An Artist in Crime

CHAPTER VII.

MR. RANDOLPH HAS A FIGHT WITH HIS CONSCIENCE

Upon leaving the vaults Mr. Mitchel and the detective parted company, the former going down to Tiffany's where he left the ruby with instructions as to how he wished it set. On the following morning Wilson's report to Mr. Barnes stated that Mr. Mitchel had spent the afternoon at the Union League Club, and had accompanied his fiancée to a private ball in the evening.

On the morning of the 5th, as Mr. Mitchel was dressing, a card was brought to him which bore the name of his friend, Mr. Randolph, and that gentleman a few minutes later entered. Mr. Mitchel was cordial in his greeting and extended his hand, but Mr. Randolph refused it saying:

"Excuse me, Mitchel, but I have come to see you about that wager I was stupid enough to make with you."

"Well, what of it!"

"I did not suppose that you would go so far."

"So far as what?"

"Why haven't you read the papers?"

"No! I never do! I am above that class of literature."

"Then with your permission I will read one to you."

"Go ahead, I am all attention." Mr. Mitchel seated himself in his most comfortable armchair, and Mr. Randolph without removing his overcoat, sat in another. Taking a morning paper from his pocket he read the following:

"The inquest upon the body of the mysterious woman found murdered in the Thirtieth Street apartment-house was resumed yesterday at the coroner's office. Mr. Barnes, the well-known detective, testified that he had been upon the Boston Express at the time of the robbery of the jewels. That he had an interview with the woman at which she gave the name Rose Mitchel, and made an appointment with him at her residence. He called at the time agreed upon, nine o'clock on the morning of the 3d, and discovered her lying in bed with her throat cut. One singular fact brought out by the detective's testimony is that the woman's name had been deliberately cut from every garment. This may indicate that Rose Mitchel is an assumed name.

"The doctors who performed the autopsy, declare it as their opinion that the woman was attacked whilst she slept. Otherwise there would have been more blood stains found, as the jugular vein and carotid artery were both cut. They think that the assassin used an ordinary pocket knife, because the wound though deep, is not very large.

"A curious story was obtained from the janitor. The woman Mitchel had been in the house about three weeks. She was not a tenant, but occupied the apartments of Mr. and Mrs. Comstock, who are absent in Europe. The woman gave him a letter purporting to be written by Mrs. Comstock, instructing the janitor to allow the bearer to occupy the apartment until suited elsewhere, and also asking that the janitor's wife would see that she had proper attendance. The janitor did not doubt the authenticity of the letter, but it now appears from the testimony of a relative of the Comstocks, who is well acquainted with Mrs. Comstock's writing, that this letter is a forgery.

"After a little further evidence of no special importance the inquest was adjourned until to-day. It is plain that the detectives are all at sea in this case. A startling piece of evidence has now been obtained by a reporter which may serve as a clue. It is no less than the discovery of the lost jewels. It will be remembered that Mr. Barnes was on the train, and ordered that the passengers should be searched. Nothing was found, from which it seemed safe to presume that there were two persons connected with the theft. One of these secured the plunder and handed it through a window of the car to his accomplice outside. A reporter went over the route yesterday, beginning his investigation in New Haven. He went the rounds of the hotels, endeavoring to discover if any suspicious person had been noticed in the city. At one of the last which he visited, which is about five minutes walk from the railroad depot, the clerk remembered a man who did act strangely. It seems that this man came into the hotel at about noon on the third, registered, asked that his satchel should be placed in the safe, went out and had not returned since. The reporter at once guessed that this was the missing satchel, and so stating, the chief of police was sent for, and in his presence it was opened. In it was found a red Russia leather case containing unset jewels of such size and lustre that one can well believe that they are worth a hundred thousand dollars as claimed. That these are the missing gems is plainly indicated by the fact that the jewel-case has the name of MITCHEL stamped upon it. Unfortunately there was nothing about the satchel, or in it, which gives any clue to the thief himself. The clerk, however, remembers him distinctly, and from his description the detectives hope soon to have him under lock and key."

"What have you to say to that, Mitchel?"

"Why, it is just that kind of thing that made me give up reading the newspapers. A sensational description of a mysterious robbery and murder. Yet if one reads the papers he must submit to that almost every day."

"Do you mean that this particular case has no interest to you?"

"Why should it interest me? Because I happened to be on the train and was compelled to submit to being searched by an order from a blundering detective?"

"There is more reason than that for attracting your attention. Any man with a grain of sense, and with the knowledge of your wager, must see your hand in this?"

"In which, the robbery, or the murder?"

"My God, I don't know. You and I have been the best of friends ever since we first met. I have stood by you and believed in you in spite of all that your enemies have said against you. But now – "

"Well?"

"Well, I don't know what to think. You bet me that you would commit a crime. In a few hours there is a robbery, and a little later a woman is killed in the very house where the Remsens lived. It is known, – there is another account in another paper here – it is known that you were in that house for an hour, after 11:30 at night, and that whilst you were there a woman was heard to scream from that apartment where the corpse was found. Then here they find the jewels, and the case had your name on it."

"The woman's name you mean. The paper made that deduction I think."

"That is true. I did not think of that. Of course it was her name, but don't you see I am all muddled up and excited. I came here to ask you to say outright that you have had nothing to do with this thing."

"That is impossible."

"What, you refuse? You will not claim that you are innocent? Then you practically admit that you are guilty!"

"I do not. I neither deny nor admit anything. Do you remember our wager? I told you then that this crisis would arise. That you would hear of some crime and come to ask me about it. I warned you that I would refuse to enlighten you. I simply keep my word."

This was followed by a silence. Mr. Randolph seemed much disturbed. Jamming his hands into his pockets he went and looked out of the window. Mr. Mitchel looked at him for some minutes with a smile of amusement hovering about his lips. Suddenly he said:

"Randolph, does your conscience trouble you?"

"Most decidedly!" answered his companion sharply, turning towards him.

"Why not go and unburden your soul to the police?"

"I think it is my duty to do so. But I feel like a coward at the idea. It seems like betraying a friend."

"Ah! You still count me your friend. Then, my dear friend, for I assure you I value your good will, I will show you how to act so as to satisfy your conscience, and yet not injure me."

"I wish to heaven you would."

"Nothing easier. Go to Mr. Barnes and make a clean breast of all that you know."

"But that is betraying you to the police."

"No; Mr. Barnes is not the police – he is only a private detective. If you remember, he is the very one about whom we were talking when the wager was made. You were boasting of his skill. It should satisfy you then to have him on my track, and it will satisfy me, if you agree to talk with no other. Is it a bargain?"

"Yes, since you are willing. I must tell some one in authority. It is impossible for me to withhold what may be the means of detecting a criminal."

Mr. Randolph, upon leaving the hotel, went in search of Mr. Barnes. Meanwhile that gentleman was holding a conversation with Wilson.

"You say," said the detective, "that Mr. Mitchel gave you the slip again yesterday afternoon?"

"Yes. He doubled so often on his tracks on the elevated road that at last he eluded me, getting on a train which I failed to board. You see it was impossible to tell, till the moment of starting, whether he would take a train or not. He would mix with the crowd and seem anxious to get on, and then at the last moment step back. I had to imitate him at the other end of the coach, and finally he got on just as the guard at my end slammed the gates."

"This was at Forty-second Street?"

"Yes. He took the down train."

"Did he notice you in any way?"

"I suppose so; but no one would have guessed it. He appeared entirely ignorant of the fact that he was followed, so far as watching me was concerned."

"You are not to blame. Go back to his hotel, and do the best you can. Leave the rest to me. I will discover where it is he goes on these mysterious trips."

Left to himself Mr. Barnes's thoughts took this form:

"Wilson is no match for Mr. Mitchel, that is evident. I wonder whether there is any real object in this game of hide and seek; or whether it is simply an intimation to me that he cannot be shadowed? If the latter – well, we shall see. Now let me think about those jewels found in New Haven. They tally exactly with the description. Their discovery complicates the case once more. I had almost concluded that those in the safety vaults were the ones stolen, and that as they really belong to Mr. Mitchel, as proven by his receipts, he stole them to win his wager. In this way he ran no risk, since, if the crime were brought home to him, he could not be imprisoned, though he would lose the bet. Now here is another set, evidently the right ones. Mr. Mitchel was plainly surprised at sight of the list which I found. I am sure he did not know of its existence. Therefore he may equally as well have known nothing about this duplicate set of jewels. In that case the occurrence of the train robbery on the very night of the wager, may be simply a coincidence. He says that the dead woman was a blackmailer, and that he gave her the address of his Paris jeweller. May he not have bought his set from that very man, and may not this woman have stolen the duplicate set recently, and brought them to this country? Plainly the Paris jeweller must be looked up. I have his name which I copied from the bill of sale. If this line of argument is true, some one has followed this woman from France, in order to rob her, after allowing her to accomplish the risky business of smuggling. Is that person our friend Thauret? Along this line of argument we arrive at the conclusion that Mr. Mitchel has not yet committed his crime. He hinted that I should remember this if I should exculpate him from those already committed. But do I? Why did he show me that ruby and say that he meant to present it to his sweetheart? Will he give it to her, and then rob her of it? If so, will she be in the plot, and make a hue and cry, so that the papers may make a noise? That was a part of the agreement in making his bet. But after all, what about that button? No explanation explains, which does not throw a light upon that."

Here Mr. Barnes was interrupted by the announcement that Mr. Randolph wished to speak with him. It must be remembered that Mr. Randolph was not aware of the fact that the conversation in the sleeping-car had been overheard. Brought face to face with Mr. Barnes he felt confused, and hesitated.

"Mr. Randolph, I believe," said the detective, glancing at the card which had been sent in. "Be seated. You have come to see me about this Mitchel case?" The rising inflection with which the last word was spoken seemed almost unnecessary to Mr. Randolph. For if the man could ask such a question, he might as well have made it a positive statement. This assumption of knowledge made him more than ever confident of the skill of detectives, and especially of the one before him.

"You know that?" said he. "Would you mind telling me how?"

"We detectives are supposed to know everything, are we not?" This was said with an affable smile, but the answer plainly indicated that Mr. Barnes preferred not to be interrogated. Mr. Randolph therefore concluded to hurry through with his unpleasant business.

"Mr. Barnes, I have a confession to make, and – "

"I must interrupt you, to remind you that whatever you say is unsolicited, and that if you incriminate yourself, the evidence will be used against you."

"Thank you for your warning, but I have come here that I may not be incriminated. The facts in brief are simply these." Then he narrated as accurately as he could recall them, all the circumstances in connection with the wager. Mr. Barnes listened as though it was all a new story to him. He even jotted down a few notes on a bit of paper as though for reference. At the conclusion he said:

"This is a most astounding tale, Mr. Randolph. It is very difficult to believe that a man like Mr. Mitchel, who certainly seems to be a gentleman, would undertake to become a criminal simply to win a sum of money. Now you must have been thinking this over, and if so, you have some explanation to offer. Would you mind telling it to me?"

"I should be glad to do so," Mr. Randolph spoke eagerly. In his heart he was fond of his friend, and therefore his theory was one which in a measure would excuse him. He was delighted to have the chance of confiding his views to the detective. "You see," he continued, "it is one of the most difficult things in the world to say who is, and who is not perfectly sane. Some experts contend that nine tenths of the people in the world are affected by mania in some form or other. I hold that any man who makes a collection of any kind of things, using them for other than their legitimate uses, is in a measure insane."

"Do you mean legally insane? That is to say irresponsible?"

"As to responsibility, I cannot say. But I think such a mania might tempt a man to an illegal act. I must explain my idea further. Postage stamps undoubtedly have a very important value. One who collects them after they have been cancelled, paying many times their face value for them, is in my opinion somewhat crazy, since he pays a fictitious price for what has no intrinsic value."

"You might say the same thing of paintings. The intrinsic value represented in canvas and oil is little, yet thousands of dollars are paid for pictures."

"That, too, is an insanity, one of course which cannot be indulged in by any save the rich. But it is not the same as with the old stamp craze. Pictures remind us of nature, and appeal to the senses of all mankind, by recalling recollections brought into being by the scene presented. There is therefore a legitimate use for paintings, and a reasonable price as compensation for the work and genius of the artist is perhaps permissible. But should a man pay a fortune for a single canvas and then hang it in a room in his own house where it will be seen by few save himself, that man I should consider demented. So with jewels – "

"Ah! What of them?"

"Jewels have a market value, and a place in the world. But when a man goes about buying up every magnificent specimen that can be found, and then locks his treasures up in a safe, he is simply a crazy man pure and simple."

"What has all this to do with the case in hand?"

"Everything. My friend is a crank on the subject of jewels. Sensible, and entertaining on any other topic, if you mention the name of any kind of jewel, he is off in a minute, giving a long history of this or that celebrated stone. His especial craze in this connection, is to relate the crimes that have surrounded every stone of any great price. He has made my blood curdle at his ghastly tales of cruel murder, committed to gain possession of diamonds and rubies."

"Then your conclusion is, that by filling his mind with such thoughts he may have accustomed himself to the idea of crime in connection with jewels?"

"Exactly. The worst of it is, that we may become habituated to anything. For instance, all ordinary men are abashed in the presence of the dead. No matter how strong-minded a man may be, or how much he may scoff at the idea of ghosts and the like, he will prefer company if he must sit up with a corpse. More than that, the slightest sound in the room, as the moving of the ice in the ice box, will cause a shiver to pass through him. Yet physicians who study frequently in the dissecting-room, come to have that contempt of a dead body that a butcher has for the meat which he sells."

"Your argument is not bad, Mr. Randolph. It is not impossible that your friend might be generous and gentle, and yet with a mania for the possession of jewels, and with the knowledge of all the crimes that have been committed to gain them, the temptation to kill or steal would perhaps become over-powering, where his passion sees an opportunity to be satisfied. It is an odd world."

"Do you think, that in a case of that kind, the man would be excusable on the plea of mania? Legally I mean?"

"Well no, I do not! Psychologically I admit that you may be correct, and I can sympathize with a man who became a criminal in such a way. But legally, he would be culpable. At least I think so. The question to be answered is, did your friend steal those jewels? You slept with him that night, what do you think?"

"I don't know what to think. He could not have left the berth without climbing over me, and though I sleep soundly, that ought to have awakened me. Then besides, if he did get out and take the things, where could he have hidden them, and how did they get to New Haven? By the way, I suppose you have the description of the man who left the satchel at the hotel? Does it tally with that of my friend?"

"I can't say. It is rather vague. The clerk says the man was of medium size, with red hair and beard, whilst the porter who saw him also, is equally positive that he had black hair and no beard. The last fits Mr. Mitchel better than the first, but it is a description which would do as well for a thousand men found in a walk along Broadway."

"I almost think that after all the thief is some one else."

"Let us hope so, Mr. Randolph. I will say this much, if there is any comfort in it for you. At present there is not enough evidence against him to warrant his arrest."

The detective said this with a purpose. By relieving this man's mind, he hoped to make him more communicative. After a pause he asked:

"You have known Mr. Mitchel for a number of years, I believe?"

"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 passed over Mr. Barnes. There is a superstitious 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?"