CARNES TELLS HIS STORY.
The time came when Carnes told me the story of his New Orleans search.
As he related it to me then, let him relate it now:--
Arrived in New Orleans without trouble or delay, at three o'clock in the
afternoon. Registered at the "Hotel Honore," a small house near the
levees; giving my name as George Adams, sugar dealer, from St. Louis.
Then began a hunt among the theaters, and, before seven o'clock I had
found the place I wanted,--"The Little Adelphi," owned and managed by
"Storms & Brookhouse." It is a small theater, but new and neatly fitted
up, has a bar attached, and beer tables on the floor of the auditorium.
I made no effort to see Brookhouse, but went back to the "Honore," after
learning that money would open the door of the green room to any patron
of the theater.
After supper I refreshed my memory by a look at the pictures of the
missing young ladies, including that of Miss Amy Holmes, and then I set
out for the little Adelphi.
There was never an easier bit of work than this New Orleans business.
The curtain went up on a "Minstrel first part," and there, sitting next
to one of the "end men," was Mamie Rutger!
Her curly hair was stuck full of roses. She wore a very short pink satin
dress, and her little feet were conspicuous in white kid slippers. If
Miss Mamie was forcibly abducted, she has wasted no time in grieving
over it. If she has been in any manner deceived or deluded, she bears it
wonderfully well. She sang her ballad with evident enjoyment, and her
voice rang out in the choruses, clear and sweet. Her lips were wreathed
in smiles, her cheeks glowed, and her eyes sparkled. Occasionally she
turned her head to whisper to the blacked-up scamp who sat at her right
hand. Altogether she deported herself with the confidence of an old
_habitue_ of the stage. Evidently she had made herself popular with the
Little Adelphi audiences, and certainly she enjoyed her popularity.
After the first part, I watched the stage impatiently, it being too
early to venture into the green-room.
Mamie Rutger did not re-appear, but, after an hour, occupied
principally by "burnt cork artists," Miss Lotta Le Clair, "the song and
dance Queen," came tripping from the wings; and Miss Lotta Le Clair, in
a blue velvet coat and yellow satin nether garments, was none other than
Amy Holmes! She danced very well, and sang very ill; and I fancied that
she had tasted too often of the cheap wine dealt out behind the bar.
Very soon after her exit I made my way to the green-room, piloted by the
head waiter. I had, of course, gotten myself up for the occasion, and I
looked like a cross between a last year's fashionplate and a Bowery
blackleg.
It is always easy to make a variety actress talk, and those at the
Little Adelphi proved no exception. Two or three bottles of wine opened
the way to some knowledge.
By chatting promiscuously with several of the Adelphi belles, I learned
that Amy Holmes and Mamie Rutger, who, by the way, was "Rose
Deschappelles" on the bills, lived together. That Amy, who was not known
at the theater by that name, was "a hard one," and "old in the
business;" while "Rose" was a soft little prig who "wore her lover's
picture in a locket," and was "as true to him as steel." The girls all
united in voting Amy disagreeable, in spite of her superior wisdom; and
Mamie, "a real nice, jolly little thing," spite of her verdancy.
The fair Amy was then approached, and my real work began. I ordered, in
her honor, an extra brand of wine. I flattered her, I talked freely of
my wealth, and displayed my money recklessly. I became half intoxicated
in her society, and, through it all, bemoaned the fact that I could not
offer, for her quaffing, the sparkling champagne that was the only
fitting drink for such a goddess.
The Adelphi champagne _was_ detestable stuff, and Miss Amy was
_connoisseur_ enough to know it. She frankly confessed her fondness for
good champagne, and could tell me just where it was to be found.
The rest came as a matter of course. I proposed to give her a champagne
banquet; she accepted, and the programme was speedily arranged.
At eleven o'clock the next day, she would meet me at a convenient little
restaurant near the theater. I must come with a carriage. We would have
a drive, and, just outside the city, would come upon Louis Meniu's
Summer _cafe_. There we would find fine luscious fruits, rare wines,
everything choice and dainty.
Miss Amy, who seemed to possess all the luxurious tastes of a native
creole, arranged the programme, and we parted at the green-room door,
mutually satisfied, she anticipating a gala day, and I seeing before me
the disagreeable necessity of spoiling her frolic and depriving the
Little Adelphi, for a time at least, of one of its fairest attractions.
The course which I had resolved to pursue was not the one most to my
taste; but it was the simplest, shortest, and would accord best with the
instructions given me, viz., that no arrests must be made, nor anything
done to arouse the suspicions of Fred Brookhouse, and cause him to give
the alarm to his confederates in the North.
I had purposely held aloof from Mamie Rutger, feeling convinced that it
were best not to approach _her_ until a definite course of action had
been decided upon. Nor was I entirely certain that my scheme would
succeed. If Amy Holmes should prove a shade wiser, shrewder, and more
courageous, and a trifle less selfish and avaricious than I had judged
her to be, my plans might fail and, in that case, the girl might work me
much mischief.
I weighed the possibilities thoughtfully, and resolved to risk the
chances.
Accordingly, on the morning after my visit to the Little Adelphi, I sent
my first telegram, and made arrangements for putting my scheme into
execution.
The beginning of the programme was carried out, as planned by the young
lady.
We drove to the _cafe_, kept by Louis Meniu, and tested his champagne,
after which I began to execute my plans.
"Louis Meniu might be all very well," I said, "but there was no man in
New Orleans, so I had often been told by Northern travelers, who could
serve such a dinner as did the _chef_ at the P---- Hotel. Should we
drive to this house and there eat the best dinner to be served in the
city?"
The prospect of dining at a swell hotel pleased the young lady. She gave
instant consent to the plan, and we turned back to the city and the
P---- Hotel.
Here we were soon installed in a handsome private parlor, and, after I
had paused a few moments in the office, to register, "Geo. Adams and
sister, St. Louis, Mo.," I closed the door upon servants and intruders,
and the engagement commenced.
Having first locked the door and put the key in my pocket, I approached
Miss Amy, who stood before a mirror, carelessly arranging a yellow rose
in her black frisettes. Dropping my swaggering, half-maudlin,
wholly-admiring tone and manner, I said, quietly:
"Now, Miss Amy Holmes, if you will sit down opposite me, we will talk
things over."
She started violently, and turned toward me with a stare of surprise, in
which, however, I could observe no fear. The name had caused her
astonishment. I had been careful to address her by her stage name, or
rather the one she chose to use at the theater. I hardly suppose her
real name to be Holmes,--probably it is Smith or Jones instead.
She let the hand holding the rose drop at her side, but did not loosen
her grasp of the flower.
"Look here," she exclaimed, sharply. "Where did you pick up that name?
and what kind of a game are you giving me, anyhow?"
After the surprise occasioned by the utterance of her discarded name, my
altered tone and manner had next impressed her.
"I got that name where I got several others, Miss Amy, and the game I am
playing is one that is bound to win."
She sat down upon the nearest chair, and stared mutely.
"How would you like to go back to Amora, Miss Holmes? Or to Groveland
and the widow Ballou's?"
She sprang up with her eyes flashing, and made a sudden dash for the
door. Of course it resisted her effort to open it.
"Open that door," she said, turning upon me a look of angry defiance.
"You are either a fool or a meddler. Open the door!"
[Illustration: "Open that door," she said, turning upon me a look of
angry defiance.--page 358.]
I laid one hand somewhat heavily upon her shoulder, and led her back to
the seat she had just vacated.
"Possibly I may be both fool and meddler," I replied, in a tone so stern
that it seemed to arrest her attention, and impress her with the fact
that I was neither trifling nor to be trifled with. "But I am something
else, and I know more of you, my young lady, and of your past career,
than you would care to have me know. Perhaps you may never have heard of
Michael Carnes, the detective, but there are others who have made his
acquaintance."
Now, all this was random firing, but I acted on the knowledge that
nine-tenths of the women who are professional adventuresses have, in
their past, something either criminal or disgraceful to conceal, and on
the possibility that Miss Amy Holmes might not belong to the exceptional
few.
The shot told. I saw it in the sudden blanching of her cheek, in the
startled look that met mine for just an instant. If there were nothing
else to conceal, I think she would have defied me and flouted at my
efforts to extract information on the subject of the Groveland mystery.
But I had touched at a more vulnerable point. If I could now convince
her that I knew her past career, the rest would be easy.
It was a delicate undertaking. I might say too much, or too little, but
I must press the advantage I had gained. Her attention was secured. Her
curiosity was aroused. There was a shade of anxiety on her face.
Drawing a chair opposite her, and seating myself therein, I fixed my
eyes upon her face, and addressed her in a tone half stern, half
confidential:
"You are a plucky girl," I began, "and I admire you for that; and when I
tell you that I have followed you, or tracked you, from the North,
through Amora, through Groveland, down to the Little Adelphi, you will
perhaps conjecture that I do not intend to be balked or evaded, even by
so smart a little lady as you have proved yourself. I bear you no
personal ill-will, and I much dislike to persecute a woman even when she
has been guilty of"----
I paused; she made a restless movement, and a look of pain flitted
across her face.
"Perhaps we may be able to avoid details," I said, slowly. "I will let
you decide that."
"How?" with a gasp of relief or surprise, I could hardly guess which.
"Listen. Some time ago two girls disappeared from a little northern
community, and I was one of the detectives employed to find them. I need
not go into details, since you know so much about the case. In the
course of the investigation, we inquired pretty closely into the
character of the company kept by those two young ladies, and learned
that a Miss Amy Holmes had been a schoolmate of the missing girls.
Afterward, this same Amy Holmes and a Miss Grace Ballou made an attempt
to escape from the Ballou farm house. The scheme was in part frustrated,
but Amy Holmes escaped. Mrs. Ballou furnished us with a photo of Miss
Amy Holmes, and when I saw it _I knew it_!"
"Ah!"
This time it was an interjection of unmistakable terror. It gave me my
cue.
"I knew it for the picture of a young woman who had--committed--a crime;
a young woman who would be well received at police headquarters, and I
said to myself I will _now_ find this young person who calls herself Amy
Holmes."
A look of sullen resolution was settling upon her face. She sat before
me with her eyes fixed upon the carpet and her lips tightly closed.
"I have found her," I continued, mercilessly. "And now--shall I take you
back with me, a prisoner, and hand you over to the officers of the law,
or will you answer truthfully such questions as I shall put to you, and
go away from this house a free woman?"
She was so absorbed by her own terror, or so overshadowed by some ghost
of the past, that she seemed to take no note of my interest in the
Groveland business, except as it had been an incidental aid in hunting
her down.
"Do you think I would trust you?" she said, with a last effort at
defiance. "You want to make me testify against myself."
"You mistake, or you do not understand. I am at present working in the
interest of the Groveland case. My discovery of you was an accident, and
my knowledge concerning you I am using as a means toward the elucidation
of the mystery surrounding the movements of Mamie Rutger and Nellie
Ewing. Mamie Rutger I saw last night at the Little Adelphi. Nellie Ewing
is no doubt within reach. I might find them both without your
assistance. It would only require a little more time and a little more
trouble; but time just now is precious. I have other business which
demands my attention at the North. Therefore, I say, tell me all that
you know concerning these two girls--_all_, mind. If you omit one
necessary detail, if you fabricate in one particular, I shall know it.
Answer all my questions truthfully. I shall only ask such as concern
your knowledge or connection with this Groveland affair. If you do this,
you have nothing to fear from me. If you refuse--you are my _prisoner_.
You comprehend me?"
She eyed me skeptically.
"How do I know that you will let me go, after all?" she said.
"You have my promise, and I am a man of my word. You are a woman, and I
don't want to arrest you. If you were a man, I should not offer you a
chance for escape. Do as I wish and you are free, and if you need
assistance you shall have it. You must choose at once; time presses."
She hesitated a moment, and then said:
"I may as well tell you about the girls, as you seem to know so much,
and--I can't be arrested for that."
"Very well! Tell your story, then, truly and without omissions."