Upon Jim's reappearance in the cottage, Mrs. Harris installed him as nurse, and, herself, set about improvising a kitchen in the rear room.
Mr. Harris had been despatched to town for sundry articles, and, at noon, we were served with a plentiful lunch, of which we partook in rather primitive fashion.
Not long after, while Jim and I were conversing out under the trees, and Mr. Harris was discoursing to two Trafton ladies who had called to proffer service and sympathy, I saw Gerald Brown coming toward the cottage, and guessing that his real business was with me, whatever pretext he might present, I advanced to the gate and met him there.
He carried in his hand a telegraph envelope, which he proffered me ostentatiously over the gate.
I opened it and read:
N. Y., etc., etc.
Will come to-night.
Denham.
Underneath this was written:
They are wild in town; are about to arrest Jim Long for the shooting of Bethel.
Two pair of eyes, at least, were looking out from the cottage door and window.
I turned the message over, and resting it upon the gate post, wrote the following:
Don't lose sight of Dimber; telegraph to the Agency to ask if Blake has arrived. Tell them not to let him get out of reach. We may want him at any moment.
While I was writing this Gerry shifted his position, so that his face could not be seen by the observers in the house, and said:
"Dimber is in it. He claims to have seen Long with his gun near Bethel's house last night. The gun has been found."
"Of course," I returned. "We will put a muzzle on friend Dimber very shortly."
I refolded the message and returned it to Gerry, who touched his hat and turned back toward the village.
Going to the door of the cottage, I informed Mr. Harris and the ladies that the new operator had just brought the news we so much wished for, viz.: the coming of Bethel's uncle from New York by that night's express. Then, sauntering back to my old place under the trees, I communicated to Jim the purport of the postscript written by Gerry.
He listened attentively, but with no sign of discomposure visible upon his countenance.
"I've had time to think the matter over," he said, after a moment's silence, "and I think I shall pull through, but," with a waggish twinkle in his eye, "I am puzzled to know why that young man going up the hill should take so much interest in me, or was it Harris?"
"It was not Harris," returning his look with interest. "That young man going up the hill is Gerald Brown, of New York. He's the new night operator, and he will not fail to do hisduty, in the office and out of it."
"Ah!" ejaculated Jim, turning his eyes once more toward the receding form of Gerry.
I let my own gaze follow his and there, just coming into sight on the brow of the hill, was a party of men.
It consisted of the constable, supported by several able-bodied citizens, and followed, of course, by a promiscuous rabble.
Jim gave vent to a low chuckle.
"See the idiots," he said, "coming like mountain bandits. No doubt they look for fierce resistance. Don't let them think you are too much interested in the case."
"I won't," I said, briefly, for the men were hurrying down the hill. "It would not be politic, but I'll have you out of their clutches, Long, without a scratch, sure and soon."
I turned toward the house as I finished the sentence, and Jim arose and went toward the gate; not the man of easy movements and courteous speech who had been my companion for the past twenty-four hours, not Long, the gentleman, but "Long Jim," the loafer, awkward, slouching, uncouth of manner and speech.
As the crowd made a somewhat noisy approach, Jim leaned over the gate and motioned them to silence.
"Gentlemen," he said, seriously, "ye can't be any too still about this place, an' ye'd a' showed better gumption if ye hadn't paid yer respects in a squad, as if ye was comin' to a hangin'. Somehow ye seem mighty fond o' waitin' on Dr. Bethel in a gang."
Acting upon a hint from me, Mr. Harris now went out, and in milder words, but with much the same meaning, exhorted the visitors to quiet.
And then, casting a quick glance behind him, and a somewhat apprehensive one toward Jim, the constable read his warrant. The two men inside the gate listened with astonished faces. Indeed, Jim's assumption of amazement, viewed in the light of my knowledge concerning its genuineness, was ludicrous beyond description.
Mr. Harris began an earnest expostulation, and turned to beckon me to his assistance, but Jim checked him by a gesture.
"We can't have any disputing here," he said, sharply. "Don't argy, parson; tain't wuth while."
Then he opened the gate and stepped suddenly out among them.
"I'll go with ye," he said, "for the sake of peace. But," glaring about him fiercely, "if it wan't fer makin' a disturbance, again the doctor's orders, I'd take ye one at a time and thrash a little sense into ye. Come along, Mr. Constable; I'm goin' to 'pear' afore Jestice Summers, an' I'm goin' to walk right to the head o' this mob o' your'n, an' don't ye try to come none o' yer jailer dodges over me. Ye kin all walk behind, an' welcome, but the first man as undertakes to lay a finger on me, or step along-side—somethin'll happen to him."
And Jim thrust his hands deep down in his pockets, walked coolly through the group, which divided to let him pass, and strode off up the hill.
"Goodness!" ejaculated the valorous officer of the law, "is—is there a man here that's got a pistol?"
"Goodness!" ejaculated the valorous officer of the law, "is—is there a man here that's got a pistol?"—page 332."Goodness!" ejaculated the valorous officer of the law, "is—is there a man here that's got a pistol?"—page 332.
No reply from his supporters.
I put my hand behind me and produced a small revolver.
"Take this," I said, proffering the weapon over the gate. "You had better humor his whim, but if he attempts to escape, you know how to stop him."
He seized the protecting weapon, nodded his thanks, and hastened after his prisoner, followed by the entire body guard.
"My dear sir," said Mr. Harris, gravely, "I was sorry to see you do that. You surely don't think Long guilty?"
I turned toward him, no longer trying to conceal my amusement.
"He is as innocent as you or I," I replied, "and the pistol is not loaded. One may as well retain the good will of the magnates of the law, Mr. Harris."
He smiled in his turn, and, wishing to avoid a discussion, in which I must of necessity play a very hypocritical part, I turned back and entered the cottage to explain the situation to the ladies.
During that long, still afternoon, visitors came and went. Louise Barnard, a little refreshed and very anxious returned and resumed her post at the bedside. She was shocked and indignant at the news of Jim Long's arrest; and she breathed a sigh of relief and gratification upon being told of the expected coming Dr. Denham. Late in the afternoon, Dr. Hess made a second visit, and when he returned to town Mr. Harris accompanied him, the two driving back in the doctor's gig.
It was very quiet. Mrs. Harris dozed in the easy-chair; Louise sat mute and statue-like by the bedside of her lover, and I, oppressed by the stillness, was leaning over the open window sill, wondering how it was faring with Jim Long, when the gate gave the faintest creak, and I lifted my eyes to see the object of my mental inquiry coming toward me.
Uttering an exclamation which roused good Mrs. Harris and caused the watcher in the inner room to turn her head, I hastened to meet him.
"Long," I exclaimed, "what lucky fate has brought you back?"
He glanced from me to the doorway, where Mrs. Harris was now standing, with an expectant look on her benevolent countenance, and replied, laconically:
"Bail."
"Good! I was thinking of that."
"Jim," broke in Mrs. Harris, eagerly, "who did it? We'll all bless his kindness."
He advanced to the door, planted his right foot upon the lower step, rested his elbow on his knee, pushed his hat off his forehead, and grinned benignly on us both.
"Then I'm the feller that'll walk off with the blessin'," he said, with a chuckle. "I went my own bail to the tune of five thousand dollars!"
Mrs. Harris gave a gasp of surprise. I seated myself on the corner of the step farthest from Jim, and, seeing that he was about to volunteer a further explanation, remained silent.
At the same moment I observed what was unnoticed by the other two; Miss Barnard had left her post and was standing behind Mrs. Harris.
"Ye see," continued Jim, giving me a sidelong glance, and then fixing his eyes upon the hem of Mrs. Harris's apron, "Ye see, I had ter appear afore Jestice Summers. Now, the Jestice," with another sidelong glance, and an almost imperceptible gesture, "is a man an' a brother. I ain't agoin' ter say anythin' agin' him. I s'pose he had to do his duty. There was some in that office that wanted ter see me put where I couldn't be so sassy, but I didn't mind them. The minit I got in my oar, I jest talked right straight at the Jestice, an' I told him in short order that ef I was sure of bein' treated on the square, I'd jest waive an examination. An' then I kind o' sighed, an' appealed to their feelin's, tellin' them that I hadn't no friends nor relations, but that may be, ef they gave me half a show, an' didn't set my bail too high, may be some one would go my security, an' give me a chance ter try ter clear myself. Wal! ef you could a looked around that office, ye'd a thought my chance o' gittin security was slim. The Jestice called the time on me, an' allowed 'twould be fair ter give me bail. An' then 'Squire Brookhouse, an' one or two more, piped in with objections, until the Jestice put the bail up ter five thousand. Of course that wilted me right down. Everybody grinned or giggled, an' nobody didn't offer any more objections, an' the bizness was finished up. Then, when they had got ter a place where there was no backin' out, I jest unbuttoned my coat an' vest, whipped off a belt I'd got fixed handy for the 'casion, an' counted five thousand dollars right down under their noses!"
Here he paused to lift his eyes to the face of Mrs. Harris, and to see, for the first time, his third auditor, who now came forward to grasp his hand, and utter rejoicings at his present liberty, and indignant disapproval of the parties who had brought against him a charge which she unhesitatingly pronounced absurd and without reasonable foundation.
Next Jim's hand came into the cordial grasp of good Mrs. Harris, who was more voluble than Louise Barnard, and none the less sincere.
When, after a time, Jim and I found ourselvestéte-â-tétefor a moment, I said:
"Long, I look on it as a fortunate thing that you were taken before Justice Summers."
"Well," said Jim, dryly, "all things considered, so do I."
The long day is ended at last; the sun has set in a bank of dim clouds. There is no moon as yet, and that orb, which is due above the horizon in exactly eight minutes, by an authentic almanac, will scarcely appear at her best to-night, for the leaden clouds that swallowed up the sun have spread themselves across all the sky, leaving scarce a rent through which the moon may peep at the world.
The darkness is sufficient to cover my journey, and the hour is yet early—too early for birds of the night to begin to prowl, one might think; yet, as I approach Jim Long's cabin, I encounter a sentinel, dimly outlined but upright before me, barring the way.
"Hold on, my—"
"Jim."
"Oh! it's you, Cap'n; all right. Come along; we're waitin'."
I follow him into his own cabin, and stand beside the door, which some one has closed as we enter, while Jim strikes a light. Then I see that the cabin is occupied by half a dozen men.
"I follow him into his own cabin, and stand beside the door, which some one has closed as we enter, while Jim strikes a light."—page 339."I follow him into his own cabin, and stand beside the door, which some one has closed as we enter, while Jim strikes a light."—page 339.
"Pardner," says Jim, setting down the candle, and indicating the various individuals, by a gesture, as he names them, "this 'er's Mr. Warren, the captain o' the Trafton vigilants."
I turn upon Jim a look of surprise, but he goes placidly on.
"This is young Mr. Warren."
I return the nod of a bright-looking young farmer.
"This is Mr. Booth, Mr. Benner, and Mr. Jaeger."
The three men who stand together near the window bow gravely.
"And this," finishes Jim, "is Mr. Harding."
As Mr. Harding moves forward out of the shadow, I recognize him. It is the man whose recital of the misfortunes of Trafton, overheard by me on the day of my departure from Groveland, had induced me to come to the thief-ridden village.
"I have met Mr. Harding before," I say, as I proffer my hand to him.
"I don't remember," with a look of abashed surprise.
"Perhaps not, Mr. Harding; nevertheless, if it had not been for you I should, probably, never have visited Trafton."
The look of surprise broadens into amazement. But it is not the time for explanations. I turn back to Mr. Warren.
"Am I to understand that you have a vigilance committee already organized here?"
"We have an organized party, sir." Here Jim interposes.
"Ye see, I happen ter belong ter the vigilants. An' when ye asked me ter name a reliable man, why, I jest thought I'd bring you an' Mr. Warren together an' 'twould simplify matters. 'Twant my business to explain jest then."
"Charlie," says Mr. Warren, addressing the young man near the door, "go outside and see that no one comes within seeing or hearing distance. We want Long here."
The young vigilant mounts guard and I turn again to Mr. Warren.
"Mr. Long has explained the nature of my business?"
"Yes, you may be sure it was a surprise to me."
"How many men have you?"
"Fifteen in all."
"And you have all failed to find a clue to the identity of the horse-thieves?"
"Yes, sir, we have failed. We have organized in secret and worked in secret. We hoped and expected to sift this matter to the bottom, and we have failed utterly. But Jim tells me that you have succeeded where we have failed."
"Not quite that. Listen, gentlemen. I know where to put my hands, now, to-night, upon the six horses that were stolen one week ago. If it were merely a question of the recovery of these, I should not need your aid. It might be worth something to me if I recovered the horses, but it will be worth much more to us, and to all Trafton, if we capture the thieves, and they cannot be taken to-night, perhaps not for many nights. We are surrounded with spies; the man we might least suspect, may be the very one to betray us. Our only safe course is to work in harmony, and, for the present, at least, trust none outside of this room. I have trusted this organization to Jim Long, believing in his discretion. He assures me that I can rely upon every man of you."
Mr. Warren bares his head, and comes forward.
"We have all been losers at the hands of these rascally thieves," he says, earnestly. "And we all want to see the town free from them. We are not poor men; the vigilants are all farmers who have something at stake. Show us how to clean out these horse-thieves, and if you want reliable men, they will be on hand. If you want money, that can be had in plenty."
"All we want, is here; half a dozen men with ordinary courage and shrewdness, and a little patience. The moon is now at its full; before a new moon rises, we will have broken up the gang of Trafton outlaws!"
"And why," asks Mr. Warren, eagerly, "must our time be regulated by the moon?"
"Because," I say, significantly, "horse-thieves are seldom abroad on moonlight nights."
An hour passes; an hour during which Mr. Warren, Mr. Harding, and myself, talk much, and the others listen attentively, making, now and then, a brief comment, or uttering an approving ejaculation. All except Jim. He has forced young Warren to join the conference within, and has stood on picket-duty outside, to all appearances, the least interested of any gathered there for counsel.
It is ten o'clock when we separate; the vigilants going their way silently, and one at a time, and Jim and myself returning to the cottage together.
"Ye couldn't have found six better men," says Jim, who has chosen to sustain hisrôleof illiterate rustic throughout the evening. "Ye can trust 'em."
"I have given them no unnecessary information, Long. Not half so much as you have scented out for yourself. They know enough to enable them to do what will be required of them and nothing more."
"Then," with a dry laugh, "they know more than I do."
"If they know that you are actually capable of drawing the reins over the 'nine parts of speech,'" I retort, "they did not learn it from me."
"Then," with another chuckling laugh, "I fancy they don't know it."
Dr. Denham came at midnight, and Miss Barnard greeted him with a smile that ended in a sob.
Evidently "our old woman" had been enlightened concerning her, for he took her in his arms and kissed her with grave tenderness, before going to the bedside of his patient.
He took absolute command of the cottage, and no one, not even Louise, ventured to oppose him or raise the voice of argument. He took all responsibility out of my hands, and dismissed me with his usual formula.
"Go about your business, you young rascal. I might have known you'd be at some new deviltry shortly. Go about your business, and by the time I get Bethel on his feet, you'll have me another patient, I'll be bound."
But Jim found favor in the eyes of "our old woman," who straightway elected him general assistant, and he soon discovered that to be assistant to Dr. Denham was no sinecure. Indeed, a more abject bond slave than Jim, during that first week of Bethel's illness, could not well be imagined.
"Our old woman's" scepter extended, too, over poor Louise. He was as tender as possible, allowing her to assist him when she could, and permitting her to watch by the bedside four or five hours each day. But beyond that she could not trespass. There must be no exhausting effort, no more night vigils.
Louise rebelled at first; tried coaxing, then pouting, then submitted to the power that would wield the scepter.
The good doctor brought from the city a package sent me by my Chief, which he put into my hands at the first opportunity.
It contained papers, old and yellow; some copied memoranda, and two photographs. When I had examined all these, I breathed a sigh of relieved surprise.
Another link was added to my chain of evidence, another thread to the web I was weaving.
Without that packet I had cherished a suspicion. With it, I grasped a certainty.
The following week was to me one of busy idleness. Now at the cottage, where Bethel, pain-racked and delirious, buffeted between life and death. Now closeted for a half-hour with the new night operator. Keeping an eye upon Dimber Joe, who continued his lounging and novel reading, and who was, to all appearances, the idlest and most care-free man in Trafton.
I saw less of Jim Long than pleased me, for, when he was not bound to the chariot wheel of "our old woman," he contrived somehow to elude me, or to avoid alltéte-â-tétes. I scarcely saw him except in the presence of a third party.
Mr. Warren, or one or two other members of the party who had met me at Jim Long's cabin, were constantly to be seen about Trafton. During the day they were carelessly conspicuous; during the night their carelessness gave place to caution; but they were none the less present, as would have been proven by an emergency.
The new telegraph operator was a host in himself. He was social, talkative, and something of a lounger. He found it easy to touch the pulse of Trafton gossip, and knew what they thought at Porter's concerning Bethel's calamity, Long's arrest and subsequent release under bail, etc., without seeming to have made an effort in search of information.
The two questions now agitating the minds of the Trafton gossips were: "Who shot Dr. Bethel, if Jim Long did not?" and "Where did Jim Long, who had always been considered but one remove from a pauper, get the money to pay so heavy a bail?"
The theories in regard to these two questions were as various as the persons who advocated them, and were as astounding and absurd as the most diligent sensation-hunter could have desired.
Jim's gun had been found in a field less than half a mile from Bethel's cottage, by some workmen who had been sent by 'Squire Brookhouse to repair one of his farm fences, and I learned, with peculiar interest, thatTom Briggswas one of these workmen.
Upon hearing that the gun had been found, Dimber Joe had made his statement. He had seen Jim Long, between the hours of nine and tenp. m., going in the direction of the cottage, with a gun upon his shoulder.
Of course, when making this assertion, he had no idea of the use to which it would be put; and equally, of course, he much regretted that he had mentioned the fact when he found himself likely to be used as a witness against Long, whom he declared to be an inoffensive fellow, so far as he had known him, and toward whom he could have no ill-will.
In due time, sooner, in fact, than I had dared hope, there came a message from Carnes.
It came through the hands of young Harris. Carnes, having sent it early in the day, and knowing into whose hands it would probably fall, had used our cipher alphabet:
4. F d, t, t, o w n—u h e—n a x——, —, —. C——.
This is the cipher which, using the figure at the head as the key, will easily be interpreted:
Found. What next?Carnes.
Found! That meant much. It meant that the end of the Groveland mystery was near at hand!
But there was much to learn before we could decide and reply to the query, "What next?"
While Harris was absent for a few moments, during the afternoon, the night operator sent the following to Carnes:
Where found? In what condition? What do you advise?
Before midnight, this answer came:
In a fourth-rate theater. One well, the other sick. Their friends had better come for them at once. Can you get your hands on Johnny La Porte?
To this I promptly replied:
Telegraph particulars to the Agency. We can get La Porte, but must not alarm the others too soon. State what you want with him. Wyman will come to you, if needed.
This message dispatched, I dictated another to my Chief.
Let Wyman act with Carnes. Can not quit this case at present. Carnes will wire you particulars.
This being sent, I went back to my hotel and waited.
The next day the night operator offered to relieve Harris, an offer which was gladly accepted.
A little before noon the following message came:
Instructions received. Wyman, Ewing, Rutger, and La Porte start for New Orleans to-morrow. Do you need any help?
I heaved a sigh of relief and gratification, and sped back the answer, "No."
The time came when Carnes told me the story of his New Orleans search. As he related it to me then, let him relate it now:—
Arrived in New Orleans without trouble or delay, at three o'clock in the afternoon. Registered at the "Hotel Honore," a small house near the levees; giving my name as George Adams, sugar dealer, from St. Louis.
Then began a hunt among the theaters, and, before seven o'clock I had found the place I wanted,—"The Little Adelphi," owned and managed by "Storms & Brookhouse." It is a small theater, but new and neatly fitted up, has a bar attached, and beer tables on the floor of the auditorium. I made no effort to see Brookhouse, but went back to the "Honore," after learning that money would open the door of the green room to any patron of the theater.
After supper I refreshed my memory by a look at the pictures of the missing young ladies, including that of Miss Amy Holmes, and then I set out for the little Adelphi.
There was never an easier bit of work than this New Orleans business. The curtain went up on a "Minstrel first part," and there, sitting next to one of the "end men," was Mamie Rutger!
Her curly hair was stuck full of roses. She wore a very short pink satin dress, and her little feet were conspicuous in white kid slippers. If Miss Mamie was forcibly abducted, she has wasted no time in grieving over it. If she has been in any manner deceived or deluded, she bears it wonderfully well. She sang her ballad with evident enjoyment, and her voice rang out in the choruses, clear and sweet. Her lips were wreathed in smiles, her cheeks glowed, and her eyes sparkled. Occasionally she turned her head to whisper to the blacked-up scamp who sat at her right hand. Altogether she deported herself with the confidence of an oldhabituéof the stage. Evidently she had made herself popular with the Little Adelphi audiences, and certainly she enjoyed her popularity.
After the first part, I watched the stage impatiently, it being too early to venture into the green-room.
Mamie Rutger did not re-appear, but, after an hour, occupied principally by "burnt cork artists," Miss Lotta Le Clair, "the song and dance Queen," came tripping from the wings; and Miss Lotta Le Clair, in a blue velvet coat and yellow satin nether garments, was none other than Amy Holmes! She danced very well, and sang very ill; and I fancied that she had tasted too often of the cheap wine dealt out behind the bar. Very soon after her exit I made my way to the green-room, piloted by the head waiter. I had, of course, gotten myself up for the occasion, and I looked like a cross between a last year's fashionplate and a Bowery blackleg.
It is always easy to make a variety actress talk, and those at the Little Adelphi proved no exception. Two or three bottles of wine opened the way to some knowledge.
By chatting promiscuously with several of the Adelphi belles, I learned that Amy Holmes and Mamie Rutger, who, by the way, was "Rose Deschappelles" on the bills, lived together. That Amy, who was not known at the theater by that name, was "a hard one," and "old in the business;" while "Rose" was a soft little prig who "wore her lover's picture in a locket," and was "as true to him as steel." The girls all united in voting Amy disagreeable, in spite of her superior wisdom; and Mamie, "a real nice, jolly little thing," spite of her verdancy.
The fair Amy was then approached, and my real work began. I ordered, in her honor, an extra brand of wine. I flattered her, I talked freely of my wealth, and displayed my money recklessly. I became half intoxicated in her society, and, through it all, bemoaned the fact that I could not offer, for her quaffing, the sparkling champagne that was the only fitting drink for such a goddess.
The Adelphi champagnewasdetestable stuff, and Miss Amy wasconnoisseurenough to know it. She frankly confessed her fondness for good champagne, and could tell me just where it was to be found.
The rest came as a matter of course. I proposed to give her a champagne banquet; she accepted, and the programme was speedily arranged.
At eleven o'clock the next day, she would meet me at a convenient little restaurant near the theater. I must come with a carriage. We would have a drive, and, just outside the city, would come upon Louis Meniu's Summercafé. There we would find fine luscious fruits, rare wines, everything choice and dainty.
Miss Amy, who seemed to possess all the luxurious tastes of a native creole, arranged the programme, and we parted at the green-room door, mutually satisfied, she anticipating a gala day, and I seeing before me the disagreeable necessity of spoiling her frolic and depriving the Little Adelphi, for a time at least, of one of its fairest attractions.
The course which I had resolved to pursue was not the one most to my taste; but it was the simplest, shortest, and would accord best with the instructions given me, viz., that no arrests must be made, nor anything done to arouse the suspicions of Fred Brookhouse, and cause him to give the alarm to his confederates in the North.
I had purposely held aloof from Mamie Rutger, feeling convinced that it were best not to approachheruntil a definite course of action had been decided upon. Nor was I entirely certain that my scheme would succeed. If Amy Holmes should prove a shade wiser, shrewder, and more courageous, and a trifle less selfish and avaricious than I had judged her to be, my plans might fail and, in that case, the girl might work me much mischief.
I weighed the possibilities thoughtfully, and resolved to risk the chances.
Accordingly, on the morning after my visit to the Little Adelphi, I sent my first telegram, and made arrangements for putting my scheme into execution.
The beginning of the programme was carried out, as planned by the young lady.
We drove to thecafé, kept by Louis Meniu, and tested his champagne, after which I began to execute my plans.
"Louis Meniu might be all very well," I said, "but there was no man in New Orleans, so I had often been told by Northern travelers, who could serve such a dinner as did thechefat the P—— Hotel. Should we drive to this house and there eat the best dinner to be served in the city?"
The prospect of dining at a swell hotel pleased the young lady. She gave instant consent to the plan, and we turned back to the city and the P—— Hotel.
Here we were soon installed in a handsome private parlor, and, after I had paused a few moments in the office, to register, "Geo. Adams and sister, St. Louis, Mo.," I closed the door upon servants and intruders, and the engagement commenced.
Having first locked the door and put the key in my pocket, I approached Miss Amy, who stood before a mirror, carelessly arranging a yellow rose in her black frisettes. Dropping my swaggering, half-maudlin, wholly-admiring tone and manner, I said, quietly:
"Now, Miss Amy Holmes, if you will sit down opposite me, we will talk things over."
She started violently, and turned toward me with a stare of surprise, in which, however, I could observe no fear. The name had caused her astonishment. I had been careful to address her by her stage name, or rather the one she chose to use at the theater. I hardly suppose her real name to be Holmes,—probably it is Smith or Jones instead.
She let the hand holding the rose drop at her side, but did not loosen her grasp of the flower.
"Look here," she exclaimed, sharply. "Where did you pick up that name? and what kind of a game are you giving me, anyhow?"
After the surprise occasioned by the utterance of her discarded name, my altered tone and manner had next impressed her.
"I got that name where I got several others, Miss Amy, and the game I am playing is one that is bound to win."
She sat down upon the nearest chair, and stared mutely.
"How would you like to go back to Amora, Miss Holmes? Or to Groveland and the widow Ballou's?"
She sprang up with her eyes flashing, and made a sudden dash for the door. Of course it resisted her effort to open it.
"Open that door," she said, turning upon me a look of angry defiance. "You are either a fool or a meddler. Open the door!"
"Open that door," she said, turning upon me a look of angry defiance.—page 358."Open that door," she said, turning upon me a look of angry defiance.—page 358.
I laid one hand somewhat heavily upon her shoulder, and led her back to the seat she had just vacated.
"Possibly I may be both fool and meddler," I replied, in a tone so stern that it seemed to arrest her attention, and impress her with the fact that I was neither trifling nor to be trifled with. "But I am something else, and I know more of you, my young lady, and of your past career, than you would care to have me know. Perhaps you may never have heard of Michael Carnes, the detective, but there are others who have made his acquaintance."
Now, all this was random firing, but I acted on the knowledge that nine-tenths of the women who are professional adventuresses have, in their past, something either criminal or disgraceful to conceal, and on the possibility that Miss Amy Holmes might not belong to the exceptional few.
The shot told. I saw it in the sudden blanching of her cheek, in the startled look that met mine for just an instant. If there were nothing else to conceal, I think she would have defied me and flouted at my efforts to extract information on the subject of the Groveland mystery.
But I had touched at a more vulnerable point. If I could now convince her that I knew her past career, the rest would be easy.
It was a delicate undertaking. I might say too much, or too little, but I must press the advantage I had gained. Her attention was secured. Her curiosity was aroused. There was a shade of anxiety on her face.
Drawing a chair opposite her, and seating myself therein, I fixed my eyes upon her face, and addressed her in a tone half stern, half confidential:
"You are a plucky girl," I began, "and I admire you for that; and when I tell you that I have followed you, or tracked you, from the North, through Amora, through Groveland, down to the Little Adelphi, you will perhaps conjecture that I do not intend to be balked or evaded, even by so smart a little lady as you have proved yourself. I bear you no personal ill-will, and I much dislike to persecute a woman even when she has been guilty of"——
I paused; she made a restless movement, and a look of pain flitted across her face.
"Perhaps we may be able to avoid details," I said, slowly. "I will let you decide that."
"How?" with a gasp of relief or surprise, I could hardly guess which.
"Listen. Some time ago two girls disappeared from a little northern community, and I was one of the detectives employed to find them. I need not go into details, since you know so much about the case. In the course of the investigation, we inquired pretty closely into the character of the company kept by those two young ladies, and learned that a Miss Amy Holmes had been a schoolmate of the missing girls. Afterward, this same Amy Holmes and a Miss Grace Ballou made an attempt to escape from the Ballou farm house. The scheme was in part frustrated, but Amy Holmes escaped. Mrs. Ballou furnished us with a photo of Miss Amy Holmes, and when I saw itI knew it!"
"Ah!"
This time it was an interjection of unmistakable terror. It gave me my cue.
"I knew it for the picture of a young woman who had—committed—a crime; a young woman who would be well received at police headquarters, and I said to myself I willnowfind this young person who calls herself Amy Holmes."
A look of sullen resolution was settling upon her face. She sat before me with her eyes fixed upon the carpet and her lips tightly closed.
"I have found her," I continued, mercilessly. "And now—shall I take you back with me, a prisoner, and hand you over to the officers of the law, or will you answer truthfully such questions as I shall put to you, and go away from this house a free woman?"
She was so absorbed by her own terror, or so overshadowed by some ghost of the past, that she seemed to take no note of my interest in the Groveland business, except as it had been an incidental aid in hunting her down.
"Do you think I would trust you?" she said, with a last effort at defiance. "You want to make me testify against myself."
"You mistake, or you do not understand. I am at present working in the interest of the Groveland case. My discovery of you was an accident, and my knowledge concerning you I am using as a means toward the elucidation of the mystery surrounding the movements of Mamie Rutger and Nellie Ewing. Mamie Rutger I saw last night at the Little Adelphi. Nellie Ewing is no doubt within reach. I might find them both without your assistance. It would only require a little more time and a little more trouble; but time just now is precious. I have other business which demands my attention at the North. Therefore, I say, tell me all that you know concerning these two girls—all, mind. If you omit one necessary detail, if you fabricate in one particular, I shall know it. Answer all my questions truthfully. I shall only ask such as concern your knowledge or connection with this Groveland affair. If you do this, you have nothing to fear from me. If you refuse—you are myprisoner. You comprehend me?"
She eyed me skeptically.
"How do I know that you will let me go, after all?" she said.
"You have my promise, and I am a man of my word. You are a woman, and I don't want to arrest you. If you were a man, I should not offer you a chance for escape. Do as I wish and you are free, and if you need assistance you shall have it. You must choose at once; time presses."
She hesitated a moment, and then said:
"I may as well tell you about the girls, as you seem to know so much, and—I can't be arrested for that."
"Very well! Tell your story, then, truly and without omissions."
"You say that you have seen Mamie Rutger at the theater," began the unwilling narrator, rather ungraciously, "and so I should think you wouldn't need to be told why she ran away from home. She wanted to go on the stage, and so did Nellie Ewing. Every country girl in christendom wants to be an actress, and if she has a pretty face and a decent voice she feels sure that she can succeed. The girls had both been told that they were pretty, and they could both sing, so they ran away to come out at the Little Adelphi.
"Mamie took to the business like a duck to water. Nellie got sick and blue and whimsical, and has not appeared at the theater for several weeks. They live at 349 B—— place."
I made a careful note of the address, and then said:
"Well, proceed."
"Proceed! what more do you want to know? I have told you why they ran away and where to find them."
This was too much. My wrath must have manifested itself in face and voice, for she winced under my gaze and made no further attempt to baffle or evade me.
"I want to know who devised the villainous plot to allure two innocent country girls away from home and friends! Who set you on as decoy and temptress, and what reward did you receive? There are men or scoundrels connected with this affair; who are they; and what means have they used to bring about such a misfortune to the girls and their friends? Tell thewholetruth, and remember what I have said. If you evade, omit, equivocate,I shall know it!"
"Will you give me time?" she faltered.
"Not ten minutes. Do you want time to telegraph to Arch Brookhouse? It will be useless; he is in the hands of the detectives, and no message can reach him."
"What has Arch done?" she cried, excitedly. "He is not the one to be blamed."
"He has done enough to put him out of the way of mischief. You have seen the last of Arch Brookhouse."
"But Fred is the man who set this thing going!"
"Very likely. And Arch and Louis Brookhouse were the brothers to help him. What about Johnny La Porte and Ed. Dwight? You see I know too much. There are two officers down-stairs. If you have not finished your story, and told it to my satisfaction, before half-past four, I will call them up and hand you over to them. It isnowten minutes to four."
She favored me with a glance full of impotent hatred, sat quite silent for a long moment, during which I sat before her with a careless glance fixed on my watch.
Then she began:
"I worked at the Little Adelphi over a year ago. There was a hot rivalry between us, the Gayety, and the 'Frolique.' Fred Brookhouse was managing alone then;Storms—only came into partnership in the Spring.
"During the winter the Gayety brought out some new attractions,—I mean new to the profession; no old names that had been billed and billed, but young girls with fresh faces and pretty voices. They were new in the business, and the 'old stagers,' especially the faded and cracked-voiced ones, said that they would fail, they would hurt the business. But the managers knew better. They knew that pretty, youthful faces were the things most thought of in the varieties. And the 'freshness' of the new performers was only another attraction to green-room visitors. Nobody knew where these new girls came from, and nobody could find out; but theydrew, and the Little Adelphi lost customers, who went over to the 'Gayety.'
"Fred Brookhouse was angry, and he began to study how he should outdo the 'Gayety,' and 'put out' the new attractions.
"At the carnival season, Arch and Louis Brookhouse came down; and we got to be very good friends. Do you mean to use anything that I say to make me trouble?" she broke off, abruptly.
"Not if you tell the entire truth and spare nobody."
"Then I will tell it just as it happened. Arch and Fred and I were together one day after rehearsal. I was a favorite at the theater, and Fred consulted me sometimes. Fred wanted some fresh attractions, and wondered how they got the new girls at the 'Gayety.' And I told him that I thought they might have been 'recruited.' He did not seem to understand, and I explained that there were managers who paid a commission to persons who would get them young, pretty, bright girls, who could sing a little, for the first part, and for green-room talent.
"I told him that I knew of an old variety actress who went into the country for a few weeks in the Summer, and picked up girls for the variety business. They were sometimes poor girls who 'worked out,' and were glad of a chance to earn an easier living, and sometimes daughters of well-to-do people; girls who were romantic or ambitious, stage-struck, and easily flattered.
"Fred asked me how I knew all this, and I told him that I was roped into the business in just that way."
"Was that true?"
"Yes; it was true," a dark shade crossing her face. "But never mind me. Fred asked me if I knew where to go to find three or four pretty girls. He said he did not want 'biddies;' they must be young and pretty; must be fair singers, and have nice manners. He could get gawks in plenty. He wanted lively young girls who would be interesting and attractive. Some new idea seemed to strike Arch Brookhouse. He took Fred aside, and by-and-by they called Louis, and the three talked a long time.
"The next day, Arch and Louis came to me. They knew where to find just the girls that would suit Fred, but it would be some trouble to get them. Then they told me all about the Groveland girls; Nellie and her sister, Mamie, Grace Ballou and one or two others. Arch knew Nellie and Grace. Louis seemed particularly interested in Mamie.
"Fred is a reckless fellow, and he would spend any amount to outdo the 'Gayety,' and he seemed infatuated with the new scheme for getting talent. Besides, he knew that he could pay them what he liked; they would not be clamoring for high salaries. He agreed to pay my expenses North if I would get the girls for him.
"Arch and Louis went home, and we corresponded about the business. Finally, Arch wrote that three of the girls would attend school at Amora, the Spring term, and it was settled that I should attend also.
"I rather liked the prospect. Fred fitted me out in good style, and I went.
"Of course I soon found how to manage the girls. Mamie Rutger was ripe for anything new, and she did not like her step-mother. She was easy to handle.
"Grace was vain and easily influenced. She thought she could run away and create a sensation at home, and come back after a while to astonish the natives with her success as an actress.
"Nellie Ewing was more difficult to manage, but I found out that she was desperately in love with Johnny La Porte. Johnny had begun by being in love with Nellie, but her silly devotion had tired him, and besides, he is fickle by nature.
"I told Arch that if we got Nellie, it would have to be through La Porte. Arch knew how to manage La Porte, who was vain, and prided himself upon being a 'masher.' He thought to be mixed up in a sensational love affair, would add to his fame as a dangerous fellow. He sang a good tenor, and often sang duets with Nellie.
"Louis Brookhouse had a chum named Ed. Dwight; Ed. had been, or claimed to have been, a song and dance man.Idon't think he was ever anything more than an amateur, but he was perpetually dancing jigs, and singing comic songs, and went crazy over a minstrel show.
"Louis used to take Grace out for an occasional drive, and one day he introduced Ed. to Mamie.
"After a time, Arch and Louis thought they could better their original plan. Arch is a shrewd fellow, with a strong will, and he could just wind Johnny La Porte around his finger. Johnny took him for a model, for Arch was a stylish fellow, who knew all the ropes, and had seen a deal of the world; and Johnny, while he had been a sort of prince among the Grovelanders, had never had a taste of town life.
"Arch managed Johnny, andhemanaged Nellie Ewing."
She paused, and something in her face made me say, sternly:
"How did Johnny La Porte manage Nellie Ewing?" and then I glanced ominously at my watch, which I still held in my hand.
She moved uneasily, and averted her eyes.
"Nellie was conscientious," she resumed, reluctantly. "She had all sorts of scruples. But Johnny told her that he was to go South and study law with his mother's cousin, who lived in New Orleans. He said that he dared not marry until he had finished his studies, but if she would marry him privately, and keep the marriage a secret, she could go South and they would not be separated.
"She agreed to this, and the ceremony was performed. After it was over, he told her that he had just discovered that he would be subject to arrest under some new marriage law, and that they would be separated if it became known.
"And then he persuaded her to come here before him and work at the Little Adelphi; telling her that if her father found her there they would not suspect him, and as soon as his studies were over he would claim her openly."
Again she hesitated.
"And was this precious programme carried out?" I demanded.
"Yes. It was a long time before Nellie consented, but a little cool treatment from Johnny brought her to terms. She got away very nicely. I presume you know something about that."
"Never mind what I know. How did she get rid of her horse after leaving Mrs. Ballou's house?"
"Not far from Mrs. Ballou's there is a small piece of timber. Johnny was there with his team and he had a fellow with him who took charge of the pony. Johnny drove Nellie ten miles towards Amora, driving at full speed. There Ed. Dwight, with his machine wagon, waited, and Nellie was taken by Ed. into Amora. On the way she put on some black clothes and a big black veil. At Amora, Louis Brookhouse was waiting. They got there just in time to catch the midnight express, and were almost at their journey's end before Nellie was missed."
"Stop. You have said that Nellie Ewing has not been at the theater of late; has been blue, and ill. What has caused all this?"
She colored hotly, and a frightened look crept into her eyes.
"You are not to hold me to blame?"
"Not if you answer me truly."
"One night I had come home from the theater with Nellie, and she began crying because Johnny did not come as he had promised, and did not write often enough. I was tired and cross, and I suppose I had taken too much wine. I forgot myself, and told her that Johnny had hired a man to personate a parson, and that she was not married at all. She broke down entirely after that."
I sprang to my feet, for the moment forgetting that the creature before me was a woman. I wanted to take her by the throat and fling her from the window.
"Go on!" I almost shouted. "Go on; my patience is nearly exhausted. Is Nellie Ewing seriously ill?"
"She is fretting and pining; she thinks she is dying, and she loves Johnny La Porte as much as ever."
"And Mamie Rutger?"
"She was glad to run away. One evening when every body about the farm was busy, she waited at the front gate for Ed. Dwight. People were used to the sight of his covered wagon, and it was the last thing to suspect. But Mamie Rutger went from her father's gate in that wagon, and she and Dwight drove boldly to Sharon, and both took the midnight train as the others did at Amora.
"Ed. only went a short distance with Mamie; he came back the next morning. Mamie was plucky enough to come on alone."
"And then you and Grace Ballou tried to elope?"
"Yes."
"Well, I won't trouble you to tell you that story. I know all about it. Now, listen to me. I have registered you here as my sister, and you are going to stay here for one week a prisoner. You are to speak to no one, write to no one. You will be constantly watched, and if you attempt to disobey me you know the consequences. As soon as Mr. Rutger and 'Squire Ewing arrive I will set you at liberty, and no one shall harm you; but until then you must remain in your own room, and see no one except in my presence."
"But you promised—"
"I shall keep my promise, but choose my own time."
"But the theater—"
"You can write them a note stating that you are going to leave the city for a little recreation. You may send a similar note to Mamie and Nellie."
"You are not treating me fairly."
"I am treating you better than you deserve. Did you deal fairly at Amora and Groveland? If I were not morally sure that such crimes as yours must be punished sooner or later, I should not dare set you free."
That is how Miss Amy Holmes was brought to judgment. I had managed her by stratagem, and extracted the truth from her under false pretenses. The weapon that I brandished above her head was a reed of straws, but it sufficed. My pretended knowledge of her past history had served my purpose.
What her secret really was, and is, I neither know nor care. She is a woman, and when a woman has stepped down from her pedestal the world is all against her. The law may safely trust such sinners and their punishment to Dame Nature, who never errs, and never forgives, and to Time, who is the sternest of all avengers.
After hearing her story, I sent my second telegram to you, and then my third; and after assuring myself that the girl had told the truth concerning Nellie Ewing, I telegraphed to the office, giving the hints which Wyman acted on.
I should not have liked Wyman's task of going to those two honest farmers and telling them the truth concerning their daughters; but I should not have been averse to the other work.
I can imagine Johnny La Porte, under the impression that he was preparing for a day's lark, oiling his curly locks, scenting his pocket handkerchief, and driving Wyman, in whom he thought he had found a boon companion, to Sharon, actually flying into the arms of the avengers, at the heels of his own roadsters. I should have driven over that ten miles of country road, had I been in Wyman's place, bursting with glee, growing fat on the stupidity of the sleek idiot at my side.
But Wyman is a modest fellow, and given to seeing only the severe side of things, and he says there is no glory in trapping a fool. Possibly he is right.
I should like to have seen Johnny La Porte when he was brought, unexpectedly, before 'Squire Ewing and Farmer Rutger, to be charged with his villainy, and offered one chance for his life. He had heard the Grovelanders talk, and he knew that the despoilers of those two Groveland homes had been dedicated to Judge Lynch.
Small wonder that he was terror-stricken before these two fathers, and that under the lash of Wyman's eloquence he already felt the cord tightening about his throat.
I don't wonder that he whined and grovelled and submitted, abjectly, to their demands. But I do wonder that those two fathers could let him out of their hands alive; and I experienced a thrill of ecstasy when I learned that Wyman kicked him three times, with stout boots!
That must have been an unpleasant journey to New Orleans. The two farmers, stern, silent, heavy of heart, and filled with anxiety. La Porte, who was taken in hand by Wyman, writhing under the torments of his own conscience and his own terror, and compelled to submit to his guardian's frequent tirades of scorn and contempt, treated, for the first time in his life, like the poltroon he was.
I found the two girls at the address given by Amy Holmes; and, more to spare the two farmers the sight of her, than for her sake, I did not compel her to repeat her story in their presence, but related it myself instead.
It's not worth while to attempt a description of the meeting between the two girls and their parents. Mamie was, at first, inclined to rebel; but Nellie Ewing broke down completely, and begged to be taken home. She was pale and emaciated, a sad and pitiful creature. Her father was overcome with grief at sight of the change in her. He could not trust himself to speak to her of Johnny La Porte; and so—what a Jack of all trades a detective is—he called me from the room and delegated to me the unpleasant task.
I did it as well as I could. I told her as gently as possible that Johnny La Porte was in New Orleans, and asked if she wanted to see him. She cried for joy, poor child, and begged me to send for him at once. And then I told her why we had brought him; he was prepared to make what reparation he could. Did she wish him to make her his wife? She interrupted me with a joyful cry.
"Would he do that? Oh, then she could go home and die happy."
In that moment I made a mental vow that this dying girl, if she could be made any happier by it, should have not only the name of the young scoundrel she so foolishly loved, but his care and companionship as well.
I assured her that he was ready to make her his lawful wife, but could not tell her that he did it under compulsion.
After a long talk with 'Squire Ewing, during which I persuaded him to think first of his daughter's needs, and to make such use of Johnny La Porte as would best serve her, I went back to the hotel, where we had left the young scamp in charge of Wyman, and a little later in the day the ceremony was performed which made Johnny La Porte the husband of the girl he had sought to ruin.
Not long after this I invited the young man to atéte-â-téte, and he followed me somewhat ungraciously into a room adjoining that in which his new wife lay.
"Sit down," I said, curtly, motioning him to a chair opposite the one in which I seated myself. "Sit down. I want to give you a little advice concerning your future conduct."
He threw back his head defiantly; evidently he believed that he was now secure from further annoyance, and no longer within reach of law and justice.
"I don't need your advice," he said, pettishly. "I have done all that you, or any one else, can require of me."
"Mistaken youth, your conformity with my wishes is but now begun."
"You can't bully me, now," he retorted. "I have married the girl, and that's enough."
"It isnotenough! it is not all that you will do."
"You are a liar."
I took him by the shoulders, and lifting him fairly off his feet shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. Then I popped him down upon the chair he had refused to occupy, and said:
"There, you impudent little dunce, if you want to call me any more names, don't hesitate. Now, hear me; you will dopreciselywhat I bid you, now, and hereafter, or you will exchange that smart plaid suit for one adorned with horizontal stripes, and I'll have that curly pate of yours as bare as a cocoanut."