MR. BARNES DISCOVERS AN ARTISTIC MURDER.
Whilst the meal was progressing, a man silently passed through the room.
No one would have guessed that he had any special motive in doing so,
for he noticed no one. Neither would one have supposed that Mr. Barnes
observed him, for he had his back turned. Yet this was the same
individual who upon his instruction had followed Rose Mitchel when she
left the train.
Breakfast over, the two men started to leave the restaurant. Reaching
the stairway which leads above to the main floor, Mr. Barnes courteously
stood aside to allow his companion to ascend first. Mr. Mitchel,
however, with a wave of the hand, declined, and followed Mr. Barnes.
Whether either had any special design in this was a thought occupying
the minds of both as they silently passed up-stairs. Mr. Mitchel had a
slight advantage, in that being behind he could watch the detective.
There seemed, however, to be little to see. To be sure the man who had
passed through the restaurant was idly leaning against the doorway, but
as soon as Mr. Barnes's head appeared, and certainly before he could
have been noticed by Mr. Mitchel, he stepped out into the street,
crossed over, and disappeared into the bank building opposite. Had any
signal passed between these two detectives? Mr. Mitchel, despite his
shrewdness in sending Mr. Barnes up-stairs ahead of him, saw none, yet
this is what occurred: Mr. Barnes said adieu, and walked away. Mr.
Mitchel stood in the doorway, gazing after him till he saw him enter the
elevated railroad station; then, looking carefully about, he himself
walked rapidly towards Sixth Avenue. He did not glance behind, or he
might have seen the man in the bank step out and walk in the same
direction. They had been gone about five minutes when Mr. Barnes once
more appeared upon the scene. He stopped in the doorway, where the other
detective had been leaning. Keenly scanning the panelling, his eye
presently rested upon what he was seeking. Faintly written in pencil
were the words "No. ---- East Thirtieth." That was all, but it told Mr.
Barnes that Rose Mitchel had been followed to this address, and as it
tallied with that which she herself had given to him, he knew now that
she could be found when wanted. Wetting his finger against the tip of
his tongue, he drew it across the words, leaving nothing but a dirty
smudge.
"Wilson is a keen one," thought the detective. "He did this trick well.
Saw my nod, wrote that address, and got out of sight in an instant. I
wonder if he can keep an eye on that shrewd scoundrel? Pshaw! I am
giving the fellow too much credit. I must leave it to Wilson for to-day
anyway, as I must get through with this Pettingill matter." Half an hour
later he was at head-quarters talking with his assistants.
Meanwhile Wilson followed Mr. Mitchel to Broadway then down to the
Casino, where he stopped to buy tickets; then out again, and down
Broadway to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, which he entered. He nodded to the
clerk, took his key, and passed up-stairs. Evidently he lived there.
Wilson of course had no further definite instructions. From Mr. Barnes's
backward nod, he had understood that he was to shadow this man, and
under the circumstances it was his simple duty to do this until relieved
by further orders. In these days of telephones it is easy enough to make
hurried reports to head-quarters and then continue the pursuit. The
Fifth Avenue is not a promising place in which to watch a man, provided
the man knows that he is being watched. It has three exits--one on
Broadway, and one each on Twenty-third and on Twenty-fourth Streets.
Wilson flattered himself that Mr. Mitchel was unsuspicious, and
therefore whichever way he might leave the building, he would first
return his key at the desk. He consequently kept that point in view. Not
half an hour had elapsed when his man appeared, gave up his key, as
expected, and passed out by the Broadway door. Crossing the Avenue, he
walked down Twenty-third Street, eastward; Wilson followed cautiously,
going through the Park. At Third Avenue Mr. Mitchel climbed the elevated
stairway, and Wilson was compelled to do the same, though this brought
him unpleasantly close. Both men took the same train, Mr. Mitchel in the
first coach, Wilson the last. At Forty-second Street Mr. Mitchel left
the train, and crossed the bridge, but instead of taking the annex for
the Grand Central Depot, as one is expected to do, he slipped through
the crowd to the main platform and took a train going back down-town.
Wilson managed to get the same train, but he realized at once that his
man either knew that he was followed, or else was taking extraordinary
precautions. At Thirty-fourth Street station the trick was repeated, Mr.
Mitchel crossing over the bridge and then taking an up-town train. What
puzzled Wilson was that he could not detect that his man had noticed
him. It seemed barely possible, as they had encountered crowds at both
places, that he had escaped unobserved. He was more satisfied of this
when, at Forty-second Street again, Mr. Mitchel once more left the
train, crossed the bridge, and this time went forward, taking the coach
for the Grand Central. Evidently all the manoeuvring had merely been
prompted by caution, and not having observed his shadow, the man was
about to continue to his true destination. Mr. Mitchel had entered the
coach by the first gate, and was seated quietly in the corner as Wilson
passed on, going in by the gate at the opposite end. A moment later the
guard slammed the gate at Wilson's end, and pulled the bell-rope. As
quick as a flash Mr. Mitchel jumped up, and before he could be
prevented, had left the coach just as it started, carrying away Wilson,
completely outwitted and dumbfounded. As soon as the train stopped he
darted down-stairs, and ran back towards the Third Avenue station; but
he knew it was useless, as it proved. He saw nothing of Mr. Mitchel.
Wilson was greatly disheartened, for he was most anxious to stand well
with Mr. Barnes, his chief. Yet in revolving over the occurrences of the
last half hour he could not see how he could have prevented the escape
of his man, since it was evident that he had intentionally acted in a
way to prevent pursuit. If one but knows or suspects that he is being
shadowed, the Third Avenue elevated road, with its bridges at
Thirty-fourth and Forty-second Streets, offers the most effectual means
of eluding the most skilful detective. If Wilson had known anything
whatever about the man who had escaped him, he might have been able to
guess his destination, and so have caught up with him again by hurrying
ahead and meeting him, as he had frequently done when following noted
criminals with whose haunts he was acquainted. In this instance he was
utterly in the dark, so could do nothing but swear.
If he could not report where Mr. Mitchel had gone, at least he might
discover at what time he returned to his hotel, and possibly Mr. Barnes
might receive some valuable hint by the lapse of time. With this idea,
Wilson returned to the Fifth Avenue Hotel and waited patiently. He
telephoned to head-quarters only to hear that Mr. Barnes had gone back
to Boston to bring Pettingill to New York. Seven o'clock arrived, and
yet his vigil was unrewarded. It suddenly occurred to him that as he had
seen Mr. Mitchel purchase tickets for the Casino, that might be a good
place to watch, though of course there was no certainty that they were
for that night. Upon this meagre hope he hastened up-town and stationed
himself where he could keep an eye on all who entered. At ten minutes
past eight he was about concluding that his task was useless when a cab
stopped, and to his intense satisfaction he saw Mr. Mitchel alight, and
then hand out a handsomely-dressed woman. Wilson had prepared himself
for this possibility, by purchasing a ticket of admission, so that he
followed the couple into the theatre, determined not to lose sight of
his man again. The opera over, he found it easy to shadow the two, as
the woman declined the proffered cab, perchance because the
exhilarating, though cold night air made a walk home inviting. He was,
however, somewhat amazed at last to see them enter the very
apartment-house on Thirtieth Street to which he had traced Rose Mitchel
in the morning. His mind was at once set at ease, for since both of his
birds had flown to the same dove-cot, it seemed plain that they were
connected. Evidently it was to this house that Mr. Mitchel had gone
after eluding him in the morning. At least so argued the astute
detective.
Wilson had waited opposite the building perhaps an hour, lulled into
abstraction of thought by the silence of the neighborhood, when he was
startled by hearing a piercing shriek, loud and long continued, which
then died away, and all was still again. Whether it came from the
apartment-house or one of the private dwellings next to it, he was in
doubt. That it was a woman's cry he felt sure. Was it a cry of pain, or
the shriek of nightmare? He could not tell. That solitary, awful cry,
disturbing the death-like stillness, seemed uncanny. It made him shiver
and draw his cloak closer about him. If it had only been repeated, after
he was on the alert, he would have felt better satisfied; but though he
listened intently he heard nothing. Ten minutes later, another thing
occurred, which attracted his attention. A light in a window on the
fifth floor was extinguished. There was certainly nothing suspicious
about this, for lights are usually put out when one retires. He noticed
it because it was the only light which showed from any of the windows
during his vigil. Whilst he was thinking of this, the door opposite
opened and a man emerged. Judging it to be Mr. Mitchel, he hastily
followed. That there might certainly be no mistake, Wilson walked
rapidly enough to reach the Avenue corner ahead of the man, when he
crossed, so timing himself that he passed in front of the other just as
they both reached the street lamp. Taking a quick, but thorough look,
Wilson saw that it was not Mr. Mitchel, so abandoned the pursuit, going
back quickly towards the apartment-house. He had proceeded but a few
paces, when he met Mr. Mitchel coming rapidly towards him. Breathing a
sigh of relief, he passed, then crossed the street, and with his usual
skill readily kept Mr. Mitchel in sight till he entered the Fifth Avenue
Hotel. Wilson saw him take his key and go up-stairs, so that he felt
that his vigil was over for that night. Looking at his watch he noted
that it was just one o'clock. Going into the reading-room he wrote a
report of the day's occurrences and then calling a messenger, sent it
to head-quarters addressed to Mr. Barnes. This done he felt entitled to
hurry home for a short sleep--short, because he knew it would be his
duty to be on the watch again the next day, and until he received
further instructions from Mr. Barnes.
Mr. Barnes had immediately after his arrival obtained the requisition
papers for which he had telegraphed, and which he found awaiting him.
With these he had returned to Boston the same day, and obtaining his
prisoner succeeded in catching the midnight train once more, arriving in
New York with the loss of but a single day from the new case which so
absorbed all his interest.
Thus the morning after that on which the jewel robbery had been
discovered he entered his offices quite early, having delivered his
prisoner at police head-quarters.
When he read Wilson's letter, the only sign which he gave of
dissatisfaction was a nervous pull at one corner of his moustache. He
read the paper through three times, then tore it carefully into tiny
pieces, doing it so accurately that they were all nearly of the same
size and shape. Any one who should attempt to piece together a note
which Mr. Barnes had thus destroyed, would have a task. Standing by the
window he tossed them high in the air and saw them scattered by the
wind.
At half past eight o'clock he stood before the apartment-house in East
Thirtieth Street. The janitor was sweeping from the pavement a light
snow which had fallen in the early hours of the morning.
Mr. Barnes without speaking to the man walked into the vestibule and
scanned the names over the letter-boxes. None of them contained the one
which he sought, but there was no card in No. 5. Recalling that in
Wilson's report a light had disappeared from a window on the fifth
floor, he knew that it could not be unoccupied. To get in, he resorted
to a trick often practised by sneak thieves. He rang the bell of No. 1,
and when the door silently swung open he walked in, apologizing to the
servant on the first landing for having "rung the wrong bell," and
proceeded up to the fifth floor. Here he rang the bell of the private
hall belonging to that special apartment. He could have rung the lower
bell of this apartment at the outset, but he wished to make it
impossible for anyone to leave after his signal announced visitors. He
stood several minutes and heard no sound from within. A second pull at
the bell produced no better results. Taking a firm hold of the
door-knob, he slowly turned it, making not the slightest noise. To his
surprise the door yielded when he pressed, and in a moment he had passed
in and closed it behind him. His first idea was, that after all he had
entered an empty apartment, but a glance into the room at the farther
end of the hall, showed him that it was a furnished parlor. He hesitated
a moment, then walked stealthily towards that room and looking in saw no
one. He tip-toed back to the hall-door, turned the key, took it from the
lock and dropped it into his pocket. Again he passed forward to the
parlor, this time entering it. It was elegantly and tastily furnished.
The windows opened on the street. Between them stood a cabinet
writing-desk, open, as though recently used. Beside it was an enamel
piano-lamp, possibly the same which had furnished the light which Wilson
had suddenly missed several hours before. Opposite the windows a pair of
folding glass doors communicated with an apartment beyond. These were
closed. Peeping through a part of the pattern cut in the glass, Mr.
Barnes could just distinguish the form of a woman in bed, her long hair
hanging down from the pillow. This sight made him uncertain as to the
next move. This was possibly Mrs. Rose Mitchel, as she had announced
herself. She was asleep, and he had entered her apartment without any
warrant for doing so. True he looked upon her with some suspicion, but
the most innocent frequently suffer in this way, and without better
reason than he had, he knew that he could not account legally for what
he was doing. As he stood by the glass doors cogitating, he chanced to
look down. Instantly his eye was attracted by that which made him
shiver, as accustomed as he was to strange sights. It was a tiny red
stream, which had managed to pass under the door and had then run along
the edge of the carpet for the space of a few inches. Instantly he
stooped, dipped his finger into it, and then ejaculated under his
breath:
"Blood, and clotted."
Standing upright, he once more peered into the room. The figure in bed
had not moved. Without further hesitation he slowly slid the doors
apart. One glance within, and murmuring the single word "Murder," Mr.
Barnes was no longer slow in his actions. Stepping across a big pool of
blood which stained the carpet, he stood at the side of the bed. He
recognized the features of the woman who had claimed that she had been
robbed of her diamonds. She seemed sleeping, save that there was an
expression of pain on the features, a contraction of the skin between
the eyebrows, and one corner of the mouth drawn aside, the whole kept in
this position by the rigidity of death. The manner of her death was as
simple as it was cruel. Her throat had been cut as she slept. This
seemed indicated by the fact that she was clad in her night-dress. One
thing that puzzled Mr. Barnes at once, was the pool of blood near the
door. It was fully six feet from the head of the bed, and whilst there
was another just by the bedstead, formed by blood which had trickled
from the wound, running down the sheets and so dropping to the floor,
the two pools did not communicate.
"Well," thought Mr. Barnes, "I am first on the scene this time, and no
busybodies shall tumble things about till I have studied their
significance."
This room had not been designed for a sleeping apartment but rather as a
dining-room, which, upon occasion, could be opened into the parlor,
converting the two into one. There was one window upon an air-shaft, and
in an angle was a handsome carved oak mantel with fireplace below. Mr.
Barnes raised the curtain over the window, letting in more light.
Looking around he noticed almost immediately two things: first, that a
basin stood on a washstand half filled with water, the color of which
plainly indicated that the murderer had washed off tell-tale marks
before taking his departure. Second, that in the fireplace was a pile of
ashes.
"The scoundrel has burned evidence against him, and deliberately washed
the blood from his person before going away. Let me see, what was it
that Mitchel said: 'I should have stopped to wash the stain from the
carpet whilst fresh, and also from the dog's mouth.' That is what he
told his friend he would do if bitten whilst committing a crime. In this
instance the 'stain on the carpet' was too much for him, but he washed
it from himself. Can it be that a man lives who, contemplating a deed of
this character, would make a wager that he would not be detected. Bah.
It is impossible." Thus thought Mr. Barnes as he studied the evidence
before him. He next turned to the woman's clothing which lay on a chair.
He rummaged through the pocket, but found nothing. In handling the
petticoat he noticed that a piece had been cut from the band. Examining
the other garments he soon saw that the same had been done to them all.
Like a flash an idea struck him. Going over to the bed he searched for
some mark on the garments which were on the corpse. He could find none
until he lifted the body up and turned it over, when he found that a
piece had been cut from the night-dress.
"That accounts for the blood by the door," thought Mr. Barnes. "He took
her out of the bed to get her nearer to the light, so that he could
find the initials marked on the clothing. Whilst she lay by the door the
blood flowed and accumulated. Then he put her back in bed so that he
would not need to step over her in walking about the room. What a
calculating villain. There is one significant fact here. Her name cannot
have been Rose Mitchel, or there would have been no reason for
destroying these marks, since she had given that name to several."
Mr. Barnes next brushed the charred ashes from the grate upon a
newspaper, and carried them to the window in the front room. His
examination satisfied him of two things; the murderer had burned the
bits of cloth cut from the various garments, and also a number of
letters. That the fellow was studiously careful was plain from the fact
that the burning had been thoroughly done; nothing had escaped the flame
save two buttons with a bit of cloth attached, and various corners of
envelopes. With disgust Mr. Barnes threw the ashes back where he had
found them.
Next he paid his attention to the cabinet desk which stood open. He
pulled out all the drawers, and peered into every nook and cranny, but
his search was fruitless. He found nothing but blank paper and
envelopes, and these of common kind.
Once more returning to the room where the corpse lay, he noticed a trunk
from which protruded a part of a garment. Raising the lid he found
everything within in a promiscuous pile. Evidently it had been hastily
searched and carelessly repacked. Mr. Barnes took each article out and
examined it closely. Everything upon which a name might have been
written showed a place where a piece had been cut out. "There must be
some good reason for hiding this woman's identity, or the scoundrel
would not have been so thorough in his work," thought Mr. Barnes. Just
then in replacing the clothing he heard a crinkling sound which
indicated that a bit of paper was in the pocket of the garment. Hastily
he withdrew it, and was delighted to observe writing. "A clue at last,"
he murmured, hurrying to the front-room window to read it. For what he
found see p. 44.
This was all, no name being signed. Mr. Barnes regretted this last fact,
but felt that he held a most important paper in his hand, since it
seemed to be corroborative of the woman's statement that she had lost a
lot of unset jewels. It was of great value to have so minute a
description of the stolen gems. Folding the paper carefully, he placed
it in his wallet, and then returned to the vicinity of the corpse.
Looking closely at the cut in the neck, the detective determined that
the assassin had used an ordinary pocket-knife, for the wound was
neither deep nor long. It severed the jugular vein, which seemed to have
been the aim of the murderer. It was from this circumstance that the
detective decided that the woman had been attacked as she slept. This
aroused the question "Did the murderer have the means of entering the
house without attracting attention? Either he must have had a night-key,
or else some one must have admitted him." Mr. Barnes started as the
thought recurred to him that Wilson had seen Mr. Mitchel enter the
house some time before the scream was heard, and depart some time after.
Was this the woman who had accompanied him to the theatre? If so, how
could she have retired and fallen to sleep so quickly? Evidently further
light must be thrown upon this aspect of the case.
[Illustration: List of Jewels.
One Diamond--15-1/4 carats-- $15,000
One Emerald--15-1/8 carats-- 15,000
One Ruby--15-3/8 carats-- 20,000
One Sapphire--10 carats-- 5,000
One Pearl--Pear shaped--white-- 15000
One Pearl--Pear shaped--Black--10,000
One Pearl--white--egg shaped-- 5,000
One Pearl--Black--egg shaped-- 5,000
One Canary Diamond---- 5,000
One Topaz--200 carats---- 5,000
--------
$100,000
The ten jewels are all perfect specimens of their kind. The first four
are cut exactly alike; the pear shaped pearls are similar in size and
shape, as are also the egg pearls. The Canary diamond is oblong, and the
Topaz unexcelled.
The lot are contained in a red Russia leather case, four by six inches
in size lined with black satin. Each jewel fits in a special depression
and is held in place by a gold wire clasp.
The case has the name "MITCHEL" in gold letters across the band which
straps around it.]
Whilst meditating, the detective's eye roamed about the room, and
finally rested upon a shining object which lay on the floor near the
trunk. A ray of light from the front window just reached it and made it
glitter. Mr. Barnes looked at it for some moments mechanically, stooping
presently to pick it up, with little thought of what he did. He had
scarcely examined it, however, before a gleam of triumph glistened in
his eye. He held in his hand a button, which was a cut cameo upon which
was carved the profile head of a woman, beneath which appeared the name
"Juliet."