Mr. Pinkerton decides to favor Mrs. Winslow with a Series of
Annoyances.-- The mysterious Package.-- The Detectives
labor under well-merited Suspicion.-- "My God! what's
that?"-- The deadly Phial.-- This Time a Mysterious Box.--
Its suggestive Contents.-- "The Thing she was."-- Tabitha,
Amanda, and Hannah assaulted.-- A Punch and Judy Show.
The reports which I had for some time received daily regarding Mrs.
Winslow's behavior satisfied me that the delay in reaching the
Winslow-Lyon case--which was at the bottom of the docket of the fall
term, and on account of a press of court business had been put over to
the winter term--the strict silence I had enjoined upon Mr. Lyon, and
the general suspicion which possessed her of everybody and everything,
were all having the natural effect of unsettling her completely, and I
determined upon a series of surprises and annoyances to the woman,
without in any way apprising Bristol and Fox of what was to be done; so
that although they might imagine from what source the unwelcome
"materializations" came, they would still be sufficiently uninformed to
share in the general surprise and escape the charge of complicity.
I accordingly sent three additional men to Rochester with thorough
instructions and full information as to the madam's residence and
habits, with a description of her tenants, including Bristol and Fox,
who were unknown to the operatives sent.
My object in doing this was a double one. I desired, first, to test the
woman's so-called spirit power; for, should these annoyances prove of
the nature of a persecution, she and her friends, the Spiritualists,
would be able to call celestial spirits to her aid, or, better still,
divine from whence the persecution came, and compel its discontinuance
by the means provided by ordinary mortals. In case she could not do
this, which was of course rather doubtful, I knew from her
superstitiousness and the guilty fear possessed by every criminal, which
she largely shared, that she would be quite likely to either make some
confessions which would implicate her in further blackmailing
operations, or force her into a line of conduct agreeing perfectly with
her true character, and which would compel her to show herself
thoroughly to the public; and further, I think I must confess to a
slight desire to assist a little in punishing her, after I had become so
fully aware of her villainous character.
Accordingly, while Mrs. Winslow was still deep in the plot of her great
drama, but before the changes suggested--which would have made her a
sort of literary nun in Fox's room--had occurred, she was the recipient
of a large package of railway time-tables, with the farthest terminus of
each road underscored, and further called attention to by a hand and
index finger pointing towards it from Rochester, intimating that it was
either desired or demanded, on the part of somebody, that she should
leave Rochester for one of the points indicated.
When Bristol and Fox returned "home," as they had come to call their
lodgings, that evening, Mrs. Winslow was at her escritoire, completely
immersed in time-tables and manuscript, and had all the air of an
important author struggling for fitting expressions with which to clothe
some suddenly inspired, though sublime idea.
She looked at them closely a moment, as if she would read their very
thoughts. Whether seeing anything suspicious or not, she remarked very
pointedly:
"Good deal of railroad rivalry nowadays, isn't there?"
"Yes, considerable," replied Bristol pleasantly, and then asking, "Are
you going to introduce some rival railroads in your new play, Mrs.
Winslow?"
"Not much!" she answered tersely.
"I wouldn't," replied Bristol, taking a seat near the chandelier and
pulling a paper from his pocket; "they're dangerous."
Mrs. Winslow paid no attention to this, but suddenly eyed Fox, and
sharply asked:
"They like very much to sell through tickets, don't they?"
"I believe they do--ought to pay better," he promptly rejoined, eyeing
her in return.
"Well," said she, after a slight pause, and as if with something of a
sigh, "it's all right, perhaps; but if either of you should meet any
railroad agent who seems to be laboring under the delusion that I want
to found a colony in some far country, just tell him to expend his
energies in some other direction!"
Of course my operatives were surprised, and demanded an explanation; but
the recipient of the circulars was quite dignified, and would only clear
the matter up by occasional little passionate bursts of confidence, as
if finding fault with them for not being able to unravel the mystery to
her. They protested they knew nothing about the matter, and she
undoubtedly believed them; but she ventured to inform them that if
anybody--mind you, anybody--supposed they could scare her away from
Rochester by any such hint as that, they were mightily mistaken, that's
all there was about _that_.
My detectives allayed her fears as much as possible, but it was plainly
observable that she was really annoyed by the occurrence. There is
always a hundred times more terror in the fear of unknown evil than in
that which we can boldly meet, and this particularly applies to those
who know they _deserve_ punishment, as in Mrs. Winslow's case.
The next evening they were all sitting discussing general topics and a
pint of peach brandy, and had become exceedingly sociable, particularly
over the railroad circulars, which Fox and Bristol had by this time
induced her to regard in the light of a huge joke, or error, when the
party were suddenly startled by some object which caused a peculiar
ringing, yet deadened sound, as it struck the partly-opened door and
then bounded upon the carpet where it glisteningly rolled out of sight
under the sofa where the thoroughly-scared Mrs. Winslow sat.
"My God! what's that?" she screamed, rushing to the door and peering
down the staircase, as rapidly retreating footsteps were distinctly
heard; but not being able to discover anybody, scrambled back into the
room, shutting and bolting the door behind her.
The woman was deathly pale, the color brought to her face by the brandy
having been driven from it as if by some terrible blow; but it came back
with her into the room, where Bristol and Fox _appeared_ nearly as
frightened as she.
She looked at them a moment in a dazed, stupefied way, and then
demanded: "What does this mean?"
"That's what I'd like to know!" returned Bristol, hunting for his
quizzers, which he had lost in his jump from his chair. "This is all
very fine, but it's pretty plain somebody here's sent for!"
"And _I_ don't want to go!" chimed in Fox, climbing down from a safe
position upon the _escritoire_.
The three looked at each other in an extremely suspicious way, and the
woman again demanded, this time threateningly, what it all meant.
[Illustration: _The three looked at each other in an extremely
suspicious way.--_]
"Something with a glitter, and it rolled under there," was all Bristol
could tell her about it.
"Let's get it, whatever it is!" said Fox, with an apparent burst of
bravery and spirit.
So Bristol at one end and Fox at the other end of the sofa, rolled it
out with a great show of caution, while Mrs. Winslow, though
preserving a good position for observation, kept nimbly out of the way.
"What can it be?" she persisted excitedly.
"A vial sealed with red wax, with a string attached, and containing some
clear liquid," said Fox, stooping to pick it up.
"Don't--don't, Fox!" shouted Bristol, pushing him back impetuously; "the
devilish thing may burst and kill us all--nitro-glycerine, you know!"
Mrs. Winslow shuddered, drew her elegant wrappings about her fair
shoulders, as if the thought chilled her like the sudden opening of some
cold vault, and looked appealingly at the two men.
"Or might contain some deadly poison," said Fox, in a warning tone.
"And the fiend who threw it in here expected the bottle to break and the
poison to murder us!" said Mrs. Winslow indignantly.
"Things have come to a pretty pass when attempts like this are made on
people's lives!" said Bristol, adjusting his spectacles and edging
towards the mysterious missile.
"I shall move at once," stoutly affirmed Mrs. Winslow.
"Don't do any such thing," said Fox earnestly. "That will only show
whoever may be committing these indignities that we are alarmed by
them."
"We?--_we?_" repeated the adventuress, with a peculiar accent upon the
word "we." "It isn't you men that is meant. It's _me_. This is some of
that Lyon's doings. Oh, I could cut his heart out!"
The detectives saw that she was getting greatly excited, and Bristol,
with a view of quieting her as much as possible for the night, picked up
the vial by a string tied to it and hung it upon a nail, remarking that
he was something of a chemist himself and didn't believe it was
explosive, and also expressed a conviction that Mrs. Winslow should have
it analyzed.
To this she acceded, and expressed a determination to "get even" with
the author of these outrages, in which laudable resolve the detectives
promised to assist her; but the peach brandy seemed the only relief
possible to Mrs. Winslow for the remainder of the evening, which was
chiefly passed in wild speculations and theories concerning the new
"manifestations," which she began to fear might be the result of jealous
clairvoyants and vindictive spiritualists, who had endeavored to
blackmail both herself and Mr. Lyon, and, failing in this, were now
persecuting her.
The next day Mrs. Winslow went out quietly and secured the services of a
chemist under the Osborne House, who pronounced the contents nothing but
water, which proved a great relief to the agitated trio, but did not
remove from Mrs. Winslow's mind the anxiety and unrest that these
undesired and unlooked-for materializations were causing.
About noon, after Fox and Bristol had come in from a little stroll and
they were all laughing over the scare of the previous evening, a step
was heard on the stairs, and soon after a little man with a big box on
his shoulder, and a slouched hat on his head which hid his face pretty
thoroughly, came to the head of the stairs, knocked at the door, and
without waiting for an invitation to come in, entered, and depositing
the box with the remark, "For Mrs. Winslow, from the Misses Grim,"
spryly sprang back, shut the door, and clattered away down the stairs
and into the street before Mrs. Winslow could get a second look at him,
though she sprang after him, shouting, "Here! here! come back here or
I'll have you arrested!" But he only clattered away the livelier, and
she returned to the room raging and vowing that the box contained some
infernal machine for the purpose of distributing minute portions of her
anatomy all over the city of Rochester.
This became more likely when Mrs. Winslow recollected that the Misses
Grim--Tabitha, Amanda, and Hannah--were the three old maids from whom
she had thought she had secured a wealthy old banker to pluck; and
though he had proven to her a very ordinary man, somewhat infirm from
rheumatism, and a trifle quarrelsome, though eminently virtuous and
punctilious, she had never, of course, let them know how badly she had
been swindled; and as they yet regarded their lost boarder, Bristol, as
a priceless treasure, lost to them through her perfidy, it was no more
than natural, Mrs. Winslow thought, that in their chagrin and
disappointment they should concoct some diabolical plan to injure her.
But still it might not be from them. She had other enemies, many of
them, and the Misses Grim's name might have been given to cover up some
other person's misdeeds. But whatever it might be, her curiosity soon
overcame her fear, and she requested Fox to open it.
After securing a hammer from his room, the latter proceeded to open the
mysterious box; but after the cover had been partially drawn and it was
evident that the box had not been delivered for the purpose of
exterminating anybody, it occurred to its fair owner that there might be
something within it not desirable for her to let the gentlemen see,
whereupon she requested them to retire; but after Bristol had
grumblingly disappeared, and Fox had got to the door, she recalled the
latter and asked him anxiously if he would not open it for her. He
gallantly agreed to, and got down on his knees upon the carpet and began
taking off the cover.
"I do wonder what it can be!" said Mrs. Winslow anxiously.
"I can't find anything but bran," returned Fox, digging about the box
carefully.
"Bran!" she exclaimed incredulously; "that box is too heavy for bran."
Fox dug away for a little while longer and finally shouted, "I've got
something!"
"And what is that something?"
The question was answered by the thing itself, which now appeared from
the bottom of the box, vigorously lifted by Fox's hand and plumped
through the bran upon the carpet.
"Well, what is it?" she demanded.
"Vegetable," said Fox tersely.
"Oh, pshaw! is _that_ all?" asked the disgusted woman.
"Yes, that's all," he replied, after digging about in the bran for a
moment. Mrs. Winslow also satisfied herself that it was all by searching
in the bran, and the two then proceeded to investigate the vegetable.
"It's a turnip, and somebody's been digging in it," said Mrs. Winslow.
"I think you are mistaken," mildly interposed Fox. "It's something else
entirely."
"What's this!" exclaimed the woman; "sure as I live, a cross-bones and
skull on one side, and on the other side, 'D-e-a-d'--dead!"
"It isn't dead turnip!" interrupted Fox.
"Dead beet?" she asked musingly, a sudden crimson flooding into her
face.
"Shouldn't wonder," he answered.
Biting her lips she glided to a window. It was a cold autumn day, and
the panes rattled drearily as she seemed to shrink and hide between them
and the heavy curtains, while the color came and went hotly in her face.
It hurt her, wounded her, showed her to be the thing she was in a way
that could never have been effected by ten thousand innuendoes or direct
charges; and she pressed her face against the cold panes as if to force
and drive away the hideous picture that a momentarily honest glimpse of
herself had revealed to her, and continued standing thus, buried in the
memories which build remorse, until, noticing the thing in her hand
which had caused this humiliation, she flung it violently across the
room, and rushing into her sleeping-room, hastily prepared for going
out, then dashing through the reception-room, she passed into the hall,
and meeting Bristol, said:
"Bristol, I want you to come with me!"
Bristol immediately complied, but was given a lively chase, for Mrs.
Winslow was strong of limb, fleet of foot, and, on this occasion, was
impelled by a burst of spirit which, if rightly directed, would have led
a conquering army.
She started directly for Main Street, and turned up that thoroughfare at
a pace which attracted considerable attention. After rapidly walking two
blocks she swept across the street, and after having waited for Bristol
to come up with her, plunged into the little restaurant under Washington
Hall, with my operative close at her heels.
The sudden entrance of the couple caused a great commotion in the quaint
little eating-room, and the drowsy customers smiled when they saw the
unaccustomed form of the woman whom the Misses Grim--Tabitha, Amanda and
Hannah--had taken no trouble to prevent being known as her deadly enemy.
Tabitha, the most ancient, at once bristled up and took a position
behind her neat counter, her wrinkled head trembling with so much
excitement that her sparse curls created a kind of quivering nimbus
about it.
"Well, ma'am and what can _I_ do for _you_?" asked Tabitha with a flaunt
of her head and a sarcastic tinge in her voice.
Mrs. Winslow got to the counter in two or three quick jumps or starts,
and asked, husky with rage, "I--I just want to know which one of you old
straws sent that box to me?"
"Box to _you_!" jerked out Amanda, the next less ancient of the Misses
Grim, who had just entered and at once stopped stock still to catch Mrs.
Winslow's remark; "box to you? Tush!--box to nobody!" and she too sidled
in behind the counter to reinforce, and tremble with, her very old
sister.
"Oh, you can't play your innocence on me!" retorted Mrs. Winslow very
violently. "You wear very white collars, and very black caps and very
straight dresses, and look very saintly, but you're just three old
witches; that's what you are!"
"Pooh, pooh!" snorted Tabitha and Amanda hysterically.
"Pooh, pooh! if you like; but if I find out which one of you sent that
box, I'll--I'll shake every bone in her old body into a match!" shouted
Mrs. Winslow, dancing up and down against the counter and working her
fingers savagely.
"Match?" responded Hannah, the least ancient and most fiery of the three
virgins, and who entered at this critical moment; "match indeed! you're
a match for anything villainous!" and then she too trotted behind the
counter to throw the weight of her presence into the conflict.
By this time the interested customers had gathered around, and people
from the street, noticing the unwonted enthusiasm awakened in the
Washington Hall restaurant, were rapidly collecting upon the outside and
flattening their curious noses against the intervening panes.
Mrs. Winslow could no more control herself than could the old maids, and
quickened by the presence of the increasing crowd, burst into a
screaming demand for the person who sent the "dead" beet to her.
"Dead beat!--ha, ha, ha!" laughed the three sisters convulsively, at
once realizing the appropriateness of the joke and excitedly enjoying
it; "dead beat, eh? we didn't do it!" "But," added Hannah, maliciously,
"if you do find the person as did send it, Mrs. Winslow, and will send
'em around, we'll board 'em for a month free!"
There was war, direful war, imminent; and no one could imagine what
might have resulted had the conflict of tongues culminated in a conflict
of hands. But to have seen the three ancient, prim, and trembling women
on the one side, and the ponderous, though handsome Mrs. Winslow on the
other--the old maids either with arms akimbo or with hands firmly
clenched upon the counter's edge as if to compel restraint, their bodies
weaving back and forth, their heads bobbing up and down, and their stray
frills and curls wildly dancing as if each particular hair was in a mad
ecstasy of its own; and Mrs. Winslow, upon her side of the counter, in a
perfect frenzy of excitement, stamping her feet, jumping backward and
forward, bringing her clenched hand down upon the counter with terrible
force for a woman, and shaking it furiously at the agitated row of old
maids, would be to have witnessed a marvellous improvement upon any
form of the Punch and Judy show ever exhibited.
[Illustration: _"A marvelous improvement over any form of the Punch and
Judy show ever exhibited."--_]
Bristol saw that unless they were separated he would become implicated
in a case of assault and battery, and after great effort pacified the
women sufficiently to enable him to pilot his landlady out of the
restaurant, through the streets and finally into her own apartments,
where she passed the remainder of the dreary day in weeping, storms of
baffled rage, or protracted applications to the spirits which can be
controlled, whether one is a spiritualist or not, so long as money lasts
and total prohibition is not enforced.