Out of a Labyrinth Part 46

I heaved a sigh of relief and gratification, and sped back the answer, "_No._"

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

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 princ.i.p.ally 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 G.o.ddess.

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 antic.i.p.ating 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!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "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.