Mr. Barnes was sitting in his private room, with nothing of special
importance to occupy his thoughts, when his office boy announced a
visitor.
"What name?" asked Mr. Barnes.
"None," was the reply.
"You mean," said the detective, "that the man did not give you his name.
He must have one, of course. Show him in."
A minute later the stranger entered, and, bowing courteously, began the
conversation at once.
"Mr. Barnes, the famous detective, I believe?" said he.
"My name is Barnes," replied the detective. "May I have the pleasure of
knowing yours?"
"I sincerely hope so," continued the stranger. "The fact is, I suppose I
have forgotten it."
"Forgotten your name?" Mr. Barnes scented an interesting case, and
became doubly attentive.
"Yes," said the visitor; "that is precisely my singular predicament. I
seem to have lost my identity. That is the object of my call. I wish you
to discover who I am. As I am evidently a full-grown man, I can
certainly claim that I have a past history, but to me that past is
entirely blank. I awoke this morning in this condition, yet apparently
in possession of all my faculties, so much so, that I at once saw the
advisability of consulting a first-class detective, and, upon inquiry, I
was directed to you."
"Your case is most interesting--from my point of view, I mean. To you,
of course, it must seem unfortunate. Yet it is not unparalleled. There
have been many such cases recorded, and, for your temporary relief, I
may say that, sooner or later, complete restoration of memory usually
occurs. But now, let us try to unravel your mystery as soon as possible,
that you may suffer as little inconvenience as there need be. I would
like to ask you a few questions."
"As many as you like, and I will do my best to answer."
"Do you think that you are a New Yorker?"
"I have not the least idea whether I am or not."
"You say you were advised to consult me. By whom?"
"The clerk at the Waldorf Hotel, where I slept last night."
"Then, of course, he gave you my address. Did you find it necessary to
ask him how to find my offices?"
"Well, no, I did not. That seems strange, does it not? I certainly had
no difficulty in coming here. I suppose that must be a significant fact,
Mr. Barnes?"
"It tends to show that you have been familiar with New York, but we must
still find out whether you live here or not. How did you register at the
hotel?"
"M. J. G. Remington, City."
"You are quite sure that Remington is not your name?"
"Quite sure. After breakfast this morning I was passing through the
lobby when the clerk called me twice by that name. Finally, one of the
hall-boys touched me on the shoulder and explained that I was wanted at
the desk. I was very much confused to find myself called 'Mr.
Remington,' a name which certainly is not my own. Before I fully
realized my position, I said to the clerk, 'Why do you call me
Remington?' and he replied, 'Because you registered under that name.' I
tried to pass it off, but I am sure that the clerk looks upon me as a
suspicious character."
"What baggage have you with you at the hotel?"
"None. Not even a satchel."
"May there not be something in your pockets that would help us; letters,
for example?"
"I am sorry to say that I have made a search in that direction, but
found nothing. Luckily I did have a pocketbook, though."
"Much money in it?"
"In the neighborhood of five hundred dollars."
Mr. Barnes turned to his table and made a few notes on a pad of paper.
While so engaged his visitor took out a fine gold watch, and, after a
glance at the face, was about to return it to his pocket, when Mr.
Barnes wheeled around in his chair, and said:
"That is a handsome watch you have there. Of a curious pattern, too. I
am rather interested in old watches."
The stranger seemed confused for an instant, and quickly put up his
watch, saying:
"There is nothing remarkable about it. Merely an old family relic. I
value it more for that than anything else. But about my case, Mr.
Barnes; how long do you think it will take to restore my identity to me?
It is rather awkward to go about under a false name."
"I should think so," said the detective. "I will do my best for you, but
you have given me absolutely no clue to work upon, so that it is
impossible to say what my success will be. Still I think forty-eight
hours should suffice. At least in that time I ought to make some
discoveries for you. Suppose you call again on the day after to-morrow,
at noon precisely. Will that suit you?"
"Very well, indeed. If you can tell me who I am at that time I shall be
more than convinced that you are a great detective, as I have been
told."
He arose and prepared to go, and upon the instant Mr. Barnes touched a
button under his table with his foot, which caused a bell to ring in a
distant part of the building, no sound of which penetrated the private
office. Thus any one could visit Mr. Barnes in his den, and might leave,
unsuspicious of the fact that a spy would be awaiting him out in the
street who would shadow him persistently day and night until recalled by
his chief. After giving the signal, Mr. Barnes held his strange visitor
in conversation a few moments longer to allow his spy opportunity to get
to his post.
"How will you pass the time away, Mr. Remington?" said he. "We may as
well call you by that name, until I find your true one."
"Yes, I suppose so. As to what I shall do during the next forty-eight
hours, why, I think I may as well devote myself to seeing the sights. It
is a remarkably pleasant day for a stroll, and I think I will visit your
beautiful Central Park."
"A capital idea. By all means, I would advise occupation of that kind.
It would be best not to do any business until your memory is restored to
you."
"Business? Why, of course, I can do no business."
"No. If you were to order any goods, for example, under the name of
Remington, later on when you resume your proper identity you might be
arrested as an impostor."
"By George! I had not thought of that. My position is more serious than
I had realized. I thank you for the warning. Sight-seeing will assuredly
be my safest plan for the next two days."
"I think so. Call at the time agreed upon, and hope for the best. If I
should need you before then, I will send to your hotel."
Then, saying "Good morning," Mr. Barnes turned to his desk again, and,
as the stranger looked at him before stepping out of the room, the
detective seemed engrossed with some papers before him. Yet scarcely had
the door closed upon the retreating form of his recent visitor, when Mr.
Barnes looked up, with an air of expectancy. A moment later a very tiny
bell in a drawer of his desk rang, indicating that the man had left the
building, the signal having been sent to him by one of his employees,
whose business it was to watch all departures and notify his chief. A
few moments later Mr. Barnes himself emerged, clad in an entirely
different suit of clothing, and with such alteration in the color of his
hair that more than a casual glance would have been required to
recognize him.
When he reached the street the stranger was nowhere in sight, but Mr.
Barnes went to a doorway opposite, and there he found, written in blue
pencil, the word "up," whereupon he walked rapidly uptown as far as the
next corner, where once more he examined a door-post, upon which he
found the word "right," which indicated the way the men ahead of him had
turned. Beyond this he could expect no signals, for the spy shadowing
the stranger did not know positively that his chief would take part in
the game. The two signals which he had written on the doors were merely
a part of a routine, and intended to aid Mr. Barnes should he follow;
but if he did so, he would be expected to be in sight of the spy by the
time the second signal was reached. And so it proved in this instance,
for as Mr. Barnes turned the corner to the right, he easily discerned
his man about two blocks ahead, and presently was near enough to see
"Remington" also.
The pursuit continued until Mr. Barnes was surprised to see him enter
the Park, thus carrying out his intention as stated in his interview
with the detective. Entering at the Fifth Avenue gate he made his way
towards the menagerie, and here a curious incident occurred. The
stranger had mingled with the crowd in the monkey-house, and was
enjoying the antics of the mischievous little animals, when Mr. Barnes,
getting close behind him, deftly removed a pocket-handkerchief from the
tail of his coat and swiftly transferred it to his own.
On the day following, shortly before noon, Mr. Barnes walked quickly
into the reading-room of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. In one corner there is
a handsome mahogany cabinet, containing three compartments, each of
which is entered through double doors, having glass panels in the upper
half. About these panels are draped yellow silk curtains, and in the
centre of each appears a white porcelain numeral. These compartments are
used as public telephone stations, the applicant being shut in, so as to
be free from the noise of the outer room.
Mr. Barnes spoke to the girl in charge, and then passed into the
compartment numbered "2." Less than five minutes later Mr. Leroy Mitchel
came into the reading-room. His keen eyes peered about him, scanning
the countenances of those busy with the papers or writing, and then he
gave the telephone girl a number, and went into the compartment numbered
"1." About ten minutes elapsed before Mr. Mitchel came out again, and,
having paid the toll, he left the hotel. When Mr. Barnes emerged, there
was an expression of extreme satisfaction upon his face. Without
lingering, he also went out. But instead of following Mr. Mitchel
through the main lobby to Broadway, he crossed the reading-room and
reached Twenty-third Street through the side door. Thence he proceeded
to the station of the elevated railroad, and went uptown. Twenty minutes
later he was ringing the bell of Mr. Mitchel's residence. The "buttons"
who answered his summons informed him that his master was not at home.
"He usually comes in to luncheon, however, does he not?" asked the
detective.
"Yes, sir," responded the boy.
"Is Mrs. Mitchel at home?"
"No, sir."
"Miss Rose?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ah; then I'll wait. Take my card to her."
Mr. Barnes passed into the luxurious drawing-room, and was soon joined
by Rose, Mr. Mitchel's adopted daughter.
"I am sorry papa is not at home, Mr. Barnes," said the little lady, "but
he will surely be in to luncheon, if you will wait."
"Yes, thank you, I think I will. It is quite a trip up, and, being here,
I may as well wait a while and see your father, though the matter is not
of any great importance."
"Some interesting case, Mr. Barnes? If so, do tell me about it. You know
I am almost as interested in your cases as papa is."
"Yes, I know you are, and my vanity is flattered. But I am sorry to say
that I have nothing on hand at present worth relating. My errand is a
very simple one. Your father was saying, a few days ago, that he was
thinking of buying a bicycle, and yesterday, by accident, I came across
a machine of an entirely new make, which seems to me superior to
anything yet produced. I thought he might be interested to see it,
before deciding what kind to buy."
"I am afraid you are too late, Mr. Barnes. Papa has bought a bicycle
already."
"Indeed! What style did he choose?"
"I really do not know, but it is down in the lower hall, if you care to
look at it."
"It is hardly worth while, Miss Rose. After all, I have no interest in
the new model, and if your father has found something that he likes, I
won't even mention the other to him. It might only make him regret his
bargain. Still, on second thoughts, I will go down with you, if you will
take me into the dining-room and show me the head of that moose which
your father has been bragging about killing. I believe it has come back
from the taxidermist's?"
"Oh, yes. He is just a monster. Come on."
They went down to the dining-room, and Mr. Barnes expressed great
admiration for the moose's head, and praised Mr. Mitchel's skill as a
marksman. But he had taken a moment to scrutinize the bicycle which
stood in the hallway, while Rose was opening the blinds in the
dining-room. Then they returned to the drawing-room, and after a little
more conversation Mr. Barnes departed, saying that he could not wait any
longer, but he charged Rose to tell her father that he particularly
desired him to call at noon on the following day.
Promptly at the time appointed, "Remington" walked into the office of
Mr. Barnes, and was announced. The detective was in his private room.
Mr. Leroy Mitchel had been admitted but a few moments before.
"Ask Mr. Remington in," said Mr. Barnes to his boy, and when that
gentleman entered, before he could show surprise at finding a third
party present, the detective said:
"Mr. Mitchel, this is the gentleman whom I wish you to meet. Permit me
to introduce to you Mr. Mortimer J. Goldie, better known to the sporting
fraternity as G. J. Mortimer, the champion short-distance bicycle rider,
who recently rode a mile in the phenomenal time of 1.36, on a three-lap
track."
As Mr. Barnes spoke, he gazed from one to the other of his companions,
with a half-quizzical and wholly pleased expression on his face. Mr.
Mitchel appeared much interested, but the newcomer was evidently
greatly astonished. He looked blankly at Mr. Barnes a moment, then
dropped into a chair with the query:
"How in the name of conscience did you find that out?"
"That much was not very difficult," replied the detective. "I can tell
you much more; indeed, I can supply your whole past history, provided
your memory has been sufficiently restored for you to recognize my facts
as true."
Mr. Barnes looked at Mr. Mitchel, and winked one eye in a most
suggestive manner, at which that gentleman burst out into hearty
laughter, finally saying:
"We may as well admit that we are beaten, Goldie. Mr. Barnes has been
too much for us."
"But I want to know how he has done it," persisted Mr. Goldie.
"I have no doubt that Mr. Barnes will gratify you. Indeed, I am as
curious as you are to know by what means he has arrived at his quick
solution of the problem which we set for him."
"I will enlighten you as to detective methods with pleasure," said Mr.
Barnes. "Let me begin with the visit made to me by this gentleman two
days ago. At the very outset his statement aroused my suspicion, though
I did my best not to let him think so. He announced to me that he had
lost his identity, and I promptly told him that his case was not
uncommon. I said that in order that he might feel sure that I did not
doubt his tale. But truly, his case, if he was telling the truth, was
absolutely unique. Men have lost recollection of their past, and even
have forgotten their names. But I have never before heard of a man who
had forgotten his name, _and at the same time knew that he had done
so_."
"A capital point, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel. "You were certainly
shrewd to suspect fraud so early."
"Well, I cannot say that I suspected fraud so soon, but the story was so
improbable that I could not believe it immediately. I therefore was what
I might call 'analytically attentive' during the rest of the interview.
The next point worth noting which came out was that, although he had
forgotten himself, he had not forgotten New York, for he admitted having
come to me without special guidance."
"I remember that," interrupted Mr. Goldie, "and I think I even said to
you at the time that it was significant."
"And I told you that it at least showed that you had been familiar with
New York. This was better proven when you said that you would spend the
day at Central Park, and when, after leaving here, you had no difficulty
in finding your way thither."
"Do you mean to say that you had me followed? I made sure that no one
was after me."
"Well, yes, you were followed," said Mr. Barnes, with a smile. "I had a
spy after you, and I followed you as far as the Park myself. But let me
come to the other points in your interview and my deductions. You told
me that you had registered as 'M. J. G. Remington.' This helped me
considerably, as we shall see presently. A few minutes later you took
out your watch, and in that little mirror over my desk, which I use
occasionally when I turn my back upon a visitor, I noted that there was
an inscription on the outside of the case. I turned and asked you
something about the watch, when you hastily returned it to your pocket,
with the remark that it was 'an old family relic.' Now can you explain
how you could have known that, supposing that you had forgotten who you
were?"
"Neatly caught, Goldie," laughed Mr. Mitchel. "You certainly made a mess
of it there."
"It was an asinine slip," said Mr. Goldie, laughing also.
"Now, then," continued Mr. Barnes, "you readily see that I had good
reason for believing that you had not forgotten your name. On the
contrary, I was positive that your name was a part of the inscription on
the watch. What, then, could be your purpose in pretending otherwise? I
did not discover that for some time. However, I decided to go ahead, and
find you out if I could. Next I noted two things. Your coat opened once,
so that I saw, pinned to your vest, a bicycle badge, which I recognized
as the emblem of the League of American Wheelmen."
"Oh! Oh!" cried Mr. Mitchel. "Shame on you, Goldie, for a blunderer."
"I had entirely forgotten the badge," said Mr. Goldie.
"I also observed," the detective went on, "little indentations on the
sole of your shoe, as you had your legs crossed, which satisfied me that
you were a rider even before I observed the badge. Now then, we come to
the name, and the significance thereof. Had you really lost your memory,
the choosing of a name when you registered at a hotel would have been a
haphazard matter of no importance to me. But as soon as I decided that
you were imposing upon me, I knew that your choice of a name had been a
deliberate act of the mind; one from which deductions could be drawn."
"Ah; now we come to the interesting part," said Mr. Mitchel. "I love to
follow a detective when he uses his brains."
"The name as registered, and I examined the registry to make sure, was
odd. Three initials are unusual. A man without memory, and therefore not
quite sound mentally, would hardly have chosen so many. Then why had it
been done in this instance? What more natural than that these initials
represented the true name? In assuming an alias, it is the most common
method to transpose the real name in some way. At least it was a working
hypothesis. Then the last name might be very significant. 'Remington.'
The Remingtons make guns, sewing-machines, typewriters, and bicycles.
Now, this man was a bicycle rider, I was sure. If he chose his own
initials as a part of the alias, it was possible that he selected
'Remington' because it was familiar to him. I even imagined that he
might be an agent for Remington bicycles, and I had arrived at that
point during our interview, when I advised him not to buy anything until
his identity was restored. But I was sure of my quarry when I stole a
handkerchief from him at the park, and found the initials 'M. J. G.'
upon the same."
"Marked linen on your person!" exclaimed Mr. Mitchel. "Worse and worse!
We'll never make a successful criminal of you, Goldie."
"Perhaps not. I shan't cry over it."
"I felt sure of my success by this time," continued Mr. Barnes, "yet at
the very next step I was balked. I looked over a list of L. A. W.
members and could not find a name to fit my initials, which shows, as
you will see presently, that, as I may say, 'too many clues spoil the
broth.' Without the handkerchief I would have done better. Next I
secured a catalogue of the Remingtons, which gave a list of their
authorized agents, and again I failed. Returning to my office I received
information from my spy, sent in by messenger, which promised to open a
way for me. He had followed you about, Mr. Goldie, and I must say you
played your part very well, so far as avoiding acquaintances is
concerned. But at last you went to a public telephone, and called up
some one. My man saw the importance of discovering to whom you had
spoken, and bribed the telephone attendant to give him the information.
All that he learned, however, was that you had spoken to the public
station at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. My spy thought that this was
inconsequent, but it proved to me at once that there was collusion, and
that your man must have been at the other station by previous
appointment. As that was at noon, a few minutes before the same hour on
the following day, that is to say, yesterday, I went to the Fifth Avenue
Hotel telephone and secreted myself in the middle compartment, hoping to
hear what your partner might say to you. I failed in this, as the boxes
are too well made to permit sound to pass from one to the other; but
imagine my gratification to see Mr. Mitchel himself go into the box."
"And why?" asked Mr. Mitchel.
"Why, as soon as I saw you, I comprehended the whole scheme. It was you
who had concocted the little diversion to test my ability. Thus, at
last, I understood the reason for the pretended loss of identity. With
the knowledge that you were in it, I was more than ever determined to
get at the facts. Knowing that you were out, I hastened to your house,
hoping for a chat with little Miss Rose, as the most likely member of
your family to get information from."
"Oh, fie! Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel; "to play upon the innocence of
childhood! I am ashamed of you!"
"'All's fair,' etc. Well, I succeeded. I found Mr. Goldie's bicycle in
your hallway, and, as I suspected, it was a Remington. I took the number
and hurried down to the agency, where I readily discovered that wheel
No. 5086 is ridden by G. J. Mortimer, one of their regular racing team.
I also learned that Mortimer's private name is Mortimer J. Goldie. I was
much pleased at this, because it showed how good my reasoning had been
about the alias, for you observe that the racing name is merely a
transposition of the family name. The watch, of course, is a prize, and
the inscription would have proved that you were imposing upon me, Mr.
Goldie, had you permitted me to see it."
"Of course; that was why I put it back in my pocket."
"I said just now," said Mr. Barnes, "that without the stolen
handkerchief I would have done better. Having it, when I looked over the
L. A. W. list I went through the 'G's' only. Without it, I should have
looked through the 'G's,' 'J's,' and 'M's,' not knowing how the letters
may have been transposed. In that case I should have found 'G. J.
Mortimer,' and the initials would have proved that I was on the right
track."
"You have done well, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel. "I asked Goldie to
play the part of a nameless man for a few days, to have some fun with
you. But you have had fun with us, it seems. Though, I am conceited
enough to say, that had it been possible for me to play the principal
part, you would not have pierced my identity so soon."
"Oh, I don't know," said Mr. Barnes. "We are both of us a little
egotistical, I fear."
"Undoubtedly. Still, if I ever set another trap for you, I will assign
myself the chief _role_."
"Nothing would please me better," said Mr. Barnes. "But, gentlemen, as
you have lost in this little game, it seems to me that some one owes me
a dinner, at least."
"I'll stand the expense with pleasure," said Mr. Mitchel.
"Not at all," interrupted Mr. Goldie. "It was through my blundering that
we lost, and I'll pay the piper."
"Settle it between you," cried Mr. Barnes. "But let us walk on. I am
getting hungry."
Whereupon they adjourned to Delmonico's.