Careful Work.-- Bristol's Trick on the Bell-boy at Queen's
Hotel, Toronto.-- The old Merchant.-- In the Toils.-- A
Face at the Transom.-- A cowardly Puppet before a brazen
Adventuress.-- The Horrors of Blackmail.-- "Furnished
Rooms to Rent."
As Mrs. Winslow had said, she was not to be seen the next morning; and
Bristol, after breakfasting early, came to the conclusion that he should
also be busied for the day following my instructions to watch her every
movement.
He ascertained the number of her room and leisurely strolled through the
hall until he located it, when he at once took a position where he could
observe any movement in or out of the door. At about ten o'clock he
noticed a waiter enter her room as if by summons, in a few minutes pass
out smiling, and shortly afterwards return with a very large glass
filled with some sort of liquor. Soon after he brought her breakfast,
and about a half-hour later he saw that the dishes were being removed
from the room, and, lying on one edge of the tray, an ordinary envelope,
from its puffed condition evidently containing a note. He felt sure that
this would give him the overture to the day's performance; but how to
secure it was another thing entirely. He could not take the letter from
the tray, as it rested on the front edge which projected over the boy's
shoulder, and was consequently immediately before his eyes. He probably
would not be able to bribe him into letting him have it, for the letter
might require an answer, and he would fear getting into trouble. Bristol
was standing at the end of the hall, by the window overlooking the
street, while the waiter was approaching the stairs which descended to
the lower floors near him. The boy had reached the second step going
down, and it was Bristol's last opportunity.
"Stop!" he said excitedly to the boy. "Here, give me that tray," and he
pulled it from the boy's shoulder and rested it upon the stair-rail.
"I'll take care of this. Run down to the street, now, quick, and get me
a this morning's paper. There's a newsboy right in front of the house.
Here's a half-dollar; keep the change!"
The boy seemed startled at the action, but Bristol had been so impetuous
about it; that he had relinquished the tray and started down stairs,
but, recovering himself, came back and reached his hand up as if to take
the letter.
"Tut, tut," said Bristol angrily, picking up the letter and carelessly
putting it in his pocket without looking at the address, "I'll take care
of everything until you get back; get along with you now!"
Bristol was noted for his benign and fatherly appearance, and, after
another good look at him, the waiter took a brisk trot down stairs,
leaving the detective in possession of the letter. He hastily put the
tray upon the floor, and whisking the letter from his pocket, saw that
it was addressed with a pencil, to "J. Devereaux, No. --, Yonge St.,"
and marked "Personal." It was but the work of an instant to open it, and
but of a moment to read it, as it was short and to the point, and ran as
follows:
QUEEN'S HOTEL, TORONTO, Sept. 6, 186--.
DEVEREAUX--I am hard up. I need one thousand dollars, though
five hundred will do, but I must have that amount at once. You
have intimated that you would not help me any further. I have
merely to say to you that if you do not either call with, or
send the money, during the day, I will cause you to reflect as
to whether your business and social reputation are not worth
to you and your estimable family immeasurably more than the
trifle named. Exercise your own pleasure about the matter
however.
MRS. W.
Bristol copied this upon the back of the addressed envelope in less than
a minute, and in a minute more had the note enclosed in another envelope
and addressed in a handwriting sufficiently similar to that of Mrs.
Winslow's to answer every purpose, and had just got into a calm and
bland position with the tray, when the boy came up the stairs, three
steps at a time, gave the paper a toss into the hall, jerked the letter
out of Bristol's hand, and after giving him a look that had considerable
resentment in it, strode down the stairs with his tray on his shoulder
and his letter in his pocket, in a very offended and dignified manner.
But as Bristol was on this kind of business at Toronto he thought he
might as well ascertain where the little fellow went; and, taking a
position a half-block distant from the hotel, was obliged to wait but a
little time before the waiter came down and started off on a brisk walk
down the street.
He waited until the boy had passed him, and then followed him in and out
the streets until he saw him suddenly turn into a large wholesale house
on Yonge street, when he rapidly lessened the distance between them,
arriving in front of the place as he saw the boy hand the note to a thin
old gentleman, who took him aside and nervously questioned him for a few
minutes, after which he nodded to him as if assenting to something, or
directing the boy to return an affirmative answer to whoever had sent
the note, or whatever it contained.
The boy walked briskly back to the hotel, and Bristol only remained long
enough to notice the old man--who was evidently the Devereaux of whom Le
Compte had informed me, and whose name Bristol had so recently
written--walk tremblingly towards the door as if overcome with some
sudden faintness, and in a sort of vacant, listless way tear the note
into little bits and fling them piecemeal upon the stones of the street,
hurling the last bunch of pieces upon the pavement with a violent,
agonized action, as if he would to God he could dispose of the dark and
relentless shadow across his life as quickly and as effectually!
All Bristol now had to do was to ascertain when Devereaux called, and,
if possible, to overhear what was said at the interview.
But this might not be so easy a matter to accomplish as securing the
contents of the letter addressed to the latter. After studying the
matter over for a little time, but without any definite decision what to
do, he found himself strolling along the hall where Mrs. Winslow's room
was located, and noticed several rooms standing open and being put to
rights after the departure of guests. Among this number was one next to
that occupied by Mrs. Winslow, and, taking the number, he immediately
repaired to the office and had his baggage changed to that room, where,
after dinner, with a few cigars and some fresh reading matter, he
comfortably and leisurely waited for developments.
The day dragged along, and both Bristol and Mrs. Winslow became anxious.
The latter paced back and forth in her room, and every few moments went
to the door, and even passed out into the hall, going as far as the
stairs and peering anxiously down, while the waiter at frequent
intervals was summoned to provide her courage and patience of a liquid
character. Finally, however, Bristol noticed that she had either
concluded to take a short nap, or was determined to wait patiently, for
quite a period of silence elapsed in her room, which he took advantage
of to steal quietly out into the hall, leaving his door ajar so that he
might re-enter it noiselessly as occasion required.
It was not long before the occasion presented itself, for Bristol had
got no more than to the end of the hall when he saw Devereaux ascending
the stairs from below. He quietly stepped behind the curtains that
trailed from the lambrequin over the window, and watched the old man as
he came up the stairs.
He was a little, gray, withered old man. Almost all his strength was
gone, and he certainly had but a few more years to use what little
strength was left. His hair was almost white, and his face was quite as
colorless, while the weak, rheumy eyes seemed almost ready to fall
through the flesh which had withered away to the bones of his face. He
was a living example of the blackmailer's victim as he labored along,
now and then catching at the stair-rail for help, and looking behind and
around him as if fearing some sudden discovery. Arriving upon the hall
floor, he peered anxiously at the numbers upon the doors, and after
settling in his mind what direction to take, went on tremblingly with
bowed head towards the woman who was as remorseless as death itself.
He found the room after a little trouble, and tapped at it
apprehensively. It was at once opened and immediately closed after, when
Bristol sprang from his hiding-place and was in the adjoining room
almost as soon as the next door had closed.
During the afternoon, when Mrs. Winslow had absented herself from her
room, he had dragged the bureau against the door opening into her
apartment, placed a quilt from his bed upon it in order that his jumping
upon it might occasion no noise, and with his knife cut a diamond
shaped piece out of the green paper covering the glass transom,
darkening his own room so that his eyes could not by any possibility be
seen through the aperture in the piece of paper, which had a dead black
appearance from Mrs. Winslow's room; and by the time the poor old man
had confronted the woman in a scared kind of a way, and had seated
himself upon the sofa obedient to her imperious gesture, the "retired
banker's" eyes and eye-glasses looked calmly down upon a scene the whole
terrible import of which, could it have been presented to the world in
all its terrible hideousness, and in some form become eternally typical
of the curse it illustrated, would have stood for all time a savage
Cerberus frightening men from this kind of infamy and self-destruction.
In all my startling experience with criminals and the sad incidents
which have in the peculiar nature of my business forced themselves upon
my observation, there has been no one thing so reprehensible as the
trade of the blackmailer, and there is a no more terrible torture than
that inflicted by that class of criminals; and I am satisfied that could
heads of families realize their terrible danger when heedlessly forming
some unholy alliance, which is sure to eventually whip and scourge them
until life is a burden, there would be less of the moral laxity and
lechery than now burdens the world from palace and pulpit to
poverty-stricken hovel.
What more pitiable picture than that of a man just ready to pass from
all that should be worth having and loving to the unknown country, with
fear behind and awful uncertainty beyond--with the work of a whole life,
which should now bring a reward of tenderness, gratitude, and
reverential esteem, embittered and blasted by the relentless curse that
ever trails after weakness and passion--fear, distrust, and apprehension
between himself and family, and the Damoclean sword ever above him,
ready to fall at the instant he endeavors to throw the horrible shadow
from him to regain honesty and uprightness!
There the old man sat, a cowardly puppet before a brazen
adventuress--sat there a weak, drivelling, idiotic wreck before one so
vile that she was no longer capable of regret--sat there ruined in
everything worth the preservation of, suffering what he had for years
suffered--the regret, the remorse, the shame, and the abject fear that
were worse than a thousand deaths; while the utterly heartless woman,
with her hands folded across her waist in a masculine sort of a way,
looked at him smilingly, seemingly enjoying his efforts to recover the
breath lost in the, to him, severe labor of getting to her room; as it
appeared to be the custom for him to see her there rather than in the
parlor.
The interview was business-like, and, as it was not overwhelmed with
sentiment, was not protracted.
Mrs. Winslow asked Devereaux if he had brought the money, and he
stammered that he had. Well, she wanted it, and didn't want any nonsense
with it, either, she said, with a vast amount of meaning thrown into the
words; he knew whether he _owed_ her that amount or not, and, if he
did, she didn't propose having any bickering about it.
Then the old man slowly rose, and cursing her, himself, and all the
world, flung her the money and said he would go, as he knew that was all
she wanted.
She told him frankly that it was pretty nearly all she wanted, but added
jocosely that he was still "a charmer," and that that fact, too, had its
influence in periodically drawing her to him; and then bade him an
affectionate good-by as he feebly glared at her, and passed, whining,
cursing, and tottering away.
Mrs. Winslow was very happy and gay now, and during the evening and on
their return to Rochester was all smiles and winsomeness. Her detective
companion could scarcely enter into her unusual joyousness, but did the
best he could, and that was well enough, as she was so pleased with the
success of her Toronto trip that her mind was altogether employed with
it until nearing home, when her eminent business ability again asserted
itself, and she became more affectionate than ever to the retired
banker, repeating the proposition concerning the rooms, which Bristol
had of course reported, and which he would be prepared to act upon when
he could secure his mail at Rochester.
He told her he had thought favorably of it, and after he had ascertained
whether he should remain in the city a stated period or not, would
inform her of his decision, which he presumed would be favorable and
permit of their continued pleasant intimacy; while Mrs. Winslow
confided to him that she had thought seriously of the course for some
time. She knew Lyon was having her watched, she said, and she had
decided that it would be best to change her business to one which could
not be so easily misinterpreted, or at least add to her present business
something that in the eyes of those who scoffed at spiritualism would
have a measure of respectability about it, and from which she could not
only secure a livelihood, but such a pleasant companion as Mr. Bristol;
and they parted upon the train before arriving at the depot with a
thorough understanding about the future, and an appointment for another
meeting at the first opportunity.
Unknown to Bristol I had sent another operative to keep him and Mrs.
Winslow company, and on receiving the reports of each I decided to put
my men in her rooms, where one of them could constantly observe her
actions, and never under any circumstances give her an opportunity to
make any new move without my knowledge. I therefore sent another man to
Rochester for outside work, and directed Bristol to accept the woman's
proposition and become her lodger, and, as soon after as possible
without exciting her suspicions, appear to become acquainted with Fox,
recommend him as a lodger, and secure his introduction to the place as
M. D. Lyford, a book-keeper in some establishment of the city which they
might settle upon, so that he might relieve Bristol, and _vice versa_,
as occasion required.
So the furnished rooms sign went up over the clairvoyant sign, and Mrs.
Winslow added to the charms of handsome medium those of an attractive
landlady, while the three old maids under Washington Hall lost their
prize, who became a sort of an aged page to the castaway woman who had
such luxurious rooms for rent in the autumn of 186-, on South St. Paul
street, near Meech's Opera-house, in the beautiful city of Rochester.