MR. BARNES GOES SOUTH.
Mr. Barnes now began some researches into the past history of Mr.
Alphonse Thauret. Obtaining the date of his first registry at the
Hoffman House he found that to be about a month before the train robbery
occurred. Finding the expressman who had brought his baggage to the
hotel, it transpired that it had been taken from an English steamship,
yet the name Thauret did not appear upon the list of passengers. As it
was certain, however, that the man must have arrived by the ship, it was
evident that "Thauret" was an alias. Mr. Barnes copied the ship's list
for future reference. A search for the name Rose Mitchel was fruitless,
though extended to the passenger lists of all arriving steamers for two
months prior to the murder.
Believing that Mr. Thauret must have some communication with foreign
friends, and hoping to obtain some clue by the post-marks of any such
letters, Mr. Barnes arranged an espionage of the man's mail. But though
the hotel clerk reported to him daily for several weeks, there was not
one foreign letter. As to money, Mr. Thauret appeared to be well
supplied, paying his board-bills promptly with checks upon a neighboring
national bank, in which it was ascertained that he had deposited to his
credit several thousand dollars.
Thus after a long investigation, Mr. Barnes was chagrined to admit that
he had discovered nothing save that Mr. Thauret had come across the
ocean under an assumed name, and even this meagre knowledge was a mere
matter of inference.
Though baffled in this direction Mr. Barnes had been more successful in
another effort which he essayed. This was a line of investigation which
he inaugurated, hoping to discover the whereabouts of the child Rose
Mitchel, who was so skilfully kept in hiding. He had first instructed
Lucette as to the part she was to play, and that young woman, anxious
once more to stand well with her employer, had exerted herself to her
utmost, entirely succeeding in her mission. This was to obtain some of
the writing of the child. "Go to the house again," Mr. Barnes had
suggested, "and get into conversation with that same servant who met you
at the door on your first visit. Then in some manner obtain a specimen
of the child's writing. An old copy-book would be just the thing."
Lucette carried out these instructions to the letter, and by bribing the
servant girl at the school obtained exactly what the detective had
suggested, a copy-book in which little Rose Mitchel had practised
writing.
Armed with this, and selecting a specimen, which seemed best suited to
his purpose, Mr. Barnes next bribed the mail boy at the Fifth Avenue
Hotel to examine all letters addressed to Mr. Mitchel until he should
find one in the same hand. It was not until early in March that this
patient work resulted in success. Then one day the boy reported to Mr.
Barnes that the expected letter had at length arrived. The post-mark
indicated that it had been mailed at East Orange, New Jersey.
"So that is where the little bird is hidden," said Mr. Barnes to himself
when this information reached him. Summoning Lucette, he sent her to
East Orange with these instructions:
"Now, my girl, I'll give you another chance to redeem yourself. You are
to go to East Orange and find that child. The most promising plan is
through the post-office. I will give you a note to the postmaster that
will aid you. Should a letter be sent to the child either by Mitchel
himself or by Miss Remsen, you will learn of it through the postmaster.
The rest of course will be simple."
"But suppose," said Lucette, "that the child's letters are directed
under cover to the parties with whom she is living? What then?"
"Why, stupid, that is what I send you down there for. As the postmaster
is an acquaintance of mine, I could get the address, should it reach
him, without having you there. But that is only a faint hope. We know
that the child is in East Orange. East Orange has just so many houses.
You must examine every one if necessary. Now go, and if you don't find
the child, I have no further need of you. I give you this commission
partly as a chance to redeem your other mistake, and partly because you
have seen the child once and could recognize her."
"I'll find her," said Lucette, and she departed.
A week later Mr. Barnes was in New Orleans, where he devoted himself to
discovering, if possible, the early histories of Mr. Mitchel and the
murdered woman. Weeks passed and he made no progress.
One morning in the latter part of April he was feeling somewhat
despondent over his ill success, when, as he glanced listlessly through
the _Picayune_, the following paragraph caught his eye:
"Mr. Barnes, the celebrated New York detective, is in the city and
stopping at the St. Charles Hotel. It is believed that he is in search
of a desperate criminal, and probably the news-loving world will soon be
treated to one of the famous detective's clever elucidations of some
mysterious crime."
This both annoyed and puzzled Mr. Barnes. He had not told any one his
true name, and could not guess how the reporters had found out his
identity. Whilst he was thinking of it a card was brought to him which
bore the name
"RICHARD SEFTON."
He directed that the gentleman should be shown to his room, and soon
after a man of about thirty-five, with dark complexion, black hair, and
keen hazel eyes, entered, bowing politely and saying:
"This is Mr. Barnes, I believe."
"Be seated, Mr. Sefton," said Mr. Barnes, coldly, "and then tell me why
you believe me to be Mr. Barnes when I am registered as James Morton."
"I do not believe you to be Mr. Barnes," said the other, coolly seating
himself. "I was inaccurate in using that expression. I know that you are
Mr. Barnes."
"Oh! You do! And how, pray, do you know that I am Mr. Barnes?"
"Because it is my business to know people. I am a detective like
yourself. I have come to help you."
"You have come to help me! You are very kind I am sure. But since you
are so very clever, perhaps you would not mind telling me how you know
that I need help, and in what direction."
"With pleasure. You need help because, pardon my saying it, you are
working on a case in which time is precious to you, and you have already
wasted about six weeks. I say wasted, because you have learned nothing
that will aid you in your search."
"In my search for what?"
"Mr. Barnes, you are not over-cordial. There should be some fraternal
courtesy between us. I have come to you as a friend, honestly wishing to
aid you. I have known that you were in the city for some time. I have
heard of you of course. Who in our business has not? Therefore I have
spent a great deal of spare time watching you. I did so simply to
notice, and perhaps to learn something from, your methods. In this way I
became acquainted with the fact, first, that you are interested in the
name Mitchel, and secondly in the name Leroy. I have simply put the two
together and jumped to the conclusion that you are trying to learn
something about Leroy Mitchel. Am I right?"
"Before I reply to you, Mr. Sefton, I must have more assurance of your
good-will and responsibility. How do I know that you are a detective at
all?"
"Quite right! Here is my badge. I am in the department here."
"Very well so far, but now how can you prove that you have any good
reason for assisting me?"
"You are a hard man to help, I declare. Why, what object but a friendly
one can I have?"
"I am not prepared to answer that at present. Perhaps I shall be able to
do so later."
"Oh, very well! You can look me up all you want to. I can stand it, I
assure you. But really I did want to help, though of course I have no
right to intrude. As you say you do not need me, why I----"
"I did not say that I would not accept your aid. You must not think me
ungracious. I am simply a detective, and careful from habit. I certainly
should not speak confidentially to a man that I meet for the first time,
and so disclose any of my own purposes. But it is different with you.
You must have had a definite idea, by which you expect to give me
assistance, or you would not have come here. If you are earnest and
honest, I see no reason why you should not disclose the main purpose of
your visit at once."
"If only to prove my honesty, I will do so. I believe you are looking
for Leroy Mitchel. If so I can tell you how to find him in a few hours,
or at the worst in a day or two."
"You know of a Leroy Mitchel, who is now in this city?"
"I do. He is over in Algiers, a worker in one of the car houses. He is a
common drunken brute, and that is the only reason why there would be any
difficulty about finding him. When he is sober he is easy to see, but as
soon as he gets some money he is off on another spree."
"Do you know of a woman by the name of Rose Mitchel?"
"Certainly. That is, I did know such a woman once. But she has not been
in New Orleans for years. At one time any one could have given you her
address. I see now that this man is the one whom you want, for once he
passed as this woman's husband."
"You are sure of this?"
"Positive."
"When and where can I see this man?"
"He works in the shops of the Louisiana and Texas Railroad over in
Algiers. You can find him through the foreman."
"Mr. Sefton, it may be that you have given me information which will be
of service to me. If so you will not regret it. I will myself examine
into the matter. For the present, if I do not make a confident of you,
you must attribute it to caution rather than to distrust."
"Oh, I am not easily offended. I would act in the same manner in your
place. But you will find that I am your friend. You can count on me to
aid you on demand. I won't trouble you again till you send for me. A
note to head-quarters will reach me quickest. Good-morning."
"Good-morning, Mr. Sefton, and thank you." Mr. Barnes extended his hand,
feeling that perhaps he had been unnecessarily discourteous.
Mr. Sefton took it with that genial smile of friendship so common to the
native Southerner.
Left alone, Mr. Barnes at once prepared for a trip to Algiers,
determined not to let any more time be lost. He reached the shops just
after the men had knocked off for luncheon. The foreman, however, told
him that Leroy Mitchel had been at work in the morning, so he waited
patiently.
When the men came back to resume work, the foreman pointed out a man who
he said was Leroy Mitchel. The fellow had a bad face, and if ever he was
a gentleman he had sunk so low through drink that no evidence of it
remained in his appearance. Mr. Barnes went up to him and asked when he
could have a talk with him.
"Now, if you pay for it," replied the man insolently.
"What do you mean?" asked the detective.
"Just what I say," said the other. "We get our pay here by the hour, and
if you want my time why you'll have to pay for it at union rates," and
he laughed as though a good joke had been propounded.
"Then," said Mr. Barnes, taking in the kind of a man with whom he had
to deal, "I'll engage you on a job that I have for you, and pay you
double wages as long as I use you."
"Now you are talking," said the fellow. "Where'll we go?"
"I think I'll take you to my hotel." And thither they proceeded. Up in
his own room again, Mr. Barnes felt at ease, whilst his companion
certainly made himself comfortable, selecting a rocking-chair, and
putting his feet up on the window-sill.
"Now then," began Mr. Barnes, "I want to ask you a few questions. Are
you prepared to answer them?"
"That will depend on what they are. If you don't ask impertinent
questions, or ones that I think I ought to get more than double wages
for answering, why, I am with you."
"In the first place, then, are you willing to say whether you ever knew
a woman who called herself Rose Mitchel?"
"Well, rather. I lived with her till she broke me."
"Do you know where she is now?"
"I don't, and I don't care to."
"Suppose I were to tell you that she is dead, and that she had left a
hundred thousand dollars which is unclaimed?"
The man jumped to his feet as though shot, and stood staring at the
detective. He gave a long, low whistle, and a keen, tricky gleam came
into his eye, which Mr. Barnes noted. At length he spoke:
"Are you giving me this straight?"
"I am telling you the truth. The woman is dead, and that amount of
property is where I can get it for the man who can prove that he is
entitled to it."
"And who would that be?" He waited eagerly for the reply, and Mr. Barnes
saw that he was playing trump cards.
"Why, Mr. Mitchel, that is what I am down here for. You see, I thought
the party would be willing to pay me a good commission for proving him
the heir, and that is why I am hunting him up. I started out with the
idea that I might find her husband. He would have a claim."
"I see." Saying which, he sat down and seemed lost in thought. The
detective deemed it well to wait for him to speak again, which he did.
"See here," he exclaimed; "how much do you want for getting this money
for me?"
"I cannot get it at all unless you are the woman's husband," replied the
detective.
"Well I am her husband. Didn't I tell you I lived with her till she
broke me?"
"Yes, but are you legally married to her?"
"Why, to be sure. Don't I tell you I am her husband?"
"Then, in the name of the law, I arrest you," said Mr. Barnes, suddenly
rising and standing over the man.
"Arrest me," said the fellow, jumping up, pale with fright. "What for?"
"Rose Mitchel has been murdered, and the man who killed her has
confessed that he was hired to do it by you."
"He is a blasted liar."
"I hope so for your sake. But as you admit that you are her husband, you
are the man we are looking for. I'll have to take you to New York."
"But, I say," said the fellow, now thoroughly alarmed, "there is a big
mistake here. I've been lying to you; I'm not the woman's husband, and
my name is not Mitchel."
"That won't do, my man. I had you pointed out to me by Sefton, the
detective here."
"But he is the very man that hired me to pass off as Mitchel to you."
Mr. Barnes chuckled as he found his ruse successful. He had suspected
all along that the New Orleans detective was trying to lead him off on a
wrong scent, and now thought he saw a chance to turn the tables upon him
and get some valuable information.
"That is a very thin story," said he, "but if you will tell me all you
know, perhaps I may believe you."
"You bet I'll give you the whole story straight, to get out of this
scrape. In the first place, my name is Arthur Chambers. I was up in the
world once, had money, and was respectable. But drink changed all that.
Now anybody can buy me for a few dollars, and that is what Sefton did.
He came to me about a week ago, and told me that a detective was down
here from up north nosing around for this Mitchel. He said it was
important to an employer of his up in New York to have this detective
balked; that he was hired to do it, and to make him lose time; that
time, in some way, was an important item."
"You say," interrupted Mr. Barnes, "that Sefton told you he was hired by
some one in New York to throw me off the scent?"
"That's what he said," replied Chambers. Mr. Barnes easily guessed who
was employing Sefton, and once more he paid the tribute of admiration
for the caution and ingenious scheming of Mr. Mitchel.
"Go on," said the detective.
"There an't much more to tell. Sefton hired me to play off that I was
Mitchel, and he gave me a cock-and-bull yarn to feed you with about a
woman named Rose Mitchel."
"What was that story?"
"Say, look here," said Chambers, his confidence and cunning returning as
he felt himself out of danger of arrest, "you don't want that fairy
tale. You would rather have the true story, wouldn't you?"
"Certainly."
"Well, I'm an old-timer, I am. There an't much that's happened in the
Crescent that I couldn't remember, if I was paid for it."
"See here, my man, you are not dealing with Sefton now. You tell me what
I want to know, and if I find it is true, I'll pay you for it. But if
you play any tricks, I'll make it warm for you."
"That's all right. Suppose I begin by telling you that this Rose
Mitchel, that you say was murdered, was known down here chiefly as Rose
Montalbon. 'La Montalbon,' she was generally called."
"La Montalbon?" repeated Mr. Barnes. "Then, was she an actress?"
"Actress? Well, I guess she was, considerable. But not on the stage. No,
she kept a gambling-den on Royal Street. Fitted up like a palace too,
and many a young fool has lost his last dime in that house."
"But what about Mitchel? Do you know whether he was connected with her
in any way?"
"I can't give you that dead straight. There was some mystery there. I
used to go to the Royal Street place, and I knew Mitchel in a sort of
way. He was always hanging around there. Then there was a while that he
didn't show up, and then he turned up again and was introduced as La
Montalbon's husband. There was a story going that he had married another
girl and deserted her. A young Creole I think, though I never heard her
name."
"Did you know anything about a child, a girl?"
"That was another queer part of it. There was a girl, little Rosy. Some
said it was the Creole's, but La Montalbon always claimed it was hers."
"What became of Mitchel?"
"About a year after he passed as La Montalbon's husband he skipped
out--vanished. Several years after that there was another sensation. The
child was kidnapped. La Montalbon offered big rewards to recover her,
but she never did. Then about three years ago her place began to run
down; she lost money, and finally she too disappeared."
"If this story is true it may be quite important. Do you think you could
identify this man Mitchel?"
"Well, I don't know for certain. But see here, come to think of it,
there were two Mitchels, and both named Leroy too."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Pretty sure. They were cousins. The other fellow was younger. I didn't
know him myself. He was a Young-Men's-Christian-Association sort of a
boy, and not quite in my line. But I sort of remember hearing that he
was in love with the Creole girl. But say, I'll tell you who can give it
to you straight as a shingle."
"Ah, who is that?"
"An old man named Neuilly. He knew all about the Creole, and so must
know about the Mitchels. I think he was in La Montalbon's power. She
knew something about him and blackmailed him, as she did lots of others.
Now that she is dead, you might make him open his mouth."
"Very good. Get me his address, and then see what you can find out about
the other Leroy Mitchel, the good boy. Discover what became of him and
I'll pay you well. Meanwhile don't let Sefton know that you are not
carrying out his scheme."
"Say, pard, I tumble to you now. You suspected Sefton and you played
your cards to draw me out. Well, you did it neat, and now I'm with you.
Good-day. When I see you again I'll have some news for you."
The following day Mr. Barnes called at the bachelor home of Mr.
Neuilly. The handsome old man received him in stately fashion and
courteously asked the detective to explain his mission.
For a moment Mr. Barnes did not know how to proceed; he at last said:
"Mr. Neuilly, I have come to ask your aid in the cause of justice. I
have hesitated to do this, not wishing to disturb you. That I do so now
is due to the fact that every other resource has been tried and has
failed me."
"Proceed, sir," said the host, with a courteous bow.
"I am seeking certain information about a woman who was known as La
Montalbon, and----" An instantaneous change came over the face of Mr.
Neuilly. His hospitable smile of welcome vanished. He rose erect and
stiffly said:
"I know nothing of that woman, and must wish you a very good morning,"
with which he deliberately began to walk from the room. Mr. Barnes for a
moment was nonplussed, but saw that he must act quickly or lose all
chance of gaining any information from this man.
"One moment, Mr. Neuilly," he said; "you certainly would not refuse to
help me convict her murderer." As he expected, the last word brought him
back.
"Murderer? Did you mean to intimate that she has been murdered?" Saying
this he stopped for a second, and then slowly returned and sat down
again.
"Rose Montalbon was murdered in New York some months ago. I believe
that I am on the track of the guilty man. Will you aid me?"
"That depends upon circumstances. You say the woman is dead. That alters
my position in this matter very much. I had reasons, good ones to me,
for refusing to converse with you on this subject. But if the woman is
dead, the objections vanish." Mr. Barnes thought he understood. Here was
one of those who had been ruled by fear, as Chambers had said.
"What I want from you, Mr. Neuilly, is very simple. You either can or
you cannot give me the information that I wish. Did you know a man named
Leroy Mitchel who was at one time this woman's husband?"
"I knew him very well. He was a scoundrel of the deepest dye, for all
that he had the manners of the polished gentleman."
"Do you know what became of him?"
"No; he left this city suddenly and has never returned."
"Did you know little Rose Mitchel?"
"Many a time has she sat upon my knee. This man was her father. He
wronged one of the sweetest little girls that ever lived."
"You knew this girl? Knew her name?"
"I did."
"What was it?"
"That is a secret I have guarded for too many years to be willing to
yield it now to a stranger. You must show me good reasons for giving it
to you before I tell it."
"I will explain. This man Mitchel is now in New York. He is about to
marry a sweet, good woman. Yet I think that he murdered Rose Montalbon,
or Mitchel, to get her out of his way. I think that she was blackmailing
him. Besides, he has his child with him."
Mr. Neuilly started up and paced the room for some time, much agitated.
Finally he stopped and said:
"You say he has the child with him?"
"Yes. Here is her likeness." He handed Mr. Neuilly the photograph made
by Lucette.
Mr. Neuilly looked at it, muttered "very like! very like!" then remained
silent for some moments; finally he said:
"And you think he murdered this woman, Montalbon?"
"I do."
"It would be terrible to hang that child's father. What dishonor! What
dishonor! But Justice is Justice!" He seemed to be talking rather to
himself than to Mr. Barnes. Suddenly he turned and said:
"I cannot tell you the name for which you ask. But I will go with you to
New York, and if this story of yours is true, I will move heaven and
earth to see justice done. That villain must not ruin another young
life."
"Good," exclaimed the detective, delighted with the result of his visit.
"One more point, Mr. Neuilly. What do you know of the existence of
another Mr. Leroy Mitchel?"
"I never met him, though I knew of him. There was a mystery about that,
which I never could unravel. I think that he loved this same girl. At
any rate shortly after she died, he lost his reason, and is now in an
insane asylum. Of course he cannot help us."
Mr. Barnes, after arranging where to meet Mr. Neuilly, returned to the
St. Charles to make his own preparations for going north. Up in his room
he found Chambers awaiting him.
"Well," said the detective, "what have you learned?"
"Nothing that will please you, I am sorry to say. Only I have found the
other Mitchel. He is a lunatic, in an asylum out in the suburbs. But the
fellow up north is your man sure. This one, they say, went crazy because
his sweetheart gave him the mitten."
"Did you find out the woman's name?"
"I could not do that. It seems as carefully hidden as though it was a
state secret. That gives you an insight into what the Creole pride is."
"Very well. I think you have worked for me faithfully. Here is a hundred
dollar bill. Will that satisfy you?"
"Perfectly. I wish you luck."
An hour later a telegram was handed to Mr. Barnes, which read:
"Have found the child.
(Signed) Lucette."
In the afternoon Mr. Barnes started for New York accompanied by Mr.
Neuilly. That same night Mr. Robert Leroy Mitchel received a telegram
which read:
"Barnes off for New York. Has old Neuilly with him. If the last
named knows anything, you must be careful.
(Signed) SEFTON."
After reading this, Mr. Mitchel completed his toilet, used the despatch
to light a cigarette, and then took his _fiancee_ to the opera.