to be hospitable, but he looked mystified.
“Surely. But I don’t understand that a little bit. It isn’t at all like Mrs.
Seeley.”
“No; it is rather odd.”
“I should say so. Are you sure there is somebody there?”
“On the evidence of two separate senses. I struck a match and saw
a man in my bed; and besides that—listen.” The subdued murmur of
the intruder’s snoring was quite audible, and Brant went on:
“Moreover, to add to the oddness of it, the man has been drinking.
The room reeks like a pothouse.”
“Well, that is queer,” mused Antrim; and then: “Maybe it is one of the
boys gone wrong and couldn’t find his room. But in that case I can’t
imagine who it could be.”
“Nor I,” rejoined Brant, stretching himself wearily on the lounge.
“Never mind; we’ll find out all about it in the morning.”
So he said, and fell asleep; but the morning event discredited the
confident assertion. When they went down together to a late
breakfast and mentioned the matter to Mrs. Seeley, the good lady
was quite as astonished as her lodgers had been. Moreover, she
was touched in a tender part, and her inn-keeping pride resented the
imputation put upon it by Brant’s suggestion.
“Put any one in your room? Why, Mr. Brant! to think you would
suspect me of doing such a thing! Why, never in all my born days did
I——”
A chattering shriek from the upper regions cut the protest in half, and
the three occupants of the dining room rushed into the hall in good
time to meet the housemaid flying down, the stair, wild-eyed and
incoherent.
“A man—a man in Misther Brant’s room!” was all she could say, and,
at the word, Brant and the chief clerk darted up to the second floor
three steps at a bound. Arrived on the scene of the mystery, they
found an empty room smelling strongly of brandy, an open window,
and a little heap of Brant’s clothing in the middle of the floor. Antrim
made a dash for the window, and was out upon the tin roof of the
veranda in a twinkling. When he climbed back into the room there
was the light of discovery in his eye.
“There is a ladder standing against the end of the porch. That is how
he got away.”
“Yes; and it is how he came,” said Brant. “He was a—” He stopped
abruptly and clapped his hand upon his pocket. There was only one
thing among his belongings that any one would risk life or liberty to
obtain, and that thing was safe. He drew out the packet of papers
and gave it to the chief clerk.
“He was a burglar,” he said, finishing his sentence, “and he made the
mistake of taking a drop too much.”
Antrim was turning the packet over and reading the superscription:
“To be opened at my death. George Brant.” “What is this?” he asked
curiously.
“It is what the burglar was after. Take it and lock it up in your safe,
and I’ll tell you about it later. Now we’ll go down and get the fellow’s
description from Mary.”
That was easier said than done. The housemaid was too thoroughly
frightened to be successfully cross-examined. The intruder was tall,
he was short. In one breath he wore a beard and was a very
buccaneer in general appearance; in the next, he was smooth-
shaven. Picked out and pieced together, her facts were but two: she
had seen a strange man dressed in black, and he had rushed first at
her and then toward the window.
Mrs. Seeley and Antrim badgered the servant for further data and
sank deeper into the mire of wonderment at each fresh rendering of
her adventure; but Brant stood aside as one who rides upon his own
train of thought. The burglar’s object defined, there was only the
question of identity to be answered. Harding was a coward, and he
was much too shrewd to defeat his own end and risk his neck for the
sake of a bottle of brandy. Wherefore, Harding must have employed
an emissary. But who could he find who was at once brave enough
to take the risk and foolhardy enough to get drunk in the midst of it?
No seasoned house-breaker, certainly; it was more like the hare-
brained prank of a reckless boy; such a boy, for instance, as William
Langford.
Brant bided his time, and when Mrs. Seeley went above-stairs to
view the scene of the invasion he lagged behind with Mary
McCarthy.
“You say he had on black clothes, Mary. Are you sure of that?”
“’Deed I am that, sorr.”
“Did you have time to notice the kind of a coat he wore?—how it was
cut, I mean.”
“I did that. It was as like to the wan ye’re wearing as two peas in a
pod. On’y but I knowed ye’d gone down to breakfast, I might have
been misdeluded intirely till I saw the oogly face av him.”
Inasmuch as both garments had been cut by the same tailor from the
same measurements, there was every reason for the similarity; but
Brant did not know this, and he tallied his score and went on:
“At first you said he had black hair, and just now you told Mrs. Seeley
it was brown. Take time to think about it, and tell me which it was.”
“’Deed, sorr, it was both—lastewise, it was that darrk it might be
ayther wan.”
“Was it long, or short?”
“Nayther the wan nor the t’other; joosht betwixt and betune, like.”
“Exactly.” Brant nodded assent. The answers came so readily,
pointing step by step to the inevitable conclusion, that they drew out
a leading question:
“One more point now, Mary, and we have him. Pull yourself together
and try to remember his face. He was a young fellow, wasn’t he?—
smooth-faced and rather thin, with heavy eyebrows, a straight nose,
and a mouth turned down a little at the corners?”
“That’s it—that’s joosht him to the parin’ av a finger nail! ’Deed and
ye might be readin’ aff from his photygraph, Misther Brant!”
Brant asked no more questions. Slipping a dollar into the
housemaid’s hand, he laid a finger on his lip. “Mum’s the word, Mary,
and it will be a favour to me if you will let the thing die out as soon as
it will. I know who it was, and it was only a bit of boy’s play, meant to
frighten me instead of you. You will help me keep it quiet, won’t
you?”
“’Deed and I will, then. It’s a fine gentleman ye are, intirely, Misther
Brant; and it’s never an intilligent wurrud will they get out o’ me at all
at all forninst the b’y. But joosht to think av the impidence of the
young spalpeen!”
Brant thanked her and ran up to his room, where Mrs. Seeley and
Antrim were debating what should be done. Mrs. Seeley appealed to
the draughtsman.
“What do you think about it, Mr. Brant? I was just asking Mr. Antrim
to notify the police on his way downtown, but he thinks we ought first
to know what has been taken. Will you look through your things and
see if anything is gone?”
Now, in view of the inevitable conclusion, an investigation by the
police was not to be thought of. So Brant made his examination
perfunctory, missing nothing but the revolver and the bottle of brandy
—and not missing the suit of clothes.
“There is nothing gone—nothing of any consequence,” he said. “If I
were you, I shouldn’t call in the police. If we had lost anything
valuable, it would be different; but as it is, we should gain nothing but
a lot of newspaper notoriety, and that would hurt the house. Don’t
you think so?”
Mrs. Seeley demurred at first. She did not quite like the idea of
having her house broken into, and then to be denied the poor
consolation of stirring up the lazy, good-for-nothing police. But when
Antrim added his word, she yielded. On the way downtown Antrim
asked Brant a single question and no more:
“Tell me one thing, George. Did you give Mrs. Seeley your real
reason for wanting to keep the thing quiet?”
“No,” said Brant.
And as he volunteered no further information, the chief clerk dropped
the subject and took up another.
“I suppose you will keep on hunting for Will Langford?”
“I shall; if he hasn’t already turned up at home. I asked Dorothy to
send me a line this morning, and if he is still missing I shall keep on
till I find him.”
“All right; I’m with you. Let me know what she says, and I’ll do what I
can to help. I shall be too busy to do much through the day, but after
supper I’ll be yours to command again.”
Dorothy’s note came just before noon. She had been delayed by the
difficulty of finding a trustworthy messenger, she wrote. Her brother
had not returned, and the situation at home was most trying. Her
mother was sick with anxiety, and her father would hear to nothing
less harsh than the turning of the matter over to the police. Mrs.
Hobart had not been told; and, altogether, the household was in a
most grievous state. Wouldn’t Mr. Brant send her a line of
encouragement?
Brant would, and did; sat down at once to indite it, ringing first for a
messenger, so that no time should be lost.
“I was not able to find William last night,” he wrote, “but I have every
reason to believe that he is alive and well; indeed, I may say that I
have had speech with a person who saw him as recently as nine
o’clock this morning. From this person, and from some
circumstances connected with her sight of him, I have obtained a
clew to his whereabouts—no, not quite that, either; but I know what
he is doing and what company he is keeping. Owing to the peculiar
nature of the affair, this clew can not be followed up until to-night; but
again I say, be of good cheer, and by all means dissuade your father
from calling in the police. This would merely complicate matters, and
it would doubtless prove disastrous to any hopeful future for your
brother.”
After this note was signed, sealed, and despatched, Brant drowned
the remainder of the day in hard work over the drawing-board. It was
the best antidote for impatience, and, since his task chanced to be
more or less mechanical, he was able to lay his plans for the evening
as he wrought. Following out the theory verified by Mary McCarthy’s
answers, the mystery of William Langford’s disappearance was
easily accounted for. Harding had doubtless broken his parole and
returned to Denver. He had managed in some way to get hold of
young Langford, and, with the help of the bottle imp, to turn the boy
into a house-breaker.
Just how the cautious fugitive from justice could bring himself to trust
the lad with the information necessary to an intelligent search for the
papers was unexplainable. But that it had been done was beyond
question.
One small fact, and one only, refused to fit into the chain of
circumstantial evidence. It was this—and to one unfamiliar with the
progressive stages of the liquor disease it might have appeared
trivial: Brant had found the empty brandy bottle on the floor of his
room, and it seemed incredible that a mere boy in the beginnings of
the case-hardening process could drink so deeply in a single night
and still be able to run away in the morning. But stubborn as this fact
was, Brant would not allow it to upset his theory. It was William
Langford who had broken into his room; and it was James Harding
who had planned and instigated the raid. Therefore, when Harding
should be found, the search for the boy would be successful.
With these premisings Brant renewed the quest in the evening
methodically. He took Antrim into his confidence, but only so far as to
hint that Will would be found in the company of a man whose
description was thus and thus; and the chief clerk’s part in the
search was to make the round of the hotels and lodging houses.
Reserving the more dangerous share for himself, Brant went first to
Draco’s; and when Deverney assured him that nothing had been
seen of Harding since the night of his banishment, he set the peg of
conclusion one hole farther along. In his dealings with young
Langford, Harding would be likely to keep up the fiction of
respectability; hence there would be no frequenting of the more
public resorts.
Acting upon this suggestion, Brant began a round of the more
exclusive “clubhouses,” making guarded inquiries of doorkeepers,
and using his reputation with the craft unsparingly as a pass-key to
unlock doors which would have been so many dead walls to a
detective or a policeman. Since this was a slow process, it was well
upon midnight when he ran his quarry to earth. It was in a club called
the “Osirian,” a very palace of the goddess of Chance. The
doorkeeper was known to Brant, and under question he was able to
answer in the affirmative. Two men tallying accurately with Brant’s
description had come in early in the evening. They were still upstairs
in one of the private rooms, the man thought; which room the
attendant in the upper corridor could doubtless point out.
Brant went up, and at the stairhead found himself in a large
apartment richly furnished, with a high wainscot of polished
mahogany and walls and ceilings of bronze pacrusta wrought into
curious designs centring in clusters of softly shaded incandescent
lamps. The central space, which served as a vestibule for a series of
ceilingless private rooms built out from the walls, was fitted as a club
parlour, and Brant made his way noiselessly over the thick carpet to
the room whose number he had obtained from the attendant at the
stairhead. The door was closed, but since the walls of the private
room were merely an extension of the high wainscoting, there was
no obstruction to sound. Beyond the door there was a clicking as of
ivory counters, and the swish of cards across a table. Brant laid his
hand on the doorknob, and at that moment the noises ceased and a
boyish oath dropped into the gap of silence.
“I won’t pay it—that’s all there is about it!”—this in the voice of the
boyish oath. “By gad, I’m tough enough, Mr. Harding, and I don’t like
him any better than you do; but I’m not a sneak thief yet!”
“I don’t see but you will have to pay it, Willie; it is a debt of honour,
you see,” the gambler insisted. “You put up your promise for a stake
in the game, and you have lost, fair and square. It won’t be much
trouble—knowing him as well as you do.”
“But you don’t understand; or rather you won’t understand. I can’t do
a thing like that, tough as I am, and nobody but a cursed cad like you
would try to make me. And, by gad, I believe you cheated me,
anyway! Let me see those cards.”
“Oh, I cheated you, did I? And you are going to kick out, are you?
You’re a nice, innocent kid, you are! Now, see here: you have gone
too far, a good deal too far, to back down; and, by God, you know too
much! You are going to do just what you promised to do before we
played this game, or I’ll give you dead away for what you did last
night.—No, you don’t!—just keep your hands on the table right
where they are! I’ve got the drop on you.”
Silence for a leaden-winged half minute, and then Harding spoke
again. “Are you going to do it, or not?”
The boy’s voice was hoarse with passion. “I sha’n’t say anything as
long as you hold that gun on me! Put it down, if you want me to talk
to you.”
Brant’s big jaw was set like a mastiff’s. The knob turned silently
under his hand and the door swung noiselessly inward. The card
room, with its red-brown walls of polished mahogany, was lighted by
a single incandescent globe bracketted from the wainscoting at the
right of the doorway. A square table stood in the midst. On the
farther side of it sat the gambler, glaring up at the intruder, with
mingled terror and ferocity yellowing his lean face and burning in his
evil eyes, and with his right hand creeping by hairs’ breadths toward
the revolver lying upon the table. The boy was on the nearer side of
the table; he was half out of his chair, poising catlike for a spring, and
at the instant of Brant’s entrance he pounced upon the weapon.
Like a stone from a catapult Brant was upon them, smashing the
globe of the bracket light in passing, and while one might draw a
quick breath three pairs of hands clutched fiercely in the darkness for
the weapon on the table. In the midst of the struggle—if that which
has no duration in time can be said to have a middle part—came the
crash of a pistol shot. There was a moment of ringing silence and
darkness, broken by the clatter of a heavy weapon on the floor and a
sudden burst of light from a suspended chandelier. Then, as if the
light-burst had been a trumpet call to summon them, the attendants
and habitués of the place rallied quickly, filling the small room to
overflowing.
The first comers found Harding sitting bolt upright in his chair, with a
clean-cut hole in his temple from which the blood was trickling in a
thin stream. The boy was shrinking opposite, with his face averted
and his hands held out before him as if to ward off a blow. Brant was
leaning against the wainscoting near the broken lamp bracket, his
arms folded and his gaze fixed upon the upturned face of the dead
man.
That was all, save that on the floor at Brant’s feet lay the big revolver
with an empty shell in one chamber.
CHAPTER XXV
“SILENCE IS AN ANSWER TO A WISE MAN”
When the rumour of the tragedy ran through the clubhouse the small
card room on the second floor filled quickly with a curious throng.
Some made haste to ease the limp body of the slain to the floor, and
others examined the pistol and tried to dig the bullet out of the
wainscot. A brother craftsman knelt to unlace the victim’s shoes, but
he desisted at a word from one who had thrust his hand into the
dead man’s bosom.
“No use doing that now; he’s dead,” said the objector; and at the
announcement William Langford sank back into his chair and
covered his face with his hands. Whereat the witnesses exchanged
significant glances.
“He’s only a boy,” said one under his breath, and there was a touch
of commiseration and rough pity in the comment that ran quickly
from one to another of those who heard.
Jarvis, busy with pencil and notebook, was among the earliest
comers, writing at top speed and asking questions which no one
could answer. But the lack of answers was no bar to a very succinct
and complete story of the tragedy which grew under the flying pencil.
As his chief had said of him, Jarvis was a reporter first and
everything else afterward, and the diploma of that degree is given to
the man who can make the most of the visible facts. This is why
every good reporter is more than half a detective; and Jarvis saw
and noted some things which escaped the more morbid and less
investigative curiosity of the others.
Brant stood aside, seeing and hearing, it is to be presumed, but only
with the outward eye and ear, if his face were any index. To those
who saw him when the light first leaped into the big chandelier
overhead, his face was the face of one dazed; but later the shrewd
eyes narrowed and the rapture of those who can isolate themselves
and think to the mark in any crisis wrote itself in the square-set jaw
and compressed lips and far-seeing gaze. What turmoil of soul these
crucial minutes measured none knew and none could know, least of
all those whom the balder facts of the horror held spellbound; and so
it came about that Brant was ignored until he pushed his way
through the throng to bend over the boy. What he said was
whispered, and it went no farther than to the ear for which it was
intended.
“Brace yourself quickly, and don’t let them rattle you,” he
commanded. “The police will be here in a minute, and you must deny
it and stick to it through thick and thin. Do you understand?”
The boy looked up, and blankness was in his face. “Tell them I didn’t
kill him?” he began vaguely; and Brant had no more than time to nod
before two officers pushed through the throng and laid hands on the
cowering figure in the chair. The boy started to his feet in a sudden
panic of awakening, protesting his innocence with such passionate
vehemence that Brant’s warning seemed to have been quite
unnecessary, and those who looked on wondered at the boy’s
hardihood.
“My God, I didn’t do it—as God sees me, I didn’t!” he cried. “Perhaps
I might, if he’d given me a chance, but he didn’t; he held a gun on
me at first, and then when he laid it on the table I couldn’t——”
The sergeant of police shook him silent and gave him his warning.
“Least said’s the soonest minded for you, me b’y. Ivery wurrud ye
say’ll be used against ye. Come on wid us.”
“But I say I didn’t!” quavered the boy. “Ask Mr. Brant, there; he was
here, and he knows.”
All eyes were turned upon Brant. In the excitement of the moment no
one had thought of him as having been a witness to the tragedy. It
was known that Harding and young Langford had occupied the card
room together, and the earliest comers had supposed, if they thought
anything about it, that Brant had merely outrun them in the rush to
the scene. Jarvis alone seemed to comprehend the situation, and his
pencil flew swiftly in the moment of strained silence following
Langford’s appeal. Brant faced the battery of eyes without flinching
and stepped forward.
“The boy is right,” he said quietly. “I do know—and I am ready to go
with you.”
It was characteristic of time and place that a low buzz of applause
greeted the announcement. “That’s Plucky George, every day in the
week!” said one who knew him; and at the mention of the name the
buzz went around again. But Sergeant McCafferty was not to be so
easily turned aside.
“Do I understand that ye surrinder yourself as the murtherer of this
man?” he demanded, with a jerk of his thumb toward the limp figure
on the floor.
In the hush that followed Jarvis’s pencil paused, and the reporter
thought it a measure of Brant’s fortitude that he could smile.
“I am not required to criminate myself before witnesses,” was the
reply. “I neither deny nor affirm; but I am ready to go with you and to
answer to the charge at the proper time and place.”
He held out his wrists for the handcuffs, but the sergeant ignored the
gesture and contented himself with searching his prisoner for
weapons.
“You come along wid us quietlike, and there won’t be no use for the
darbies,” he said. “Officer Connell, ye’ll bring the b’y.”
But Brant protested quickly. “What for?” he demanded.
“As a matther of discreetion. I know fwhat I’m doing,” retorted the
sergeant. “Come on wid you.”
“Not a step till you turn the boy loose,” said Brant firmly; “at least, not
peaceably. I appeal to the crowd. You have just as good reasons for
arresting every person in this room as you have for taking this young
man. You may say he is a witness; but in that case I ask who gave
you the authority to arrest witnesses?”
It was a bold stroke and the argument was altogether specious, but
Brant knew he could count upon the moral influence of the
onlookers, and in this he was not disappointed. A murmur of
encouragement answered the appeal, and when the sergeant
hesitated Jarvis put in his word.
“You know me, McCafferty,” he said. “I’ll vouch for the young man.
He is the son of Judge Langford, and you can find him when you
want him.”
The mention of the judge’s name turned the scale, and William
Langford was released. Brant looked his thanks, and the reporter
nodded. Then the officers moved off with their prisoner, and in the
slight confusion Jarvis got speech with Brant.
“Is there anything I can do for you, old man?” he whispered.
“Yes; get the boy into a carriage and send him home.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll do it. Keep a stiff upper lip, and you’ll come out all right.”
The reporter fell back when they reached the street, and a few
minutes later Brant was ushered into the presence of the lieutenant
on duty at the police station. The officer took his name and entered it
in the record; and since the prisoner would answer no other
questions, he presently found himself safe behind bolts and bars in
the city jail, charged with the murder of James Harding.
There was a cot in the corner of the cell, and when the turnkey left
him Brant flung himself down upon it in sheer weariness. He had
been up the better part of two nights, and whatever tangle of thought
there was asking to be set in order, sleep was more insistent. But the
trials of the night were not yet at an end. While he was but dozing,
the door bolts clanked and the door swung open to admit Forsyth.
Brant would have risen, but the editor prevented him and came to sit
on the edge of the cot.
“Don’t disturb yourself,” he made haste to say. “I haven’t come to
fight with you. Jarvis has told me all about it, and I just came over to
let you know that you have a friend or two left, if you are the biggest
fool on record.”
“That was good of you,” Brant rejoined, and he would have been less
than human if the editor’s kindness had not touched him. “I was sure
you would come, but I wasn’t expecting you to-night.”
“You might have known I’d be with you as soon as I could get away
from the desk. I presume you will get your preliminary in the
morning?”
“I suppose so; though I don’t know anything about it.”
“It’s safe to count on it, anyway,” Forsyth continued, “and there are
two matters to be arranged in the meantime—counsel and bail. Give
me a list of your friends, and I’ll go out and hustle for you.”
Brant laughed. “I haven’t reputable friends enough to furnish bail in a
case of assault and battery. There are plenty of the other kind, but I
don’t mean to call on them—or to let any one else.”
“Oh, pshaw! what difference can it make now? You can’t hope to
preserve your incognito through all the publicity of a murder trial.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that; and it makes all the difference in the world
to me,” said Brant doggedly. “I want none of their help, and I sha’n’t
accept it—that’s all.”
“Well and good,” replied the editor cheerily. “In that event I shall have
to see what I can do on my own account.”
“My dear Forsyth, you will do nothing of the kind. The case will come
up at the next term of court, and I shall stay right where I am until the
sheriff’s deputy comes for me.”
Forsyth did not press the point. The day of reckless shooting affrays
had passed its Colorado meridian—in the cities, at least—and a
healthy public sentiment was beginning to demand a more stringent
interpretation of the law. Moreover, the Plainsman had kept well to
the front in the law-and-order movement, and its editor had protested
often and vehemently against the laxity of judges and juries in
murder cases. For this cause he went not unwillingly from the
question of bail to that of counsel.