List of Jewels.
This was all, no name being signed. Mr. Barnes regretted this last fact, but felt that he held a most important paper in his hand, since it seemed to be corroborative of the woman's statement that she had lost a lot of unset jewels. It was of great value to have so minute a description of the stolen gems. Folding the paper carefully, he placed it in his wallet, and then returned to the vicinity of the corpse. Looking closely at the cut in the neck, the detective determined that the assassin had used an ordinary pocket-knife, for the wound was neither deep nor long. It severed the jugular vein, which seemed to have been the aim of the murderer. It was from this circumstance that the detective decided that the woman had been attacked as she slept. This aroused the question "Did the murderer have the means of entering the house without attracting attention? Either he must have had a night-key, or else some one must have admitted him." Mr. Barnes started as the thought recurred tohim that Wilson had seen Mr. Mitchel enter the house some time before the scream was heard, and depart some time after. Was this the woman who had accompanied him to the theatre? If so, how could she have retired and fallen to sleep so quickly? Evidently further light must be thrown upon this aspect of the case.
Whilst meditating, the detective's eye roamed about the room, and finally rested upon a shining object which lay on the floor near the trunk. A ray of light from the front window just reached it and made it glitter. Mr. Barnes looked at it for some moments mechanically, stooping presently to pick it up, with little thought of what he did. He had scarcely examined it, however, before a gleam of triumph glistened in his eye. He held in his hand a button, which was a cut cameo upon which was carved the profile head of a woman, beneath which appeared the name "Juliet."
Mr. Barnes, after discovering the cameo button, immediately left the apartment. With little loss of time he reached the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He found Wilson sitting in the lobby, and learned from him that Mr. Mitchel had not yet come down-stairs. He made his subordinate happy, by complimenting him upon his work, and exonerating him from blame because of his having lost his man for a few hours the day before. With the button in his pocket, Mr. Barnes found it easy to be good-natured. If the truth were known, he was chuckling to himself. The thought which proved such a fund of merriment was the idea that his man up-stairs had proven himself just as human as ordinary criminals, since he had left behind him the very tell-tale mark which he had boasted would not be found after he had committed his crime. Externally, however, there was no sign to show that Mr. Barnes was in any way excited. He calmly asked at the desk for Mr. Mitchel, and sent up his card just as any ordinary visitor might have done. In a few moments the hall-boy returned with the curt message, "Come up."
Mr. Barnes was shown up one flight of stairs into a suite of two rooms and a bath, overlooking Twenty-thirdStreet. The room which he passed into from the hall was fitted up like a bachelor's parlor. Comfortable stuffed chairs and two sofas, a folding reading-chair, an upright piano in mahogany case with handsome piano-lamp beside it, a carved centre-table on which stood a reading-lamp, cigar case in bronze, photo-albums, handsome pictures on the walls in gold frames, elegant vases on the mantel, an onyx clock, a full-sized figure of a Moor carved in wood serving as a card-receiver,—in fact everything about the place was significant of wealth, luxury, and refinement. Could this be the den of a murderer? It seemed not, unless there might be some powerful hidden motive, which would make a man who was evidently a gentleman, stoop to such a crime. According to Mr. Barnes's experience such a motive must involve a woman. As yet there was no woman in this case, save the corpse which he had just left. All this flashed through the detective's mind as he noted his surroundings in a few swift glances. Then he heard a voice from the next room say:
"Come in, Mr. Barnes: we must not stand upon ceremony with one another."
Mr. Barnes in answer to the invitation crossed into the adjoining room and noticed at once that the sleeping apartment was as luxurious as the parlor. Mr. Mitchel was standing in front of a mirror shaving himself, being robed in a silk morning wrapper.
"Pardon this intrusion," began Mr. Barnes. "But you told me I might call at any time, and——"
"No excuses necessary, except from me. But I must finish shaving, you know. A man can't talk with lather on one side of his face."
"Certainly not. Don't hurry, I can wait."
"Thank you. Take a seat. You will find that armchair by the bed comfortable. This is an odd hour to be making one's toilet but the fact is I was out late last night."
"At the club, I suppose," said Mr. Barnes, wishing to see if Mr. Mitchel would lie to him. In this he was disappointed, for the reply was:
"No, I went to the Casino. Lillian Russell you know has returned. I had promised a friend to go, so we went."
"A gentleman?"
"Are you not getting inquisitive? No, not a gentleman, but a lady. In fact, that is her picture on that easel."
Mr. Barnes looked, and saw an oil painting representing a marvellously beautiful female head. A brunette of strong emotions and great will power if her portrait were truthful. Here was a significant fact. Mr. Mitchel said that he had been to the Casino with this woman. Wilson claimed that they had gone to the house where the murdered woman lay. It would seem that Mr. Mitchel's friend must live there, and thus he had gained access the night before. Did he know that the other also lived there, and did he go into her apartment after leaving his companion? As this passed through Mr. Barnes's mind his eyes wandered across the bed. He saw a waistcoatupon which he observed two buttons similar to the one which he had secreted in his pocket. Stealthily he reached his hand towards the bed, but his fingers had scarcely touched the waistcoat, when Mr. Mitchel said, without turning from his shaving:
"There is no money in that waistcoat, Mr. Barnes."
"What do you mean to insinuate," said Mr. Barnes angrily, withdrawing his hand quickly. Mr. Mitchel paused a moment before replying, deliberately made one or two more sweeps with his razor, then turned and faced the detective.
"I mean, Mr. Barnes, that you forgot that I was looking into a mirror."
"Your remark indicated that I meant to steal."
"Did it? I am sorry. But really you should not adopt a thief's stealthy methods if you are so sensitive. When I invite a gentleman into my private room, I do not expect to have him fingering my clothing whilst my back is turned."
"Take care, Mr. Mitchel, you are speaking to a detective. If I did stretch my hand towards your clothing it was with no wrong intent and you know it."
"Certainly I do, and what is more I know just what you were wishing to do. You must not get angered so easily. I should not have used the words which I did, but to tell you the truth I was piqued."
"I don't understand."
"It hurt my feelings to have you treat me just like an ordinary criminal. That you should think I would letyou come in here and make whatever examinations you have in your mind, right before my very eyes, wounded my pride. I never should have turned my back upon you except that I faced a mirror. I told you I know what you wished to do. It was to examine the buttons on my vest, was it not?"
Mr. Barnes was staggered but did not show it. Calmly he said:
"As you know, I overheard your conversation on the train. You spoke of having a set of five curious buttons and——"
"Pardon me, I said six, not five." Once more Mr. Barnes had failed to trap the man. He suggested five, hoping that Mr. Mitchel might claim that to have been the original number, thus eliminating the lost one.
"Of course, you did say six, now I remember," he continued, "and I think you will admit it was not unnatural curiosity which led me to wish to see them, that—that—well that I might recognize them again."
"A very laudable intent. But my dear Mr. Barnes, I have told you that you may call upon me at any time, and ask me any questions you please. Why did you not frankly ask me to show you the buttons?"
"I should have done so. I do so now."
"They are in the vest. You may examine them if you desire it."
Mr. Barnes took up the vest, and was puzzled to find six buttons, three of Juliet and three of Romeo. Still he was satisfied, for they were identical with the one inhis pocket. It occurred to him that this man who was so careful in his precautions, might have lied as to the number in the set, and have said six when in reality there were seven. A few questions about the buttons seemed opportune.
"These are very beautiful, Mr. Mitchel, and unique too. I have never heard of cameo buttons before. I think you said they were made expressly for you."
Mr. Mitchel dropped into a cushioned rocker before he replied:
"These buttons were made for me, and they are exquisite specimens of the graver's art. Cameo buttons, however, are not so uncommon as you suppose, though they are more usually worn by women, and, in fact, it was a woman's idea to have these cut. I should not have——"
"By Jove!" said Mr. Barnes, "the Romeo buttons are copies from your likeness, and good portraits too."
"Ah! You have noticed that, have you?"
"Yes, and the Juliets are copies of that picture." Mr. Barnes was getting excited, for if these buttons were portraits, and the one in his pocket was that of the woman whose likeness stood on the easel, it was very evident that they were connected. Mr. Mitchel eyed him keenly.
"Mr. Barnes, you are disturbed. What is it?"
"I am not disturbed."
"You are, and it is the sight of those buttons which has caused it. Now tell me your reason for coming here this morning."
Mr. Barnes thought the time had come to strike a deciding blow.
"Mr. Mitchel, first answer one question, and think well before you reply. How many buttons were made for this set?"
"Seven," answered Mr. Mitchel, so promptly that Mr. Barnes could only repeat, amazed:
"Seven? But you said six only a moment ago!"
"I know what I said. I never forget any statement that I make, and all my statements are accurate. I said that six is the entire set. Now you ask me what was the original number, and I reply seven. Is that clear?"
"Then the other button has been lost?"
"Not at all. I know where it is."
"Then what do you mean by saying that the set now is only six?"
"Excuse me, Mr. Barnes, if I decline to answer that question. I have replied now to several since I asked you why you came here this morning."
"I will tell you," said the detective, playing his trump card, as he thought. "I have been examining the place where your crime was committed, and I have found that seventh button!" If Mr. Barnes expected Mr. Mitchel to recoil with fear, or tremble, or do anything that an ordinary criminal does when brought face to face with evidence of his guilt, he must have been disappointed. But it is safe to assume that by this time so skillful a man as Mr. Barnes did not expect so consummate an actor as Mr. Mitchel to betray feeling. He did show someinterest, however, for he arose from his chair and, walking up to Mr. Barnes, he asked simply:
"Have you it with you? May I see it?"
Mr. Barnes hesitated a moment, wondering if he risked losing the button by handing it to him. He decided to give it to him, and did so.
Mr. Mitchel looked at it closely, as though an expert, and after several moments of silence, he tossed it carelessly into the air, catching it as it came down, and then said:
"This would make a pretty situation in a play, Mr. Barnes. Follow me. Detective discovers crime, and finds curious button. Goes straight to criminal, and boldly tells him of the fact. Criminal admits that he has but six buttons out of seven, and asks to see the button found. Detective foolishly hands it to him. Then criminal smiles blandly, and says: 'Mr. Detective, now I have seven buttons, and my set is complete again. What are you going to do about it?'"
"And the detective would reply," said Mr. Barnes, falling into the humor of the situation: "'Mr. Criminal, I will just take that back by force.'"
"Exactly. You catch the spirit of the stage picture. Then, fight between two men, applause from the gallery, and victory for either party, as the author has decided. That is the way it would be done in a play. But in real life it is different. I simply hand you back your button, thus," handing button to Mr. Barnes, and bowing politely, and then remarked: "Mr. Barnes, you are welcome to that. It is not a part of my set!"
"Not a part of your set?" echoed the detective, dumbfounded.
"Not a part of my set. I am sorry to disappoint you, but so it is. I will even explain, for I sympathize with you. I told you the set was originally seven. So it was, but the seventh button has the head of Shakespeare on it. All seven were given to me by my friend, but as I could wear but six, I returned to her this odd Shakespeare button, which I had made into a breast-pin, and kept the others, thus reducing the set of buttons to six. The seventh is no longer a button, you see."
"But how do you account for the fact that this button which I have is plainly a portrait of your friend, and a counterpart to those on your vest?"
"My dear Mr. Barnes, I don't account for it. I don't have to, you know. That sort of thing is your business."
"What if I should decide to arrest you at once, and ask a jury to determine whether your original set included this button or not?"
"That would be inconvenient to me, of course. But it is one of those things that we risk every day. I mean arrest by some blundering detective. Pardon me, do not get angry again; I do not allude to yourself. I am quite sure that you are too shrewd to arrest me."
"And why so pray?"
"Because I am surely not going to run away in the first place, and secondly you would gain nothing, since it would be so easy for me to prove all that I have told you, and in your mind you are saying to yourself that I have not lied to you. Really I have not."
"I have only one thing more to say to you, Mr. Mitchel," said Mr. Barnes, rising. "Will you show me that seventh button, or breast-pin?"
"That is asking a great deal, but I will grant your request upon one condition. Think well before you make the bargain. When I made that wager I did not calculate the possibility of entangling in my scandal the name of the woman whom I love dearest on earth. That is the portrait of the woman who will soon become my wife. As I have said, she has the other button and wears it constantly. You will gain nothing by seeing it, for it will simply corroborate my word, which I think you believe now. I will take you to her and she will tell you of these buttons, if you promise me never to annoy her in any way in connection with this affair."
"I will give you that promise cheerfully. I have no wish to annoy a lady."
"That is for you to decide. Meet me in the lobby at noon precisely, and I will take you to her house. And now will you excuse me whilst I complete my toilet?"
On the second floor of the apartment-house in East Thirtieth Street lived Mrs. Mortimer Remsen, and her two daughters, Emily and Dora.
Mrs. Remsen's husband had been dead more than ten years, but he had amassed a handsome fortune, which left his family able to maintain the position in New York society to which they were heirs by birth and breeding. They lived in the most commodious apartment in the magnificent building in Thirtieth Street, and were surrounded by an elegant luxury which results from a combination of wealth and refined taste. They entertained frequently, and Mrs. Remsen, still a handsome woman, was always a conspicuous figure at the most notable social and charitable events of the season.
Emily, the eldest daughter, was a woman of twenty-six, who commanded, rather than attracted, admiration. She was of admirable proportions, easy and regal carriage, with a fine head well poised on magnificent shoulders. As to her face—well, I cannot describe it better than did the eminent artist Gaston de Castilla, who was requested to paint her portrait. "Madam," said he, to her mother, "I do not like to undertake your commission. Yourdaughter has one of those marvellous faces which defies art. Every feature is a departure from recognized standards, and yet the result is nobility and beauty of the highest type. Only Nature herself can produce such effects. Through an imperfect countenance she sheds the rays of an illumined soul, till all faults are obliterated, forgotten. We poor artists cannot hope to supply on our cold canvas what so singular a face must have, to make it beautiful." Nevertheless, he did paint the portrait, the one which the detective had seen in Mr. Mitchel's room, and he had succeeded at least in suggesting the marvellous effects of character, revealing itself through the features. Other painters had failed, perhaps because they appreciated less than he what they attempted.
This description also gives a hint of the woman herself. A combination of all the softer emotional elements, she dominated self and others by a supreme will. She was rarely disobeyed by suitor or by servant. That she had engaged herself to marry Mr. Mitchel had surprised the entire circle within which she moved, and yet perhaps the secret of his success lay in the simple fact that he had had the courage to ask for her, and to do so in a loving but masterful way which plainly showed that he anticipated no refusal or coy hesitancy. His wooing had been of an impetuous whirlwind kind, and he was affianced to her within a month of their acquaintance.
It was this fact which had caused the most comment. Mr. Mitchel moved in good society, but he was anewcomer, and now that he had captured the prize of the matrimonial market, all where asking "Who is he?" a question which none seemed able to answer. He was a Southerner and that single fact had shed about him a halo of attractive light which had blinded the eyes of those who feebly attempted to look deeper.
Mrs. Remsen had protested when Emily announced her engagement, but Emily had replied, "Mother, I have given my word," and the discussion was ended. A few moments later she had affectionately seated herself at her mother's feet, and after tenderly kissing her, whispered "I love him. He is my king," and then buried her head in her parent's lap. Few women argue against an appeal of that nature. Thus Emily and Mr. Mitchel became engaged, after which he came and went much as though he were the master of the house. Why not, since he had become the master of its mistress?
Dora was her sister's antithesis, save that both were brunettes. She was simply a lovable, docile, impressionable, pretty girl. She adored her mother, and worshipped her sister whom she called "The Queen." Dora was only seventeen. There had been three boys born between the sisters, but they had died in infancy.
The two girls were in the sumptuous parlor of their apartment, Emily lying on the soft lounge, whilst Dora sat near her in a cosy armchair which made her look almost a little girl.
"Queen, did you enjoy the opera last night?" asked Dora.
"Oh! yes," replied Emily, "But you know, my dear, comic opera—is comic opera, and all is said."
"It's all very fine for you to talk in that patronizing way, Queen, about amusement, but it is different with me. I have not outgrown the theatre yet. I'll tell you what I have been thinking of seriously—"
"Seriously," laughed Emily, pinching her pretty sister's cheek. "Why you sly little rogue, you couldn't be serious if you tried."
"Oh! couldn't I! But listen. I am going to ask Bob——"
"Bob?"
"Mr. Mitchel, you know. I told him last night that I mean to call him Bob after this, and he kissed me and said it was a bargain."
"Kissed you, did he? Well Miss Impudence, I like that."
"So did I. But you need not scold, because you know what Bob says is law. You are as much afraid of him as—well as all the rest of the men are of you. But I haven't told you what I am going to do. I want Bob to take me with you both, whenever you go to the theatre."
"Oho! So that is your little plot, is it?"
"Yes! What do you think of it?"
"What do I think of it? Now I shall surprise you. I think it is an excellent idea. I love you very much, my little sweetheart sister, and shall be only too glad to see you have as much pleasure as your heart longs for."
"You darling Queen!" and with an impetuous bound the younger girl was on her knees with her arms around Emily, raining kisses upon her lips. This effusive show of affection, Emily received with evident pleasure, for, however dignified she could be in her bearing, leaving the impression that she was cold, in reality she was warm-hearted to a degree which would have surprised the gossips.
Nestling her head in the folds of her sister's soft silk gown, thus hiding her face, Dora said timidly:
"May I tell you something Queen?"
"Ha! You mischief, what have you to confess now?"
"I have invited a man to call here," replied Dora suddenly raising her head, and speaking with a different touch in her tones.
"Is that all?" laughed Emily, "Who is the monster? Where did you meet him?"
"I have met him several times, at afternoon teas. The last time he asked me if he might call—and I told him he could do so this afternoon, when I thought you would be at home. Was it very wrong?"
"Well, Dora, I don't think it was exactly proper, but perhaps it may be all right, since you have met him at several of our friends' houses. But what is his name?"
"Alphonse Thauret."
"A Frenchman?"
"Yes, though he speaks English with only a very slight accent."
"I don't like Frenchmen. I know it is preposterousprejudice but I never meet one without thinking him a possible adventurer. With their soft sycophantic ways, they remind me of cats, and I expect them to show their claws at any moment. However, pet, perhaps your Frenchman will not call, and then——"
"Oh! but he will. He said he would come this afternoon. That is why I have been so nervous. I was afraid you might be going out, and——"
"No, I will be here to protect you. Besides I expect Bob at any moment. He said he would come about noon, and it is after that already. Perhaps that is he now; yes, three rings.
"Oh, so Romeo and Juliet have signals! But jump up, Queen, he must not catch us lying down, and 'spooning.'"
A moment later Mr. Mitchel entered to find both girls seated in the most dignified manner, reading novels. Walking over to Emily he stooped, and kissed her lightly on the forehead, whispering "My Queen." Next he patted Dora on the head, as one would pat a child.
"Emily I have taken the liberty of telling a friend of mine that he might call here. You do not mind?"
"Why, of course not, Roy." She had made this name for him by eliminating the first syllable of his second name, Leroy. She told him, that thus she could call him King, without heralding it to the world. Almost immediately the bell sounded again, and Mr. Barnes was introduced. Mr. Mitchel presented him to the two ladies, and then devoted himself to Dora, thus leaving thedetective perfectly free to converse with Emily. Being well educated, and having travelled through England early in life, Mr. Barnes soon made himself at ease, and talked like any society man. Presently Mr. Mitchel took Dora to the window and stood there looking out and chatting, apparently absorbed and unobservant of the others. Mr. Barnes decided that this was his opportunity.
"Pardon me, Miss Remsen, and let the interest of a collector excuse the impertinence of my noticing that beautiful pin which you wear. Cameos I think are too little appreciated nowadays. They are passed by, whilst statuettes bring fancy prices. Yet does it not require exquisite skill to carve so small an object?"
"I agree with you, Mr. Barnes, and am not at all angry with you for admiring my pin. You may look at it if you wish." Saying which she took it off and handed it to him. It was the fac-simile of those which Mr. Mitchel wore as buttons, save that it bore the image of Shakespeare. The cameo was mounted in a gold frame, and, surrounded by diamonds, made a beautiful ornament. "You would never guess, Mr. Barnes that that was once an ordinary button?"
Mr. Barnes assumed an expression of surprise as though the idea was entirely new to him. All he said was:
"It may have been a button, but surely never an ordinary one."
"Well no, not an ordinary one of course. I suppose you know that I am engaged to your friend?"
Mr. Barnes assented with a bow, and Emily continued:
"Shortly after we became engaged, I went to Europe, and whilst there I came across a jeweller who produced the most beautiful carvings in cameo and intaglio. I ordered a set made to be used for buttons."
"All similar to this?"
"Similar but not identical. This one has Shakespeare's head. The others represent Romeo and Juliet."
Mr. Barnes determined upon a bold stroke. Taking the button from his pocket, and handing it to Emily, he said quietly:
"Here is a cameo of Juliet. Perhaps it may interest you?"
"Why this is extraordinary! It is one of my set!"
"One of yours, why have you lost one? How many did you have?"
"There were seven including this one of Shakespeare. The other six——" Here she stopped and colored deeply.
"Miss Remsen, you think that is one of the original set. If so of course it is yours, and I should be too glad to restore it to you. But have you lost one?"
"Lost one? No——that is, I don't know." She seemed much confused, and looked intently at the button. Suddenly her whole expression changed, and with her self possession fully restored she startled Mr. Barnes by saying, "I am mistaken. This is not one of the original set. Yet it is very similar."
Mr. Barnes did not know what to think. Did shedivine that there might be some danger in admitting that there was a seventh button still? Had that matchless schemer Mitchel sent her a note warning her to say that there were but seven in the original set? He could not decide at once, but hazarded one more stroke.
"Miss Remsen, I have seen your portrait, and it struck me that that button is a copy of it. What do you think?"
The girl once more became confused and stammered.
"I don't know," then suddenly, and with complete composure again, "Yes, I think you are right. This is a copy from my picture. The portrait was made last summer, and afterwards I allowed the artist to exhibit it. I think photographs were made from it, and possibly some cameo cutter has used it for his work."
This was ingenious, but not satisfactory to Mr. Barnes, for he knew that it was far from probable that another gem-cutter should have used the picture, and then have called it Juliet. Beside it would have been too great a coincidence to make a button of it. He decided therefore that the girl was doing the best she could to invent a plausible explanation to a question, which Mr. Mitchel himself had simply refused to answer. Not wishing to arouse any suspicion in her mind that he doubted her word, he replied quickly:
"That is very likely, and surely he could not have chosen a better face for his subject."
"Mr. Barnes," said Emily, "you offered just now to give me this, thinking that I had lost it. Of course Ishould not accept a present from one whom I have had the pleasure of knowing for so short a time, but you are Mr. Mitchel's friend, and as I would really prefer not to have my portrait in the hands of strangers, I accept your gift with thanks."
This was entirely unexpected. When Mr. Barnes had made the remark that he would be glad to restore her her own, he had done so feeling safe, because to obtain it she would need to admit that she had lost it. Now it seemed that she had deprived him of his piece of evidence. He did not know what to say, when Mr. Mitchel walked across to them and remarked pleasantly:
"Well, Emily, do you find my friend Mr. Barnes entertaining?"
"Mr. Barnes has been most agreeable, Roy, and see, he has actually given me a present," saying which she handed the button to Mr. Mitchel across whose countenance Mr. Barnes thought he saw a fleeting smile of triumph pass.
"I am proud of you, Emily. You command homage wherever you extend your influence. Do you know, Mr. Barnes refused to give this cameo to me, only this morning. You can guess why I wanted it."
"Because it has my picture copied on it?"
"Exactly. Mr. Barnes, allow me to add my thanks to those of Miss Remsen. You can readily appreciate why we prefer to have this bauble in our own possession?"
Mr. Barnes thought that he could. He saw that he was fairly caught and that he could do nothing withoutmaking a scene. He met a glance from Mr. Mitchel which he knew was meant to remind him of his promise not to annoy Miss Remsen. He had about decided that he had been a fool to make such a promise and to have visited the place at all, when he suddenly changed his mind, as a servant announced:
"Mr. Alphonse Thauret."
Immediately the detective remembered the name. It was upon the card given to him by the Frenchman who had left the train at Stamford. He was watching Mr. Mitchel when the newcomer was thus unexpectedly announced, and he thought he detected a glance of displeasure. Were these two men acquainted, accomplices perhaps?
"Mr. Mitchel, let me present Mr. Thauret," said Dora.
"I have had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman before," replied Mr. Mitchel, and with a stiff bow he crossed to the side of Emily as though to prevent an introduction to her. This, of course, was impossible, and Mr. Mitchel was plainly annoyed. Emily stepped forward, extended her hand to Mr. Thauret, and then turning, presented him to Mr. Barnes, who had arisen, and who simply bowed.
"Ah! Mr. Barnes," said the Frenchman, "I am delighted to meet you again."
"Why, do you know Mr. Barnes also?" cried Dora greatly surprised.
"Who does not know Mr. Barnes, the celebrateddetective." He said this in that extremely polite tone so much assumed by his race, when inclined to be most complimentary. Yet Mr. Barnes thought that he had some sinister motive in thus proclaiming his connection with the police. Was it to prevent him from calling upon these women again? If so he failed to make the desired impression upon Dora, for that young woman seemed fairly enraptured.
"A detective?" said she. "Are you really the great Mr. Barnes?"
"I am a detective, but scarcely a great one."
"Oh! but you are, you are! I read all about the wonderful way in which you caught that man Pettingill. And now tell me, are you going to catch the man who robbed the woman on the Boston train yesterday?"
"How do you know that it is a man?" asked Mr. Barnes amused at her impetuosity, and pleased at the turn taken by the conversation.
"Oh! it is not a woman. I am sure of that. I read about it in the papers this morning. I bought three so as not to miss anything. No woman would have been clever enough to plan it all, and then carry it out so thoroughly."
"This is very interesting," said Mr. Thauret. "Of course I too have read the papers, but besides that, as you know, Mr. Barnes, I was on the train myself, and the first to be searched. I have thought of the case ever since. In my own country we claim that our detectives can unravel any mystery, and I am curious to know howyou will manage in an affair of this kind. The thief evidently is clever, do you not think so?"
Mr. Mitchel had drawn apart and apparently was absorbed in a conversation with Emily; nevertheless Mr. Barnes was confident that he missed little of what was being said by the group of which he himself was one. Under ordinary circumstances he would not for a moment have thought of speaking of so important a case before one who at least might be suspected of complicity. But these were not ordinary circumstances. Here were two men, about both of whom there was a mysterious connection with the crime, or crimes, which he was investigating. If either, or both, were guilty, it was evident from their courage in visiting unconcernedly at the very building in which the murder had been committed, that extreme skill would be required to obtain a conviction. The detective therefore considered that these men must be met with methods as bold as their own. Speaking in a tone loud enough to reach Mr. Mitchel's ears he said:
"I think that the thief is clever, but that he is not so clever as he considers himself."
"How is that?"
"He believed—I say he, because like Miss Remsen, I think it is a man—"
"How delightful of you to agree with me," said Dora.
"This man then," continued Mr. Barnes, "considers that he has misled me. He thinks that when I directed that all the passengers should be searched, I did sohoping to find the lost jewels, whereas I was not looking for the jewels, but for the thief."
"How could you do that?"
"You may think me egotistic, but I hoped to detect him by his conduct. I was entirely successful. I know who stole the jewels." This was a bold assertion, especially as Mr. Barnes had not decided the matter in his own mind. He wished to note the faces of these men, when he made the statement. He gained nothing by the manœuvre, for Mr. Mitchel seemed not to have heard, whilst the Frenchman quickly said:
"Bravo! Bravo! You are better than Lecocq. It is like a wizard's trick. You pass the suspects before you in review, and then, presto! you pick out the criminal with your eye. That is a charming method, and so simple!"
"Mr. Thauret," said Dora, "you are laughing at Mr. Barnes, and that is not good-natured. Mr. Barnes says he knows the thief. I believe him."
"Pardon! I believe him also. I did not mean to laugh. But tell me, Mr. Barnes, how did the man secrete the diamonds, I suppose they were diamonds, were they not?"
"Diamonds and other jewels. But let me ask you——how would you have hidden them, had you been in his place?" This time the shot went home. Plainly the Frenchman did not like the suggestion of being himself the criminal. He quickly recovered his equanimity, however, and answered:
"Do you know, I have thought of that very thing. Of course I would probably make a bungle of it. Still I have thought of a way."
"A way by which he could have hidden the jewels so that a search could not have found them, and yet in a place accessible to himself afterwards?"
"I think so! Perhaps I am wrong, but I think my little plan would do that much. The newspaper says the jewels were unset stones. I should have pushed them into the cake of soap in the wash-room. No one would think to look for them there, and even if so, there would be nothing against me. Afterwards, I should have gone back, taken the soap, and the jewels would have been mine."
"You are mistaken."
"How so?"
"You were the first person searched, and I watched you till you left the train. It would have been difficult for you to come to New York from Stamford on another train, and then gain access to the coaches on a side track and in the hands of the scrub-women. Even then you would have failed, for I took all the soap away, and substituted new cakes before the second man was searched."
A smile on Mr. Mitchel's face proved that he was listening, and that he was pleased at the detective's cleverness. The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, and said, laughing:
"There, you see, I should never make a thief. Besides there was the satchel. I had forgotten about that. One could not hide a satchel in a cake of soap."
"But he could throw it out of a window, to mislead the man who picked it up," replied the detective.
"You are shrewd, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Thauret, after a keen scrutiny, which Mr. Barnes thought betokened uneasiness. "But," he continued, "will you tell me how you think the thief hid the treasure on the train?"
"He hid itoffthe train," said Mr. Barnes, quickly, and to his satisfaction both his men started slightly. Evidently Mr. Mitchel decided that it was time for him to enter the game, for he crossed and joined the group, saying as he did so:
"Are you all discussing the train robbery?"
"Oh, yes!" said Dora. "And it is just lovely, the way Mr. Barnes has found out all about it!"
"Found out all about it? Has he, indeed?"
"Yes! He knows who the thief is, and that he hid the jewels off the train."
"How very clever of you, Mr. Barnes, to discover that. Where else could he have hidden them, since the train itself and everybody on it was searched?"
It irritated Mr. Barnes, the way in which Mr. Mitchel always seemed to belittle his skill. He was a trifle angry, therefore, as he made his next bold stroke.
"I will tell you, ladies and gentlemen, where the thief might have hidden the jewels, on the train—a place which no one thought of searching, not even myself."
"Oh! tell us!" exclaimed Dora. The two men looked interested, nothing more. Emily had come behind Mr. Mitchel, and slyly slipped her hand within his.
"The woman carried the jewels in a satchel. Suppose the thief had stolen the satchel and thrown it from the window. Missing that, the woman would have naturally concluded that the jewels were gone, would she not? Very well. The thief might have hidden the jewels in her own pocket whilst she slept." Mr. Barnes had hoped much from this proposition, but it was a distinct failure. Either that was not the thief's method, or else Mr. Mitchel and Mr. Thauret were both innocent. Both smiled incredulously. The former spoke:
"That is too far-fetched, Mr. Barnes. How do you suppose that he would regain possession of the gems?"
"By murdering the woman," answered the detective. Again he failed, for neither of the men winced. Mr. Barnes was foiled for the moment, but not entirely discouraged. The start which both men had made, when he suggested that the stolen property had been hidden off the train, still remained to be explained.
"Come! Come! Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel patting his shoulder familiarly, "don't let this case upset you so. When you go so far for a theory, you do not show the skill which you displayed in tracking Pettingill. Why even I can get you a better one than that."
"You must not think me quite a fool, Mr. Mitchel. If my theory seems preposterous, it does not follow that it is the only one at my command. We detectives must look at these cases from all lights. I will wager that I can tell you what your theory is?"
"Good! I am glad New York has such a clever manto defend her. I accept your wager. Here, I will write my idea on a bit of paper. If you guess it I owe you an invitation to a good dinner." Mr. Mitchel wrote a few lines on the back of an envelope and handed it to Dora.
"You think," said Mr. Barnes, "that the thief might have simply handed the satchel and jewelry to a confederate at a station decided upon in advance."
"Bravo! Mr. Barnes," said Dora, "Youarea great detective. You have won your wager. That is what is written here."
"I owe you a dinner Mr. Barnes, and it shall be a good one," said Mr. Mitchel.
"Would Mr. Barnes like to win another?" asked the Frenchman with slow distinctness.
"I would," said the detective sharply.
"Then I will wager with you, that if you ever clear up the mystery, you will be obliged to admit that none of the theories advanced is the correct one."
"I cannot accept that bet," said Mr. Barnes slowly, "because I am sure that we have not mentioned the true method adopted."
"Ah! You have another theory," Mr. Thauret almost sneered.
"I have and it is the correct one," retorted Mr. Barnes, "but I prefer not to disclose it."
"I think you are quite right, Mr. Barnes," said Emily. "In fact, knowing you by reputation as a man of great shrewdness, I have not thought that you were telling us your true ideas. It would have been foolish to do so."
"Perhaps, though sometimes what seems foolish, may be wise."
"Quite true. And now gentlemen, I regret the necessity of dismissing you, but I have a ball on hand for to-night, and must beg you to excuse us, that we may prepare for it. You know in the fashionable world we train for a ball, as athletes do for their sports. You will forgive my sending you away?"
This was her way and men never resented it. They simply obeyed. Mr. Barnes was delighted that both the other men would leave with him. He had prepared a trap for Mr. Mitchel, but now he would entice two birds into it.
It must not be supposed from what has been related, that Mr. Barnes had lost any of his old time skill. That he did not yet quite understand the case upon which he was working, is little to be wondered at when it is remembered that less than two days had elapsed since the robbery had occurred, and that a great part of this time he had necessarily been absent from the city upon another case.
After his disappointment at discovering that the button which he had found was less valuable than he had at first supposed, he had decided upon a mode of procedure from which he hoped to gain much. He had seen many men flinch when brought unexpectedly into the presence of their murdered victim. He knew that many in a fit of passion, or even in cold blood, might have the nerve to take human life. Few resisted a shudder when shown the ghastly, mutilated, perhaps decomposing corpse. When he left the hotel that morning it was about ten o'clock. Whilst he had been convinced by Mr. Mitchel that the button found at the scene of the murder was not one of the original set, or rather that it could not be proven that it had been, he wasequally satisfied, that the fact that it presented a portrait of Miss Remsen was significant. Thus, after all, it was possible that Mr. Mitchel had murdered the woman, or at least he had visited the apartment. In either case, supposing that he knew the woman was dead, it would be idle to take him up three flights of stairs to confront him with the body, for that would give him ample premonition of what was about to occur, and he would readily control his countenance. This is what the detective did:
He went at once to the coroner, and told him enough to have him render his assistance. Therefore during the time which had elapsed, the coroner had impanelled a jury, taken them to the scene of the crime, and then adjourned the inquest, leaving the doctors to perform the autopsy. The body had been taken down to a room on the first floor which opened directly on the main hall. Here it was laid out upon a table, so placed that the gaping wound and now hideous face would at once meet the gaze of any one entering. The doctors had been instructed to postpone their work until the arrival of the detective. Thus Mr. Barnes knew, as he led the way down stairs, that his trap was set. As they reached the main hall, he spoke:
"Gentlemen, I am about to ask a favor of you. You were both on the train when the robbery was committed. There is a question in relation to it which I should like to ask both of you, and hear each answer separately. Would you oblige me?"
"With pleasure," said the Frenchman.
"I have already told you that you may ask me any questions," said Mr. Mitchel.
"Thank you." Turning to the hall-boy, who of course had been taught his part, he continued: "Can we find a room where we can talk privately for a few minutes?"
"Yes sir; step this way," and the boy led them towards the one where the corpse lay.
"Mr. Mitchel," said Mr. Barnes, "will you wait a few minutes? I will not detain you long." Mr. Mitchel bowed, and the Frenchman followed the detective into the room, the boy closing the door after them. Nothing was to be seen save the table bearing the body, the doctors being hidden in a room beyond. Mr. Barnes stopped near the corpse and simply gazed steadfastly at Mr. Thauret, who in turn looked intently at the murdered woman. Not a muscle moved to show any agitation. Mr. Barnes waited; but apparently nothing was to happen; yet he was determined that the other should speak first, that he might draw some deduction from his words. Therefore he maintained a stolid silence. Two minutes passed, which seemed an age, and then the Frenchman gave the detective a genuine surprise. Looking him straight in the eyes he said in the coolest tones imaginable:
"How did you discover that I am a physician?"
"I don't understand you," said Mr. Barnes, not knowing what the man was aiming at.
"Mr. Barnes, you brought me into this room saying that you wished to ask me a question. When I entered andsaw this corpse, I knew at once that your pretended questioning was but a subterfuge. I wondered why you brought me in here, and whilst thinking it out, I kept silent. So have you. Very good. All I can make of it is, that this woman having been murdered, and knowing that I am a physician, you wished an expert opinion in the case. I wondered how you had discovered that I have a medical education, and so I asked you the question. Do I make myself plain?"
"Quite so," said the detective, coldly, and much disappointed. "My reply must be that I did not know you to be a physician, and that I did bring you in here to ask a question."
"Indeed! Then what is it?"
"I wish you to tell me who this woman is."
"You overrate my ability. I never saw the woman before. Is there anything more you wish to say?"
"Nothing."
"Then I will wish you good-morning." With a polite bow, and drawing on his glove, Mr. Thauret started to leave the room. Mr. Barnes quickly stepped in front of him, determined that he should not have a chance to warn Mr. Mitchel. Opening the door, he then let him pass, thus keeping his eyes on the two others. Mr. Thauret bowed formally to Mr. Mitchel and passed out. Then the latter followed Mr. Barnes into the presence of the dead woman. If Mr. Thauret was undisturbed at the sight which met him, it was not so with Mr. Mitchel. He had scarcely observed what was before him, than with anejaculation of horror he stepped closer to the corpse and exclaimed:
"My God, Mr. Barnes, what does this mean?"
"What does what mean?" said Mr. Barnes, quietly.
The two men stared at one another a few moments, when Mr. Mitchel, suddenly lowering his eyes said, "I'm a fool," and once more turned to look at the corpse. Presently he turned and said, with all of his old time composure:
"You said you wished to ask me a question! What is it?"
"I wish you to tell me who this woman is?"
"Was, I suppose you mean. She was Rose Mitchel."
"Ah! Did you know her?"
"I agreed to answer but one question. I have done so."
"You have admitted that you knew her."
"You will find it difficult to prove that."
"Oh, shall I? I have witnesses. Gentlemen, please come forward." A door at the farther end of the room opened, and two physicians entered. The detective continued, "What have you to say now?"
"That I am most profoundly indebted to you for having enabled me to prove what has happened, and also that you have so soon let me know that we are not alone." Mr. Barnes bit his lip at this taunt, and Mr. Mitchel, turning to the doctors, continued, "Gentlemen, I am delighted to know that you have overheard what has occurred. You may be called upon to give testimony. If you will remember, I think that you will admit that Mr. Barnesasked me who this woman is. Correcting his grammar I replied, 'She was Rose Mitchel.' Am I accurate?"
"Quite so," said one of the doctors.
"Mr. Barnes claims that I have admitted that I knew the woman. I claim that I have merely admitted that I knew her name, which is a very different thing."
"You admitted more than that," said the detective testily, "for you must have known more than her name to be able to give a name to this dead body."
"You are quite right, Mr. Barnes, I must also have known her face. In the same way I know both name and face of Lillian Russell. Were I to identify her dead body, would that prove that I was a personal acquaintance?"
"Certainly not, but you cannot claim that this woman was known to you in that way, for she was not a public character."
"How do you know that?"
"Well then, was she?"
"That is another question, and I decline to answer it, at least before witnesses. If you will walk with me as far as my hotel I will do the best I can to explain to you how I could identify this corpse without having been acquainted with the woman herself."
"Of course I will go with you, for explain this you must"; and together the two men left the building.
They walked across to Fifth Avenue and down that thoroughfare for several blocks in silence. Mr. Mitchel was evidently thinking over the position in which hefound himself, and Mr. Barnes was satisfied not to hasten the explanation. He thus gave himself time to make a few mental notes, which if written down would have read as follows:
"Why did both of these men start when I said that the jewels were hidden off the train. It might be because both knew that to be a fact. If a fact, Thauret might have known it, because he himself may be the thief. In that case, either Mitchel is an accomplice, or he saw the other man hide the satchel at some station. Could Mitchel himself have hidden the satchel? How could he have done so when I watched his section all night, unless of course I fell asleep, which is not probable. It follows then that I must discover what acquaintanceship exists between these men, in order to determine whether they are in league together.
"Next, as to the murder. It is odd to find both men possessing the means of admittance to the house. It is odd that both were undisturbed and plainly incredulous when I suggested that the woman might have been murdered to obtain the jewels. If Thauret killed the woman his demeanor in the presence of the corpse was simply miraculous. He showed not the least agitation. On the other hand he admitted that he has a medical education. Physicians are less excited by cadavers, and what is more significant, a physician would know how to find the jugular vein with a pen-knife. Still it is not difficult to sever that vessel without special knowledge. As to Mitchel, his behavior is more mysterious. Had he committed thecrime, knowing his extraordinary ability to control his emotions, I had a right to expect him to be calm before the corpse. Yet he was much excited, and went towards the body for a closer scrutiny. Murderers usually shrink away from their victims. In spite of that he gave the woman's name, and it tallies with that which she herself had claimed. Now, if he was willing to tell me the name, and if he committed the crime, why did he remove the names from all the garments? Why, unless Rose Mitchel is an alias, and the real name is thus kept secret? I may ask him some of these questions."
At this point Mr. Mitchel addressed his companion:
"Mr. Barnes, I should like to know of what you have been thinking as we walked, and I suppose you have a similar curiosity regarding my own thoughts. I mean to gratify you. I have been endeavoring to view my own position from your point of view, to guess what your deductions are from my behavior in the presence of that dead woman."
"I cannot give you my deductions," said Mr. Barnes, "for the simple reason that I have adopted none as yet. It has always been my practice to avoid deciding upon a theory too early. A detective with a theory will invariably be tempted to work to prove his assumption. I work to discover the truth. Therefore I avoid theories."
"Good! I see that my opinion of detectives, as expressed in the conversation which you overheard, must be modified. I still think I am right in the main, but you are an exception to the general rule."
"Mr. Mitchel, I don't care for compliments. You are at present in a very suspicious position. You said you could explain how you were able to identify that woman."
"I will do so. First let me state that I never saw her but once before in my life. The story is very short. I have been in this city less than two years. I became engaged to Miss Remsen last winter. About a month later I received a letter signed Rose Mitchel, which informed me that the writer could divulge a secret in relation to my family which would cause Miss Remsen to break with me. A price was named for silence, and a photograph enclosed that I might be able to recognize the woman, for she boldly announced that she would call in person for the money. She did so, and I have never seen her again till to-day."
"Can you prove this story?"
"I will show you the letter and the photograph if you will come with me to the Garfield Safety Vaults."
"I will go with you at once. Did you pay the money demanded?"
"I did."
"Do you not know that it is suspicious for a man to submit to blackmail? It tends to prove that he is in the blackmailer's power."
"That is correct. I was in this woman's power."
"That is a serious admission, now that she has been murdered."
"I know it. But here we are at the vaults."
The two men entered the building, and Mr. Mitchelobtained the key to his compartment. He never took it away from the place, for he thought it safer in the keeping of the officers of the vaults. Descending into the great strong room, he took a tin box from his drawer, and then went into a little private room provided with a table and chairs. Opening the box he took out several packages which he laid on one side. Amongst these the detective was amazed to see a red Russia-leather case bound around with a strap, upon which appeared the name MITCHEL, in gold letters. Could it be possible that this was the case containing the missing jewels?
"Ah! Here it is," said Mr. Mitchel. "Here is the photograph." He handed it to Mr. Barnes, who saw at once that it was the picture of the dead woman. "And here is the letter. Shall I read it to you?" Mr. Barnes assented with a nod. His thoughts were mainly upon the red leather case. Mr. Mitchel read aloud:
"Mr. R. Mitchel,"Dear Sir:"You will be surprised to receive this from one, of whom perhaps you know little, but who knows much concerning your family. So much, that were she to tell all she knows, your high-toned sweetheart would send you adrift in a jiffy. Some say that silence is golden. So it must be in this case. If you wish me to keep silent, you must be ready to pay me ten thousand dollars on Thursday night, when I shall call for it. I send my photograph, that you may know I am the writer when I call. Yousee I am not afraid to do this, because if you call in the police, I will simply tell my story and you will be ruined. I may go to jail, but that does not worry me much, as there are worse places. So be ready to receive me on Thursday night.Yours truly,"Rose Mitchel."
"Mr. R. Mitchel,
"Dear Sir:
"You will be surprised to receive this from one, of whom perhaps you know little, but who knows much concerning your family. So much, that were she to tell all she knows, your high-toned sweetheart would send you adrift in a jiffy. Some say that silence is golden. So it must be in this case. If you wish me to keep silent, you must be ready to pay me ten thousand dollars on Thursday night, when I shall call for it. I send my photograph, that you may know I am the writer when I call. Yousee I am not afraid to do this, because if you call in the police, I will simply tell my story and you will be ruined. I may go to jail, but that does not worry me much, as there are worse places. So be ready to receive me on Thursday night.
Yours truly,"Rose Mitchel."
Mr. Mitchel handed the above to Mr. Barnes, who read it over carefully, examining the envelope and postmark, both of which proved that the letter was genuine and a year old.
"Did you give her the amount demanded?" asked Mr. Barnes.
"I must explain what I did. When I received that letter, it was plain that there would be nothing to lose by receiving the woman and hearing her story. I determined not to give her any money; therefore, when she called, of course I did not have any such sum. After listening to her I changed my mind. I found that, through certain papers which she had, and which she did not hesitate to show me, she would be able to ventilate a scandal which might result just as she adroitly prophesied. I mean in the rupture of my engagement. Naturally I wished to avoid that. When I told her that she should have the money if she would call again, she became furious. Said I had tricked her, and now wanted a chance to hand her over to the police, etc. I saw that I must settle with her at once, and did so on these terms. I agreed to give her cash enough to go to Europe, and the balance in jewels."
"In jewels?" cried Mr. Barnes, startled.
"Yes, in jewels. You are surprised; but that is because you do not know my hobby. I am a collector of jewels. I have half a million dollars' worth in these vaults. Therefore, whilst I had no such amount in cash as ten thousand dollars, I could easily give her three diamond rings, which I did, with a letter to a Paris jeweller, who would purchase them from her. Thus was I rid of the woman, part of the agreement being that she should never return."
"Mr. Mitchel, a man of your intelligence must have known that such promises are not kept by that class of people."
"True, but I obtained from her all the documentary evidence which she had, so that I rendered her powerless to annoy me further. You said awhile ago that it was a serious admission for me to make that I was in this woman's power. I suppose you meant that such a fact supplied a motive for this murder. Now you see that this is not true since I can prove that I released myself from that position a year ago."
"How can you prove that?"
"I have the woman's receipt, in which she states that for the sum of ten thousand dollars or its equivalent, she delivers to me family documents, etc."
"Have you the documents still?"
"I prefer not to reply to that question."
"Very good, but answer me this one. Where did you obtain this leather case, and what does it contain?" Ashe said this the detective picked up the case and held it before Mr. Mitchel's eyes. That gentleman was evidently confused for a moment, but finally answered:
"It contains some jewels."
"Jewels? That is what I thought. May I examine them?"
"Not with my permission."
"Then I must do so without," and with a quick movement the case lay open on the table. It was lined with black satin, and contained gems similar to those described in the paper found in the dead woman's pocket. What seemed more important however, was a piece of writing-paper upon which Mr. Barnes found an exact copy of the list and description which he had in his pocket. The detective noticed with astonishment that though Mr. Mitchel had refused to permit this examination of the contents of the case, he made no effort to prevent it, and now sat back looking on in the most unconcerned way.
"Mr. Mitchel," said Mr. Barnes, "why did you object to my looking into this case?"
"I never show my jewels to—strangers. It is wrong to tempt people."
"You are impertinent, sir! What do you mean?"
"I mean that I regulate my life by rule. This is one of my rules, and though I do not doubt your honesty, you are a stranger to me and so come within the operation of my rule."
"Your cool impudence will not avail you in this instance. These are the stolen jewels."
"Indeed! Do you discover that, as you claim to have detected the thief, simply by looking at them?" Mr. Mitchel assumed that sarcastic tone which had several times irritated the detective.
"Have done with child's play," said Mr. Barnes. "I have a list of the lost jewels, and this case with its contents accurately matches the description. What is more, this list in your possession, is the fac-simile, of the one which I have in my pocket."
"Ah! Now we come to tangible facts and leave the realm of psychology," said Mr. Mitchel leaning forward, with evident interest. "Let me understand this. You have a list of the stolen jewels. That paper is a fac-simile of this one here. The description too tallies with the case and jewels. Is that right?"
"That is quite right. Now can your remarkable inventive faculty fashion a story to meet this emergency?"
"Mr. Barnes, you do me an injustice. I am no romancer. That is the difference between myself and the criminal class, with which you deal. Those poor devils commit a crime and depend upon a sequence of lies to clear themselves. On the contrary I follow this rule: 'Refuse to answer all questions, or else answer truthfully.' Now in this case there are some points, as puzzling to me as to yourself. Them I shall not attempt to explain. One of them is how you can possibly have a duplicate list of my jewels, for these are mine I assure you."
"Here is the list," said the detective, taking it from his pocket and comparing it with the other; "and by heavens," he continued, "the writing is the same."
"That is interesting, let me look," said Mr. Mitchel. With which he arose, walked around to the other side of the table and stood leaning over the detective. "You see, I do not ask you to let me take your paper from you. You might suspect that I would destroy it." Mr. Barnes handed both papers to him without a word. Mr. Mitchel bowed as he took them and returned to his seat. After a moment's careful examination he handed them back saying:
"I agree with you, Mr. Barnes. The writing is the same. What deduction do you draw from that fact?"
"What deduction! Why I found this description of the stolen jewels in the pocket of a dress belonging to Rose Mitchel."
"What? Do you mean to say that she was the woman who was robbed?" The blank amazement upon Mr. Mitchel's face disconcerted Mr. Barnes, for if he did not know this, the mystery seemed deeper than ever.
"Do you mean that you did not know it?" asked Mr. Barnes.
"How should I know it?"
This caused a silence. Both men stopped a moment to consider the situation. At length Mr. Barnes said coldly:
"Mr. Mitchel, I am under the painful necessity of placing you under arrest."
"Upon what charge?"
"Upon the charge of having stolen jewels, and perhaps of having murdered Rose Mitchel."
"Are you in a hurry to take me with you?" asked Mr. Mitchel coolly.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because if not, I should like to ask you one or two questions."
"You may do so."
"First, then, as the robbery was committed on a moving train, will you tell me how you suppose it to have been accomplished, since the passengers were searched?" Mr. Barnes had his own idea on this subject which he did not choose to tell. He thought it well, however, to pretend that he had still another theory. At least he could observe how Mr. Mitchel received it.