An Artist in Crime

CHAPTER V.

THE SEVENTH BUTTON

On the second floor of the apartment-house in East Thirtieth Street lived Mrs. Mortimer Remsen, and her two daughters, Emily and Dora.

Mrs. Remsen's husband had been dead more than ten years, but he had amassed a handsome fortune, which left his family able to maintain the position in New York society to which they were heirs by birth and breeding. They lived in the most commodious apartment in the magnificent building in Thirtieth Street, and were surrounded by an elegant luxury which results from a combination of wealth and refined taste. They entertained frequently, and Mrs. Remsen, still a handsome woman, was always a conspicuous figure at the most notable social and charitable events of the season.

Emily, the eldest daughter, was a woman of twenty-six, who commanded, rather than attracted, admiration. She was of admirable proportions, easy and regal carriage, with a fine head well poised on magnificent shoulders. As to her face – well, I cannot describe it better than did the eminent artist Gaston de Castilla, who was requested to paint her portrait. "Madam," said he, to her mother, "I do not like to undertake your commission. Your daughter has one of those marvellous faces which defies art. Every feature is a departure from recognized standards, and yet the result is nobility and beauty of the highest type. Only Nature herself can produce such effects. Through an imperfect countenance she sheds the rays of an illumined soul, till all faults are obliterated, forgotten. We poor artists cannot hope to supply on our cold canvas what so singular a face must have, to make it beautiful." Nevertheless, he did paint the portrait, the one which the detective had seen in Mr. Mitchel's room, and he had succeeded at least in suggesting the marvellous effects of character, revealing itself through the features. Other painters had failed, perhaps because they appreciated less than he what they attempted.

This description also gives a hint of the woman herself. A combination of all the softer emotional elements, she dominated self and others by a supreme will. She was rarely disobeyed by suitor or by servant. That she had engaged herself to marry Mr. Mitchel had surprised the entire circle within which she moved, and yet perhaps the secret of his success lay in the simple fact that he had had the courage to ask for her, and to do so in a loving but masterful way which plainly showed that he anticipated no refusal or coy hesitancy. His wooing had been of an impetuous whirlwind kind, and he was affianced to her within a month of their acquaintance.

It was this fact which had caused the most comment. Mr. Mitchel moved in good society, but he was a newcomer, and now that he had captured the prize of the matrimonial market, all where asking "Who is he?" a question which none seemed able to answer. He was a Southerner and that single fact had shed about him a halo of attractive light which had blinded the eyes of those who feebly attempted to look deeper.

Mrs. Remsen had protested when Emily announced her engagement, but Emily had replied, "Mother, I have given my word," and the discussion was ended. A few moments later she had affectionately seated herself at her mother's feet, and after tenderly kissing her, whispered "I love him. He is my king," and then buried her head in her parent's lap. Few women argue against an appeal of that nature. Thus Emily and Mr. Mitchel became engaged, after which he came and went much as though he were the master of the house. Why not, since he had become the master of its mistress?

Dora was her sister's antithesis, save that both were brunettes. She was simply a lovable, docile, impressionable, pretty girl. She adored her mother, and worshipped her sister whom she called "The Queen." Dora was only seventeen. There had been three boys born between the sisters, but they had died in infancy.

The two girls were in the sumptuous parlor of their apartment, Emily lying on the soft lounge, whilst Dora sat near her in a cosy armchair which made her look almost a little girl.

"Queen, did you enjoy the opera last night?" asked Dora.

"Oh! yes," replied Emily, "But you know, my dear, comic opera – is comic opera, and all is said."

"It's all very fine for you to talk in that patronizing way, Queen, about amusement, but it is different with me. I have not outgrown the theatre yet. I'll tell you what I have been thinking of seriously – "

"Seriously," laughed Emily, pinching her pretty sister's cheek. "Why you sly little rogue, you couldn't be serious if you tried."

"Oh! couldn't I! But listen. I am going to ask Bob – "

"Bob?"

"Mr. Mitchel, you know. I told him last night that I mean to call him Bob after this, and he kissed me and said it was a bargain."

"Kissed you, did he? Well Miss Impudence, I like that."

"So did I. But you need not scold, because you know what Bob says is law. You are as much afraid of him as – well as all the rest of the men are of you. But I haven't told you what I am going to do. I want Bob to take me with you both, whenever you go to the theatre."

"Oho! So that is your little plot, is it?"

"Yes! What do you think of it?"

"What do I think of it? Now I shall surprise you. I think it is an excellent idea. I love you very much, my little sweetheart sister, and shall be only too glad to see you have as much pleasure as your heart longs for."

"You darling Queen!" and with an impetuous bound the younger girl was on her knees with her arms around Emily, raining kisses upon her lips. This effusive show of affection, Emily received with evident pleasure, for, however dignified she could be in her bearing, leaving the impression that she was cold, in reality she was warm-hearted to a degree which would have surprised the gossips.

Nestling her head in the folds of her sister's soft silk gown, thus hiding her face, Dora said timidly:

"May I tell you something Queen?"

"Ha! You mischief, what have you to confess now?"

"I have invited a man to call here," replied Dora suddenly raising her head, and speaking with a different touch in her tones.

"Is that all?" laughed Emily, "Who is the monster? Where did you meet him?"

"I have met him several times, at afternoon teas. The last time he asked me if he might call – and I told him he could do so this afternoon, when I thought you would be at home. Was it very wrong?"

"Well, Dora, I don't think it was exactly proper, but perhaps it may be all right, since you have met him at several of our friends' houses. But what is his name?"

"Alphonse Thauret."

"A Frenchman?"

"Yes, though he speaks English with only a very slight accent."

"I don't like Frenchmen. I know it is preposterous prejudice but I never meet one without thinking him a possible adventurer. With their soft sycophantic ways, they remind me of cats, and I expect them to show their claws at any moment. However, pet, perhaps your Frenchman will not call, and then – "

"Oh! but he will. He said he would come this afternoon. That is why I have been so nervous. I was afraid you might be going out, and – "

"No, I will be here to protect you. Besides I expect Bob at any moment. He said he would come about noon, and it is after that already. Perhaps that is he now; yes, three rings.

"Oh, so Romeo and Juliet have signals! But jump up, Queen, he must not catch us lying down, and 'spooning.'"

A moment later Mr. Mitchel entered to find both girls seated in the most dignified manner, reading novels. Walking over to Emily he stooped, and kissed her lightly on the forehead, whispering "My Queen." Next he patted Dora on the head, as one would pat a child.

"Emily I have taken the liberty of telling a friend of mine that he might call here. You do not mind?"

"Why, of course not, Roy." She had made this name for him by eliminating the first syllable of his second name, Leroy. She told him, that thus she could call him King, without heralding it to the world. Almost immediately the bell sounded again, and Mr. Barnes was introduced. Mr. Mitchel presented him to the two ladies, and then devoted himself to Dora, thus leaving the detective perfectly free to converse with Emily. Being well educated, and having travelled through England early in life, Mr. Barnes soon made himself at ease, and talked like any society man. Presently Mr. Mitchel took Dora to the window and stood there looking out and chatting, apparently absorbed and unobservant of the others. Mr. Barnes decided that this was his opportunity.

"Pardon me, Miss Remsen, and let the interest of a collector excuse the impertinence of my noticing that beautiful pin which you wear. Cameos I think are too little appreciated nowadays. They are passed by, whilst statuettes bring fancy prices. Yet does it not require exquisite skill to carve so small an object?"

"I agree with you, Mr. Barnes, and am not at all angry with you for admiring my pin. You may look at it if you wish." Saying which she took it off and handed it to him. It was the fac-simile of those which Mr. Mitchel wore as buttons, save that it bore the image of Shakespeare. The cameo was mounted in a gold frame, and, surrounded by diamonds, made a beautiful ornament. "You would never guess, Mr. Barnes that that was once an ordinary button?"

Mr. Barnes assumed an expression of surprise as though the idea was entirely new to him. All he said was:

"It may have been a button, but surely never an ordinary one."

"Well no, not an ordinary one of course. I suppose you know that I am engaged to your friend?"

Mr. Barnes assented with a bow, and Emily continued:

"Shortly after we became engaged, I went to Europe, and whilst there I came across a jeweller who produced the most beautiful carvings in cameo and intaglio. I ordered a set made to be used for buttons."

"All similar to this?"

"Similar but not identical. This one has Shakespeare's head. The others represent Romeo and Juliet."

Mr. Barnes determined upon a bold stroke. Taking the button from his pocket, and handing it to Emily, he said quietly:

"Here is a cameo of Juliet. Perhaps it may interest you?"

"Why this is extraordinary! It is one of my set!"

"One of yours, why have you lost one? How many did you have?"

"There were seven including this one of Shakespeare. The other six – " Here she stopped and colored deeply.

"Miss Remsen, you think that is one of the original set. If so of course it is yours, and I should be too glad to restore it to you. But have you lost one?"

"Lost one? No – that is, I don't know." She seemed much confused, and looked intently at the button. Suddenly her whole expression changed, and with her self possession fully restored she startled Mr. Barnes by saying, "I am mistaken. This is not one of the original set. Yet it is very similar."

Mr. Barnes did not know what to think. Did she divine that there might be some danger in admitting that there was a seventh button still? Had that matchless schemer Mitchel sent her a note warning her to say that there were but seven in the original set? He could not decide at once, but hazarded one more stroke.

"Miss Remsen, I have seen your portrait, and it struck me that that button is a copy of it. What do you think?"

The girl once more became confused and stammered.

"I don't know," then suddenly, and with complete composure again, "Yes, I think you are right. This is a copy from my picture. The portrait was made last summer, and afterwards I allowed the artist to exhibit it. I think photographs were made from it, and possibly some cameo cutter has used it for his work."

This was ingenious, but not satisfactory to Mr. Barnes, for he knew that it was far from probable that another gem-cutter should have used the picture, and then have called it Juliet. Beside it would have been too great a coincidence to make a button of it. He decided therefore that the girl was doing the best she could to invent a plausible explanation to a question, which Mr. Mitchel himself had simply refused to answer. Not wishing to arouse any suspicion in her mind that he doubted her word, he replied quickly:

"That is very likely, and surely he could not have chosen a better face for his subject."

"Mr. Barnes," said Emily, "you offered just now to give me this, thinking that I had lost it. Of course I should not accept a present from one whom I have had the pleasure of knowing for so short a time, but you are Mr. Mitchel's friend, and as I would really prefer not to have my portrait in the hands of strangers, I accept your gift with thanks."

This was entirely unexpected. When Mr. Barnes had made the remark that he would be glad to restore her her own, he had done so feeling safe, because to obtain it she would need to admit that she had lost it. Now it seemed that she had deprived him of his piece of evidence. He did not know what to say, when Mr. Mitchel walked across to them and remarked pleasantly:

"Well, Emily, do you find my friend Mr. Barnes entertaining?"

"Mr. Barnes has been most agreeable, Roy, and see, he has actually given me a present," saying which she handed the button to Mr. Mitchel across whose countenance Mr. Barnes thought he saw a fleeting smile of triumph pass.

"I am proud of you, Emily. You command homage wherever you extend your influence. Do you know, Mr. Barnes refused to give this cameo to me, only this morning. You can guess why I wanted it."

"Because it has my picture copied on it?"

"Exactly. Mr. Barnes, allow me to add my thanks to those of Miss Remsen. You can readily appreciate why we prefer to have this bauble in our own possession?"

Mr. Barnes thought that he could. He saw that he was fairly caught and that he could do nothing without making a scene. He met a glance from Mr. Mitchel which he knew was meant to remind him of his promise not to annoy Miss Remsen. He had about decided that he had been a fool to make such a promise and to have visited the place at all, when he suddenly changed his mind, as a servant announced:

"Mr. Alphonse Thauret."

Immediately the detective remembered the name. It was upon the card given to him by the Frenchman who had left the train at Stamford. He was watching Mr. Mitchel when the newcomer was thus unexpectedly announced, and he thought he detected a glance of displeasure. Were these two men acquainted, accomplices perhaps?

"Mr. Mitchel, let me present Mr. Thauret," said Dora.

"I have had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman before," replied Mr. Mitchel, and with a stiff bow he crossed to the side of Emily as though to prevent an introduction to her. This, of course, was impossible, and Mr. Mitchel was plainly annoyed. Emily stepped forward, extended her hand to Mr. Thauret, and then turning, presented him to Mr. Barnes, who had arisen, and who simply bowed.

"Ah! Mr. Barnes," said the Frenchman, "I am delighted to meet you again."

"Why, do you know Mr. Barnes also?" cried Dora greatly surprised.

"Who does not know Mr. Barnes, the celebrated detective." He said this in that extremely polite tone so much assumed by his race, when inclined to be most complimentary. Yet Mr. Barnes thought that he had some sinister motive in thus proclaiming his connection with the police. Was it to prevent him from calling upon these women again? If so he failed to make the desired impression upon Dora, for that young woman seemed fairly enraptured.

"A detective?" said she. "Are you really the great Mr. Barnes?"

"I am a detective, but scarcely a great one."

"Oh! but you are, you are! I read all about the wonderful way in which you caught that man Pettingill. And now tell me, are you going to catch the man who robbed the woman on the Boston train yesterday?"

"How do you know that it is a man?" asked Mr. Barnes amused at her impetuosity, and pleased at the turn taken by the conversation.

"Oh! it is not a woman. I am sure of that. I read about it in the papers this morning. I bought three so as not to miss anything. No woman would have been clever enough to plan it all, and then carry it out so thoroughly."

"This is very interesting," said Mr. Thauret. "Of course I too have read the papers, but besides that, as you know, Mr. Barnes, I was on the train myself, and the first to be searched. I have thought of the case ever since. In my own country we claim that our detectives can unravel any mystery, and I am curious to know how you will manage in an affair of this kind. The thief evidently is clever, do you not think so?"

Mr. Mitchel had drawn apart and apparently was absorbed in a conversation with Emily; nevertheless Mr. Barnes was confident that he missed little of what was being said by the group of which he himself was one. Under ordinary circumstances he would not for a moment have thought of speaking of so important a case before one who at least might be suspected of complicity. But these were not ordinary circumstances. Here were two men, about both of whom there was a mysterious connection with the crime, or crimes, which he was investigating. If either, or both, were guilty, it was evident from their courage in visiting unconcernedly at the very building in which the murder had been committed, that extreme skill would be required to obtain a conviction. The detective therefore considered that these men must be met with methods as bold as their own. Speaking in a tone loud enough to reach Mr. Mitchel's ears he said:

"I think that the thief is clever, but that he is not so clever as he considers himself."

"How is that?"

"He believed – I say he, because like Miss Remsen, I think it is a man – "

"How delightful of you to agree with me," said Dora.

"This man then," continued Mr. Barnes, "considers that he has misled me. He thinks that when I directed that all the passengers should be searched, I did so hoping to find the lost jewels, whereas I was not looking for the jewels, but for the thief."

"How could you do that?"

"You may think me egotistic, but I hoped to detect him by his conduct. I was entirely successful. I know who stole the jewels." This was a bold assertion, especially as Mr. Barnes had not decided the matter in his own mind. He wished to note the faces of these men, when he made the statement. He gained nothing by the manœuvre, for Mr. Mitchel seemed not to have heard, whilst the Frenchman quickly said:

"Bravo! Bravo! You are better than Lecocq. It is like a wizard's trick. You pass the suspects before you in review, and then, presto! you pick out the criminal with your eye. That is a charming method, and so simple!"

"Mr. Thauret," said Dora, "you are laughing at Mr. Barnes, and that is not good-natured. Mr. Barnes says he knows the thief. I believe him."

"Pardon! I believe him also. I did not mean to laugh. But tell me, Mr. Barnes, how did the man secrete the diamonds, I suppose they were diamonds, were they not?"

"Diamonds and other jewels. But let me ask you – how would you have hidden them, had you been in his place?" This time the shot went home. Plainly the Frenchman did not like the suggestion of being himself the criminal. He quickly recovered his equanimity, however, and answered:

"Do you know, I have thought of that very thing. Of course I would probably make a bungle of it. Still I have thought of a way."

"A way by which he could have hidden the jewels so that a search could not have found them, and yet in a place accessible to himself afterwards?"

"I think so! Perhaps I am wrong, but I think my little plan would do that much. The newspaper says the jewels were unset stones. I should have pushed them into the cake of soap in the wash-room. No one would think to look for them there, and even if so, there would be nothing against me. Afterwards, I should have gone back, taken the soap, and the jewels would have been mine."

"You are mistaken."

"How so?"

"You were the first person searched, and I watched you till you left the train. It would have been difficult for you to come to New York from Stamford on another train, and then gain access to the coaches on a side track and in the hands of the scrub-women. Even then you would have failed, for I took all the soap away, and substituted new cakes before the second man was searched."

A smile on Mr. Mitchel's face proved that he was listening, and that he was pleased at the detective's cleverness. The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, and said, laughing:

"There, you see, I should never make a thief. Besides there was the satchel. I had forgotten about that. One could not hide a satchel in a cake of soap."

"But he could throw it out of a window, to mislead the man who picked it up," replied the detective.

"You are shrewd, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Thauret, after a keen scrutiny, which Mr. Barnes thought betokened uneasiness. "But," he continued, "will you tell me how you think the thief hid the treasure on the train?"

"He hid it off the train," said Mr. Barnes, quickly, and to his satisfaction both his men started slightly. Evidently Mr. Mitchel decided that it was time for him to enter the game, for he crossed and joined the group, saying as he did so:

"Are you all discussing the train robbery?"

"Oh, yes!" said Dora. "And it is just lovely, the way Mr. Barnes has found out all about it!"

"Found out all about it? Has he, indeed?"

"Yes! He knows who the thief is, and that he hid the jewels off the train."

"How very clever of you, Mr. Barnes, to discover that. Where else could he have hidden them, since the train itself and everybody on it was searched?"

It irritated Mr. Barnes, the way in which Mr. Mitchel always seemed to belittle his skill. He was a trifle angry, therefore, as he made his next bold stroke.

"I will tell you, ladies and gentlemen, where the thief might have hidden the jewels, on the train – a place which no one thought of searching, not even myself."

"Oh! tell us!" exclaimed Dora. The two men looked interested, nothing more. Emily had come behind Mr. Mitchel, and slyly slipped her hand within his.

"The woman carried the jewels in a satchel. Suppose the thief had stolen the satchel and thrown it from the window. Missing that, the woman would have naturally concluded that the jewels were gone, would she not? Very well. The thief might have hidden the jewels in her own pocket whilst she slept." Mr. Barnes had hoped much from this proposition, but it was a distinct failure. Either that was not the thief's method, or else Mr. Mitchel and Mr. Thauret were both innocent. Both smiled incredulously. The former spoke:

"That is too far-fetched, Mr. Barnes. How do you suppose that he would regain possession of the gems?"

"By murdering the woman," answered the detective. Again he failed, for neither of the men winced. Mr. Barnes was foiled for the moment, but not entirely discouraged. The start which both men had made, when he suggested that the stolen property had been hidden off the train, still remained to be explained.

"Come! Come! Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel patting his shoulder familiarly, "don't let this case upset you so. When you go so far for a theory, you do not show the skill which you displayed in tracking Pettingill. Why even I can get you a better one than that."

"You must not think me quite a fool, Mr. Mitchel. If my theory seems preposterous, it does not follow that it is the only one at my command. We detectives must look at these cases from all lights. I will wager that I can tell you what your theory is?"

"Good! I am glad New York has such a clever man to defend her. I accept your wager. Here, I will write my idea on a bit of paper. If you guess it I owe you an invitation to a good dinner." Mr. Mitchel wrote a few lines on the back of an envelope and handed it to Dora.

"You think," said Mr. Barnes, "that the thief might have simply handed the satchel and jewelry to a confederate at a station decided upon in advance."

"Bravo! Mr. Barnes," said Dora, "You are a great detective. You have won your wager. That is what is written here."

"I owe you a dinner Mr. Barnes, and it shall be a good one," said Mr. Mitchel.

"Would Mr. Barnes like to win another?" asked the Frenchman with slow distinctness.