An Artist In Crime

[Copyright, 1896, by G. P. Putnam's Sons.]

"Well, did it? It does seem impossible."

"That is exactly what occurred. You see, it is like this: Whenever a storm comes from Lancaster way, the clouds when they get here are divided by the Pliny range and pass on either side, leaving us dry. Then they strike against the sides of the Presidential range and roll back into our valley. It was a curious sight, I assure you, to see the clouds flying in exactly opposite directions."

"Well, but, after all, there could not have been any great beauty in the rain. It must have blotted out all the view."

"Yes, but think how odd it was to find all these tremendous peaks suddenly gone. Not a mountain in sight in any direction. But, then, the thunder. Oh, that was grand! The way it rolls about and reverberates gives one a good idea of a great battle. There was something afterward that carried out this similarity, too, which I wish I could describe. It was after the storm had passed and the bright setting sun shone forth. Try to see the picture. Imagine yourself sitting just where I am now, and looking toward the Presidential range, the sun setting red behind us. Mount Washington had shaken the clouds from his head and was encircled by a gorgeous halo, in the form of a brilliant double rainbow. One end of it seemed to come up right out of the valley there, while the other disappeared behind Starr King mountain. The flying clouds, still black and heavy, whirled swiftly along, hanging low, and, with the sun approaching the horizon, made shifting shadow across the base of Mount Washington, while between the rifts the red rays of the sun striking different parts made beauteous tintings among the green and the brown of trees and rock. Oh, if an artist could only have seen that! But then it would have been useless, for the hand of man could not paint such grandeur. It was in the foreground that the resemblance to the battlefields was to be seen again. Every here and there stray bits of clouds disentangled themselves from the tree tops and rose up smokelike till one could imagine them to be from thousands of campfires. Oh, it was simply wonderful!"

"It was indeed," said Mr. Thauret, "and your description brings it all back again to me."

"Then the beautiful long twilight," Dora continued, almost unheeding, "that was lovely. Slowly these stray bits of mist met and joined others, till as the darkness came and the moon brightened, that beautiful sheet of water—for after all your lake is real water—accumulated, and there it is. At least you can enjoy that."

He did. But what he enjoyed more was the simple happiness of being with her. After a short time, however, he was deprived of that, for Mrs. Remsen claimed his attention, and took him up to the ballroom to introduce him to some of the many young women who were dancing with each other and with boys of 14 for want of better partners.

If Mr. Thauret annoyed Mr. Randolph by being at this resort, the latter gentleman was none the more pleased at his arrival. Being left alone with Dora, and construing her present mood to be one favorable to his wooing, he determined to speak to her before the other man might find a chance. Moving his chair nearer hers, he began, getting to his subject without much circumlocution.

"Miss Dora," said he, "do you recall a conversation that I had with you one day? I mean about loneliness and the longing one has for companionship?"

"Oh, yes," said she frankly, "why? Do you wish to continue it now?"

"If you please. You remember you said you would be better able to do so after your sister's marriage."

"Because I thought that I would miss her so much and be lonely myself, was not that it? Well, of course I have missed Queen very much, but I have scarcely been lonely. You have taken care of that, and I am sure that I am very grateful to you. You have been very nice to me."

"You think so? You admit that?" He spoke eagerly.

"Why, yes! Why not, since it is true?"

"Of course, but then you know so many young ladies hide their feelings. I mean suppression of all emotion is considered so necessary in a woman in these days."

"Suppression!" and she laughed heartily. "Now do you think that I could ever be suppressed?"

"No, indeed, and certainly I hope that you never will be. But if you have not been lonely, perhaps you have thought some of that other subject, love, I mean."

"Oh! That!"

"Yes. That is one question, supreme to me, about which I wish to have your views. Do you think you would be happier or unhappier—if you were married?"

"That is a question. It would depend upon—my husband, would it not?"

"Suppose that we were"—

"Don't call names, please. I couldn't suppose such a thing. I have promised not to."

"Promised not to. I don't understand?"

"I mean that I have made a bet. You don't think I am horrid to bet, do you? Of course you don't. Well, I have made a curious bet with Bob, Mr. Mitchel, you know. I call him Bob now, and I used to do it sometimes before. That was when I wanted him to do anything for me. It made him feel like one of the family. Well, to tell you about my bet. You see, sometimes when Emily was out, Bob would play make love to me. He said it would be good practice for me; would teach me the ways of the world and all that sort of thing. Oh, Bob is a curious man, but he is great sport! Don't you like him?"

"Immensely. But you have not told me yet about your bet."

"I am coming to it. Well, one day when he was making love to me and I was doing my best, suddenly he burst out laughing and said, 'Dora, I'll bet you'll be engaged within six months of our marriage.' 'How much?' said I. 'As much as you like,' said he. I asked him if he would make it $1,000, and he whistled and called me a little gambler. But I don't think it was gambling because I was to have a certainty. Of course I wanted the stake to be a large one. So it was agreed, and he wrote it down on paper. I'll show it to you some time if you like. If I am not engaged before the 1st of January, Bob will have to pay me $1,000."

"And you mean to win that bet?"

"Indeed I do. I am young and can afford to wait that long, I am sure. There will be time enough afterward to get a husband."

"Then it would not make any difference how anxious a suitor might be to have his reply at once?"

"No, certainly not. If a man did not love me enough to wait a few months for his answer, I should think myself well rid of him. Besides it would give me a chance to study him."

"Suppose—but, no—I do ask you. Miss Dora—Dora—I love you madly, passionately, and"—

"Well, don't say any more. If that is true and you love me madly, passionately, why, then you will surely wait till January for your answer." This was said rather curtly, and Mr. Thauret's hopes sank, but rose again to fever heat as she said very softly: "There, I did not mean to hurt you. You must not think me hard. But I must win that wager. Not so much for the money as for the gratification of proving to Bob that I have some control over myself. Surely if you truly love me you will not begrudge me that satisfaction?"

"No, no, sweet one. Have your own way. I'll wait. Only say that there is some chance of my succeeding."

"Why, of course, every one has a chance. But I must not tell you how great yours is, because if I did I would not be winning my bet fairly. And I must say good night," with which she left him. Her last words lingered with him, and he took comfort. For what could she mean but that his chances were good, since if otherwise how could the telling prevent her from winning her wager? Nevertheless, as the weeks went on he tried many times to get a more definite reply from her, but never succeeded. Still he hugged the cherished hope to his heart and waited as patiently as man could.

Randolph was simply miserable all the time. Whenever he was with Dora, she was good to him, kind to him and often used tender tones that thrilled his heart. But he, too, failed to get anything from her, save the old request that he should be patient and wait. He, too, waited, but not patiently.

Meanwhile, in New York, Mr. Barnes was still burrowing into everything that seemed to have any connection direct or otherwise with the mystery or mysteries that baffled him. Of one thing he had satisfied himself beyond all doubt. That was that Mr. Fisher had not been implicated in the train robbery. His spy had found that he had been absent from the city during three days at the time of the crime, but this very fact had been shown to be his safeguard.

By some skillful work the man discovered that during that time he had simply been off shooting ducks in a part of the country where it would have been impossible for him to be an accomplice. This simple fact should not have been hard to discover were it not that Fisher had kept his trip a secret. This for some time puzzled the detective, but finally he followed him out of the city, and practically accompanied him on a similar outing, after which he learned that his sister was morbidly opposed to all killing, whether for sport or for a livelihood. It was to humor this idea that her brother made his excursions in secret. The spy learned from the man from whom the dogs were hired that Mr. Fisher had used them in December. So that left him out of the score, or at least so it seemed. It was still possible that he was implicated in the ruby robbery, though, save that he was present, there seemed nothing against him. Mr. Barnes did not entirely leave him out of the account.

Thus practically the detective made no progress, and was chagrined to be compelled to admit it. Finally, however, an idea occurred to him, upon which the more he dwelt the more fascinated he became with it. To put it into practice, however, he felt that he must await the return of Mr. Mitchel. He thought be would injure his cause by seeking him and so disturbing him during his pleasure trip.

The Mitchels did not keep their promise to go to the White mountains, but, on the contrary, prolonged their western travel, so that it was November before they were at home again and temporarily quartered at the Fifth Avenue. A few days after, Mr. Barnes sent up his card, and, as usual, was cordially received.

"Any news of my wife's ruby?" asked Mr. Mitchel, grasping the detective warmly by the hand.

"No, Mr. Mitchel. I am sorry to say that I am utterly unable to prove any of my theories about that. But I have come to a set determination, and one that to you may seem a peculiar one. I have come to ask your assistance in the murder case. "

"Why, certainly, I will help you. Did I not tell you so at the very outset? Have I not always been willing to talk freely to you?"

"You have, but as long as I thought that you yourself might have committed the crime, how could I come to you to ask you to assist  me?"

'Then I am to understand that at present you do not suspect me?"

"I have come to that conclusion at last and wish now that I had done so sooner."

"Would you mind telling me why you have altered your mind? You have told me so much that seemed to implicate me that I am curious to hear the other side."

"Certainly. I overheard your wager. Then came the robbery and then the murder. Later there was a second jewel robbery. All of these crimes occurred within the limit which you set. One of them of course you committed. It seems more probable that you stole the single ruby, for in doing that you committed a crime for which you could not be punished, especially since you have married the lady. Even before she would willingly have testified that it was understood between you, and that it was simply a trick to win a wager. Is not that correct logic?"

"Correct logic? Yes. Of course I admit nothing as to facts."

"Either or both of these robberies are secondary to the murder. That I have determined to unravel if I can. At present I think the train robber and the murderer was one and the same person. Now, there is one clew which I have not been able to follow, but which, if pursued, I am certain will lead me straight to the criminal."

"And that is?"

"The button which I found in the room. That is significant. It is too great a coincidence that it should match your set not to have an explanation that would shed light upon this case."

"How do you expect me to assist you in that direction?"

"As long as I thought you guilty I believed that you had lied when you said that the seventh button of the set was the Shakespeare pin which your wife had. That is why I thought it of importance to recover it; sufficiently so to send my spy, Lucette, into the house with instructions to obtain it if possible. Now that I believe you innocent of the murder, this thought has recently come to me. When I first told you about this button, before you would speak about it, you asked me to allow you to examine it. After doing so you gave it back to me, with a cheerful smile. If that button had been evidence against you, I see now that it would have required a powerful nerve to appear so unconcerned, and especially to return it to me. The question, then, that I wish you to answer is, What was it that you saw on that button which satisfied you that it was not of your set?"

"In the first place, Mr. Barnes, I knew that there were but three like it, the other three having different heads, and the seventh being the Shakespeare button. Thus as I knew that all the buttons were in my possession I felt safe."

"But in the second place," said the detective, "there was a distinct difference between the buttons, and by that you were even more assured. Am I not right?"

"Mr. Barnes, you deserve to succeed, and I hope you will. I will aid you all that I can. You are right. There is a difference in the buttons. Have you yours with you?"

"Yes, here it is," saying which he took it from his pocketbook.

"Keep it a moment. When Miss Remsen ordered these buttons, she directed that a tiny initial should be adroitly carved in the hair of each of the Romeo and Juliet buttons. In the forrner she ordered an 'R. ' She calls me Roy. And in the others a 'Q.' I call her Queen. This would escape ordinary observation, but once seeing it with a lens one may readily find it with the naked eye afterward. Now take this lens and examine your button, just at the base of the hair, near the neck. So! What do you find?"

"By heavens," exclaimed the detective, "this is most important! This is a Juliet, and if one of your set it should have a 'Q' on it. I believe that there was an attempt to make that letter, but the tool must have slipped, and so it is a poor result, a chip, in fact, which mars the continuity of the letter. I doubt if with the eye alone, as you looked at it that day when I first showed it to you, that you saw any letter at all."

"Yon are correct. I simply looked for the 'Q,' and not finding it was satisfied."

"This is serious. This button evidently was made by the same hand that made yours. It was spoiled and another cut to replace it. The man who carved it or the person who became possessed of it must and shall explain to me how it came into the room where the murder was done. You must tell me now where these buttons were bought."

"I will do so upon one condition."

"Name it."

"That whatever you discover you will tell me before you act, and that you will not act before Jan. 1 unless absolutely necessary."

"You mean as to making an arrest?"

"That is precisely what I mean. Yon need not fear to make the promise. I will guarantee that your man shall not escape. I know him."

"You know him?" Mr. Barnes was astonished that Mr. Mitchel should make such an admission.

"Yes, I know him. That is, I am morally certain that I know him. I will tell you at once that having the knowledge that I myself was innocent I have had an advantage over you, and I have been hunting down this man all these months. I have good circumstantial evidence against him, but not enough to warrant an arrest—at least not yet. If you could follow this clew and find that it leads to the same man we could convict him."

"Will you give me the name of the man whom you suspect?"

"No! That would materially weaken our case. We must get the same result without collusion. No, you work alone and work quickly, for I particularly wish the case to be completed by Jan. 1."

"Why so?"

"It is the day upon which my wager is to be decided, and I shall give a dinner party, at which I anticipate some fun. By the way, don't forget that you won a dinner from me on a wager. Accept an invitation to dine with me Jan. 1, and if you can then convict our man you shall be most welcome."

"I shall bend every energy to that end. But now tell me the name of the jeweler from whom the buttons were procured."

Mr. Mitchel then wrote down the name of a Paris firm, also giving their address. Handing the slip of paper to Mr. Barnes, he took another sheet and continued writing.

"Why, Mr. Mitchel," exclaimed Mr. Barnes, "this is the same firm from whom your jewels were bought—those, I mean, which are similar to the stolen set. I have already communicated with these people, and they sent me word that they knew nothing."

"Yes, I know. That was by my instruction. " Saying which Mr. Mitchel smiled, and Mr. Barnes once more discovered that he had been fighting against a man who thought of everything. "You see," continued Mr. Mitchel, "I knew that you saw the name of the jewelers on the bill of sale. What more probable than that you should apply there for information? Now, my object throughout has been not to defeat justice, but to have time enough elapse for me to win my wager. Therefore I immediately sent a cable to these persons, 'Answer nothing signed Barnes till you hear from me.' Rather a long cable dispatch, but then I don't mind a few dollars. Of course my cable to them made them shut their mouths to you. It was very simple. However, I myself have not been able to get satisfactory facts from them, and I think it needs a person actually on the ground to ferret out this thing. I believe you are just the man for the case. This letter will give you their assistance, and here is a check for $500 for expenses."

Mr. Barnes would have refused, but Mr. Mitchel insisted that from that time on Mr. Barnes should consider himself regularly employed on the murder case. "Though of course," said Mr. Mitchel jocularly, "you are still free to work out the robberies."

The two men shook hands at parting, and one would have said that they were separating after a mutually satisfactory interview.

CHAPTER XVII.

A NEW YEAR'S DINNER PARTY.

The 1st of January arrived, and Mr. Mitchel had heard nothing from Mr. Barnes. Inquiry at his office was met by the simple statement that "the chief is out of town." When he would be back or where a communication would reach him could not be learned. A few days before, however, a formal engraved invitation to the dinner party had been mailed to his home address. Mr. Mitchel was annoyed at not having any notification of whether or not the detective would be present. However, he was compelled to go ahead and depend upon the slight chance that at the last moment he would appear upon the scene. He hoped that this would occur, as otherwise his scheme for the evening would be incomplete.

The dinner was to be served at 10 o'clock that night at Delmonico's, where a private room had been engaged. It lacked ten minutes of the hour for sitting down, and all the guests had arrived except Mr. Barnes. These were Mr. Van Rawlston, Mr. Randolph, Mr. Fisher, Mr. Neuilly, who had decided to spend the winter in New York; Mr. Thauret, and several other gentlemen.

It lacked barely half a minute of 10 when Mr. Barnes was announced and entered in handsome evening dress. Mr. Mitchel's face wore a look of triumph as he saw him, and he hurried forward to receive him. Every one present understood why the detective was invited, for it was by this time well known that a wager was to be decided at 12 o'clock. After the exchange of greetings Mr. Mitchel gave the waiters the order to open the doors of the dining room, and in the moment's interval managed to get a word with the detective.

"Tell me quickly, have you succeeded?"

"Yes, thoroughly."

"Good! Write the man's name on a card, and I will give you one upon which I have written the name of my man."

Mr. Barnes did so. Then they exchanged cards, glanced at them and grasped each other's hands significantly. The cards bore the same name. With the others they went into the dining room. Mr. Thauret found himself seated next to Mr. Barnes, while on the other side of the detective sat Mr. Fisher.

It need scarcely be said that the dinner was enjoyable and enjoyed, though it must be admitted that all awaited anxiously the hour of 12. It will be as well perhaps, therefore, to come immediately to the denouement, for which all were assembled. The last course had been served, and coffee and nuts were on the table, when the dock chimed the hour for which all were anxious. Promptly at the first stroke Mr. Mitchel arose. There was a silence till 12 was tolled, and then he began:

"Gentlemen, you have all kindly accepted my invitation to see me win a rash wager made 13 months ago. It is odd, perhaps that I should have won—for I announce that I have won—when we remember that the time was 13 months, which number, as we all know, superstitious persons are inclined to connect with misfortune. To show, however, that I do not harbor such childish ideas, I purposely made the time of that length, and tonight at the decisive moment we are 13." Here he paused a moment, and one might have noticed that several persons quickly counted those present to test the fact. Continuing, he said: "The superstition in connection with 13 at dinner is a well defined one, and the supposition is that one of the number will die within the year. I offer as a toast, therefore, 'Long life to all present—who deserve it.'" The last clause, after a slight hesitation, made a decided effect. However, the toast was drunk in silence.

"As some present may not entirely understand what my wager was I must explain that 13 months ago tonight I was in a Pullman sleeper with my friend, Mr. Randolph. Mr. Barnes here had just accomplished a neat capture of the criminal Pettingill, who has since been convicted. The papers were praising him, and Mr. Randolph did so to me in glowing terms. I ventured the assertion that detectives run down their prey largely because the criminal class lack intelligence sufficient to compete with their more skilled adversaries. I offered to wager that I could commit a crime within a month and not be detected within a year thereafter. The amount was to be $1,000 and was accepted by Mr. Randolph. I stipulated for conviction, though had I been arrested within the stated period and convicted afterward I should have considered that I had lost the wager. That is why I awaited the arrival of Mr. Barnes so anxiously. I had not seen him for some time, and it was possible that at the last moment he might be prepared to arrest me upon evidence that would later convict me. However, gentlemen, I have escaped both arrest and conviction, yet I committed the crime as wagered."

(To be continued )