An Artist in Crime Part 31

"'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 doc.u.ments. 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 circ.u.mstances 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.

CHAPTER XVI.

MR. BARNES DISCOVERS A VALUABLE CLUE.

Immediately after the wedding Mr. Mitchel and his bride started west, intending to spend their honeymoon in the Yosemite Valley, having promised Mrs. Remsen and Dora, however, to join them in the White Mountains before the end of the season. About the first of July the Remsens and the Van Rawlstons went to Jefferson, New Hampshire, a small town along the base of the Pliny Range of mountains, from which a magnificent view of the Presidential Range, only ten miles away, is to be obtained. About the middle of the month Mr. Randolph determined to visit the same place, and was intensely disgusted on alighting from the stage, which reaches the Waumbeck Hotel about eight o'clock at night, to be greeted familiarly by Mr. Alphonse Thauret. It was evident that his rival did not intend to lose any chance to win the hand of Dora Remsen.

If one has anything of the artistic in his nature he could scarcely fail to enjoy himself at Jefferson. The town is practically a single road, well up the side of the mountain range. Thus the hotels all look out over a long and beautiful valley. From the piazza of the Waumbeck, on a clear day, no less than thirty-five mountain peaks can be easily counted, the Green Mountains over in Vermont being visible as a distant line of blue, and not in the total.

Of course the most conspicuous and most admired peak is Mount Washington. One who has not visited the region might suppose that he would soon become sated with the sight of the same mountains day after day. This is a great error. All the mountains, and especially Mount Washington, are ever presenting new aspects. All changes of atmosphere produce corresponding variations. The shadows of pa.s.sing clouds, the effects at sunrise or at sunset, the moonlight, the partly cloudy weather when the top of the mountain is hidden, the mists, and the rain, all offer such totally different coloring and picturesque effects that the artistic eye is never tired.

Dora was an artist in every fibre of her being, as one would know who listened to her talking to Mr. Randolph half an hour after his arrival, as they sat together on the piazza. In his delight to be with her and to hear her, he would have forgotten the very existence of Mr. Thauret were it not that he sat near them in the rotunda at the end of the piazza, and so shared the entertainment that she offered.

"What a pity," she was saying, "that you did not come up yesterday. You have missed the grandest sights that mortal ever beheld. I suppose on your trip up you saw nothing beautiful in the rain-storm that we had this afternoon?"

"Nothing whatever," said Mr. Randolph. "However it may have been here among the mountains, the rain did not make the valleys more attractive.

Indeed I thought it simply a beastly day."

"What a mistake that you were not here instead of in the horrid cars.

Why, I tell you that I haven't words with which to describe the magnificent pictures that I have enjoyed. Yet I am about to try. You must not lose it all, you know. May I tell you about it?"

"a.s.suredly; I shall be delighted."

"Well, then, to begin; look out over the valley. What do you see?"

"The moonlight shedding a beautiful ray over the lake."

"Exactly," said Dora, laughing heartily. "That is just the funny mistake I thought you would make. That is not a lake at all. It is mist, or clouds rather. In the morning if I had not told you, you would have been astonished to find that your lake is all trees and meadows. To begin, then; about four o'clock it began to cloud up. That was very interesting. The sun was shining brightly here, but we could see that it was raining hard over in the direction of Lancaster. Slowly it began to come toward us. Some of the boys made wagers as to how soon it would rain here. Then one of the proprietors came out, and surprised us all by saying that it would probably rain over on the Presidential Range before it did here. This seemed extraordinary to us, you know, because why should it skip right over us and go to the big mountains?"

"Well, did it? It does seem impossible."

"That is exactly what occurred. You see, it is like this: Whenever a storm comes from Lancaster way, the clouds when they get here are divided by the Pliny Range, and pa.s.s on either side, leaving us dry.

Then they strike against the sides of the Presidential Range, and roll back into our valley. It was a curious sight, I a.s.sure you, to see the clouds flying in exactly opposite directions."

"Well, but after all, there could not have been any great beauty in the rain. It must have blotted out all the view."

"Yes, but think how odd it was to find all these tremendous peaks suddenly gone. Not a mountain in sight in any direction. But then, the thunder. Oh! that was grand. The way it rolls about and reverberates gives one a good idea of a great battle. There was something afterwards that carried out this similarity, too, which I wish I could describe. It was after the storm had pa.s.sed and the bright-setting sun shone forth.

Try to see the picture. Imagine yourself sitting just where I am now, and looking toward the Presidential Range, the sun setting red behind us. Mount Washington had shaken the clouds from his head, and was encircled by a gorgeous halo, in the form of a brilliant double rainbow.

One end of it seemed to come up right out of the valley there, whilst the other disappeared behind Starr King Mountain. The flying clouds, still black and heavy, whirled swiftly along, hanging low, and, with the sun approaching the horizon, made shifting shadows across the base of Mount Washington, whilst between the rifts the red rays of the sun striking different parts made beauteous timings among the green and the brown of trees and rock. Oh, if an artist could only have seen that. But then it would have been useless, for the hand of man could not paint such grandeur. It was in the foreground that the resemblance to the battle-field was to be seen again. Every here and there stray bits of clouds disentangled themselves from the treetops and rose up smoke-like till one could imagine them to be from thousands of camp-fires. Oh! it was simply wonderful."

"It was indeed," said Mr. Thauret; "and your description brings it all back again to me."

"Then the beautiful long twilight," Dora continued, almost unheeding, "that was lovely. Slowly these stray bits of mist met and joined others, till as the darkness came and the moon brightened, that beautiful sheet of water, for after all your lake is real water, acc.u.mulated, and there it is. At least you can enjoy that."

He did. But what he enjoyed more was the simple happiness of being with her. After a short time, however, he was deprived of that, for Mrs.

Remsen claimed his attention, and took him up to the ball-room to introduce him to some of the many young women who were dancing with each other and with boys of fourteen for want of better partners.