The Half-way House.—A Jolly German Landlord.—Detective Fox runs down Le Compte.—A "Positive, Prophetic, Healing and Trance Medium."—Harcout the Adviser reappears, and is anxious lest Mr. Lyon be drawn into some terrible Confession.—Mr. Pinkerton decides to know more about Le Compte.—And with the harassed Mr. Lyon interviews him.—Treachery and Blackmail.—"A much untractable Man."—Light shines upon Mrs. Winslow.—Another Man.—Mr. Pinkerton mad.
The Half-way House.—A Jolly German Landlord.—Detective Fox runs down Le Compte.—A "Positive, Prophetic, Healing and Trance Medium."—Harcout the Adviser reappears, and is anxious lest Mr. Lyon be drawn into some terrible Confession.—Mr. Pinkerton decides to know more about Le Compte.—And with the harassed Mr. Lyon interviews him.—Treachery and Blackmail.—"A much untractable Man."—Light shines upon Mrs. Winslow.—Another Man.—Mr. Pinkerton mad.
MANY other conveyances were passing to and fro, and Fox's first impulse was to secure a seat in some one of them and follow the couple in the direction they had taken. But he recollected that it might cause either Mrs. Winslow, or the little fellow at her side to know him again, which would prove disastrous, and he was consequently obliged to apply his pump to the important little Dutchman who owned the half-way house, and who was busying himself around the cool, pleasant bar-room, making the place as attractive as possible, and singing lustily in his own mother-tongue.
"Good morning to you!" said Fox cheerily, stepping to the bar in a way that indicated his desire to imbibe.
"Good mornings mit yourself," answered the lively proprietor, getting behind the bar nimbly; "Beer?"
"Yes, thank you," replied Fox, "a schnit, if you please. Won't you drink with me?"
"Oh, ya, ya; I dank you; I dank you;" and there were as many smiles on his honest face as bubbles upon his good beer.
The glasses touched, Fox said, "Here's luck!" and the landlord met it with "Best resbects, mister!"
In good time two more schnits followed, and as the landlord was each time requested to join with Fox, he was so pleased with his liberality and apparent good feeling that he beamed all over like a sunny day in June.
"You have a beautiful place here," said Fox.
"Oh, so, so!" answered the landlord with a quick, deprecatory shrug which meant that he was very well satisfied with it.
"I was never here before."
"No?—So? I guess mebby I don't ever have seen you. Don't you leef py Rochester?—no?"
"No, I live in Buffalo, and I just came over to Rochester on a little business. Having plenty of time, I thought I would stroll out a bit this morning."
"Ya, I get a good many strollers dot same way. Eferypody goes out by der Bort."
"The Bort?"
"Ya, ya, der Bort—Bort Charlotte."
"Is this the way to Charlotte?"
"To be certainly. When you come five miles auf, den you stand by der Bort, sure."
"And so that is where the big woman and the little man were going?" asked Fox carelessly.
"Sure, sure," said the landlord with a knowing wink; and then taking a very large pinch of snuff, and laying his forefinger the whole length of his rosy nose, added with an air of great importance and mystery, "I tell you, py Jupiter, I don't let somebody got roomshere!"
"That's right, old fellow!" said Fox, slapping the honest beer-vender on the shoulder. "Be unhappy and you will be virtuous!"
"Vell," continued the Teuton, excitedly lapsing into his own vernacular, "es macht keinen unterschied; I don't got mein leefing dot way. I—I vould pe a bolitician first!"
Fox expressed his admiration for such heroism, and purchased a cigar to assist the landlord in his efforts to avoid the necessity of either renting rooms to ladies and gentlemen of Mrs. Winslow's and Le Compte's standing, or of accepting the more unfortunate emergency of becoming a "bolitician."
Then they both seated themselves outside the house, underneath the shaded porch, and chatted away about current events, Fox all the time directing the conversation in a manner so as to draw out the genial Teuton on the subject which most interested him, and was successful to the extent of learning that Le Compte was what the landlord termed a "luffer," evidently meaning a loafer; that several months before, they came there together desiring a room, which had been refused; but hehad directed them to the Port, where they had evidently been accommodated, as they had after that, until this time, regularly went in that direction, always stopping at his place for a glass of his best brandy; and that they had also always came there together until within a few weeks, since when, for some reason, this Le Compte had walked out to the hotel, where she had overtaken him with her carriage and driver, when the driver would be sent back to the city, and Le Compte taken in for the drive to Charlotte, as Fox had seen. He also learned that on their return, which was generally towards evening, the driver met them at the same place, when the latter took the reins, and Le Compte, somewhat soiled from his trip, walked into the city.
Fox concluded that there would be no better time than the present to learn something further concerning Le Compte, and after enjoying himself in the vicinity for a short time, came back to the hotel, took a hearty German dinner, and after another stroll secured a room for a short nap, as he told the landlord, but really for the purpose of observation. About six o'clock he saw the driver coming to the hotel from towards Rochester, and in about a half an hour afterwards noticed the carriage containing Mrs. Winslow and Le Compte coming down the road from Charlotte. The couple seemed very gay and lively, and drove up to the hotel with considerable dash and spirit. They both drank, as in the morning, while the driver resumed his old place by the side of Mrs. Winslow; and as they were about to depart, Fox heardthe woman say to Le Compte: "No, not again until Saturday; I'll try to be a little earlier." Then the carriage went away, Le Compte loitering about for a few minutes, after which he started off on a brisk walk towards town.
As the evening was drawing on, Fox hurried down to the bar-room, paid his bill, and bidding his host good-by, trudged on after the little fellow, keeping him well in sight, though remaining some distance behind to escape observation, but gradually closing in upon him, until, when they had arrived within the thickly settled portion of the city, they were trudging along quite convenient to each other.
The lamps now began to flare out upon the town, and the gay shops were lighted as Fox followed his man in and out, up and down the streets. Le Compte first went to a restaurant just beyond the Arcade in Mill street, where he got his supper, and afterwards promenaded about the streets in an aimless sort of a way for some little time, after which he returned to the Arcade and seemingly anxiously inquired for letters at the post-office. He got several, but was evidently either disappointed at what he had received, or at not receiving what he had expected. In any event he cautiously peered into Lyon's closed offices, as if hoping to find some one there. Disappointed in this also, he went directly to State Street, near Main, where, after looking about for a moment, he suddenly disappeared up a stairway leading to the upper stories of a large brick block. Fox quickly followed, and was able tocatch sight of the little fellow just as he was entering a room at the side of the hall. He waited until everything was quiet, and then approached the door. The light from the single jet in the hallway was not sufficient for the purpose, but with the aid of a lighted match he was able to trace upon a neat card tacked to the door the inscription:
B. JEROME LE COMPTE,POSITIVE, PROPHETIC, HEALING AND TRANCE MEDIUM.Psychrometrist, Clairvoyant, and Mineral Locater.
B. JEROME LE COMPTE,POSITIVE, PROPHETIC, HEALING AND TRANCE MEDIUM.Psychrometrist, Clairvoyant, and Mineral Locater.
As Fox had succeeded in "locating" his man, he returned to his boarding-house, wrote out his report and posted it, and after carelessly dropping into the restaurant under Washington Hall, where he took a dish of ice-cream and found means to inform Bristol of the latest development, he returned and retired for the night well satisfied with his day's work, and fully resolved to be on hand for Saturday's sport at Charlotte.
I received Fox's report the next noon, and not a half-hour afterwards the splendid Harcout came rushing in.
"Pinkerton, Pinkerton," he exclaimed excitedly, "here's something which we must attend to at once—at once, mind you, or—bless my soul! I'm afraid I left it at the St. Nicholas. How could I be so careless!"
Harcout grew red in the face and plunged into all his pockets wildly, utterly regardless of his exquisite make-up, until quite exhausted.
"Why, Harcout, you're excited. Tell me what's the matter, my man," said I, reassuringly.
"Matter? matter? everything's the matter. Here's something which should be acted upon at once, and like an ass I've left it at the hotel. I'll go back and get it immediately."
"Get what?" I asked him.
"Get a letter that I just received from Lyon. He's there all by himself, and they will draw him into some terrible confession. But I—I must get the letter," and Harcout grabbed his hat and gloves and started.
"Hold on, Harcout," I called to him, "what is that you have in your hand?"
"In my hand? Oh, just a private note I got in the same mail."
"Just look at it before you go," I suggested.
Harcout stopped in the door, examined the letter, pulled another from the inside of the envelope, and blurted out sheepishly: "Ah, bless my soul!—Pinkerton, this is just what I wanted. Here, quick, read them both."
I took the letters as Harcout sat down and fanned himself with his glove, and saw that they were dated from Rochester on the previous day. The first one was from Lyon, in which he stated that he had received the enclosed letter in the morning, probably shortly after Fox had strolled out Lake View Avenue, also expressing a desire that Harcout should submit it to me for advice as to the best course to be pursued, and have the reply telegraphed. The enclosed letter was from Le Compte to Lyon, insisting that he should immediately come to his rooms to receiveinformation of the greatest importance. I did not let Harcout know that I had any information concerning Le Compte, but I saw that that portion of Fox's report which stated that he had followed Le Compte to the Arcade the previous evening, where the latter had anxiously inquired for mail, and after that had taken a peep into Lyon's offices, agreed with Lyon's letter as to the time when Le Compte probably expected an answer from him.
I was at loss to know what the dapper little fellow was driving at—whether he and Mrs. Winslow were after further blackmail, or whether he had secured some confession from her while she was lavishing her favors and money upon him, which the treacherous little villain was endeavoring to make bring a good price through Lyon's superstitious faith in the power of those who claimed supernatural powers and a profession of Spiritualism.
I at once decided to go to Rochester and interview this new apparition in the field in company with Lyon, and accordingly told Harcout that I would do so, and would immediately telegraph to Lyon to that effect; upon which he trotted away, announcing his determination to also telegraph, so that Lyon might see that he was "attending closely to our case," as he termed it.
As soon as he had left, I indicted a dispatch to Lyon, asking him to make an appointment with Le Compte for an interview on the next afternoon, when I would be there to accompany him; and after getting my supper, took the evening train and arrived at Rochester the next noon.
After taking dinner at the Waverley, I immediately proceeded to Lyon's offices. He seemed worried and anxious to see me, and felt extremely alarmed about the whole matter, having as yet kept it from his attorney. I had him send a message for him at once, and in a few minutes we were all three in consultation. His attorney, a Mr. Balingal, thought we were doing just right, and, on leaving, privately informed me that in no event should I allow any person that professed mediumistic powers to remain with Lyon alone, as he would be certain to do something which would in some way compromise the case.
A few minutes after Lyon's attorney had left, we took different routes, arriving at the hallway leading to Le Compte's rooms on State street at about the same time, ascending the staircase together. A negro, who had borne a second and a more imperative message to Lyon, was in waiting at the top, and smilingly showed us along the hall in the direction of Number 28, which afterwards proved to be Le Compte's seance-room. The little fellow himself here stepped out of an adjoining room with a very insinuating smile upon his face, which suddenly changed to a look of disappointment as he saw that Mr. Lyon had rather solidly-built company.
As Mr. Lyon entered the room, this Monsieur Le Compte undertook to close the door in my face; but I shoved myself into the room, and told the mineral locater, etc., that I was a friend of Mr. Lyon's, and insisted on being one of the party.
Lyon began timidly looking around the gas lighted room—though it was not after three o'clock—which was filled with the ordinary paraphernalia for compelling awe and fear: "I understand you have some business with me. My name is Lyon."
"Yes, yes," he replied, "I have great business with you. But I can only make you myoneconfidant, Mr. Lyon."
"Oh, well, well, now," I interrupted, with some assumed bravado, "this sort of thing better play out before it begins. I am Mr. Lyon's friend, and whatever you have to say to him will have to be said before me. Isn't that so, Mr. Lyon?"
Lyon assented feebly, and Le Compte asked: "Will you make me the pleasure of your friend's name?"
"No matter, no matter," said I quickly, for I knew how weak Lyon was. "I am here as my friend's friend. He has nothing to say in this matter. You will have to inform me of your business with Mr. Lyon."
Le Compte suddenly arose from his chair, locked the door and put the key in his pocket. He then went to the windows, which were slightly raised on account of the heat, closed them, and lowered the curtains so as to shut out the light completely. Just as he had completed the work, which took him but a moment, I said to him sharply: "See here, sir, you will make this room uncomfortably warm for yourself as well as us, if you are not careful. Don't send us to perdition before our time, Le Compte."
He made no answer, and looked exceedingly meek; but I saw that he was determined to endeavor to play upon Lyon's feelings for future profit, even if the present interview offered none. He immediately seated himself at a table opposite us, and said to Lyon: "The clairvoyant state I will go into before anything I can reveal."
"Mr. Le Compte," I interrupted, noticing that Lyon was already weakening before the scoundrel's assumption, "if you have got anything to say to Mr. Lyon, go on and say it with your eyes open, like a man. We won't be humbugged by you or any one else!"
He did go on now, and with his eyes open, and said: "Well, gentlemen, I know of this lady who troubles Mr. Lyon, and learn of much witnesses for his help. But the clairvoyant state gave it to me."
"No, no, my young fellow," said I, "we don't pay for that kind of evidence. If you have any evidence in your possession which will be of benefit to Mr. Lyon, I am prepared to receive and pay for it; but clairvoyant evidence isn't worth a cent!"
"Well," he replied, somewhat ruffled, "I can go on the jury and swear clearly of this!"
I then told him I was satisfied that he did not know the first principles of law and evidence, and that the probability was that he had no evidence in his possession at all. I spoke in a very loud tone of voice, and evidently frightened the little fellow considerably.
"You are much intractable—a much intractable man," he responded. "I could tell about you greatly to convinceyou of my power; but it is impossible in double presence."
"All right," said I. "Mr. Lyon, I don't see as you have anything to do with this interview, and I want you to go right back to your office and remain there until I come!"
Lyon got up in a scared kind of way, and started hesitatingly towards the door, looking appealingly at me; but I paid no attention to it, and the little Frenchman instantly arose and politely showed him out, saying in a low voice: "My dear Mr. Lyon, it will be for your great interest to make appointment without the boor."
"Lyon will do nothing of the kind, you little villain," I said, as I saw he was shrewdly arranging for future business. "The 'boor,' as you are pleased to term me, has the whole charge of this business, and you will transact it with him or nobody."
Le Compte flushed, closed the door without another word, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.
I turned on him savagely with: "My friend, what do you mean? If you make a single treacherous motion, you'll never get out of this room alive!"
I was now thoroughly mad, and am sure that the little jackanapes saw it and felt that I might possibly serve him as he deserved, for he quickly and tremblingly said, "Oh, if that is the case, I have no objection if you the key hold; but in clairvoyant state we shall be alone and locked."
There was a bed in the room, and I suggested that helooked flurried and had better take a rest upon it while going on with his story; but he seated himself at the opposite side of the table, and began putting his hands upon his eyes and drawing them away with an indescribably graceful, though rapid gesture. This he continued for some little time, when he brought his hands down upon the table with considerable force. Then he began the old humbug about my having had trouble with some one, somewhere in the United States, at some time or other about something; that there was another man of uncertain size, peculiar complexion, unusual hair, singular face, and a strange, general appearance; and that this difficulty was about money, he thought it would amount to from five hundred to one thousand dollars, and that I would receive this sum within a few weeks. As I said that this was absolutely true, he was greatly encouraged, and went on for some time in an equally silly and foolish manner. I stood it as long as I could, and finally said:
"See here, my friend, you and I must talk business!" upon which he was wide awake and quite ready to enter into earthly conversation.
"Well, sir, whatcouldyou want?"
"I want this nonsense stopped," I replied rising, at which he also jumped up nimbly.
"Well," he said, "this woman"—evidently referring to Mrs. Winslow, though no name had been mentioned—"once lived in Iowa with wrong names!"
"Oh, nonsense!" I replied, "I know that already."
"But," he continued quickly, "I can furnish you thename of another man—very rich, very rich he is, too—who should be by law more her husband."
"Well," said I angrily, though now fully believing the little fellow for the first time, "write this out fully; give me the man's name, business or occupation; his place of residence, his standing, etc.; how he became acquainted with this woman and under what circumstances they lived together, and when and where; and when you give me the information, if I find it reliable, I will pay liberally for it. If not, I won't pay you a cent. Now, do we understand each other?"
"I think we do," he answered timidly.
"Le Compte," said I sternly, "there's no use of your practising this clairvoyant game any longer. You won't get a dollar out of it; not a dollar. I understand all about it as well as you do. Now, have a care about yourself, sir, or one of these bright days you'll be coming up with a sudden turn."
I now started towards the door; but the persistent scamp seemed anxious to still keep me, on some manner of pretext, and stood holding the key in a confused, undecided way.
"Open that door, you villain!" I demanded; "open it at once, or you'll get into trouble."
He started suddenly, put the key in the lock, and then turned to me and asked: "Won't you give me opportunity to show you I do not swindle. Just let me make some few little passes over your head. I will sure put you to sleep quickly!"
"I am not sleepy, nor do I need sleep now, thank you. I had a good nap about an hour since," I answered, laughing at the little fellow's annoyance. "Now open that door!"
Le Compte shrugged his handsome shoulders despairingly, unlocked the door, and as I passed out of the no less than robber's den—though under the guise of a mediumistic and spiritualistic blackmailing headquarters—he said: "Well, sir, I will think of this statement a great deal; but you are a very untractable man; a very untractable man—what might I call your name?"
"Oh, anything you like, my little man!" I replied pleasantly; "but mind, we won't have any more of this silly business. It won't pay, and you will certainly get into trouble from it. You may send the statement to George H. Bangs, at the post-office, by Monday noon, and if it is what you represent it to be, and reliable, you will be paid for it; but you may be very, very certain, Le Compte, that it will prove extremely unprofitable to you if you attempt any more of this humbuggery upon Mr. Lyon!"
With this admonition I left Le Compte's, and soon found Lyon in his office. We arranged that he should pay no further attention to either Le Compte's or any other person's communications concerning this case, but should at once turn them over to his attorneys, who should immediately forward them to me after reading them, as I was satisfied that if Le Compte had any evidence he would never swear to it when the case wastried, and only desired to blackmail Lyon on his own account, while playing the necessary male friend and confidant to Mrs. Winslow, who for some reason seemed to have a strange and unexplainable liking for the little Monsieur, although exercising great care that her passion for him should not become a matter for public knowledge and comment.
The Raven of the Detroit Cottage in another Character.—Mrs. Winslow yearns for a retired Montreal Banker.—Love's Rivalry.—A mysterious Note.—The Response.—Another Trip to Port Charlotte by four Hearts that beat as one.—What Mr. Pinkerton, as one of the party, sees and hears.—"Jones of Rochester."—Le Compte and Mrs. Winslow resolve to fly to Paris, "the magnificent, the beautiful, the sublime!"—"My God, are they all that way?"
The Raven of the Detroit Cottage in another Character.—Mrs. Winslow yearns for a retired Montreal Banker.—Love's Rivalry.—A mysterious Note.—The Response.—Another Trip to Port Charlotte by four Hearts that beat as one.—What Mr. Pinkerton, as one of the party, sees and hears.—"Jones of Rochester."—Le Compte and Mrs. Winslow resolve to fly to Paris, "the magnificent, the beautiful, the sublime!"—"My God, are they all that way?"
AT last the promised Saturday came, and there were at least three people in Rochester who looked forward to a pleasant day, and were up betimes that they might get an early start. Mrs. Winslow, from her sumptuous apartments, looked out upon the streets and the glorious morning as if it had come too soon—as it always does to those who have not clean hearts and clean lives—and,en déshabillé, gazed down through her rich lace curtains upon the early passers stepping off with a brisk tread to their separate labors, with a look of contempt.
Nature had been wantonly generous with Mrs. Winslow, and as she stood there in her loose morning robes, the first soft breaths that come with the sun from the far-off Orient playing hide-and-seek among the sumptuous hangings of her room, and giving just the least possible motion to her matchlessly luxuriant black hair, while the mellow and golden rays of the sun, which was just peeping overthe roofs and the chimneys, shimmered upon her through the curtains, lighting her great gray eyes with a wondrous lustrousness, heightening the fine color of her face, and giving to her voluptuous form an added grace—this utterly lone woman had not in her heart an iota of tenderness for, or sympathy with, the glories without, and was as dead to every good thing in life as though carved from marble by some sculptor, as she really had been carved from stone, or ice, by nature. As she stood there by the window, regarding the passers with such a wise and ogreish air that Fox, behind the blinds in his window opposite, could not but couple her in his thoughts with some splendid beast of prey—if Mother Blake or the voluble Rev. Bland could have seen her, the years that had passed would have been swept away, and in the mature woman and the conscienceless adventuress would have been recognized the raven of the Detroit cottage, that, as Lilly Nettleton, in a habit that ravens have, glided noiselessly about the other sumptuous apartments, gathering together what pleased its fancy—not forgetting the money which was to have been used in the cursed church interests, and a gold watch, which the raven wore to this day—and then, kissing its beak to the heavily sleeping man, for all the world like a raven, had passed out into the storm and the night.
In a few moments she retired from the window, and after dressing passed out upon the street, and went to the falls for a short walk and an appetite, and then went to the Washington Hall restaurant, where she had quite frequentlytaken her meals since she had incidentally learned that Bristol was a retired Montreal banker, as gossip had it now among the Spiritualists; and it was evident that persons of that grade of recommendation were of peculiar interest to Mrs. Winslow. For hours of dalliance, the aristocratic though impecunious popinjay, Le Compte, would more than answer; but when it came to a matter of serious work, and when a new source of income was to be sought, Mrs. Winslow, being a shrewd and able professor of the art of fascination which secured her an independent and elegant livelihood, in connection with her ability to compel a large number of people to pay her for guessing at what had befallen them and what might befall them, she invariably sought gentlemen on the shady side of life, with judgment and discretion, who knew a good thing when they saw it, and who were both able and willing to carry their bank accounts into their aged knight-errantry.
Lyon was not a handsome man, but he had vast wealth. His weazen face, his grizzly hair, his repulsive, tobacco-stained mouth, were naught against him. His passion for her had brought her thousands upon thousands of dollars—would bring her, she hoped, as much more. Here was Bristol. He was not handsome, he was not a Canadian Adonis, he incessantly smoked a very ugly pipe fully as old as himself. But he had some way got the reputation of being "a retired Canadian banker" among these people, and Mrs. Winslow's heart warmed towards him the way it had towards a hundred others when she hadwanted them to walk into her parlor as the ancient spider had desired of the fly.
So she had begun weaving a shining web of loving looks, of tender glances, of dreamy sighs, and of graceful manœuvres of a general character about the unsuspecting Bristol, that resulted in pecuniary profit to the old maids, who, nevertheless, with the quick instinct of three jealous women of economical build and mature years, had already begun to hate her as a rival, and pour into Bristol's alert ears sad tales about the splendid charmer, all of which were properly reported to me by the "retired Montreal banker," who had suddenly found himself a prize worthy to be sought for, and fought for, if necessary, by four determined women, one of whom hungered for his supposed wealth, and three of whom possessed the more desperate, life-long hunger whose appeasing is worth a severe struggle.
After her breakfast, which, unfortunately, had not given her an opportunity for bestowing a graceful nod or a winning smile upon Bristol, whom the old maids had furnished a superb breakfast in his own apartment, Mrs. Winslow returned to her rooms and seated herself at her windows, where she read the morning paper for a little time. She then disappeared from Fox's sight for a half-hour or so, when, just as he was about leaving his watch at his window he noticed her descend the stairs, and, after looking cautiously about for a moment, deposit a card behind her own sign, which was attached to the frame of the outer doorway leading to her rooms. As soon as she hadretired, and before she could have returned to her windows, Fox slipped down and out across the street, and removing the card from its novel depository, saw written upon it:
"Le Compte:—Will be at the Garden with carriage at ten, prompt."Mrs. W."
"Le Compte:—Will be at the Garden with carriage at ten, prompt.
"Mrs. W."
Fox had no more than time to return the card to its place when he saw the person to whom it was addressed turn into St. Paul street from East Main. He accordingly got back to his old post as rapidly as possible, and watched the young Frenchman saunter along towards the hallway as if carelessly taking his morning walk. He was irreproachably dressed, as usual, and was daintily smoking a cigarette with that inimitable grace with only which a Frenchman or a Spaniard can smoke. After arriving at the hallway, as if undecided whether he would go farther up the street or not, he leaned carelessly against the sign, and in a moment had deftly whipped the card out of its hiding-place. He then started up the street saunteringly, and when about a half-block distant, read the card, which seemed to give him much pleasure, as he smilingly wrote something upon it, and after walking a short distance, turned suddenly and walked rapidly back, dexterously depositing the card in its strange receptacle, without scarcely varying his pace or direction, and quickly passed on to Main street, turning down that thoroughfare.
Fox noticed that Mrs. Winslow had witnessed this incidentfrom her windows, and at the moment when her form had disappeared, he swiftly stepped across the street and read the reply, which ran thus:
"Your announcement makes pleasure in your lover's soul, and your name is saluted by the lips of"Le Compte."
"Your announcement makes pleasure in your lover's soul, and your name is saluted by the lips of
"Le Compte."
Fox had just time to slip into a tobacconist's for a cigar when Mrs. Winslow came down stairs, took the card out of its resting-place, and after going down the street for some slight purchase, returned to her rooms and prepared for the drive to Charlotte.
At half-past nine Mrs. Winslow's carriage arrived and in a few minutes after she was leisurely riding down Main street, and from thence out through State street and Lake View Avenue towards the Port. As I had nothing to do until Monday's interview with Le Compte, and time hung heavily upon my hands, I had decided to make one of the party.
I knew the direction Mrs. Winslow would take, and so securing a position on the corner of Main and State streets, I had but a little time to wait before I saw the gay madam pass, and also noticed Fox at an opposite corner evidently making sure of her direction; for, as soon as he saw her carriage turn down State street, he immediately started for the depot, from which a train left for Charlotte at ten o'clock, so that he could be at that place, under any circumstances, some time before the happy and unsuspecting couple should have arrived.
At about train-time Fox bought a cigar and took a seat in the smoking-car, while I purchased a cheap edition of one of Dickens's stories and settled myself down in a ladies' car.
The trip to Charlotte was soon made through a beautiful country where the farmers were busy stacking their grain, threshing, and, in some instances, turning the black loam to the sun that it might early mellow for the next year's seed-time, and in a half-hour we were at Charlotte, where the beautiful lake is seen at one's feet, with its rippling waves dotted here and there by a hundred dreamy sails and lazy steamers from as many waiting ports.
Fox immediately made inquiries of the villagers where he could find the road leading into Charlotte from Rochester, and started out towards it from the depot at a brisk walk, while I waited until he had got well under way, when I took a short stroll among the warehouses and shipping of the harbor, and then went to the only hotel of any importance the place contained, where I knew Mrs. Winslow and Le Compte would be likely to stop, and engaged a room in the front part of the house, where I resumed my story and waited, like Micawber, for "something to turn up."
I had been engaged at my book but a short time when I saw Fox come up the street towards the hotel at a rapid pace, flushed and perspiring freely as from a very long and rapid walk, and but a moment afterwards also saw the dashing Rochester turnout whirling up to the hotel.
The arrival at the hotel of the couple bore out the truth of the statement of the little Dutchman, contained in Fox's report of his trip to the half-way house, as the habitués of the house seemed quite accustomed to their presence and the employees stepped about nimbly, as they generally do at hotels as a greeting to good customers, and they generally do not when persons of common appearance arrive.
As good luck would have it, after a few moments had elapsed, "Mr. and Mrs. Jones, of Rochester," as Fox saw they had registered, were ushered into a room adjoining my own, and between which, as is quite common at hotels, there was a door, which might be opened for the purpose of throwing the roomsen suite, as occasion required.
Although I was prevented from seeing the couple, their voices, which were both familiar to me, could not be mistaken; and I could not restrain a smile as I listened to the little Frenchman's voluble and peculiarly-constructed expressions of endearment, and the coarser, but none the less tender, responses of the virtuous Mrs. Winslow, whose life had been shattered, heart smashed to atoms, and good name defamed, by the tyrant man in the person of the weak but wealthy Lyon, and to think how much nearer I was to the quarry than Fox himself, who in this instance was making noble efforts to bring down his game without "flushing" it.
For the sake of the public whose servant I have been for the last thirty years, I would blush to put on paper what I know to have occurred in the adjoining room, andwhich only served to further convince me of the depths of infamy to which she had sunk; and I will pass on to those things only necessary to acquaint the reader with my plan of operation to bring her into the public notoriety and scorn which she had years before only too richly deserved.
But a short time had elapsed after Mrs. Winslow and Le Compte had been given their room when I heard Fox's footsteps coming along the hall. He passed their room slowly, evidently locating it, and after a few moments stealthily returned and listened at the door. He then stole away, but returned again with a bold, firm step, as though conscious of being on legitimate business, walked right up to the door and gave the knob a quick turn, as if he had intended to at once walk into the room.
The door did not open, however, and Fox stepped back as if surprised, saying: "Why, I can't be mistaken; the register surely said Room 30!" while within there were quick, though smothered exclamations of surprise, fright, and rage of an unusually profane nature.
Fox immediately returned to the attack as if certain that he was in the right, and knocked at the door sharply.
There was no response but the quick hustlings about the room, from which I, as an attentive listener with my ear close to the key-hole, learned that the inmates were preparing for discovery.
Fox knocked again, this time louder and more persistently than at first.
I now plainly heard Mrs. Winslow ordering Le Compteunder the bed among the dust, bandboxes, and unmentionables, at which he protested with innumerable "Sacrés!" But she was relentless, and finally, seeing that he would go no other way, took him up like a recalcitrant cur and flung him under bodily.
Again Fox attacked the door, shook the knob furiously, and knocked loud enough to raise the dead, following it up with: "Say you?—Jones? Why in thunder don't you open the door?"
At this Mrs. Winslow plucked up the courage of desperation, and asked in a loud and injured voice, "Who's there?"
"Why, me, of course; Barker, Jones's partner. I want to see Jones!"
"What Jones do you want?" asked Mrs. Winslow, to get time to think further what to do.
"Jones, of Rochester, of course," yelled Fox. "Two ship-loads of spoiled grain's just come in; don't know what to do with 'em."
"Sink 'em!" responded Mrs. Winslow, breathing freer.
"Where's Jones?" persisted Fox, banging away at the door again.
"There's no Jones here, you fool!" answered the woman hotly.
"Yes there is, too," insisted Fox. "Landlord told me so."
"Well," parried the female, raising her voice again, "Jones ain't in the wheat trade at all; he's a professor of music; and besides that, he ain't in here, either."
"Oh, beg pardon, ma'am," said Fox apologetically, "It isn't your Jones I wantthis time, then. Hope I haven't disturbed you, madam," and he walked away, having clinched the matter quite thoroughly enough for any twelve honest and true men under the sun.
Mrs. Winslow stuck her head out of the door, launched a threat, coupled with a well-defined oath, against Fox, who was leisurely strolling along the hall, to the effect that he ought to be ashamed of himself for "insulting a defenceless woman in that way, and that if he came there again she would have him arrested." To which he cheerily responded, "No offence meant, ma'am; 'fraid the wheat'd spoil, ye see;" and as he went whistling down the stairs, she slammed the door, locked it, drew the trembling Le Compte from under the bed, and amid a chime of crockery set him upon his feet again with a snap to it, and then threw herself into a rocking-chair and burst into tears, insisting that she was the most abused woman on the face of earth, and that Le Compte, with his "Sacrés!" and "Diables!" hadn't the sense of a moth or the muscle of an oyster, or he would have followed the brute and given him a sound beating!
Not desiring to be seen by Fox, I ordered my dinner sent to my room, as did the unhappy couple in the adjoining apartment, who seemed to be greatly put out by the intrusion, and who were for an hour after speculating as to the cause of the interruption, and as to whether it was accidental or not.
"We mustn't come here any more, Le Compte," said the woman dolefully.
"And for why, my angel precious?" anxiously asked the man.
"Why, do you know," replied Mrs. Winslow with earnestness, "I sometimes really believe I am being watched!"
"No, that was impossible!" said Le Compte, with a start.
"And sometimes," she continued, paying no attention to him, "it seems as though I could not stand this terrible keeping up appearances any longer."
"You should have pleasure in the appearance," responded Le Compte insinuatingly, "it breaks him down already. He is now like one weak infant."
"That's so, that's so," she answered quickly, in a tone of vengeful joyousness. "I'll bring the old devil to my feet yet. I'll crush him out and ruin his fortune, if it takes me all my life. I'll get the biggest part of it, too; and then, Le Compte, we'll get out of this cursed country and enjoy ourselves the rest of our lives."
"Yes, in Paris, the magnificent, the beautiful, the sublime! Then we will live in one heaven of love. Oh, beautiful, beautiful!" cried the little Frenchman excitedly.
"There, Le Compte," said his companion, suddenly becoming practical again, "don't make a fool of yourself! Take this bill and go down and get a bottle of wine; and mind you, don't keep the change either."
As the train returned at two, and I had but little time to reach it, as soon as Le Compte had come back with the wine and they had become sufficiently noisy to admit of it, I quietly left my room, paid my bill, went to the train, avoiding Fox entirely, and, with him, was soon again in Rochester, leaving the roystering couple at the little hotel at Charlotte building their vain dreams and air-castles about crushing out Lyon—which would have been an easy matter if left to himself—their beautiful, magnificent, and sublime Paris, and their "one heaven of love" within it.
As soon as Fox stepped from the train I quietly handed him a slip of paper directing him to make his report to me at the Waverley House, where I was stopping under an assumed name, which he assured me he would do, without a word being spoken or even a look of recognition being passed.
Although the public may not be aware of it, this is an absolute necessity in detective service. Though I employ hundreds of persons as detectives, preventive police, and in clerical duties, at my different agencies, on no occasion and under no circumstances is there ever on the street, or in any public place whatever, the slightest token by which the stranger might know that there had ever been any previous communication between any of my people.
On the next day, Sunday, Lyon called to see me at the hotel and brought with him two notes from Le Compte—one having been received late Saturday afternoon, andthe other delivered at his house that morning—both imperatively insisting that Lyon should come to his rooms and leave that "untractable man" behind.
I complimented him extensively on his having refrained from visiting the winsome little villain who seemed determined to get Lyon within his power. He solemnly pledged his word that he would have nothing whatever to do with the man, and would bluff him in every advance that he made; and in order to clinch it, I read him choice extracts from Fox's report regarding the Charlotte party of the day before, interspersing it with a few of the still choicer items that had come under my own observation.
"My God!" exclaimed Lyon, as I concluded, "are theyallthat way?"
"Your experience and mine," I smilingly replied, "would almost point to the fact that a very decided majority of them are."