DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.
Mr. Barnes, after discovering the cameo button, immediately left the
apartment. With little loss of time he reached the Fifth Avenue Hotel.
He found Wilson sitting in the lobby, and learned from him that Mr.
Mitchel had not yet come down-stairs. He made his subordinate happy, by
complimenting him upon his work, and exonerating him from blame because
of his having lost his man for a few hours the day before. With the
button in his pocket, Mr. Barnes found it easy to be good-natured. If
the truth were known, he was chuckling to himself. The thought which
proved such a fund of merriment was the idea that his man up-stairs had
proven himself just as human as ordinary criminals, since he had left
behind him the very tell-tale mark which he had boasted would not be
found after he had committed his crime. Externally, however, there was
no sign to show that Mr. Barnes was in any way excited. He calmly asked
at the desk for Mr. Mitchel, and sent up his card just as any ordinary
visitor might have done. In a few moments the hall-boy returned with the
curt message, "Come up."
Mr. Barnes was shown up one flight of stairs into a suite of two rooms
and a bath, overlooking Twenty-third Street. The room which he passed
into from the hall was fitted up like a bachelor's parlor. Comfortable
stuffed chairs and two sofas, a folding reading-chair, an upright piano
in mahogany case with handsome piano-lamp beside it, a carved
centre-table on which stood a reading-lamp, cigar case in bronze,
photo-albums, handsome pictures on the walls in gold frames, elegant
vases on the mantel, an onyx clock, a full-sized figure of a Moor carved
in wood serving as a card-receiver,--in fact everything about the place
was significant of wealth, luxury, and refinement. Could this be the den
of a murderer? It seemed not, unless there might be some powerful hidden
motive, which would make a man who was evidently a gentleman, stoop to
such a crime. According to Mr. Barnes's experience such a motive must
involve a woman. As yet there was no woman in this case, save the corpse
which he had just left. All this flashed through the detective's mind as
he noted his surroundings in a few swift glances. Then he heard a voice
from the next room say:
"Come in, Mr. Barnes: we must not stand upon ceremony with one another."
Mr. Barnes in answer to the invitation crossed into the adjoining room
and noticed at once that the sleeping apartment was as luxurious as the
parlor. Mr. Mitchel was standing in front of a mirror shaving himself,
being robed in a silk morning wrapper.
"Pardon this intrusion," began Mr. Barnes. "But you told me I might call
at any time, and----"
"No excuses necessary, except from me. But I must finish shaving, you
know. A man can't talk with lather on one side of his face."
"Certainly not. Don't hurry, I can wait."
"Thank you. Take a seat. You will find that armchair by the bed
comfortable. This is an odd hour to be making one's toilet but the fact
is I was out late last night."
"At the club, I suppose," said Mr. Barnes, wishing to see if Mr. Mitchel
would lie to him. In this he was disappointed, for the reply was:
"No, I went to the Casino. Lillian Russell you know has returned. I had
promised a friend to go, so we went."
"A gentleman?"
"Are you not getting inquisitive? No, not a gentleman, but a lady. In
fact, that is her picture on that easel."
Mr. Barnes looked, and saw an oil painting representing a marvellously
beautiful female head. A brunette of strong emotions and great will
power if her portrait were truthful. Here was a significant fact. Mr.
Mitchel said that he had been to the Casino with this woman. Wilson
claimed that they had gone to the house where the murdered woman lay. It
would seem that Mr. Mitchel's friend must live there, and thus he had
gained access the night before. Did he know that the other also lived
there, and did he go into her apartment after leaving his companion? As
this passed through Mr. Barnes's mind his eyes wandered across the bed.
He saw a waistcoat upon which he observed two buttons similar to the
one which he had secreted in his pocket. Stealthily he reached his hand
towards the bed, but his fingers had scarcely touched the waistcoat,
when Mr. Mitchel said, without turning from his shaving:
"There is no money in that waistcoat, Mr. Barnes."
"What do you mean to insinuate," said Mr. Barnes angrily, withdrawing
his hand quickly. Mr. Mitchel paused a moment before replying,
deliberately made one or two more sweeps with his razor, then turned and
faced the detective.
"I mean, Mr. Barnes, that you forgot that I was looking into a mirror."
"Your remark indicated that I meant to steal."
"Did it? I am sorry. But really you should not adopt a thief's stealthy
methods if you are so sensitive. When I invite a gentleman into my
private room, I do not expect to have him fingering my clothing whilst
my back is turned."
"Take care, Mr. Mitchel, you are speaking to a detective. If I did
stretch my hand towards your clothing it was with no wrong intent and
you know it."
"Certainly I do, and what is more I know just what you were wishing to
do. You must not get angered so easily. I should not have used the words
which I did, but to tell you the truth I was piqued."
"I don't understand."
"It hurt my feelings to have you treat me just like an ordinary
criminal. That you should think I would let you come in here and make
whatever examinations you have in your mind, right before my very eyes,
wounded my pride. I never should have turned my back upon you except
that I faced a mirror. I told you I know what you wished to do. It was
to examine the buttons on my vest, was it not?"
Mr. Barnes was staggered but did not show it. Calmly he said:
"As you know, I overheard your conversation on the train. You spoke of
having a set of five curious buttons and----"
"Pardon me, I said six, not five." Once more Mr. Barnes had failed to
trap the man. He suggested five, hoping that Mr. Mitchel might claim
that to have been the original number, thus eliminating the lost one.
"Of course, you did say six, now I remember," he continued, "and I think
you will admit it was not unnatural curiosity which led me to wish to
see them, that--that--well that I might recognize them again."
"A very laudable intent. But my dear Mr. Barnes, I have told you that
you may call upon me at any time, and ask me any questions you please.
Why did you not frankly ask me to show you the buttons?"
"I should have done so. I do so now."
"They are in the vest. You may examine them if you desire it."
Mr. Barnes took up the vest, and was puzzled to find six buttons, three
of Juliet and three of Romeo. Still he was satisfied, for they were
identical with the one in his pocket. It occurred to him that this man
who was so careful in his precautions, might have lied as to the number
in the set, and have said six when in reality there were seven. A few
questions about the buttons seemed opportune.
"These are very beautiful, Mr. Mitchel, and unique too. I have never
heard of cameo buttons before. I think you said they were made expressly
for you."
Mr. Mitchel dropped into a cushioned rocker before he replied:
"These buttons were made for me, and they are exquisite specimens of the
graver's art. Cameo buttons, however, are not so uncommon as you
suppose, though they are more usually worn by women, and, in fact, it
was a woman's idea to have these cut. I should not have----"
"By Jove!" said Mr. Barnes, "the Romeo buttons are copies from your
likeness, and good portraits too."
"Ah! You have noticed that, have you?"
"Yes, and the Juliets are copies of that picture." Mr. Barnes was
getting excited, for if these buttons were portraits, and the one in his
pocket was that of the woman whose likeness stood on the easel, it was
very evident that they were connected. Mr. Mitchel eyed him keenly.
"Mr. Barnes, you are disturbed. What is it?"
"I am not disturbed."
"You are, and it is the sight of those buttons which has caused it. Now
tell me your reason for coming here this morning."
Mr. Barnes thought the time had come to strike a deciding blow.
"Mr. Mitchel, first answer one question, and think well before you
reply. How many buttons were made for this set?"
"Seven," answered Mr. Mitchel, so promptly that Mr. Barnes could only
repeat, amazed:
"Seven? But you said six only a moment ago!"
"I know what I said. I never forget any statement that I make, and all
my statements are accurate. I said that six is the entire set. Now you
ask me what was the original number, and I reply seven. Is that clear?"
"Then the other button has been lost?"
"Not at all. I know where it is."
"Then what do you mean by saying that the set now is only six?"
"Excuse me, Mr. Barnes, if I decline to answer that question. I have
replied now to several since I asked you why you came here this
morning."
"I will tell you," said the detective, playing his trump card, as he
thought. "I have been examining the place where your crime was
committed, and I have found that seventh button!" If Mr. Barnes expected
Mr. Mitchel to recoil with fear, or tremble, or do anything that an
ordinary criminal does when brought face to face with evidence of his
guilt, he must have been disappointed. But it is safe to assume that by
this time so skillful a man as Mr. Barnes did not expect so consummate
an actor as Mr. Mitchel to betray feeling. He did show some interest,
however, for he arose from his chair and, walking up to Mr. Barnes, he
asked simply:
"Have you it with you? May I see it?"
Mr. Barnes hesitated a moment, wondering if he risked losing the button
by handing it to him. He decided to give it to him, and did so.
Mr. Mitchel looked at it closely, as though an expert, and after several
moments of silence, he tossed it carelessly into the air, catching it as
it came down, and then said:
"This would make a pretty situation in a play, Mr. Barnes. Follow me.
Detective discovers crime, and finds curious button. Goes straight to
criminal, and boldly tells him of the fact. Criminal admits that he has
but six buttons out of seven, and asks to see the button found.
Detective foolishly hands it to him. Then criminal smiles blandly, and
says: 'Mr. Detective, now I have seven buttons, and my set is complete
again. What are you going to do about it?'"
"And the detective would reply," said Mr. Barnes, falling into the humor
of the situation: "'Mr. Criminal, I will just take that back by force.'"
"Exactly. You catch the spirit of the stage picture. Then, fight between
two men, applause from the gallery, and victory for either party, as the
author has decided. That is the way it would be done in a play. But in
real life it is different. I simply hand you back your button, thus,"
handing button to Mr. Barnes, and bowing politely, and then remarked:
"Mr. Barnes, you are welcome to that. It is not a part of my set!"
"Not a part of your set?" echoed the detective, dumbfounded.
"Not a part of my set. I am sorry to disappoint you, but so it is. I
will even explain, for I sympathize with you. I told you the set was
originally seven. So it was, but the seventh button has the head of
Shakespeare on it. All seven were given to me by my friend, but as I
could wear but six, I returned to her this odd Shakespeare button, which
I had made into a breast-pin, and kept the others, thus reducing the set
of buttons to six. The seventh is no longer a button, you see."
"But how do you account for the fact that this button which I have is
plainly a portrait of your friend, and a counterpart to those on your
vest?"
"My dear Mr. Barnes, I don't account for it. I don't have to, you know.
That sort of thing is your business."
"What if I should decide to arrest you at once, and ask a jury to
determine whether your original set included this button or not?"
"That would be inconvenient to me, of course. But it is one of those
things that we risk every day. I mean arrest by some blundering
detective. Pardon me, do not get angry again; I do not allude to
yourself. I am quite sure that you are too shrewd to arrest me."
"And why so pray?"
"Because I am surely not going to run away in the first place, and
secondly you would gain nothing, since it would be so easy for me to
prove all that I have told you, and in your mind you are saying to
yourself that I have not lied to you. Really I have not."
"I have only one thing more to say to you, Mr. Mitchel," said Mr.
Barnes, rising. "Will you show me that seventh button, or breast-pin?"
"That is asking a great deal, but I will grant your request upon one
condition. Think well before you make the bargain. When I made that
wager I did not calculate the possibility of entangling in my scandal
the name of the woman whom I love dearest on earth. That is the portrait
of the woman who will soon become my wife. As I have said, she has the
other button and wears it constantly. You will gain nothing by seeing
it, for it will simply corroborate my word, which I think you believe
now. I will take you to her and she will tell you of these buttons, if
you promise me never to annoy her in any way in connection with this
affair."
"I will give you that promise cheerfully. I have no wish to annoy a
lady."
"That is for you to decide. Meet me in the lobby at noon precisely, and
I will take you to her house. And now will you excuse me whilst I
complete my toilet?"