MR. MITCHEL EXPLAINS A FEW THINGS.
Immediately upon his arrival in New York, Mr. Barnes went to his office.
Here he was slightly surprised to find Lucette.
"Well," said he, tersely.
"I came here," said the girl, "so that I could report to you the minute
you got here. There is no time to lose."
"Why, what is up?"
"Your plan about my getting information from the East Orange post-office
did not work. The man said that though he would like to serve you, he
was afraid it might be construed into tampering with the mails. That you
would need an order from the Postmaster-General. I went to work then on
the other line, and began a systematic examination of every house in the
place. It was hard work, but at last I found the child. You don't want
details now, because she has been taken away again. Mitchel went down
yesterday and brought her to New York."
"Why did you not follow him and see where he took her?"
"I did, and this time I am sure he did not suspect that I was after him.
He took the child to the Remsens."
"To the Remsens? What can that mean?"
"I don't know. But Mitchel and Miss Remsen are to be married at St.
Patrick's Cathedral at ten o'clock this morning."
"Not if I can stop it," replied the detective, and he hastened up to the
church with the result told in the last chapter.
Promptly at two o'clock Mr. Barnes presented himself at the Fifth Avenue
Hotel accompanied by Mr. Neuilly. They were asked to go up to Mr.
Mitchel's apartments, and there they were greeted by that gentleman as
affably as though they had been of his wedding party. Indeed he began
the conversation in rather a jocular way, saying:
"Ah! Mr. Barnes, delighted that now I can entertain you more at my
leisure. This morning you see I was in a great hurry. You called at a
very inopportune time, and I am afraid that I was rather abrupt."
"Mr. Mitchel, I am not in the humor for nonsense. This is a very serious
visit, I assure you. This gentleman is Mr. Neuilly, of New Orleans, and
he has come all this distance to aid the cause of justice."
"Delighted to meet you, Mr. Neuilly, I am sure," said Mr. Mitchel,
approaching and extending his hand so cordially that the elder man took
it, though he had thought that he would rather handle hot coals than the
hand of the man who he supposed was guilty of wronging the daughter of
his old friend in the South. Mr. Mitchel did not seem to notice his
agitation, but begging them to be seated, he himself took a comfortable
chair and continued: "Now, Mr. Barnes, I am wondering if it is possible
that you have traced my wife's ruby as far away as New Orleans?"
"I have not been looking for it. I suppose you know why I wished to stop
your marriage?"
"Why, no; not precisely. What was your reason?"
"If you do not know it, why did you get married yesterday?"
"I might reply that it is often done, but I will be honest and tell you
that such a procedure never occurred to me till I heard that you were
coming home. Then, you see, I thought that you might take the idea into
your head--you do get odd notions, you must admit--that I ought not to
get married just now. I knew you well enough to believe that if you did
harbor a thought of that nature you would not hesitate to interfere. I
did you no injustice there, for that is just what you tried to do, you
see. Consequently, as I had set my heart on being married in the
Cathedral precisely at the time appointed, I just took the bull by the
horns and persuaded my little girl to marry me yesterday. That is my
story in full, I assure you. Now, what was your object?"
"You know it very well, and all this yarning is pure bluster. You know
well enough that I wanted to use Miss Emily Remsen as a witness against
you, and that I could not do so after she became Mrs. Mitchel."
"Oh! Well, yes; I admit that idea was in my mind, Mr. Barnes. And
now--what are you going to do about it?"
"In the first place I shall arrest you for abducting the child, who was
in the care of Rose Montalbon." Mr. Barnes expected some surprise from
his adversary but he was disappointed.
"Yes," said he, "and then?"
"Then I shall compel you, through the court, to reveal her present
hiding-place, and to produce her."
"I think you might have trouble to do that, were it not that I do not
object to it. In fact we will reverse your order of things and begin
with the production of the child. Emily!" In answer to his call, his
wife came into the room, bringing with her a beautiful girl. Her husband
arose, and taking the little one by the hand, coolly approached Mr.
Neuilly, and said, "Rose, this is Mr. Neuilly. He was a dear good friend
to your mother, and has come all the way from New Orleans to see you. I
think he would like to kiss you, would you not, Mr. Neuilly?"
That gentleman seemed much moved. To him the vision of loveliness
standing demurely before him, brought back the memory of the long ago.
She reminded him of another little girl whose growth into budding
womanhood he had watched tenderly, having in his youth loved her mother,
the grandparent of the child before him. His suit had not been
successful, and for love of that woman he had remained a bachelor all
his days. Now he could see changing expressions in this young face,
which reminded him of both of those women who had been dear to him.
Without a word, he drew her towards him, and kissed her once. Then he
arose, still holding her hand, and led her towards the door of the
next room; there he kissed her once more, this time on the forehead, and
then bade her wait, shutting the door after she left him. Then turning
with a fury in his heart, and repressed passion in his voice, he
exclaimed:
"Mr. Mitchel, either you are the most contemptible villain on the face
of this earth, or else there is some hideous mistake here. Explain it,
man, I must know at once!"
"Must, Mr. Neuilly, is a word that I seldom obey. But I know how you
have suffered, and have no desire to prolong this interview a moment
more than is absolutely necessary. First, however, I must understand the
situation. What do you and Mr. Barnes here think it to be?"
"I will explain briefly," said the detective, "provided your wife will
withdraw."
"My wife is now a part of myself," said Mr. Mitchel, proudly placing an
arm around her as she stood beside him. "You need not hesitate to speak.
She has promised to share my life with me, to take me as I am. She will
begin the task at once. Go on."
"So be it. I know now that Rose Mitchel, who was murdered, was known in
New Orleans as Rose Montalbon, and that she was your wife. I have also
discovered that you deceived a young Creole, the mother of that child
who has just left us. That when you deserted her, she died broken
hearted, whilst you allowed the Montalbon woman to take the girl and
pass it off as her own, though later she was kidnapped by you. The
woman suspected that you would wish to marry again, and swore to
prevent it. Her appearance upon the scene just as you were to become a
husband, must have been a menace to you. Do you see the point? Murders
have been committed with less motive. I think therefore that I have
sufficient evidence upon which to arrest you."
"You might arrest me upon less evidence," said Mr. Mitchel. "It is done
every day. But to convict me you would have to prove all this."
"How do you know that I cannot prove it?"
"For the very simple reason, that your facts are all wrong."
"Very good, Mr. Mitchel, but you will have to prove that."
"I am fully prepared to do so. To begin with, according to your story, I
abducted this child. There you are only partly right. I did take her
away from the Montalbon, and I did it as you might say, by stealth and
force. But I had the fullest right to do so."
"You admit then that you are her father?"
"On the contrary, I deny it, and there is the weak point in your story.
Your argument all depends upon my having been guilty of wronging that
girl's mother, and the Montalbon's having me in her power. In point of
fact, I am not her father, and the Montalbon had but a slim chance to
blackmail me."
"But you admitted to me that you allowed her to do so. That you gave her
a large amount, in jewels."
"That is true, yet I did not submit to blackmail."
"Mr. Mitchel I seldom forget a man's words. You told me that day in the
vaults that you were in the woman's power, that she could ventilate
certain scandals which might break your engagement. Yet now you say you
were not in her power and that you did not submit to blackmail. How can
you explain such conflicting statements?"
"Two conflicting statements may both be true, provided a lapse of time
occurs between them. When I admitted that I had been in the power of
that woman, I thought so, therefore I spoke the truth. When I say now
that I was not, I also speak truly. In the interval, I have learned to
appreciate the character of the woman who is now my wife. That is all. I
know now that the Montalbon's story blazoned forth to the world, would
not have affected her faith in me, if I had told her my own version."
"For heaven's sake, gentlemen," interrupted Mr. Neuilly, "stop this
argument, and get down to the facts. I am impatient to know the truth."
"Yes, Roy," said Emily, "why not simply tell the story as a narrative,
and let the whole truth be known?"
"That is what I mean to do. I have only been enjoying a little sparring
with Mr. Barnes. But it is cruel to Mr. Neuilly, who I hope will pardon
me. To begin at the beginning, I must go back to my youth in New
Orleans. I was in love with a beautiful young girl." Here he pressed his
wife's hand, and she returned it, as though to say that she understood.
"I think I need not mention the name of Rose's mother, Mr. Neuilly,
unless you have already done so."
"Heaven forbid that I should have betrayed the secret," said the old
man.
"I did not suppose that you had, for I know you to be a true man, though
I have never met you before. This statement may surprise you, but it is
true. I am not the man for whom you take me. He is now in a lunatic
asylum, whilst I am his cousin. I know it is supposed that I am the
crazy man, but that is an error, promulgated by the Montalbon to serve
her own ends. The facts then are thus: Whilst a boy at school I loved my
girl companion, little Rose's mother. Just before I left the South to
enter Harvard, I told my little girl sweetheart--she was then but
fifteen--that I would marry her upon my return. This was my first love,
and hers. I had a cousin, older than myself by ten years, handsome and
wealthy, but a gambler, and addicted to heavy drinking. This woman
Montalbon, as you know, kept a gambling den and naturally my unfortunate
cousin was a constant visitor at the house. One night whilst intoxicated
with wine, she persuaded him to marry her, a clergyman being called in
and a ceremony privately performed. He became entirely sober only after
several days had passed, and then had entirely forgotten about the
marriage. The scheming devil, Montalbon, did not remind him of it, but
by patient work insidiously persuaded him that he should be a married
man. She even suggested a bride, none other than my little sweetheart.
Her object in this was twofold, money and revenge. By leading my cousin
into a bigamous alliance, with her own marriage certificate as a weapon,
she could readily extort money from him. Her revenge was to be against
the family of my little sweetheart, against whom she thought she had a
grievance. Her plotting was entirely successful. My cousin was handsome,
I was away, and once he had become thoroughly acquainted with the young
Creole's charms, he became so ardent a suitor, that at length she
listened to his pleading and married him. Then he was in the power of
the Montalbon, and she bled him for five years, by which time little
Rose had been born.
"Meanwhile I had completed my college career, but had not returned to
New Orleans because of my deep disappointment upon learning that my
sweetheart had married another man. At this time I was in Paris, when
one day I received a piteous letter from the girl-wife telling me that
the blow had fallen, that the Montalbon had produced her marriage
certificate and claimed her husband, thus dishonoring the daughter of
her enemy. The letter also begged my forgiveness for the wrong done to
me. I read between the lines and recognized the cry of a broken heart,
the bleat of a lamb left to die on the frozen plain. I hurried home with
but one thought uppermost, to have revenge upon my cousin. I arrived too
late. Not only was the girl dead, but my cousin had disappeared.
"I heard that he had gone out West, and thither I followed him. I would
get track of him from time to time, but it seemed fated always that he
should have just left a place when I confidently expected to come up
with him. Thus five years passed, and at last I did meet him. I at once
charged him with his crime, and asked for revenge. He laughed at me and
refused to fight. I then warned him that I should take his life at the
first chance that offered, when I could do so either under seeming
provocation, or else where I could not be suspected."
"Are you not admitting," interrupted Mr. Barnes, "that you harbored a
murderous spirit?"
"Mr. Barnes, if all men were punished for their thoughts, the criminal
class would be greatly enlarged. You cannot call me to account for
anything except my acts. At last my chance came. I followed him one dark
night as he went off prospecting in an entirely new direction; we were
in a mining country. He tramped most of the night and I pursued. By dawn
we were miles away from a habitation. I then made myself known to him,
and once more asked him to fight it out. He saw that I was in earnest,
and that he was simply compelled to battle for his life. Under these
circumstances of course he fought, as the worst coward must do, when
driven to desperation. He decided to use pistols, though I wished to try
our cause with knives. I confess that I wanted the satisfaction of
stabbing him again and again. I wanted to see his life's blood flow at
each stroke. It seemed to me tame to stand off at a distance and send
one little leaden ball in his direction. Still I admitted his right of
choice, and determined to aim as accurately as possible and to send my
bullet straight. You see I did not think of my own life. I had made this
vengeance my one object, and after accomplishing that, I thought there
would be nothing more for me to do. Consequently I expected to kill him
easily, and I did not care if his bullet found my heart or not. Perhaps
I hoped it would. Just as we were standing up and preparing to fight,
something occurred that almost completely unnerved me and changed the
whole result. He lowered his pistol and said:
"'Wait a moment; I have a favor to ask. I feel certain that you will
kill me. You have been seeking my life so long, that I am sure you will
get it. It is fate. But I too have suffered in the last five years. The
favor that I ask is, that if I die you will promise to get my child out
of that fiend's clutches.'
"'Your child,' I gasped. 'I thought it died.'
"'That was the Montalbon's lie. The little girl lived, and she took it.
I have made a will in favor of my child, leaving her all my wealth; you
will find it in my coat. Oddly enough, I named you as executor. I knew
that you had loved the mother, though, as God is my judge, I did not
know it when I married her. But I am ready if you are.'
"Thus we stood up and fired at each other. The startling news just
received made my aim bad, for instead of hitting him in the heart, as I
could easily have done, my bullet struck him in the head. He fell, and I
rushed towards him, to discover whether he was badly hurt. He was
bleeding profusely, and I hastily bandaged up the wound, and so stopped
the flow of blood. I then went on to the next mining camp beyond. We
returned with a litter, and took him back. There was a man amongst us
who claimed that he had studied medicine, and he attended my cousin. He
removed the bullet, and found that the wound was not very deep, but the
skull was fractured. He was ill for two months, and then slowly
recovered his health. But his reason was entirely gone. I took him to
New Orleans and placed him in an asylum, and there he has been ever
since."
"Very good, Mr. Mitchel," said Mr. Barnes. "But what proof have you that
you are not the father, and the lunatic the innocent cousin, as so many
believe?"
"Why, in the first place, though we had the same name, we are totally
unlike in feature. I think Mr. Neuilly will admit that he would not have
recognized me, and he knew the guilty man. However, we will take that up
later. I have no fear of not proving my identity. Too many people in New
Orleans know me. To continue my tale, I determined to get possession of
the child. I knew that the Montalbon would resist, and that I would find
it difficult to prove my story. More than all, I knew that I could not
obtain legal possession of her without disclosing the secret of her
birth, which I wished to avoid for her own sake, as well as for her
mother's. I therefore stole her openly in the streets. Detectives were
sent out to search for me, but perhaps Mr. Barnes will testify that I am
not much afraid of detectives. Perhaps, too, he will understand better
now why I know something about detective methods. I led them a dance
for two years, until in disgust they abandoned the search. Then I went
abroad, for I must tell you that as long as I was hounded I remained
close at hand. I enjoyed the excitement. It made me forget, or at least
it gave me occupation. I remained in Europe until my recent return to
New York. It was not very long after that, when I received the letter
from the Montalbon, and the photograph which I showed to you. I
recognized the picture, though of course I should not have known the
signature, which was Rose Mitchel. I did not fear the woman, but I
expected some enjoyment at her discomfiture when I should tell her to do
her worst. I was not prepared for what occurred. When she met me she
began by saying:
"'I have not the least idea of attempting to blackmail you, though
perhaps I could do that. But I have that to sell which I think you would
be glad to buy.' I asked what it was, and she told me:
"'A certificate of marriage between your cousin and the child's mother.
A certificate of marriage between him and myself, antedating that, and
another certificate of marriage between myself and another man who was
alive at the time that I inveigled your cousin into marrying me.'"
"Great heaven!" exclaimed Mr. Neuilly; "if she had those papers they
would prove that her marriage to your cousin was illegal, and that would
make the marriage to Rose's mother perfectly regular."
"Exactly so. I paid the woman ten thousand dollars, or the equivalent
of that sum, for those documents. Were they not worth it?"
"Indeed, indeed they are. I would have given twice the sum."
"Now let me show you the audacity of the woman. She told me that in case
I should refuse to pay her price, she intended to claim me as her
husband, exhibiting her certificate, and leaving me to prove, if I
could, that she had married my cousin and not myself. This, you see,
would have been most unpleasant, and as the papers were well worth the
price, in clearing the name of my cousin and his wife and child, I paid
over the money."
"I must again ask you," said Mr. Barnes, "for proof that you are not the
woman's husband."
"Does not the fact that she sold me those papers indicate that?"
"Not at all," replied the detective. "Supposing you to be really her
husband, wishing to be married to Miss Remsen, you would readily pay the
woman her price for the paper which proved that your marriage to her had
been fraudulent. You might have found it difficult to prove the
existence of her first husband without knowing his name, even though she
had given you the hint that there was such a person."
"I declare, Mr. Barnes, you are a doubting Thomas. But I will give you
one more bit of evidence." He went to his desk and returned with some
papers. "Here is a confession which I exacted from the woman at the time
that I made the bargain with her. You see, it confirms my story. But
even _that_ you might think manufactured. Here perhaps is better proof.
This," handing it to Mr. Neuilly, "is the certificate of the marriage
between my cousin and the Montalbon. As is sometimes done, you see, the
woman has pasted the likenesses of herself and my cousin upon the paper.
Now, Mr. Neuilly, I ask you, is not that the man who was known to you?"
"You are quite right, Mr. Mitchel. I recognize the face perfectly. This
is the man I have all along supposed to be a consummate villain. Now I
must confess that he was more sinned against than sinning. His one crime
was drinking, and the entanglement which wrecked his wife's life and his
own was but a wicked plot of which he was innocent. I am glad that it is
so, as it leaves the dear little girl without the danger of hereditary
taint."
"Come, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel, "what have you to say now?"
Mr. Barnes's reply was calculated to startle his hearers, but seemed to
have little effect. He said:
"Mr. Mitchel, who do you think killed Rose Mitchel?"
"I don't think I am bound to answer," replied Mr. Mitchel, quickly.
"I wish you a good-afternoon," said the detective, dryly. "Will you go
with me, Mr. Neuilly?"
Before the old gentleman could reply Mrs. Mitchel interposed:
"Don't go, Mr. Neuilly. You have seen nothing of Rose yet, and besides
we would like you to attend our reception to-night."
"Ha! Ha! Mr. Barnes! Is she not worthy of being my wife? She takes your
witness away from you, for I think you will stay, will you not, Mr.
Neuilly?"
"It will be a joy to do so. Mr. Barnes, under the circumstances I know
you will excuse me, and forgive me, will you not?"
"Certainly. You are right to stay. I will leave you all to your
happiness. And I hope it will last. Good-day," with which he left them.
"Really it is too bad," said Mr. Mitchel, "but these detectives are
always so sanguine. Just think of it, Queen, he thinks, or he thought,
perhaps, would be more correct, that you were a murderer's wife. What do
you say, eh?"
For answer she kissed him gently on the forehead, and then went out and
brought back Rose.