An Artist in Crime Part 14

"No, not more than a year and a half. He has not been in New York two years."

"Oh! I see. A Boston man?"

"No, I think he came from New Orleans."

A curious sensation pa.s.sed over Mr. Barnes. There is a superst.i.tious belief, much esteemed by many, that a shudder or chill of this character means that some one is walking over the spot where the person affected is to be buried. Therefore an uncanny thought accompanies it. With Mr.

Barnes it is different. He is free from all such notions, yet insensibly he is moved when this occurs to him, because it has so often happened that at the time he just hit upon a clew. Therefore he stopped to consider. All that Mr. Randolph had said was that Mr. Mitchel, he thought, had come from New Orleans. In a moment it flashed across Mr.

Barnes's mind that the dead woman had told him that she had lived in New Orleans. Was there any significance in this fact? Did the man and the woman know each other in the southern city?

"How do you know that he is a Southerner?" asked Mr. Barnes.

"Oh! That was easily discovered by his accent," replied Mr. Randolph.

"Besides he claims to be from the South, though I think he is rather inclined not to speak of his home. I have an indistinct recollection of his telling me once that he was born in New Orleans and that he had some painful recollection of the place. That is the only time that he ever alluded to it, however."

"I would like to ask you a question about another man, Mr. Randolph. I wonder whether you have met him. His name is Thauret?"

"Alphonse Thauret? Yes I know him, and I do not like him."

"Why not?"

"I don't exactly know. Perhaps it is only a prejudice. Still we are apt to form quick estimates of men, and I have distrusted this man from the first instant that I met him."

"Distrusted him?"

"Yes. I may be entirely wrong, and perhaps I should not tell you the story, but I will do so. It was at one of my clubs about two weeks ago.

Some gentlemen were playing whist, and this Thauret was of the number.

Others were looking on. The stakes were small, still there was money up.

Thauret and his partner seemed to have a great deal of luck. Ordinarily of course, two packs are used, but for some reason there was but one that night, so that the bottom card would be the trump. Now it is pretty well known, that as the cards run in whist, each trick containing four of a suit mainly, it is a mathematical certainty that if the pack is shuffled twice only, and the dealer is skilful enough to handle the pack so that the two halves split each other exactly both times, the result will be that the majority of trumps will go to himself and partner.

Cutting does not alter this fact at all. Now what I observed was, that Thauret dealt in that way every time. He and his partner won about two hundred dollars during the evening. I think he cheated."

"Who was his partner?"

"I do not know."

"Was Mr. Mitchel present that night?"

"Yes, and agreed with me that the man is a card sharp. Yet of course we may be doing him an injustice. After all, we only know that he shuffled his cards twice, and played in good luck. I have since seen him lose at the same game."

"Well, I am much indebted to you, Mr. Randolph, for the information which you have given me. I will say that if I can prove that your friend had no hand in this affair I shall be most happy."

The detective arose and Mr. Randolph accepted the action as a hint that he was dismissed. After his departure Mr. Barnes sat down again. In his mind he wondered whether this partner in the card game might have been the accomplice of Thauret in the jewel robbery, and whether he was the man who left the jewels in the hotel at New Haven. Why he should have done so however, was a mystery.

A few minutes later Mr. Barnes left the building, and walked rapidly towards Third Avenue, where he took the elevated road, getting out at Seventy-sixth Street. Going eastward a few houses he rang the bell of one, and was shown into a modestly-furnished parlor. A few minutes later a comely young woman of about twenty-four or five entered. The two talked together in low tones for some time, and then the girl left the room returning in street attire. Together they left the house.

Four days later, Mr. Barnes received a note which simply said, "Come up." He seemed to understand it, however, and was quickly on his way to the house on Seventy-sixth Street. Once more the girl joined him in the parlor.

"Well," said Mr. Barnes, "have you succeeded?"

"Why, of course," replied the girl. "You never knew me to make a failure, did you? You don't cla.s.s me with Wilson, I hope?"

"Never mind about Wilson; tell me your story."

"Very good. Don't be impatient. You know me, I take my own way of doing things. Well, you left me in Madison Square Park. I sat on a bench and watched Wilson. Two hours later a man came out of the hotel and Wilson followed him. It made me laugh to see the gawk skulking along in the rear. He's no artist. Why, any b.o.o.by could tell in a minute that he was on the trail."

"I told you to omit remarks about Wilson."

"I know, but I choose to tell you about him, because I make you appreciate me more. So there he was chasing after your man Mitchel. You see I have found out his name. You didn't tell me, but that could not trouble me long, you know. It was real fun. One minute Wilson would be actually running to keep up, and all of a sudden Mitchel would stop so short, that Wilson would almost b.u.mp into him. Of course he knows Wilson by this time, and just has fun with him. I wanted to get one good square look at him myself. I jumped on a car and reached Third Avenue ahead of them. I ran upstairs to the platform of the elevated station, and hid in the waiting-room. Soon up came Mitchel, and away he goes to the end of the platform. Wilson stopped in the middle and tried to look natural, which of course he didn't. When the train came along, I got aboard and walked through till I found my man and down I sat right opposite to him.

I just studied his face, you bet."

"Yes, Miss, and he studied yours. You are a goose, and you disobeyed orders. I told you not to let that keen devil see you at all."

"That's all right. It came out straight enough. At Forty-second Street he got out, and so did Wilson, and so didn't I."

"Why not?"

"Because then he might have suspected me. No, sir; I rode on up to Forty-seventh Street, crossed over, took a train down, and was waiting in the station when Mitchel came along the second time. This time he was alone, evidently having eluded Wilson at Thirty-fourth Street. He took the down train. So did I, this time keeping out of sight. He went straight to his lay, and I after him. It is a house in Irving Place.

Here is the number." She handed a card to Mr. Barnes.

"You have done well," said he, taking it, "but why did you not report to me at once?"

"I am not through yet. When I take up a case I go to the end of it. Do you suppose I would track that man, and then let you turn Wilson on him again? Not much. Next day I called at the house and rang the bell. A servant girl opened the door. I asked to see the mistress. She asked what I wanted, and I told her that I had been sent for to take a situation. She looked surprised, because of course she had not been notified that she was to be discharged. I quickly went on to say that I would not like to make her lose her place, and asked what sort of people they were who lived in the house. I got her talking and soon found out that it is a kind of private boarding-school, and that there is a child there, a girl of fourteen named Rose Mitchel, and that your man is her father. How does that strike you?"

"My girl, you are a genius. But still you knew this the day before yesterday. Why did you not report?"

"I went down again yesterday to try to learn more. I sat out in the park and watched the young girls when they came out for an airing. I could not find a chance to speak to the girl, but I found out which is she by hearing the others call her name. I had my camera along, and I took her portrait for you. What do you say now. Have I wasted my time?"

"Not at all. You are clever, but you will never be great, because you are too conceited. However I have nothing but praise for you this time.

Get me the picture."

The girl went upstairs and returned with a small, rather dim photograph of a young, pretty girl, and gave it to Mr. Barnes. About half an hour later he left the house.

CHAPTER VIII.

LUCETTE.

Two days after the events just related, Emily Remsen's maid announced that she had just received news that her mother was very ill, and that she had been notified to go to her at once. Her mother, she said, lived in Elizabeth, New Jersey. She wished to go at the earliest possible moment, and begged that her cousin, Lucette, should be allowed to attend to her duties till her return, which she hoped would be in a very few days. Asked if her cousin was competent, she said yes, and especially apt at arranging the hair, having served an apprenticeship with a French hair-dresser. Indeed the girl's real name was Lucy, but she had changed it to Lucette, to pretend that being French she was necessarily a good maid.

In Miss Remsen's mind this changing of her name was nothing in the girl's favor; but as her own maid was thus suddenly taken from her, and as this other was offered at once, she agreed to the proposal.

Lucette arrived during the afternoon, and Miss Remsen was delighted with her. Expecting a talkative, intrusive person, a.s.suming Frenchified mannerisms, she was surprised to find a quiet unpretentious creature, who immediately showed herself to be well acquainted with the duties required of her. Within the first twenty-four hours she found herself so much better served than by her absent maid, that she almost wished that the mother would require her for a long time. Dora, too, was charmed with Lucette.

"Queen," said she the next afternoon, "what do you think of your new maid?"

"Who?--Lucette?" answered the sister. "O I think she does very well."