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diff --git a/78812-0.txt b/78812-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ebc63d --- /dev/null +++ b/78812-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8698 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78812 *** + + + + + MAGNET DETECTIVE LIBRARY No. 106 10 CENTS + + SHADOWED BY A DETECTIVE + + [Illustration] + + VIRGINIA CHAMPLIN + + STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + +[Illustration: MAGNET DETECTIVE LIBRARY] + + THE ONLY STANDARD LINE OF DETECTIVE + NOVELS ON THE MARKET. + + THE ONLY NICK CARTER STORIES IN BOOK FORM + AND THE BEST OF OTHER WRITERS’ WORK. + + _Price, Ten Cents._ _Published Weekly._ + + + 105--A Bite of An Apple, and Other Stories. By Nicholas Carter. + 104--A Past Master of Crime; or, Detective Bush’s Clever Work. + By Donald J. McKenzie. + 103--A Queer Case. By Nicholas Carter. + 102--Bruce Angelo, the City Detective. By Judson R. Taylor. + 101--The Stolen Pay Train and Other Stories. By Nicholas Carter. + 100--The Diamond Button. By Barclay North. + 99--Gideon Drexel’s Millions. By Nicholas Carter. + 98--Tom and Jerry, The Double Detectives. By Judson R. Taylor. + 97--The Puzzle of Five Pistols and Other Stories. By Nicholas Carter. + 96--No. 13 Rue Marlot. By Rene du Pont Jest. + 95--Sealed Orders; or, The Triple Mystery. By Nicholas Carter. + 94--Vivier; of Vivier, Longman & Co., Bankers. By Barclay North. + 93--The Adventures of Harrison Keith, Detective. By Nicholas Carter. + 92--Van, the Government Detective. By Judson R. Taylor. + 91--The Great Money Order Swindle. By Nicholas Carter. + 90--On the Rack. By Barclay North. + 89--The Detective’s Pretty Neighbor and Other Stories. By Nicholas + Carter. + 88--The North Walk Mystery. By Will N. Harben. + 87--Nick Carter and the Green Goods Men. + 86--Brant Adams. By Judson R. Taylor. + 85--A Dead Man’s Grip. By Nicholas Carter. + 84--The Inspector’s Puzzle. By Charles Matthew. + 83--The Crescent Brotherhood. By Nicholas Carter. + 82--The Masked Detective. By Judson R. Taylor. + 81--Wanted by Two Clients. By Nicholas Carter. + 80--The Poker King. By Marline Manley. + 79--The Sign of the Crossed Knives. By Nicholas Carter. + 78--The Chosen Man. By Judson R. Taylor. + 77--The Van Alstine Case. By Nicholas Carter. + 76--Face to Face. By Donald J. McKenzie. + 75--The Clever Celestial. By Nicholas Carter. + 74--The Twin Detectives. By K. F. Hill. + 73--Two Plus Two. By Nicholas Carter. + 72--Sherlock Holmes Detective Stories. By A. Conan Doyle. + 71--The Diamond Mine Case. By Nicholas Carter. + 70--Little Lightning. By Police Captain James. + 69--Detective Bob Bridger. By R. M. Taylor. + 68--The Double Shuffle Club. By Nicholas Carter. + 67--The Mystery of a Madstone. By K. F. Hill. + 66--The Detective’s Clew. By O. L. Adams. + 65--Found on the Beach. By Nicholas Carter. + 64--The Red Camellia. By Fortune DuBoisgobey. + 63--The Chevalier Casse-Cou. By Fortune DuBoisgobey. + 62--A Fair Criminal. By Nicholas Carter. + 61--The Maltese Cross. By Eugene T. Sawyer. + 60--A Chase Around the World. By Mariposa Weir. + 59--A Millionaire Partner. By Nicholas Carter. + 58--Muertalma, or the Poisoned Pin. By Marmaduke Dey. + 57--The Vestibule Limited Mystery. By Marline Manly. + 56--At Thompson’s Ranch. By Nicholas Carter. + 55--His Great Revenge, Vol. II. By Fortune DuBoisgobey. + 54--His Great Revenge, Vol. I. By Fortune DuBoisgobey. + 53--An Accidental Password. By Nicholas Carter. + 52--The Post Office Detective. By George W. Goode. + 51--The Los Huecos Mystery. By Eugene T. Sawyer. + 50--The Man from India. By Nicholas Carter. + 49--At Odds With Scotland Yard. By Nicholas Carter. + 48--The Great Travers Case. By Dr. Mark Merrick. + 47--The Mystery of a Hansom Cab. By Fergus Hume. + 46--Check No. 777. By Nicholas Carter. + 45--Old Specie, the Treasury Detective. By Marline Manley. + 44--The Blue Veil. By Fortune Du Boisgobey. + 43--Among the Nihilists. By Nicholas Carter. + 42--The Revenue Detective. By Police Captain James. + 41--John Needham’s Double. By Joseph Hatton. + 40--The Mountaineer Detective. By C. W. Cobb. + 39--Among the Counterfeiters. By Nicholas Carter. + 38--The Matapan Affair. By Fortune Du Boisgobey. + 37--The Prairie Detective. By Leander P. Richardson. + 36--The Crime of the Opera House, Vol. II. By F. Du Boisgobey. + 35--The Crime of the Opera House, Vol. I. By F. Du Boisgobey. + 34--The Society Detective. By Oscar Maitland. + 33--The Convict Colonel. By Fortune Du Boisgobey. + 32--A Mysterious Case. By K. F. Hill. + 31--The Red Lottery Ticket. By Fortune Du Boisgobey. + 30--The Bag of Diamonds. By George Manville Fenn. + 29--The Clique of Gold. By Emile Gaboriau. + 28--Under His Thumb. By Donald J. McKenzie. + 27--The Steel Necklace. By Fortune Du Boisgobey. + 26--File No. 113. By Emile Gaboriau. + 25--The Detective’s Triumph. By Emile Gaboriau. + 24--The Detective’s Dilemma. By Emile Gaboriau. + 23--Evidence By Telephone. By Nicholas Carter. + 22--The Champdoce Mystery. By Emile Gaboriau. + 21--A Deposit Vault Puzzle. By Nicholas Carter. + 20--Caught in the Net. By Emile Gaboriau. + 19--A Chance Discovery. By Nicholas Carter. + 18--The Gamblers’ Syndicate. By Nicholas Carter. + 17--The Piano Box Mystery. By Nicholas Carter. + 16--A Woman’s Hand. By Nicholas Carter. + 15--The Widow Lerouge. By Emile Gaboriau. + 14--Caught in the Toils. By Nicholas Carter. + 13--The Mysterious Mail Robbery. By Nicholas Carter. + 12--Playing a Bold Game. By Nicholas Carter. + 11--Fighting Against Millions. By Nicholas Carter. + 10--The Old Detective’s Pupil. By Nicholas Carter. + 9--A Stolen Identity. By Nicholas Carter. + 8--An Australian Klondike. By Nicholas Carter. + 7--The American Marquis. By Nicholas Carter. + 6--A Wall Street Haul. By Nicholas Carter. + 5--The Crime of a Countess. By Nicholas Carter. + 4--Tracked Across the Atlantic. By Nicholas Carter. + 3--A Titled Counterfeiter. By Nicholas Carter. + 2--The Great Enigma. By Nicholas Carter. + 1--A Klondike Claim. By Nicholas Carter. + + +STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 238 William St., New York. + + + + +_To the Reader_ + + +We trust that you will be thoroughly satisfied with this book. During +the long period of time that the publications of Street & Smith have +been familiar to the reading classes (somewhat more than half a +century) it has always been our aim to give to the public the very best +literary products, regardless of the expenditure involved. Our books +and periodicals are today read and re-read in a majority of the homes +of America, while but few of our original competitors are even known by +name to the present generation. No special credit is due for antiquity, +but we hold it to be a self-evident fact that long experience, coupled +with enterprise and the ability to maintain the front rank for so +many years, proves our right to the title of leaders. We solicit your +further valued patronage. + + STREET & SMITH. + + + + + SHADOWED BY A + DETECTIVE + + OR + + THE WOMAN IN WAX + + BY + + VIRGINIA CHAMPLIN + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS + 238 WILLIAM STREET + + + + + Copyright, 1885, + By J. S. OGILVIE & CO. + + Copyright, 1899, + By STREET & SMITH + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + CHAPTER. PAGE + + I. The Kidnapping 5 + + II. What Became of the Heroine 12 + + III. Robertson Brothers & Co. 26 + + IV. Honorable Willie Saunders becomes Thoroughly Mad 43 + + V. Shakespeare’s Tavern 53 + + VI. The Morgue at Bellevue Hospital 62 + + VII. Saunders almost loses his Mind, while Captain Young loses + his time 74 + + VIII. Taking a Cast of the Dead 84 + + IX. What the Honorable Coroner Davis thought, and what + Robertson, Jr., was convinced of 92 + + X. A Mohick tells of a visit big Kelly receives which he + little expected, and how William Dow transforms + a visitor into a prisoner 100 + + XI. A Criminal Court in the State of New York 115 + + XII. How the worthy Mr. Midler exhorted his penitents to die + like Christians 127 + + XIII. In which James Gobson escapes the Gallows, and the + Honorable Coroner Davis’ remorse 137 + + XIV. In which Willie Saunders passes from despair to amazement, + and from amazement to anger 149 + + XV. William Dow’s Remorse 161 + + XVI. William Dow’s Revenge--seeking the unknown 169 + + XVII. A Souvenir of Love 184 + + XVIII. Two Villas at Jamaica Plain 196 + + XIX. What happened on leaving Barker’s 204 + + XX. A wife’s love and a maid’s love 217 + + XXI. The murderer of a Dead Woman 226 + + XXII. Kitty Bell’s Story 238 + + XXIII. Wharf 32 247 + + + + +Shadowed by a Detective; + +OR, + +THE WOMAN IN WAX. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE KIDNAPPING. + + +One evening, in the winter of 1865, a grand ball was given at No. 17 +East Twenty-third Street. It was at the house of Miss Ada Ricard, the +new star in the great American city, but a star whose brilliancy the +profane knew only by reflection, for her life was enveloped in mystery, +and she was never seen in any public place. + +All that was known of her past was that she had been married to a +wealthy merchant in Buffalo, James Gobson, a brutal individual, whose +matrimonial yoke she had succeeded in throwing off, but who had left +her certain ineffaceable souvenirs of his affection. + +Gobson, in fact, who adored his wife, and was very jealous of her, had +one day so abused her that after the violent scene she was left with +one ear torn and one tooth the less. It is true she concealed the cut +on her pretty ear behind a huge diamond, but she had always refused to +replace the pearl lacking in the jewel casket of her rosy lips. + +“By this,” she said, “I shall never be likely to forget what a husband +costs, and if any mad ambition or foolish love is about to make me +forget it, it will be sufficient to smile at myself in the glass to +recall the past.” + +Thus armed against her own weakness, she boldly launched herself into +a life of flirtations. Being worth from ten to twelve thousand dollars +through her husband, she made her _debut_ by expending them even to the +cents in order to establish herself in luxurious surroundings, knowing +that men, in their pride, attach as much value to the splendor of the +temple as to the charms of the idol. + +Having done this, and having her beauty as her only capital, she was +careful not to waste it on the first comer; she waited patiently, +seldom showing herself abroad, absolutely refusing all homage until a +certain Thomas Cornhill, the proprietor of inexhaustible oil wells, +seemed worthy of her heart. + +Unfortunately, three months after, Thomas Cornhill suddenly died, and +Miss Ada, though bereft, was left with one hundred thousand dollars in +ready money, and an equal sum in jewels. + +Ada mourned him for a few weeks; then, having an essentially practical +mind, she changed her retinue of servants before the advent of Willie +Saunders, an immensely rich cracker-merchant, who soon succeeded poor +Cornhill. + +When Willie Saunders found his homage accepted, he was greatly +flattered. He was a stout man of about fifty, sensitive, simple and +vain. He truly adored Ada, and believed himself tenderly beloved by +her. Therefore, ready to listen to all her caprices, he made only a few +remarks for form’s sake when she told him about the masquerade ball +she wished to give, but he was very jealous. He knew Ada was sought by +many adorers, among whom was a certain Edward Forster, a colonel in the +Union Army, and one of the most fascinating gentlemen in New York high +life. + +However convinced the worthy cracker-merchant might be of Ada’s love, +he naturally supposed that her adorers, Forster first of all, would +profit by this evening to pay her more attention than agreeable to +himself, and it troubled him. But the pretty, wicked little creature +managed so artfully that Saunders did not long resist. + +Besides, she was a wonderful creature, and the upstart-millionaire had +high stakes to play for. A blonde, with large, steel-blue eyes and a +tall, admirable figure, with the feet and hands of a child; with a +laughing mouth, bold-faced, and fearing nothing, Ada Ricard had every +attraction to lure the man of the world. The memory of her former +husband sometimes disturbed the young woman in her new life. Having +retained the recollection of his brutal love and jealousy, she also +remembered with terror that he swore to avenge himself for her leaving +him. But, since arranging the money settlements, she had not heard of +him, and even his friends in Buffalo did not know what had become of +him. One fine morning he made a fortune, and went West. He was last +heard from at San Francisco, where Saunders told her he was living a +fast life, evidently trying to drown recollection. + +Ada’s mind was now at rest, and never had she been so gay as at the +masked ball. Many women in good society had ventured to attend in order +to get a near view of the mysterious and powerful beauty. + +Toward eleven o’clock the parlors of the ex-Mrs. Gobson presented a +truly picturesque appearance. Every period, every class of society, +and every legend were represented, from the companions of Christopher +Columbus to the trappers of the far West, and from Mephistopheles to +the Venetian harlequin. Among the women there was a dazzling display +of precious stones and dominos of every color. Ada Ricard herself wore +the splendid costume of an Indian woman of the time of the Spanish +conquest. In her ears she had diamonds worth ten thousand dollars, +around her throat a triple necklace of pearls of at least equal value, +and on her arms and wrists very heavy bracelets of massive gold. + +All the men who knew her only by sight, and the women who had heard so +much of her, literally devoured her with admiring eyes. Saunders, who +was to give five or six thousand dollars toward this ball, did not take +his eyes off of her. + +Looking very grotesque in the dress of a Highlander, he tried every +moment to draw near her, but Ada reminded him by a word, look or +gesture that she wished to devote herself wholly to her guests, and he +docilely moved away, uttering a sigh which was charitably answered by +bursts of laughter by those of his friends who were acquainted with his +weakness. + +The ball, which had been rather quiet for two or three hours, had +become very lively, even noisy. + +Soon the buffets were pillaged, the champagne flowed in streams; a few +masks fell off, and Miss Ada Ricard, readily refraining from reminding +her guests of what was good form--for all this noise could only do the +greatest honor to her reputation--thought only of getting away as far +as possible from the hubbub. + +She had just taken the arm of one of her adorers instead of that +which the unfortunate Saunders had offered, and was proceeding toward +a little boudoir where some quiet people had taken refuge, when a +formidable hurrah caused every head to turn toward the door. + +It was the entrance of three Sioux Indians that had excited the +enthusiasm of the company. + +They indeed deserved this reception, for they were really superb in +their horribly truthful costumes, in which nothing was lacking, neither +the head-dress of feathers, the tomahawk, nor scalping-knife, nor even +in the belt, half a dozen scalps, sinister trophies of late raids. + +Ada Ricard turned and added her applause to that of the company; then, +like them, she tried to recognize those who had chosen this curious +disguise; but she did not succeed. + +No doubt, not caring particularly to tattoo their faces, the three +mysterious personages wore masks which wholly concealed their features, +and to every question they answered only with guttural cries and +exclamations which completely changed their voices. After opening a +passage through the crowd, they reached the mistress of the house, and, +drawing her away from the friend who was accompanying her, they began +to perform around her in a circle a fantastic dance which gradually +brought her to the main hall. + +Supposing, like every one else, that the Sioux Indians were three +admirers, Ada gayly watched their contortions and dance, and was the +first to burst into laughter, when the tallest of the three masks +seized her in his arms and, lifting her as if a child, bore her to the +threshold of the door. + +Standing before her captor, his two companions chanted a war-song and +swung their tomahawks as if to protect his flight. + +One would have thought him a great chief carrying away his squaw +according to the customs of the Indians of the plains. + +This joke was so thoroughly American that the crowd accepted it with +ringing bravos. + +Suddenly the warrior who bore the young woman faced about and, leaping +with one bound, sprang out upon the steps of the house, whose doors +were wide open, and then into a splendid landau which was standing +before the door. + +The two Indians who had followed him had quickly climbed the box, +and the carriage, the coachman no doubt having received his orders, +immediately set off at a double-quick gallop. + +This kidnapping had been so quickly performed, that no one would have +had time to prevent it if they had attempted it. + +Of Ada Ricard’s guests, moreover, not one had thought seriously of it +excepting the unhappy Saunders, whose jealousy, always on the watch, +made him think the conduct of the three masks very queer. + +He attempted to approach Ada Ricard, but his friends restrained him in +spite of his grotesque supplications; and, when she disappeared in the +arms of the Indian, he hastened to the balcony of the house, where the +enthusiasm reached delirium on the departure of the carriage. + +A tremendous hurrah covered the silvery laugh of Miss Ada when she +found herself being enveloped in the fur pelisse which one of the Sioux +had flung over her shoulders, and the unfortunate cracker-merchant, who +was dragged away from the balcony, had immediately become the pivot of +a comical dance in the middle of the drawing-room. + +What no one heard, was the cry of amazement or fright uttered by Miss +Ada Ricard the moment the carriage rattled along the pavement of East +Twenty-Third Street. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +WHAT BECAME OF THE HEROINE. + + +When the friends of Mr. Saunders, exhausted by their war-whoops and +dancing, deigned to grant a little respite to their victim by opening +the circle which they had pitilessly formed around him, the big man, +half-crazed and breathless, sank upon a lounge, listening absently to +those who were trying to console him. He not only suffered through his +love, but his vanity was equally wounded, for he did not doubt that +his misfortune would be known all over New York the next day, and that +he would become an object of public ridicule. It seemed to him that +Ada must have connived with her kidnappers, being too blind to suppose +that violence had been done her. But who were those men with whom +the unfaithful woman had consented to be an accomplice in the scene +that covered him with ridicule? For whose benefit had this kidnapping +been made? For one of her adorers, no doubt, but which one? He was so +completely absorbed in his meditations and despair that he did not +perceive that the guests were disappearing one by one, and only the +voice of Ada’s maid brought him to himself. + +He raised his eyes, the parlors were deserted, and he was left alone in +the room from which the woman he loved had so strangely disappeared. + +On recognizing Ada’s maid, he felt the satisfaction of a man whose +anger, long restrained, can at last vent itself on some one. + +“Ah! you at least can explain to me what all this means,” he cried, +springing up and seizing the maid by the arm. + +“I!” answered Mary, somewhat alarmed, and trying to disengage herself +from Saunders’ grasp. “I! how should I know any more than you?” + +“Did you not recognize those masks?” + +“I saw them only while they were carrying off madam.” + +“Did not Ada receive any letters during the day?” + +“None whatever.” + +“Nor a call?” + +“You know very well that she receives only you.” + +“Then you have no cause for suspicion?” + +“None.” + +“It is incredible. Your mistress and you are two cheats.” + +Saying this, the merchant gave Mary a push, and, having arisen as +quickly as his corpulence would permit, strode up and down the parlor. + +At the very grotesque contrast between the disturbed face of the stout +man and his Highland costume, whose short frock displayed his large +bare legs, the maid could no longer restrain herself and burst into +laughter, crying: + +“Heavens, sir! how droll you look. If madam could see you what fun she +would have.” + +Made furious by this remark, which turned the dagger round and round in +his wound as if with delight, Saunders approached the insolent girl to +strike her; but he probably felt that he would gain nothing by threats +and violence, for he suddenly softened and said: + +“Come, my little Mary, be good now. Haven’t I always been kind to you? +If you will tell me where madam has gone I will give you one hundred +dollars.” + +“If you were to give me one thousand dollars,” answered the maid +saucily, “I could not give you exact information, for I know nothing +myself; but give me the one hundred dollars all the same and I will +tell you something that will comfort you.” + +The love-sick merchant quickly drew out of the little leather bag that +danced upon his stomach, from his Scotch wallet, the sum demanded, +and handed it to Mary, who took it, slipped it into her corsage, and +continued: + +“Do you know, sir, that I have an idea that this affair was done on a +wager. You know how many are in love with madam, but she loves you too +much to deceive you, and has always refused the most splendid offers. +Three of her admirers, therefore, wished to avenge themselves upon her +and you, and so have carried her off. It won’t accomplish much, for you +know madam isn’t a woman to be made to do what she does not wish. They, +no doubt, have taken her into some house in the neighborhood, from +which she will find a way to escape if they try to retain her by force. +Before noon she will be back here.” + +“Yes, you are right,” said Saunders, somewhat consoled; “that is how +it will be; but I swear to you that they shall pay for this joke. +Suppose I go and notify the police?” + +“Are you crazy? Madam will be back before a detective can find a trace +of her. I should not be astonished if Forster was at the bottom of it.” + +“Colonel Edward?” + +“That’s the man. He is dead in love with madam, although she never +would receive him.” + +“I will go to his house at once.” + +“That would be absurd, for it certainly is not to his own house that he +has taken Miss Ada.” + +“What shall I do then?” + +“Go to bed and rest, but change your dress first. You don’t intend, I +suppose, to walk around in that costume all day,” and Mary, to prevent +herself from laughing again, bit her lips until they bled. + +“Of course not,” he answered, glancing into the mirror which gave him +back his burlesque image; “but you must send me word as soon as Ada +returns.” + +“I promise you.” + +“Then send for a carriage.” + +Mary hastened to send one of the servants to the nearest carriage +stand, and a few moments later, after giving a thousand commands to +the young girl, the poor lover carefully wrapped in his cloak, and +heaving the loudest of sighs, sank back out of sight in a corner of the +carriage. + +“Fool!” muttered Mary for farewell, as Saunders disappeared from sight; +“if you see your lady-love to-day I shall be greatly surprised.” + +And without taking notice of what was passing below-stairs, where the +festivity that had been interrupted in the parlor was being noisily +continued, the servant re-entered Ada Ricard’s apartments and shut +herself in. + +During the scenes we have just described, the landau that bore away the +young woman, on leaving Twenty-third Street turned to the left, and +proceeded along First Avenue toward the eastern part of the city. + +The deepest silence had not ceased to prevail inside of the carriage, +and it had been rolling on half an hour when the coachman suddenly +stopped his horses. + +The neighborhood was dark and silent. + +The two Indians, who had mounted the box, sprang down upon the +sidewalk, exchanged a few words with the mask, by the side of which +still sat Miss Ada, and then, darting toward a neighboring narrow +street, vanished in the darkness. + +The landau resumed its course, and soon reached the first houses of +Yorkville, a locality of bad repute, where in miserable shanties was +huddled a large population, mostly composed of Irish. + +It was the retreat of innumerable pickpockets, malefactors and +rag-pickers of the great American city, and is attached to one side of +it like an incurable leper. Honest people hardly dare venture, even in +daylight, through this horrible locality, which extends to the banks of +the East River, almost opposite Blackwell’s Island, where the prisons +and hospitals are. + +Having reached the entrance of Yorkville the carriage stopped a second +time, the man who was inside alighted, bearing in his arms the young +woman whom, with an oath, on account of the bad weather, he informed +that they had at last arrived. He gave an order to the coachman, and +the latter, turning his horses, drove back at a gallop. As for the +unknown man, still laden with his precious burden, he walked rapidly to +a lane a few steps distant. + +The place was evidently familiar to him, for without hesitating a +moment, although it was very dark, he reached a small house, the door +of which was opened at his first touch, and which he quickly closed +behind him. + +In less than a quarter of an hour the same person reappeared in the +street, wearing a large hooded cloak, which concealed his previous +disguise, but he no longer carried his lady companion. She was walking +at his side, choosing as well as she could in the darkness the cleanest +places on the sidewalk, and drawing her furs closely around her, for +the night was chilly. They walked thus in the direction of the East +River without exchanging a word. Soon they reached the banks, which +were deserted, there being nothing to be seen but the lights of the +steamboats which ploughed its waters night and day. + +The unknown descended to the edge of the water to a little boat which, +no doubt, he expected to find there, jumped in first, then offered his +hand to the young lady, who embarked without hesitation, and seated +herself in the stern, while her companion took possession of the +oars. Ten minutes later, by skilful rowing, the boat drifted along +Blackwell’s Island, then, bearing to the left, moved to the opposite +bank. In order to row at his ease, the amateur sailor had thrown off +his cloak. The persons in this boat made a fantastic sight, being +composed only of an Indian and a woman in the costume of the time of +the Incas, and who at this hour of the night were crossing this arm of +the sea, on which the current and darkness rendered navigation doubly +dangerous. + +The lady was evidently anxious, for she tried to peer through the fog +that surrounded her. Unable to do so, she finally asked her companion: + +“Have we long to wait?” + +“Less than half an hour,” he answered, with a vigorous stroke at the +oar, and pushing away from a steamer that was going to New York, at +full speed, and belching forth smoke and cinders. + +“What was your idea in coming this way?” + +“There is no other; the colonel appointed the opposite shore, at +Greenpoint.” + +“Then he was quite certain that you would succeed?” + +“So it seemed. Confess, however, regardless of the pride of the author, +that it was a skilfully managed kidnapping.” + +“Indeed, it was; but Saunders will be seeking us to-morrow, and, +although you paid the coachman well, he will pay him more generously +still, and the man will not hesitate to tell where he stopped his +carriage.” + +“That is the least of my anxieties, for when the fat imbecile discovers +the house we came out of, he will find no one in it. Do you think I am +going back there to wait for him?” + +“Where is Colonel Forster to take me?” + +“Ah! that is his affair and yours. He promised me a thousand dollars if +I would carry off Ada Ricard, with whom he is madly in love.” + +“Without having seen her?” + +“So it seems. I have carried off Ada Ricard. I shall get my thousand +dollars, and the rest does not concern me.” + +“I cannot, however, remain in this costume.” + +“Oh! the colonel is a perfect gentleman; he will have a complete +wardrobe for you, I am certain. Look! there are the lights at +Williamsburg. In ten strokes of the oar we shall arrive.” + +In fact, ahead of the boat the lighted buildings of that important +suburb of New York were plainly seen. The boatman bent over his oars, +and in five minutes they touched the shore at Greenpoint. Before +disembarking the mysterious man gave a shrill whistle, which was +immediately answered by one like it. + +“Come,” he said to the young woman, and jumping out on the bank he +helped her to reach the ground. Then, taking her by the hand, he led +her to the road, where shone the light from the lanterns of a carriage. + +“Is it you?” asked a man keeping guard. + +“It is I, colonel,” answered the Indian; “all has passed off well; Miss +Ada has not been very dreadfully shocked.” + +“Oh! madam,” said Colonel Forster eagerly, for it was he who came to +meet her, “will you forgive me for this violence?” + +“I cannot tell you at present, sir,” answered the young woman, +“for just now I detest you. You must confess that it was a brutal +proceeding, a veritable kidnapping from the midst of my guests, who, +the simpletons, thought it only a carnival joke. At first I was greatly +frightened, and now I am frozen.” + +“Let us go at once to my coupe; later I will make my excuses and will +repair all my wrongs.” + +“What! your coupe. Where are we going?” + +“On board of my yacht, which is waiting for us at Brooklyn; afterwards +wherever you wish.” + +“Excepting to my house?” + +“Excepting to your house,” repeated the American officer, gallantly. + +While exchanging these words all three had reached the carriage, the +horses of which were stamping impatiently. + +The colonel helped the pretty New Yorker to enter, and after seating +himself by her side, said to the pseudo-Indian, holding out a +portmonnaie: + +“Here is what I promised you; remember, not a word. You know that if I +have Saunders or the police at my heels, I shall be after you; whereas, +if you are discreet I shall have the same sum at your disposal again.” + +“Count on me, colonel,” said the stranger; “it is for my interest to be +silent.” + +Then, as he closed the door, he added: “Tell me, Miss Ada, have you +not some commission to give me for Twenty-third Street? Your people, +perhaps, are anxious.” + +“No, it is useless,” answered the strange woman; “I shall write to my +maid to-day to ask for what I need. I have confidence in her. Besides, +I hope the colonel will not keep me a prisoner long.” + +The officer protested against this supposition, looking affectionately +at his companion. + +“Then, all right; a pleasant journey to you,” said the Indian, finally, +closing the door of the coupe, and the coachman immediately started the +horses. + +Quickly regaining the river, the Indian sprang into his boat, which he +pushed off, and returned in the same direction by which he had come a +few moments before. + +Meanwhile Edward Forster’s carriage was crossing Williamsburg and +moving toward Brooklyn, which it reached in less than twenty-five +minutes. The colonel employed the time on the road in making a thousand +protestations of love, which his companion hardly answered. When the +coupe finally stopped at the Brooklyn wharf, he was ten steps off from +a large yacht which was evidently waiting for passengers, for it was +under steam. + +“We have arrived, Miss Ada,” said Forster; “come.” + +He had sprung to the ground and offered his arm to help her cross the +planking between the yacht and the wharf. + +“Have you the right pressure?” he asked the officer who had appeared at +the coupe to receive him on board. + +“Yes, colonel,” was the answer. + +“Then set sail at once, and go by the way of Staten Island.” + +Having given his orders, Forster gently led his victim to the stairs +opening to the interior of the boat. A few moments later he escorted +her to a spacious, delightfully-furnished cabin, and said to her as he +knelt before her: + +“Miss Ada, you are even more beautiful than I dreamed; tell me that you +forgive me.” + +Ada had seated herself on a lounge, and her fur cloak had fallen from +her shoulders. The colonel gazed at her in admiration. He was a very +handsome young man, and one could easily understand the jealousy with +which he had inspired the stout Saunders. Hardly thirty-five years old, +a blonde with a slender figure, both elegant and robust, he was a true +representative of the Anglo-Saxon race. Besides he had a great fortune +and was one of the most distinguished officers in the Union Army. + +It was this, probably, which influenced her, for after a moment’s +silence she decided to answer him with a smile. + +“I think, colonel, it is time to come to an explanation. You have +carried me off. That is a very military proceeding; now what are you +going to do with me?” + +“Make you the happiness of my life,” interrupted Forster. “You know +that I adore you.” + +“That is a matter of course; but how came you to conceive such a wild +plan? It cannot be simply because I refused to receive you.” + +“You had not been in New York a fortnight before I loved you, and +Cornhill did all that he could to rouse everyone’s curiosity and to +increase my love for you. He belonged to my club, and not a day passed +that he did not talk to us about your wit and beauty. From that moment +dates my first efforts to meet you; but, you remember, I hardly had an +opportunity after two or three attempts to catch a glimpse of you and +speak to you a few seconds. When Cornhill died I was absent from New +York. I went to Louisiana on a commission, which I cursed on my return +when I knew that Saunders was devoting himself to you, and to seek a +quarrel with him, when he did not belong to my set in society, would +have made me ridiculous.” + +“You were afraid of a scandal.” + +“True, not knowing what to do, for I felt that every day I was loving +you more; I should certainly have committed some folly, for you did not +answer my letters, and your door was pitilessly closed to me, when one +morning a man whom I did not know came to propose that I should carry +you off and bring you on board my yacht. I confess that I did not for +an instant trouble myself as to how the man had learned of my love +for you; I saw only the end to be attained. He spoke to me with such +assurance that I accepted his offer: we agreed upon the condition. I +promised him a certain sum if he should succeed, and the same if he +would keep silent. He has succeeded; that is why we are this moment +descending the East River, and why I am at your feet asking your +forgiveness and begging you to forgive me.” + +“We will talk about it at another time.” + +“I have obtained a three months’ leave from the Secretary of War, and I +have told my family that I should be absent on a trip to the South.” + +“The plan is perfectly arranged; it lacks only my consent.” + +“It is late to refuse me that.” + +“Do you think so?” + +“I hope so.” + +“What of poor Saunders?” + +“Oh! I beg you, don’t mention his name.” + +“You know that he will kill you when he learns what has happened.” + +“That would not be a misfortune unless he killed me before you make me +happy by loving me.” + +Ada could not resist this chivalrous sally of the colonel. She answered +by holding out her two little hands, which he pressed warmly in his own. + +“Well, I am conquered. We will shake hands; no one could have done +more brusquely or more gallantly. But I cannot remain in this carnival +dress.” + +“I foresaw that,” answered the colonel, rising; “you will find there,” +pointing to a cabin, the door of which was partly open, “all that you +need. If anything is wanting we can send one of my men to New York for +it tomorrow.” + +“Really, you are charming,” answered the young woman, with a smile. “I +will join you in a moment.” + +“While waiting for you, I shall order supper. You must be dying of +hunger.” + +“Truly, I am. You forget nothing,” saying which she disappeared in the +adjoining cabin. + +In less than a quarter of an hour she returned, attired in a lovely +robe of blue silk. They seated themselves at a table, delicately +served, and Colonel Forster, as a prelude to the repast, gave an ardent +toast to the beauty of his passenger. + +The yacht was steaming out into the main roads, and all this time the +unhappy Saunders, who had settled down in his own home and divested +himself of his Highland costume, was in the depths of despair, +wondering what could have become of his beloved Miss Ada Ricard. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +ROBERTSON BROTHERS & CO. + + +Notwithstanding his chagrin, the Hon. Saunders finally succumbed to +fatigue and fell asleep. When he awoke--toward one o’clock in the +afternoon--and his valet told him that no caller or letter had come, he +sprang from his bed, dressed in haste, and, without allowing himself +more for breakfast than about a dozen sandwiches, washed down by half a +dozen cups of tea, he jumped into a cab, ordering the driver to stop at +No. 17 East Twenty-third Street. Ten minutes later he arrived. + +“Is there any news?” he asked the servant who opened the door. + +“Nothing, sir,” answered the man, who would have been greatly +embarrassed to have been obliged to deliver a longer sentence, for he +was still half intoxicated on account of the festivity of the evening +before. Saunders quickly ascended the first flight, and found Mary in +Ada’s apartment. She was quietly arranging dresses and linen. + +“Well,” he asked, sinking into an arm-chair, “so madam has not +returned?” + +“No,” replied the maid; “but I have heard from her.” + +“And you did not tell me at once.” + +The stout merchant made a movement as if to rise. + +Mary stopped him with a gesture, saying-- + +“Oh, sir! it is because the news will not afford you much pleasure.” + +“What--what is the matter? Nothing has happened to madam? But tell me; +you make my blood boil.” + +“Not more than a quarter of an hour ago I received a letter from Miss +Ada. Here it is.” + +Saunders tore from the maid’s hands the letter she held out to him, +and, after reading it, uttered an angry cry. The letter contained five +lines only, but they were enough to drive the loving Yankee mad. + +“My good Mary,” she said, “put the house in order, dismiss the +servants, giving each a fortnight’s extra pay, and wait for me +patiently. I shall be absent a month, at least; perhaps two or three. I +rely upon you--Ada Ricard.” + +“What does all this mean?” he cried, at last, when he had recovered his +speech. + +“I know no more than you, sir,” answered the maid. “You see I am +fulfilling madam’s orders.” + +“And not a word for me,” groaned the unhappy man, crushing in his hand +the cruel letter. “Ah! the cheat shall pay for it. Who brought the +note?” + +“An unknown messenger, who must belong to another neighborhood.” + +“Didn’t you ask where he came from?” + +“He spoke to the cook and immediately left. His errand was no doubt +paid for in advance.” + +Saunders buried his face in his big hands and murmured-- + +“O, yes, I will avenge myself, but how?” + +Mary, shrugging her shoulders, had resumed her work. + +An excellent idea evidently was suddenly working in the troubled mind +of the cracker-merchant, for, rising abruptly, and without addressing +a word to the unfeeling servant, he left the room and house of his +faithless Ada. + +“To the central office of the police,” he ordered as he climbed into +his carriage. The chief of the metropolitan police was at that time +a Mr. Kelly, who was always spoken of as “Fat Kelly,” a very large, +churlish man, often rough but quite intelligent, and possessing besides +all the scepticism indispensable to his important duties. Saunders sent +in his card, but Fat Kelly, before receiving him, rang for one of his +secretaries in order to obtain some information about his visitor. Five +minutes later this clerk handed his chief a note as follows: + + Willie Saunders, wealthy cracker-merchant, vain, of ordinary + intelligence, very much smitten with a woman, Ada Ricard, on whom he + has already lavished $100,000 or more. Willie Saunders is worth at + least a million and a half. + +“Very well, show him in,” ordered the chief of police, after becoming +acquainted with this not very flattering document, of whose existence +Saunders was certainly ignorant. + +Summoned by an office boy, the unfortunate merchant plunged like an +avalanche into Mr. Kelly’s private office. + +The latter gentleman could not conceal the pleasant, spontaneous smile +which wreathed his lips at the sight of a man almost as stout as he; +but, his nature gaining the ascendancy, he hastened to say in a curt +tone to the grotesque individual: + +“What do you wish? Be quick, I have a load of business on hand.” + +Without being greatly disconcerted--for he was so completely absorbed +in his own anxieties that he heeded nothing--Saunders answered: + +“I have come, sir, to request your most powerful protection; I am the +victim.” + +“Of a theft? Where, how? Of what sum? Is the guilty man, or him you +suppose guilty, one of your employes?” + +“No sir; I----” + +“So much the better, for theft by anyone in your pay is an aggravating +case.” + +“But, sir, it is not a case of theft.” + +“Ah! What is it then?” + +“Kidnapping, sir; real kidnapping.” + +“They have carried off your wife, your daughter?” + +“I am not married.” + +“Who, then? Your mother, or your sister, or your cousin, or your aunt? +Devil take it, do be precise. I can’t guess and enumerate all your +family.” + +“They have carried off my Ada.” + +“Your Ada, who has had your hundred thousand dollars, and who, of +course, deceives you.” + +“Sir, are you acquainted?” + +“And who has carried off this interesting person? One of her lovers? +What do you wish me to do? There has been no violence.” + +“Oh, yes; on the contrary.” + +“No; it is improbable, inadmissable; consequently I can have nothing +to do with your affair. I wish you a very good day. Go and make your +claims for Miss Ada elsewhere. What have I to do with such matters? +You are wealthy; this lady will return to you some day, be sure of it. +And you will receive her, and she will make you believe anything she +wishes, and you will ask her pardon. You are all great fools, one as +much as the other.” + +And Fat Kelly, drawing a bundle of papers toward him, began to turn +them over in furious haste, without paying further attention to his +visitor. + +Saunders, in spite of his moderate intelligence, as the descriptive +document stated, understood that he would obtain nothing from the chief +of the police, and without bowing, which did not disturb the latter at +all, but deeply humiliated, and grumbling aloud with a freedom wholly +American, he left the office of the intractable police officer. But +when he reached the threshold of the administrative office where he +thought to find assistance and protection, he questioned himself as to +what he should do, and perhaps he was about to decide to go to Colonel +Forster’s house, when an individual accosted him and said politely: + +“You seem greatly annoyed, sir.” + +“What is that to you?” was the gruff answer. + +“Why,” replied the unknown, without being ruffled by this cool +reception, “because if you did not obtain the information you desire +from the central office, I might be able to give it to you.” + +“You?” + +“Or at least the important house of Robertson Brothers & Co., of which +I have the honor to be one of the head clerks.” + +“The house of Robertson & Co.?” + +“Yes, sir, the most honorable, most discreet, and the safest agency----” + +Saunders, the stout, tapped his forehead; he understood. + +The man who was addressing him was simply one of those ferrets by whom +the informing agencies scour the city. The most skilful of all its +rivals, the house of Robertson Bros. & Co., always had one of its men +standing around in the neighborhood of Mr. Kelly’s offices, in order to +recruit on the way some client for whom the official police had refused +to become the instrument. It must have been Heaven that sent Saunders +this aid. + +“Where is your office?” he asked the agent. + +“In Nineteenth Street, No. 22,” answered the clerk. + +“Close to her,” murmured Saunders, with a sigh. + +“What did you say?” + +“Nothing, come into my cab, give the address to the coachman, and take +me to the house.” + +The man obeyed, and in a quarter of an hour the carriage stopped before +a very honest-looking house, whose mahogany door bore on a large copper +plate: “Robertson Bros. & Co., solicitors.” + +Messrs. Robertson Bros. & Co. make a great deal of money, but they have +a better reputation than their professional brethren. They even pass +for honest people and that explains itself, for all New York knew the +causes of the creation of their agency, which, at the time when the +events took place herein described, had been established but three or +four years. + +It was well known that Mr. Robertson, Sr., had founded his +establishment merely through political spite and hatred toward Mr. +Kelly, the chief of the metropolitan police. + +A candidate for election at the same time as Kelly, Edward Robertson +had been beaten by his rival, after a fierce contention and a truly +American exchange of invectives. Robertson reproached Kelly with being +an ignorant, drunken brute; Kelly accused his competitor of being +ambitious, a slaveholder, and libertine. + +The Yankee electors no doubt preferred the faults of Kelly to those of +Robertson, since they nominated Kelly; but when Robertson learned that +his enemy was called to the important functions of the chief of police, +he judged that the moment had come to avenge himself. Then he organized +his agency of secret police, in order to test his skill against that of +the official police of his former adversary. + +He relied upon occasions, not lacking, to show the superiority of +his mind over that of his victor in the elections, and he hoped that +his victories would enable him some day to take his revenge in a new +political struggle. Several times already, in cases where Fat Kelly had +failed, notwithstanding the aid of all his policemen and detectives, +Messrs. Robertson had succeeded; and it can be easily judged whether +Robertson, senior, was proud of his victories, and had made them tell +for the reputation of his house. + +Saunders, who was well acquainted with this police rivalry and these +strange customs, crossed the threshold of the house of Robertson +Brothers & Co., without the least repugnance. + +After leading him to a small, severely furnished room on the ground +floor, his guide introduced him into the private office of one of the +chiefs of the agency. + +The love-sick manufacturer of crackers found himself in the presence +of a man hardly thirty years old, freshly shaven, with hair curled +(pomaded), foppishly dressed, and having no indication on his +physiognomy of the interloping police officer. + +As he partly reclined in a spacious leather arm chair before a large +desk loaded with documents, with his white hand and smiling lips, one +would have taken him for a young member of Congress. + +“Mr. Robertson?” asked Saunders. + +“Robertson, Jr.,” answered the second head of the house, slightly +bowing, and signing to his visitor to be seated. “To whom have I the +honor of speaking?” + +“Willie Saunders, sir.” + +“Mr. Willie Saunders, the proprietor of the great manufacturies in +Brooklyn, the noted Mr. Saunders?” + +“The very one, sir.” + +Greatly flattered at being so well known, the poor man took an +arm-chair and tried to settle his mind. + +After a few moments of meditation, he said: “This is what brings me +here, sir. A young woman in whom I am deeply interested, Miss Ada +Ricard, was carried off yesterday during a ball that she was giving at +her house, No. 17 East Twenty-third Street.” + +“Carried off!” interrupted Robertson, Jr. + +“Yes, sir, carried off!” And Saunders related in detail the event of +which he had been a witness; then, with many groans, he told what the +maid had said about her mistress, and his useless application at the +central office of the metropolitan police. + +“You think, then,” said the young man, who had listened without +interrupting, “that Colonel Forster is the kidnapper?” + +“I think so,” answered the jealous man, with flashing eyes. + +“You would like to make certain of it?” + +“Yes, and to know what has become of Miss Ada. Is that possible?” + +“Everything is possible; it is only a question of price.” + +“Set your own.” + +“It is necessary first that I should have a likeness of the lady.” + +“I always carry one.” + +Poor Saunders drew forth a photograph and presented it to Robertson. + +“She is very pretty,” said the latter, gallantly. + +“Alas, yes,” sighed the stout man. + +“Let me ask you a few questions? Are you married? Have you +children--daughters in particular?” + +“Why do you ask?” + +“You will understand. If you have children--daughters especially--we +shall have to act with the greatest caution in order to avoid scandal, +in the interest of decency, which needs no explanation. Then our +expenses would be larger, and consequently our commission higher.” + +“Very well. No; I am a single man.” + +“That is perfect. One thing more. How much money have you spent in your +devotion to this bewitching Miss Ada?” + +“How much must I----” + +“Of course, you will see why. You are very rich and generous. If +you have spent but little for Miss Ada, it is because you love her +moderately; consequently, you have only a moderate desire to find her. +If, on the contrary, you open your purse wide, it is because you are +deeply in love with her; therefore, you have a proportionate desire to +see her again. Now, our search and movements being regulated by your +sentiments, it is indispensable that we should be exactly informed.” + +The worthy Robertson, Jr., expressed himself so coldly and calmly but +also with such precision, and moreover with such logic as regarded his +estimable business, that Saunders could but give an approving wave of +the hand, saying in answer: + +“You are right. Well, Miss Ada has had a big pile of money from me, and +because I love her still, and because I wish to avenge myself on her +and her kidnappers, I subscribe in advance to your conditions.” + +“If it is Colonel Forster who carried off this young woman he is a +formidable adversary,” he observed. + +“Then what will it cost?” + +“Then, my dear sir, it will cost five hundred dollars, in advance; then +you will give us five hundred dollars more on the day when I shall have +the pleasure of informing you what became of Miss Ada Ricard, and where +you must go to find her.” + +For answer, Willie Saunders majestically handed a check to Mr. +Robertson, Jr., saying-- + +“As for the other five hundred dollars, when you give me the +information you promise you can have a check.” + +“That will be in a few days, I hope. But try nothing on your part; you +might, without meaning it, counteract some of my plans.” + +“I will be careful, sir. Ah, don’t mislay that photograph, I beg, as it +is the only one I possess. I have destroyed all the others.” + +“I will return it, with my note.” + +“I did not wish Miss Ada to have a single one to give away.” + +“That was prudent.” + +“It has served me well.” + +“Ah, do not too quickly accuse that charming woman; she may have been +the victim of some violence.” + +“But her letter, sir, her letter to her maid.” + +“Who can assert that she was not forced to write? Be calm and patient; +remain quietly at home, and have confidence in the house of Robertson +Brothers & Co.; it has solved mysteries more difficult than yours. From +to-day your interests are ours.” + +Touched by these kind words, the unfortunate cracker-merchant deigned +to extend a hand to Mr. Robertson, Jr., and returned home more +cheerful. The days, however, seemed endless to him, and, although +he did not find in Mary a very faithful echo of his grief, he could +not help going three or four times in every twenty-four hours to No. +17 East Twenty-third Street. But at each call the maid invariably +answered: “Since madam has written that she will be absent a month at +least, do as I do--wait.” + +Saunders went along Twenty-third Street holding on to the railings of +the houses, for his step had become feeble. + +The adventure was noised abroad; thanks to the servants who had been +dismissed, people knew the slightest details, and Miss Ada’s unhappy +lover was the laughing-stock of every one. They watched his coming and +going, but he was so completely absorbed in his sad thoughts that he +perceived nothing of it. + +When he was at home, the business instinct roused him a little from his +preoccupation, but his mind quickly reverted to its one thought, and he +changed so from hour to hour that he became pitiable to behold. Those +of his friends who at first had most mercilessly joked him now pitied +him. + +Matters remained thus four days, and Saunders becoming very anxious at +Messrs. Robertson Brothers’ long silence was about to call upon them, +when one morning he received a large envelope, proudly bearing the seal +of this honorable house. He hastened to open it. It contained Miss +Ada’s picture, a letter of a few lines and a very long note, headed +“Confidential.” + + SIR--The enclosed document proves to you that we have succeeded + according to your wishes. We have spared neither skill nor any + possible step, and we have the honor of reminding you that upon + presenting the said document you have to pay us a sum of five + hundred dollars. Our clerk, the bearer of this paper, will give you + a receipt. We have not forgotten that we are ready to follow your + orders in this affair. + + Yours, respectfully, etc., etc. + +Willie Saunders, deeply impressed, quickly turned to read the note of +Messrs. Robertson Brothers & Co., solicitors, which was drawn up in the +following style: + + Miss Ada Ricard, carried off from her house on the night of Tuesday + last, left in a carriage hired by an unknown man the night before + from Mr. Thompson, No. 4 Sixth Avenue, for the sum of twenty-five + dollars for twenty-four hours. The stranger said that this carriage + would have to take him to several masked balls, that he did not wish + any footmen, for his own would accompany him, and that he would come + for the carriage himself when he needed it. They had it ready for + him, and he arrived at half-past one in the morning, with two men + in large dominos and masks. He wore a heavy cloak, but, although he + also was masked, it was easy to recognize by his headgear that he + was costumed as an Indian. The coachman was named Tom Katters. By + the order of the unknown man he drove to East Twenty-third Street, + where he remained in the file of carriages standing before No. 17. + One of the dominos alighted and disappeared for about half an hour. + At the end of this time he returned and exchanged a few words in a + foreign language with the other two masks, who got out of the landau. + They had removed their dominos and were all three disguised as Sioux + Indians. Before leaving, one of the three men, who seemed to command + the others, gave his instructions to Tom Katters. The latter was + to stand directly before the door of the house and when the three + travelers returned to start his horses off at a gallop. They gave + him five dollars extra to induce him to be exact in obeying orders, + and promised him as much more if he would prove himself intelligent. + In less than twenty minutes after their departure the three masks + returned. The largest bore in his arms a woman, who was laughing; he + got into the landau with her; the other two Indians mounted the box + with Katters, who, according to their order, drove at full speed up + Twenty-third Street as far as First Avenue. A little beyond Hell Gate + the two men sprang down to the sidewalk, and after telling Katters to + pursue his course to the entrance of Yorkville, they disappeared. + Katters obeyed, and did not stop until he had reached the place + indicated. There the only remaining traveler in his turn alighted. He + bore the young woman in his arms, because the ground was damp with + the rain, and he was reassuring her, no doubt, for Katters heard him + say: “It has rained cats and dogs, but we have arrived.” + +“Miserable cheat,” murmured Saunders, whose anger increased at each one +of these details; “she had an understanding with her kidnappers. Oh! I +shall avenge myself.” And, washing down this vow with a large glass of +sherry, he resumed his reading. + +The report continued in these terms: + + Before leaving, the unknown man gave the promised five dollars to + the coachman, and the latter, without disturbing himself as to + what was to become of his generous client, turned his horses round + and returned to the city. It seems certain that the man and woman + immediately went to the East River to embark in a boat waiting for + them, for James Davis, the mate of the steamer Liberia, remembered + having seen, while he was on watch Tuesday or Wednesday night, at + three o’clock, below Blackwell’s Island, a yawl, rowed by an Indian, + and in the stern of which sat a woman. This yawl passed so close to + the Liberia that it came near being capsized, and the frightened + passenger uttered a cry of fear. Our information permits us to add + that Colonel Forster, Monday, had his yacht, the Gleam, conveyed to + the Brooklyn wharf, which he visited Tuesday, and this same yacht + was provisioned for a trip of a certain number of weeks. Wednesday, + in the day-time, the Gleam passed before Castle Garden, and a young, + elegant woman was plainly seen on board. Then it took the route for + Staten Island, and there it came to anchor on account of some injury + to one of its cylinders. Captain Reynolds, who commands the Gleam, + having sent ashore for workmen, one of my agents quietly slipped in + among them, and easily recognized Miss Ada, owing to the photograph + he had in his hands. The same agent learned that as soon as the Gleam + was repaired it put out to sea for some unknown destination. It would + be impossible to say how long this voyage or excursion will last, for + Colonel Forster, who has not left shipboard, has a leave of absence + for three months. + + If Mr. Willie Saunders desires, the house of Robertson Brothers & Co. + can hire a steamboat, and one of the most intelligent agents can set + out in pursuit of the fugitives. Mr. Robertson, Jr., will wait for + the instructions of Mr. Willie Saunders. The hiring of this steamer + will cost one hundred dollars a day. Mr. Willie Saunders must deposit + one thousand dollars in advance, which shall be paid to Messrs. + Robertson Brothers & Co., whatever the result and duration of the + expedition. + +“Well, that is an idea,” murmured the stout man, whom anger and the +desire for vengeance made ready for anything; “Robertson Brothers & Co. +are men of skill. Yes, even if it costs me double and treble what they +ask, I will confound the wretch. Ah! that brutal Kelly imagines that I +will forgive him. Well, we will see.” + +And in a state of fierce excitement, Saunders took his hat and rushed +to the door of his office. + +“Pardon, sir,” said an individual, stopping him on the way, and who +had been there a long time and whom he had quite forgotten, “pardon, +you have five hundred dollars to remit by me.” + +“Ah! that is true,” answered the cracker-merchant, recognizing the +clerk of the agency. “Present that at the bank.” + +He had scrawled an order in one of the pages of his note-book, and +handed it to the man. + +Then he jumped into the first cab which he saw and was driven to the +police intelligence office, where Robertson, Junior, received him, as +on his first visit. + +“Sir,” said Saunders to him, “your idea of pursuing Miss Ada’s +kidnapper seems to me excellent. I approve of it, but be prompt. +According to the information you have sent me, Colonel Forster’s yacht +may still be at anchor off Staten Island, and if I could reach there +before her departure----” + +“What! you wish to go yourself,” observed the elegant Robertson. + +“Yes, myself. I wish to provoke that insolent officer, and avenge +myself afterwards on the woman who has made sport of me.” + +“You know our conditions?” + +“Here are the thousand dollars in advance.” + +“That is perfect,” said the agent, slipping the check into his safe; +“be at Battery wharf in two hours; we will set out together. I am +really interested in this affair, and would like to accompany you +myself.” + +Saunders was profuse in thanks, and returned home to make his +preparations. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +HONORABLE WILLIE SAUNDERS BECOMES THOROUGHLY MAD. + + +Two hours later, when the cracker-merchant reached the place of +rendezvous, convulsively pressing the enormous six-shot revolver in his +pocket, he espied Mr. Robertson, Jr. + +“You see,” said the latter, “that with the house of Robertson Brothers +& Co., you have only to express the wish.” + +“And a check,” Willie Saunders might have answered. + +But silently he proceeded to the little steamer which was under steam, +alongside the wharf. It was a screw propeller, small at the bow, and of +elegant shape, which could easily make her twelve miles an hour. + +“The Firefly was just manned and free,” resumed the agent, joining Miss +Ada’s poor lover. “Her owner was exacting, but I did not hesitate.” + +“Let us embark, then; let us embark,” said Saunders, who acted like a +madman. + +“Let us go on board,” repeated Mr. Robertson, Jr., and, pointing out +the way to his victim, he quietly crossed the planking, the boards of +which groaned under the infinitely great weight of the heavy Yankee. + +The Firefly was immediately unmoored. Two moments later, it was sailing +out in the harbor in order to double the point at Brooklyn. + +“Three o’clock,” said the agent of the lavish client, after having +consulted a superb chronometer which was fastened to his waistcoat by a +massive guard-chain. + +“So much the better,” answered Saunders; “we can anchor nearer the +Gleam without being recognized. There will be the devil to pay if, +during the evening or night, the wretch does not betray her presence on +board her lover’s boat. Then, tomorrow morning, I swear, this doomed +colonel must exchange a few pistol shots with me, or I will kill him +like a dog, and her afterwards.” + +“Dear sir, don’t commit any act of violence in my presence, at least. +I should not like to be accused of complicity in such an affair. Come, +calm yourself a little. In the first place, if you will take my advice, +be less expressive, and don’t talk so loud about your business. It is +not necessary for my crew to know the cause of this little trip.” + +“Yes, you are right; but, truly, I am beside myself. To have been duped +in this manner--” + +It was while walking the deck of the Firefly that these gentlemen +exchanged these thoughts. They remained on deck until the steward +announced that dinner was ready. + +Saunders’ first impulse was to refuse to go to the dining-room, but +Robertson, Jr., proved so convincingly that dieting was injurious to +mind and body, that the unfortunate merchant finally placed himself at +the table, and ate with a very good appetite. + +The dinner was just ended, when the captain of the steamboat notified +his passengers that they were nearing Staten Island, and that the Gleam +was in the harbor. + +The stout New Yorker made but one bound from the room to the deck. + +It was night, and the sky indicated that it was to be dark and stormy. +Nevertheless, one could see plainly enough to distinguish Colonel +Forster’s yacht, which was at anchor near the shore. + +After taking time to wrap himself in his overcoat, Mr. Robertson, Jr., +with a cigar in his mouth, cool, calculating, and methodical as usual, +joined the irascible Saunders. + +“Suppose we cross the bows of the Gleam at once,” proposed the latter. + +“Don’t think of such a thing, dear sir,” answered the agent. “In the +first place, I think that our captain would refuse, the maritime law +having foreseen this kind of collision on the part of a boat in motion +with a ship at anchor; besides, how would it help you? You do not wish, +I suppose, to rejoin Miss Ada Ricard by such a dangerous movement?” + +“I must see her,” was the answer. + +“Have patience. Besides, I do not think she is on board at this moment. +You will observe that the porthole of the main cabin does not show any +light. I should not be surprised if Colonel Forster was at this moment +in his country house at Staten Island, yonder, a hundred steps from +shore.” + +“We must assure ourselves of it.” + +“That is why we are going to anchor here.” + +Without consulting his unhappy client any further, Mr. Robinson, Jr., +ran to give his instructions to the commander of the Firefly, who stood +in the stern near the helm. Two minutes had hardly elapsed before the +chain was payed out through the hawse-hole, and the anchor of the yacht +lay at the bottom of the bay. They were only about half a cable’s +length, that is a hundred metres, from the Gleam. + +“Then you believe that Colonel Forster is not on board?” asked Saunders +of the agent. + +“I am sure of it,” answered the latter. “If your rival were on the +Gleam it would not be so still, for he would be anxious about our +arrival and anchoring so near him.” + +“I have an idea, my dear sir.” + +“What is it?” + +“Do you know where the colonel’s villa is?” + +“Perfectly well; if the fog were not so dense we could see the lighted +windows from here.” + +“What do you think of taking a little walk on land? If Forster is at +home it would be easier for me to meet him than on board ship.” + +“That is true; but you will observe that the night is very dark and the +sea quite rough.” + +“If you are afraid, I will go alone.” + +“The heads of the house of Robertson & Co. are afraid of nothing or +nobody, Mr. Saunders. I will have a boat manned for you and will not +leave you;” and immediately giving the necessary orders, the young man +preceded the stout Yankee on the ladder, to the foot of which a boat +came instantly. It was a graceful, solid fishing boat, in which the +worst weather might have been braved. Four vigorous sailors manned it. +Robertson, Junior, and Saunders placed themselves in the stern, and +the latter, who had been a seaman in his youth, took hold of the helm, +ordering the men to push off. The boat moved off, heading toward land. +The agent, guiding himself by the lights on the island, indicated the +route to his companion; but the fog soon became so thick that just as +they were about to enter the channel which leads to the harbor, the +boatmen had to rest their oars. + +“Listen!” said Saunders, suddenly leaning over on a level with the +water in order to try to pierce the fog; and Robertson listened. They +heard distinctly, coming from the land, a regular sound of the oars of +a boat vigorously worked. + +“Ah,” said the agent, “there are fine fellows who know their route +better than we do ours.” + +The boat, in fact, was rapidly approaching. Suddenly a metallic, +silvery laugh echoed by the sonorous waves, made Mr. Saunders give a +bound. + +“It is she, the cheat!” he growled. “Row, boys, row. Let us reach the +entrance of the channel before them. A hundred dollars to you if we go +in first.” + +Stimulated by this promise, the sailors of the Firefly bent over their +oars and the boat sped along like an arrow. + +But Colonel Forster’s boat--for it was really he who was returning to +his yacht--was not so far away as the cracker-merchant thought. Lost to +sight in the bank of fog, he did not see it coming, or rather, perhaps, +did not wish to see it, and before the agent could avoid it, by a turn +of the rudder, a frightful collision took place between the two boats. +The shock was so severe that the fishing boat, receiving it abreast, +careened about, heading to shore, from which it was separated by a +few yards only, and on which the sea dashed heavily. As for the yawl +being driven to the other side of the channel, its situation was still +more grave. At the same instant, as if to prove it, a terrible cry was +heard--a woman’s cry--whose tone sent a chill of horror through Mr. +Saunders, who, thrown backwards from his seat, and covered with water +and spray, had been flung upon the sandy shore. Then it seemed to him +that a second cry, stifled like a sob, succeeded the first, and, with +his eyes looking haggard and his hair standing on end, he tried to leap +into the waves, but Robertson stopped him. + +“It is she, it is she! I wish at least to try and save her!” he cried, +endeavoring to free himself. + +“Are you mad?” answered the young man, holding him firmly. “If anything +has happened you do not know where. If Miss Ada has not been saved by +those accompanying her it is too late, for the tide is going out.” + +The agent had spoken truly, the fog had become so dense that one could +not distinguish anything two steps off. Moreover, on account of the +tide going out, the sea was so rough at that place in the channel, that +the best rower could not struggle a single second against the current +and waves. + +In despair at his powerlessness, and frightened at the consequences of +his angry act, the unfortunate Yankee had fallen to the ground. There, +oppressed and breathless, he listened attentively to the sounds of the +deep, in the hopes of catching some sign of life to relieve him. But +none reached him. He heard only the murmuring ripples on the shore. The +bank of fog extended around him like a winding-sheet, and the silence +of death reigned over the whole bay. Meanwhile the sailors of the +Firefly, happy at getting off with a cold bath, plugged up the hole +which the collision had made in the boat, and were setting it afloat. +They succeeded after an hour’s labor. Saunders imagined that a whole +century had passed, when Robertson, rousing him from his exhaustion, +told him to embark. The fog had lifted a little and they perceived +beyond them, like a star in the gray sky, the headlight of the Firefly. + +Transported so suddenly from his peaceful life into the most frightful +tragedy, the unhappy Saunders obeyed, tottering toward the boat. When +once embarked he fell heavily upon the locker of the stern, but he was +careful not to take hold of the helm again. Remembering with horror the +use he had made of it an hour before, he feared that it might burn his +hands. + +“Great God!” cried Mr. Robertson, all at once: “the Gleam has put off.” + +Roused from his dejection by these words, Saunders wildly peered across +the bay. + +The Firefly alone was tossing at anchor. + +“This is an ugly trip and a sad affair,” said the agent to his +companion. + +“Horrible! dear sir, horrible!” repeated the latter in a choked voice. + +“Evidently some misfortune has happened, and Colonel Forster, in order +not to be compromised, for he could not suppose we were there for his +sake, has gone to sea, or he would have remained in the roads. In any +case, how can the truth be known?” + +“Yes; how?” + +Then, seized by a sudden inspiration, Saunders continued, addressing +the sailors: + +“Boys, there is a hundred dollars for each of you if you do not tell a +word about what has just happened.” + +“That is understood, sir,” answered the seamen in chorus, who, however, +did not know the reason of the presence of this stout passenger on +board the steamboat, and had seen in the meeting of the two boats only +one of those accidents at sea which they almost daily witnessed or took +part in. They did not suspect that the life of a woman was at stake, +and that, perhaps, she was drowned with her other companions, excepting +through the exclamations of Saunders himself. + +Ten minutes later the fishing-boat came alongside the Firefly, and +Robertson learned that the Gleam had raised anchor but half an hour +before. + +The fog had not prevented them from seeing in what direction it had +gone. However, in the hope of meeting his rival at daybreak, Saunders +did not wish to leave the roads; but the next day the steamer made the +circuit of Staten Island in vain; the Gleam had wholly disappeared. + +There was but one course to take, to return to New York and preserve +silence about the frightful scene, in which the cracker-merchant had +played so compromising a part. The unfortunate Yankee understood it; he +handed each of the sailors the promised one hundred dollars, and with +remorse gnawing at his heart he hid in his cabin, and did not leave +it until Robertson told him that the Firefly was again moored to the +Battery. + +Night permitted him to land and reach his house without being +recognized, but when he entered his room he shut himself in as if he +had all Mr. Kelly’s agents on his tracks, and he fell into an alarming +state of nervous prostration. His night was terrible, and the next day +he strictly forbade admission, even guarding his door, and would not +read a paper or exchange a word with his household. He refused even +to hear about business. This lasted four days, and he began to grow +somewhat calm, when his valet, disobeying orders, handed him toward +three o’clock, a paper marked “personal and urgent,” and bearing the +seal of the central office of the police. The unhappy Saunders opened +the letter trembling, and, when he had glanced over five lines, he +felt himself grow pale with fear. He had read: + + The chief of the metropolitan police invites Mr. William Saunders + to appear without fail at the central office to furnish all the + information within his knowledge in regard to the disappearance of + Miss Ada Ricard. + +What should he say to that brutal Kelly, whose rudeness he had already +experienced? Could he preserve enough self-possession not to compromise +himself? Was the event at Staten Island discovered, or still unknown? +Why should the chief of police, who would not listen to him when he +went to beg him to seek Ada Ricard, disturb himself to-day about her +disappearance? + +All these questions, which he did not know how to answer, succeeded +each other in the shattered brain of the ex-lover of Miss Ada, and he +trembled in advance at the idea of the questioning which he should have +to undergo. + +However, he resigned himself to obey, and, after laying out a course +from which he promised himself he would not depart, and trying his best +to be calm, he appeared before the terrible Kelly. + +The chief of police received him immediately, but five minutes later +the stout Saunders reeled out of the central office with a pale, +disturbed countenance, and his forehead bathed in a cold sweat. He +jumped into his cab and said to the coachman, in accents of terror: + +“To the Bellevue Hospital.” + +Forty-eight hours before an event had occurred which strangely excited +public curiosity, but of which Saunders did not know, for since his +dramatic expedition he had not left the house or read a paper. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +SHAKESPEARE’S TAVERN. + + +The sign on this tavern was not spelled exactly as we have given it at +the head of this chapter. Shakespeare was printed on it in two words, +so that if it recalled the celebrated English tragic poet to the rare +literary men who crossed its threshold, it meant only the “Tavern of +the Skilful Spearman” to the sailors, wharfingers, lumpers, and others +who were the ordinary frequenters. + +Situated on the wharf, on South Street, opposite Brooklyn, this tavern +was admirably placed as regards patrons. Besides, the police kept a +pretty sharp eye upon it, and affrays, pistol-shots, and violent scenes +were less frequent there than elsewhere. + +This was because it was managed by two jolly fellows, who needed no +help to maintain order in the establishment. They were Honorables +Thomas Bright and Davidson, two of the most celebrated boxers in the +United States, formerly bloodthirsty adversaries, but now excellent +friends and associates, so true is it that the closest friendship is +that which exists between men who have fought each other after having +mutually knocked out each other’s teeth and administered the most +terrible black eyes. Thomas Bright and Davidson said to each other +that they had done enough for the public and their reputation, but +too little for their future, and, uniting their savings, they founded +Shakespeare’s tavern, which soon became the most attractive and paying +den of the kind. + +The establishment occupied the ground floor of a large room adorned +with heavy tables and benches firmly fastened to the walls and floor, +that they might not be transformed into murderous missiles in the hands +of drunkards, and had a huge bar with a tin top, and an army of pint +measures of the same metal. + +Around this bar crowded stray patrons, passers-by, and curious +idlers; in short, those who were not initiated in the delights of the +oyster-room, which one reached only by stumbling down a long flight of +stairs, doubly dangerous because the steps were damp, and an almost +complete darkness reigned, even in broad daylight. At the first step to +the vault of this crypt one coughed, seized in the throat, as it were, +by a dense, hot atmosphere, laden with a thousand varied emanations, +and it was some moments before the eyes could see through the thick +mist formed at the foot of the stairs by the air, which, by reason of +physical laws, sought to renew itself in the atmosphere without. + +This second room was less scantily furnished than that on the ground +floor. There were tables and movable chairs, and a very large buffet, +laden with fresh and salted meats. Above an immense oven there was a +gridiron made to receive a whole ox. + +The ground was macadamized, and the walls, once white, were now black, +excepting in spots, where, owing to the contact of shoulders, they +seemed gray, and were illustrated with primitive designs and mottoes +which we need not translate. A dozen gas jets, clouded in the smoke, +looking like nebulæ in the mist, lighted as well as they could, if not +as well as they ought, this underground region, which was invaded by +familiar patrons until they had made a day of it. + +At the moment when we ask our readers to follow us into the oyster-room +of Shakespeare’s tavern--that is, forty-eight hours after the sad +expedition of Willie Saunders to Staten Island--the house was already +full, although the night was far advanced. The damp, cold atmosphere +had driven from the wharf all the laborers whose presence could be +spared, and only stragglers remained on it. Certain wharfingers +themselves had deserted their posts. Besides these, here and there +one saw, around tables covered with glasses of hot gin, sailors of +every country waiting for the time to go aboard. One of these groups +had so victoriously struggled against the depressing influence of the +inclement weather without that a rollicking, noisy gaiety prevailed +among them. + +They were the sailors of the Firefly, who had jovially poured from +their pockets into the cash-drawer of Thomas Bright and Davidson poor +Saunders’ dollars--their hush money. + +“Come, one more swig all round,” said one of the sailors; and, rapping +noisily on the table, he shouted: “Here, waiter, fetch us some whiskey, +and mind it is the right stuff, too.” + +“No,” observed his neighbor, “we have had enough for to-day; we ought +to have been back two hours ago. Devil take it, to-morrow will be +daylight. You are drunk, Jim.” + +“Drunk,” replied the latter, “well, Charley, what of it? The fat man +did not give us a hundred dollars apiece for a pension.” + +“It was for no more or less than to make us hold our tongues,” said +Charley, warmly. “No good American sailor will fail to keep his word.” + +The other two sailors nodded approvingly, pointing to the adjoining +tables where the other patrons of Shakespeare’s tavern might hear. + +“There, that’s enough,” grumbled Jim; “we will be as mute as a whale; +but I am thirsty,” and, seizing one of the waiters as he passed, he +ordered four glasses of whiskey. + +It was best for the drunken man’s friends to give in to him. They, +therefore, beckoned to the servant to serve them quietly. Charley then +whispered: + +“While we are lounging here, suppose any one should be robbing us on +board ship, as they robbed Toby the other night on his wharf while he +was drinking, instead of watching over his goods.” + +“What!” sang out a tall fellow enveloped in oil-cloth from head to +foot; “what of Toby robbed? Why, it was his robber who cheated himself.” + +“How’s that?” cried the sailors. + +“Yes, to be sure; instead of taking a barrel of brandy, as, no doubt, +was his intention, he carried off a barrel of tar. If it didn’t stick +to his paws he must have hurled it into the water. Here’s to the health +of the imbecile; although I lost my place through him, I don’t care, +for I have come to Shakespeare’s tavern, and it is much livelier here +than at the head of the river;” and, after noisily touching glasses +with the men of the Firefly, the wharfinger, for it was he, tossed off +his glass of gin at one swallow. + +“I can’t help it, but I feel no security,” said Charley; “for some time +there has been a regular sweep on board ship and along the river. Come, +let’s be on our way, boys.” + +While saying this the seaman had placed Jim’s arm within his, and was +towing him along toward the stairs. + +Toby followed them. + +They arrived at the wharf in this manner, one shoving the other along. + +Day was beginning to break, but the river was still enveloped in +fog. The masts of ships at anchor were faintly outlined above their +invisible hulls. They looked as if suspended in the air. The boat of +the Firefly was moored to one of the piles on the wharf of which Toby +had been watchman only two days. + +“Let us go aboard, boys,” said Charley, hauling in the yawl. + +“Stop; what’s that over there?” asked Toby, suddenly, who had gone to +the edge of the wharf, and was pointing to a floating object which the +motion of the boat had sent ashore; “a foot!” + +“Why, yes, a foot,” said the sailor, raising the member with the end of +his boat-hook; “a foot and a leg.” + +“And all the rest,” continued the watchman; “it is a drowned person. +How heavy it is. There must be a stone around the neck to be +head-downward like this. Come, help me, the rest of you.” + +The sailors leaned over the river, and uniting their efforts brought +to the surface a body, whose unusual weight was soon explained to +them; a barrel of tar was fastened to the left leg. It was by this +half-submerged barrel that this body had been kept under water. + +“It is a woman,” cried Charley. + +“And a superb one.” + +“What an idea to throw her into the river with a barrel of tar.” + +“It is a droll one, to be sure.” + +“A barrel of tar. Perhaps it is the one stolen from me.” + +While exchanging these exclamations, the seamen, aided by Toby, had +raised the body and extended it on the planks of the wharf, without +unfastening from its leg the barrel which a stout rope held secure. + +It was, indeed, the corpse of a young woman. It showed no signs of +wounds and was not decomposed. The face alone was slightly swollen, but +by no means disfigured. + +Hardened as they were to every emotion, the sailors gazed at this body +in horror. The sight of it sobered the drunken men. The men knew that +here before their eyes was the victim of some horrible tragedy. The +discovery of a drowned person, workman or seaman, would not have moved +them; but this woman, young and beautiful, shocked them. + +“We cannot leave her here,” said Charley finally. “Go and notify +Shakespeare’s tavern.” + +The comrade to whom he spoke hurried away from the other side of the +wharf. Toby, with that sentiment of decency, more common than is +believed among the lowest classes, stripped himself of his oil-cloth +suit and covered the nude corpse. + +Ten minutes later, Thomas Bright, Davidson and the patrons who had +lingered in their establishment hastened to the wharf. + +Charley acquainted them with what had passed. + +“Well, my boys, there is only one thing to do,” said Davidson; “summon +the coroner at Saint Vincent and wait for him, and don’t disturb the +body.” + +One of the spectators immediately set out for the police office of the +district, which happened to be in a neighboring street, and several +policemen, whom the crowd had attracted, guarded the body, after +driving away curious idlers on the wharf and retaining about them only +the men of the Firefly and Toby. + +Day had dawned, and the fog had cleared away somewhat. The wharf +presented a strange scene, with the silent, motionless men gathered +around this lifeless body. + +“It is odd,” said Toby, “that I should find my barrel of tar in this +way. It is really mine, for I recognize the mark upon it.” + +“Hold your tongue, you fool,” said Charley, in a low voice; “there will +certainly be a reward for those who put the police on the track of the +assassins; it will be time then to speak.” + +The watchman understood, thanked him with a smile, and became silent +again. In less than a quarter of an hour the coroner arrived with his +secretary. Furious, no doubt, at having been disturbed so early, he +interrupted Charley, who had begun the story of his sad discovery, and +said: + +“That will do; I understand all about it. Now let two willing men carry +this body to the morgue. The rest of you, who drew it out of the water, +must follow me, to make your depositions.” + +Two men raised the body; a third carried the barrel which the coroner +bade them not unfasten. Then, preceded by the policemen, accompanied by +the sailors of the Firefly and Toby, and escorted by curious idlers, +the gloomy procession started off. After walking ten minutes they +reached their destination. The door of the morgue opened to admit the +bearers of the body and witnesses, and closed upon the crowd. In a few +moments the coroner received the depositions of the sailors and the +wharfingers; then, after having taken their names and addresses, he +dismissed them. + +The men on the yacht hastened to their boat to return on board ship, +while Toby, who was careful to show no recognition of the tar barrel, +but who had again donned his oil-cloth suit, went back to the wharf, +where the crowd, which had considerably enlarged, immediately gathered +around him. + +He had to tell his story twenty times over, and news of the event +spread so rapidly that Shakespeare’s tavern, to the great delight of +its honorable proprietors, was soon thronged as on a holiday. + +Meanwhile, the coroner at Saint Vincent had made his report, despatched +the body to the central morgue at Bellevue Hospital, and had presented +himself to Mr. Kelly at the general police office. The fat officer +listened to his subaltern without a shadow of emotion, approved what he +had done and immediately sent an order to the director of the morgue to +photograph the dead woman. + +The corpse was afterwards delivered to Dr. O’Neel in order that the +autopsy might be made without delay. When this was performed it would +be exposed according to the regulations. + +Having given these instructions and dismissed the coroner, the +honorable Kelly quietly proceeded to his dining-room, where, as usual, +he lingered long over his breakfast. Not until three o’clock did he +remember the drowned woman, when he took a cab for Bellevue Hospital. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE MORGUE AT BELLEVUE HOSPITAL. + + +The event having made a great stir through the noon editions of the +papers, an immense crowd gathered in the vicinity of the morgue, and +was with difficulty kept back by twenty policemen. + +The corpse was already exposed, and the impatient crowd were jostling +each other in order to satisfy their curiosity by a sight of it. + +This was the condition of things when the massive Kelly alighted from +his carriage at the door of the Bellevue Hospital. + +The body found in the river by the sailors a few hours before occupied +the middle of the exhibition hall, hardly a yard away from the glass +partition before which the curious filed by. Completely nude, as it +was when taken from the water, excepting a leather apron which reached +the knees. The corpse was seen to be a woman about twenty-five years +old, who must have been remarkably beautiful. With a figure above +medium height, of rich but not exaggerated proportions, her shoulders +and limbs were admirably modeled. Her hands were small, and her feet +not so large as those of a young girl of fifteen. Around her head +floated her long fair hair. Her features were but little disfigured. +Her countenance betrayed no painful struggle except, perhaps, around +her mouth, the upper lip being slightly contorted. Although her eyes +were open, it was difficult to certify to their color, for they were +beginning to be glazed, but one could divine that their now sightless +pupils had cast many a bewitching glance. + +This is what the men said who gazed at it cynically, the majority with +more curiosity than pity, and the policemen had some difficulty in +making the line of spectators, to whom the drowned woman was unknown, +move on. + +At the same time, the chief of police had received Doctor O’Neel’s +report, and, after casting an indifferent glance at the dead, he +returned to his office, where, comfortably ensconced in his large +leather arm-chair, he began to examine the work of the legal physician. + + * * * * * + +The document read as follows: + + The body submitted to my examination and of which I have this day, + Wednesday, made an autopsy, is that of a woman from twenty-two to + twenty-five years old. In spite of its perfect state of preservation + it would be impossible for me to say within two or three days how + long it has been in the water, for the use which the living must have + made of arsenic like a great many American women, with the intention + of preserving the freshness of their complexion and the roundness + of their forms, retards, as is well known, to a great degree the + decomposition of corpses. That which I can attest is that the body is + not that of a drowned woman. Indeed, I have proved that there is no + trace of foam in the larynx. The lungs are congested, but they have + not increased in volume or density. Now the absence of a frothy mucus + in the air passages is an incontestable proof that death is not due + to submersion. This woman had ceased to live when she was thrown into + the water. + + What kind of death did she suffer? This is impossible to state. It + was not a case of strangulation nor poisoning. The neck shows no + sign of violence, and a chemical analysis of the stomach, liver, and + intestines has not so far shown the presence in these organs of any + poisonous substance; but it will be necessary to wait several days to + obtain absolute certainty on this particular. + + No wound, no contusion on the body, excepting above the right knee, + where there is a bluish mark of the rope fastening the tar barrel to + the body, and which, in the belief of the murderer, would hold his + victim at the bottom of the water. + + On the contrary it was this barrel of tar, staved in by fermentation + or the shock, which caused the body to float sooner than it would + otherwise have done. + + The woman had a good constitution and no organic affection. She took + nice care of herself. + + I have observed that among her teeth--which are very beautiful--the + second canine on the right is wanting, and that the inferior lobe of + her left ear bears the scar of an old wound. + + To resume, I think that this woman, surprised in her sleep, must + have been overpowered by inhaling some strong narcotic--chloroform + or ether. But I have not discovered any natural disturbances in the + organs to absolutely confirm my hypothesis. Three or four hours had + elapsed between the death of the victim and her last meal. + + (Signed) O’NEEL, + Head Surgeon at Bellevue Hospital. + +“Well, well, all this is curious,” murmured Fat Kelly. “When this young +woman is recognized, Master Young will put himself in the field; if she +is not recognized then, that dear William Dow must take it up.” + +Master Young, as the chief of the metropolitan police familiarly called +him, was the captain of the detectives. William Dow, whom Kelly so +affectionately designated, was a strange and mysterious character. + +Less than two years before the time in which this story took place, +William Dow was one of the most distinguished, most wealthy, and +honorable physicians in Philadelphia; but one day he suddenly left that +city to establish himself in New York. There he joined the force of the +chief of police, and had gradually become one of his auxiliaries, as a +voluntary aid, who showed himself disinterested and very useful. + +Several times already he had done wonderful things, quietly, by the +means of his sole resources, intelligence, courage, persistency, and +energy. + +What was the reason of this transformation of a doctor into a +policeman? It was a mystery to everyone, even to Mr. Kelly. We may +reveal it some day. + +Meanwhile let us return to the honorable chief of the metropolitan +police of New York, who had rung for his secretary, and had given him +the order to send for Captain Young. The latter appeared a few minutes +later. He was a tall man, about forty years old, built like a giant, +and brave as a lion, but of moderate intelligence, and as obstinate as +a mule. When he was on the wrong track he would stick to it, whatever +effort was made to put him on the right one. The administration kept +him in his position because he was good at a blow, and no one was more +intrepid than he in a hand-to-hand scuffle. + +The pickpockets and malefactors in the city and State of New York +feared him alone more than all his brigade. When he, at the head of his +men, made a raid in the most dangerous quarters of the city, in the +midst of an affray or a riot among working-men, there was a general +stampede. + +But when there was any delicate mission, one of those cases that need +working up, finesse, a keen scent and patience, Master Young was +stupid; the game would slip through his hands. + +He was then delighted to see the intelligent William Dow appear on the +scene, of whom he was a little jealous, but whose superiority he had +the good sense to recognize. + +“Captain,” said Kelly, giving Young the report of the Saint Vincent +coroner, “read that and set to work. It is about the drowned woman +found near Wharf 32, opposite Shakespeare’s tavern. Have Bright’s +establishment watched, and scour all the bad places on the wharf. It is +probable that she is some girl whose clothing and jewelry have tempted +the assassins.” + +“I am going to give orders to my men,” answered the detective, taking +the papers. + +“Do not forget to station intelligent agents at the morgue and in the +vicinity of the hospital.” + +“That was my intention, sir.” + +“It will also be well to put one of your agents on the wharf itself in +the costume of a guard. Malefactors can hardly resist the desire to +revisit the places of their crime, and, although the woman certainly +was not thrown in the water where she was found, it might be that those +concerned would be prowling around in that direction. But be sure and +keep me informed of the slightest incidents which take place in regard +to this affair. If the body is not recognized to-day or to-morrow, +there are certain measures I shall think about taking. Go ahead, +captain.” + +Young gave a military salute and left to execute these orders, while +the honorable chief, drawing other documents toward him, set himself +to work without thinking any more of the body, past which the crowd, +becoming more and more numerous, continued to move in file. + +Night came on and the drowned woman had not been recognized, and the +doors of the morgue were closed; but the event formed the staple of the +evening’s conversation all over the city, and Shakespeare’s tavern was +crowded. + +The next morning at daybreak more than ten thousand persons thronged +around Bellevue Hospital, and at eight o’clock the dreary visiting +began again. Suddenly, toward noon, one of the curious crowd cried: + +“Why, I recognize her; it is Miss Ada Ricard. Yes, it surely is she.” + +“Ada Ricard?” questioned the bystanders. + +Without giving him time to answer anyone, the agents on watch at the +morgue hastened to the man who was the first to speak this name, and +drew him to the clerk’s office. + +Although somewhat moved, the man was otherwise quite calm, and seemed +to have nothing to fear. He was about thirty years old, correctly +dressed, and seemed to be a servant in some well-to-do family. + +“Do you recognize the dead woman?” asked the clerk, to whom one of the +detectives had imparted what had happened. + +“Yes, sir,” answered the stranger, “I think so, at least. It seems to +me that it is Miss Ada Ricard, who lived at No. 17 East Twenty-third +Street.” + +“What is your name?” + +“Robert Fowl; I was Miss Ada’s coachman once.” + +“Then you think you could recall her features?” + +“Without doubt.” + +“And are you certain that you recognize her?” + +“To be absolutely certain I must see her nearer. You can understand how +surprised I was.” + +“We can understand that. I am going to order the curtains to be drawn +down.” + +Around the dead in the New York morgue there are heavy curtains of +green serge with which the windows are covered; in order that the body +may not have to be moved when it is recognized, the officials separate +it from the crowd by dropping the curtains. + +A few moments later, while the curious spectators, deprived of their +view, were entertaining all kinds of suppositions and murmuring a +little, the clerk, the director, and Fowl entered the exhibition-room +and approached the corpse. + +“Oh! yes; it is really she,” said the coachman, with considerable +emotion, leaning over the face of the drowned woman. “Poor creature.” + +“It was Miss Ada you said?” asked the clerk. + +“Miss Ada Ricard, yes. There is another way by which I can make sure of +it; I often remarked when Miss Ada laughed, and she was very lively, +that a tooth was wanting on the right side.” + +“And this woman lacks a tooth on the right,” affirmed the director +of the morgue, pointing to the dead woman’s mouth, whose upper lip, +slightly raised, permitted them to attest the fact asserted by Fowl, a +fact to which Doctor O’Neel had already certified in his report. + +“It is really she, it is really she,” murmured the dead woman’s former +servant. + +Convinced that the man could not be mistaken the clerk conducted him +into his office and, after taking his full name, and the address of the +victim, immediately telegraphed the information to Mr. Kelly. + +“Ada Ricard!” cried the chief of police, after having read the +despatch; “why, it is that girl about whom that fat Saunders wished to +interest me a week ago--and they really carried her off.” Calling his +secretary he ordered him to invite the honorable cracker-merchant to +immediately call at his office. + +We already know the effect of this invitation on the impressionable +Yankee, and in what state of fear he gasped out to his coachman as he +left Mr. Kelly’s-- + +“To Bellevue Hospital!” + +The chief of police had said to him without any preamble: + +“They described to me as Ada Ricard the woman who was drawn out of the +river yesterday morning. She is exhibited at the morgue; go and see if +it is she. You will not be mistaken, surely.” + +The unfortunate Saunders, without daring to utter a word, went as he +was bidden. + +When he reached the door of the hospital he was frightened at the sight +of all the people whom the policemen were driving back; for, since +Fowl’s declaration, the curtains of the exhibition-hall had not been +raised. + +He, however, alighted from his carriage, and when, in a stammering +voice, he had told one of the agents the motive that brought him there, +the man made a passage for him. + +Saunders crossed the public hall rapidly, but when he reached the door +of the clerk’s office he felt his legs give way beneath him. If an arm +had not supported him just then he would have fallen to the floor. +He turned to thank the person who had aided him so opportunely, and +just managed to stifle a cry of terror, for there beside him, placing +one hand on his shoulder, as if he were a criminal, he recognized the +terrible Captain Young. + +“Come in, Mr. Saunders; come in,” said the chief of detectives, in his +rough voice. He knew the cracker-merchant by sight, and knew why he +had come to the morgue. “That man, perhaps, was mistaken, but you----” + +While giving him a faint hope, these three words of Young reminded +the unhappy man of the last words addressed to him by Mr. Kelly, with +a kind of sinister irony. “You will not be mistaken, surely,” and, +with his head hung down, he hurried into the clerk’s office, then from +there, followed by the director, Captain Young, and two or three other +persons, into the exhibition-hall. + +When he reached the threshold of this horrible place, and perceived the +motionless body they said belonged to her whom he had so much loved, +and with whose death he had reproached himself, he put his hands to his +forehead and veiled his eyes, while his feet were riveted to the damp +flag-stones. + +“Come, be courageous; come on!” said the director of the morgue. + +Poor Saunders, summoning all the energy that was left in him, moved +forward; but when he found himself face to face with the corpse, he +gave an inarticulate cry and fell on his knees, murmuring: + +“Ada, my Ada, forgive me! Unhappy man that I am, it was I who killed +you,” and he sank fainting to the floor. + +“By George,” muttered Captain Young, without attempting to conceal his +satisfaction, “we have made a double stroke; we have found the name of +the victim and the murderer in the same hour.” + +Turning to the agents who accompanied him, he added: + +“Hello, you two watch over this fat fellow here, and when he recovers +take him to the central office. I will go and notify Mr. Kelly.” + +The policemen raised Saunders and bore him to the clerk’s office. + +“Pardon, my dear captain,” said some one just then to Young, whom the +latter had not perceived, “perhaps you are going ahead rather too fast.” + +“Why! is that you, Mr. Dow?” answered the chief of detectives. “Why do +you think I am going ahead too fast? Did you hear the voluntary and +spontaneous confession of this man?” + +It was, indeed, William Dow, whom we need not describe to our readers. +Having, like every one else, heard about the drowned woman, he was +at the morgue through mere curiosity. When he perceived the captain +and Saunders as they were entering the clerk’s office, he followed +them there, and then into the exhibition-room, where, cool, calm, and +observing, as he was always to be found, witnessed the scene we have +just described. + +“What you call the confession of Miss Ada’s former lover proves +nothing. I can hardly believe that that fat man killed her. He is an +honorable merchant, and very wealthy, and to arrest him on a suspicion +is, perhaps, imprudent.” + +“What is to be done, then?” asked the detective, visibly embarrassed. + +“Is it my advice you are asking?” + +“Certainly.” + +“Well, if I were in your place, I should take Mr. Saunders home, for he +seems to me to be threatened with an attack of apoplexy. If he is not +the murderer, he is an important witness. Do not kill him in advance +until he has told you all he knows or thinks about this strange event.” + +“You are right, Mr. Dow--always right.” + +The long-legged Young hurried into the office, where Mr. Saunders was +beginning to recover consciousness. + +“Ada, poor Ada,” he stammered, looking around him wildly. + +Then he added, in a low voice: + +“Oh, that colonel, I will kill him! He is the cause of everything. +It is not I, gentlemen, it is not I; I loved her too much. Oh, the +wretched masks--the Indians!” + +“You see he is talking at random,” whispered William Dow to the chief +of the detectives, and approaching the merchant, he said to him: “Come, +sir, have courage. It is a misfortune, but what can you do about it? +A man ought to have more pluck. We must now find the assassin. Return +home; the magistrate in charge of the affair will question you when it +is time. Do you wish me to accompany you?” + +“Yes, sir, yes,” gasped Saunders, making an effort to rise. + +William Dow took hold of his arm to support him, and, both leaving +the clerk’s office, they passed through the crowd which had already +learned the name of the drowned woman, and respectfully moved aside +for the man they took for the father or one of the near relatives of +the victim. The detective helped the cracker-merchant to enter his +carriage, seated himself near him, and they drove off, while Captain +Young jumped into a cab to give an account to Mr. Kelly of what he had +just witnessed. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +SAUNDERS ALMOST LOSES HIS MIND, WHILE CAPTAIN YOUNG WHOLLY LOSES HIS +TIME. + + +As soon as Captain Young had reported what had passed at the morgue, +Mr. Kelly’s first act was to notify the sheriff of the district to meet +him at No. 17 East Twenty-third Street, and he set out immediately +for this place in company with the detective. The chief of the police +wished to see things for himself, and to profit by the occasion that +was offered him to visit the house of this Ada Ricard, of whom he had +heard so much. + +These two gentlemen found on the threshold of the house Sheriff +Mortimer waiting for them. In a few words they acquainted him with the +situation, then rang the bell. Mary, who answered it at once, could not +help a movement of terror at the sight of these three stern-looking +men, who were unknown to her. The sheriff gave his name, and the +visitors entered a small reception-room on the ground-floor. + +“Who are you?” then asked stout Mr. Kelly, of the young girl, as he +sank into a chair. + +“The maid of Miss Ada Ricard,” answered Mary, with a certain calmness. + +“Well, Miss Ada Ricard, your mistress, is at the morgue; she has been +found drowned in the river,” said her questioner, abruptly. + +“Miss Ada drowned!” cried the servant; “it is impossible.” + +“Why impossible?” resumed Kelly. “Did you know where she was?” + +“No, not positively; but I believed her on a voyage, for the day after +my mistress was carried away she wrote me that she would be absent a +month at least--perhaps more.” + +“She has returned sooner, but dead. You say that she wrote you. Where +is the letter?” + +“I gave it to Mr. Saunders, who came just as I had received it.” + +“Did your mistress receive any one else?” + +“Never.” + +“Did she go out often?” + +“Very seldom, and I am certain she had no relatives in the city. She +had confidence in me and told me everything.” + +“Had you had any news of her after that letter of which you speak?” + +“No, sir; and I was perfectly free from anxiety. Miss Ada ordered me to +dismiss the servants and take care of the house until her return. I +cannot believe that she is dead.” + +“You must go to the morgue to identify her.” + +“I am ready to obey your orders, sir.” + +“In the first place show us the house; are you alone here?” + +“Quite alone.” + +Saying this, Mary showed the magistrates into the dining-room; then, +while the terrible Young visited the kitchens down-stairs, she ascended +the first flight with Kelly and the sheriff. + +“Ah! Ah! It is very fine here; there are signs of Saunders’ gifts, he +is a lavish fellow,” the sceptical Kelly could not help saying as he +crossed the parlors where we conducted our readers in the first chapter +of this story. + +Let us continue. They passed into the sleeping-room. It was a +delightful room, hung in blue satin, embroidered with flowers and +birds. The bed was a marvel of costliness and taste; the floor was +completely covered by a soft Turkish rug. + +“Is that all?” said the chief of police. + +“Perhaps the gentlemen would like to see the dressing and +bathing-room,” suggested the young girl. + +“Dear me,” said Kelly, looking at Mortimer with a peculiar smile. + +Mary raised the heavy portiere and introduced the two magistrates into +an adjoining room, the sight of which drew an “o-o-oh!” of admiration +even from the grave sheriff himself. + +It would be impossible, indeed, to dream of anything more dainty than +this room, for Ada Ricard had made it a real boudoir. The smallest +articles of the toilet were objects of art, as well as Venetian mirrors +and the small Bohemian glass lamps which hung from a ceiling draped +with rare Japanese material. As for the bath-room, which communicated +with the dressing-room, it was of white marble and silver. This room +alone must have cost a large sum. It was there that Captain Young +rejoined the two officers. + +After searching the basement, the chief of detectives had visited the +upper story, where were the linen closets and servants’ rooms, and +he stated that he found no one there or in the kitchens, and that +everything was in order. + +The house, indeed, had no appearance of being abandoned. It looked +like one whose mistress was soon to return. When one thought that its +mistress was lying on the slabs in the morgue, it sent a chill to the +heart. + +Kelly’s besetting sin was not sensibility. The delight of this wealth +awoke in his mind but one thought, “Who will be the heir of all this?” +and it naturally led him to say to Mary: “Where are the jewels of your +mistress?” + +“Those which madam did not wear on the day of her departure,” she +answered, “are in a little scarlet chest in the wardrobe of her +sleeping-room. Miss Ada, no doubt, has the key about her, for I have +not found it in looking over things, and her bank notes and money must +be in that same chest. There were only twenty dollars in gold on her +dressing table, of which I made use to settle the servants’ accounts. +The remainder of the sum is up in my room.” + +“Are you acquainted with Miss Ada’s family?” + +“No, sir. I know that my mistress had been married, but I do not know +the name of her husband. He lived, I think, in Buffalo. She never spoke +of any relatives.” + +“They must be found, however, for now everything here belongs to them.” + +“Oh, they will present themselves fast enough if it is found that madam +is really dead.” + +“You soon will cease to doubt.” + +“Why?” + +“Why? Because you are going to the morgue to identify the body. Captain +Young will accompany you, and escort you afterwards to the judge to +make your statement. After which you will return to pack up your +clothing and receive my orders.” + +“Very well, sir.” + +Greatly impressed, either by the mere fact of the terrible news which +she had just heard, or by the manner in which the big, surly man had +talked to her, Mary went up to her room accompanied by the terrible +Young, who did not say a word, but disturbed her by looking at her in +a manner he fancied searching, and grumbling disconnected sentences. +On reaching her room, the young lady hastily put on her hat and threw +a cloak over her shoulders, and then rejoined the magistrates in the +large parlor on the first floor. Mr. Mortimer was making an entry in +his note-book. + +“In the first place,” said Mr. Kelly to the maid, “lock up the +furniture, and give the keys to the sheriff.” + +Still accompanied by the giant detective, Mary went over the silent +house again, from basement to attic, and a moment later returned and +handed a bunch of keys to Mortimer. + +“Now,” said the chief, “we can leave.” + +They all four descended the steps, and when they had reached the +street, the sheriff locked the doors of the house; then after calling +a policeman from the sidewalk opposite, bade him watch the house, and +went away with Kelly. As for Captain Young, after stopping a carriage +passing, he entered it with the maid, shouting to the driver in a +stentorian voice: “To the central morgue, Bellevue Hospital.” + +A quarter of an hour later they arrived. Night was coming on; and the +exhibition-hall was somewhat dark when Mary entered it with Young and +the clerk. At the sight of the corpse the girl, already excited, began +to tremble, and the detective had to support her. + +“Come,” he said rudely, “come and look at it.” + +“But I can’t see a thing, sir,” she murmured. + +The director of the morgue had foreseen this, and beckoned to one of +the workmen who had a lantern, and turned its light upon the face of +the dead woman. It stood out in the glare of light, while the body +remained somewhat in shadow, and was horrible to see; not that it was +disfigured, but because of the optical conditions in which it appeared. + +Mary, whom the captain, still holding by the arm, had led up to touch +the corpse, uttered a cry of terror. + +“Well,” said the pitiless guide, “let’s get through with it. It is +really your mistress, isn’t it?” + +The young girl, fortifying herself with all the courage she possessed, +resolved to look straight at the corpse, and immediately answered: + +“No, no; that woman is not Miss Ada.” + +“What!” cried the clerk and Young at the same moment, in a tone of +amazement impossible to convey. “Not Miss Ada? Why, her former coachman +recognized her at once.” + +“But I don’t recognize her,” said Mary with certain positiveness. “This +woman resembles her very much, but I don’t think it is she. At least +I could not declare it is. Yet, it is strange; but, oh! dear, I am +afraid, gentlemen; do let me go away.” + +“We must have a positive answer,” said the captain. “Devil take you, do +try. Take one good look at her.” + +“I cannot, my mind, my eyes are confused, my head swims, take me away,” +stammered the young girl turning aside her head. + +On saying these words she had, indeed, become pale, and had it not been +for the aid of the detective would have fallen to the ground. + +Finding that they could accomplish nothing further for the moment, at +least, they led her to the clerk’s room. There she became calmer, and +in a few moments was able to enter the carriage with Captain Young, who +took her to the sheriff’s. + +The maid, who had recovered her composure, declared to this magistrate +that she had not positively recognized her mistress in the drowned +woman, but that her emotion, it was true, had not enabled her to look +with sufficient attention. Mr. Mortimer made her sign an official +report to this effect, and they then returned to poor Ada’s house, from +which the young girl took away her belongings. + +By agreement with the coroner, while waiting until the worthy sheriff +had appointed a watch over the house, in which it had been decided that +Mary should be included, that she might recognize persons who might +appear, she was required to live in a house in the neighborhood and +hold herself at the orders of the justices. + +These formalities arranged, and Mary being established at Washington +Hotel, Mr. Mortimer hastened to the chief of police to tell him how +things had gone on at the morgue. + +“Oh!” said Kelly, “the affair is becoming complicated. That foolish +girl was frightened, no doubt, but we shall soon know what to do. I +have given orders to have all Ada Ricard’s former servants appear at +the morgue the first thing to-morrow morning.” + +This measure, which would usually necessitate long and difficult +search, was executed in New York with great ease and despatch, by +reason of the intelligent method which the American police employ to +keep the whole body of household servants within call. + +Every servant, to whatever class he belongs, receives a dollar when he +goes to the coroner in his district and states that he is to enter into +service at such or such a house, and they also give him one dollar when +he changes his place and gives the address of the new house he is to +enter. + +In circumstances like those which arose from the violent death of Ada +Ricard, the police and magistrate thus know where to find at once +people whose information might be of importance. + +Mr. Kelly, therefore, was almost certain that the majority of the +former servants of the dead woman would come to Bellevue Hospital +the next day; and as Doctor O’Neel had informed him that, under the +influence of the air and the place in which it was exposed, the body +would rapidly decompose, he had engaged Albert Moor, the skilful +modeler of the Anatomical Museum of the School of Medicine, to come to +the hospital. + +As for the unhappy Saunders, whom we left at the close of the preceding +chapter, after leaving the house with William Dow, he returned home in +a state of complete prostration. + +His physician, whom they called at once, feared congestion of the +brain, and he forbade visitors. In spite of this order, toward eight +o’clock a man disregarded it, and entered the sleeping room where the +unfortunate cracker-merchant, lying exhausted in an arm-chair, with his +lower lip hanging down, and his eyes suffused, murmured as he gazed at +a photograph: + +“Poor Ada! poor Ada! Why did I not jump into the water to save you?” +The man who entered was Robertson, Jr. + +Saunders barely recognized him, but his visitor none the less said to +him, trying to make himself understood: + +“It is a great misfortune, dear sir, and you must form some plan. But, +you know, communications which we make to our clients are absolutely +confidential, and the steps we take in their interest must remain +secret. I have not the honor of being acquainted with you. I have never +had the pleasure of seeing you, or of taking a walk with you. What the +police may seek, find or not find, is their affair, not ours.” + +“Ah, yes; down there at Staten Island, at night,” gasped Saunders. + +“I do not know what you mean,” quietly remarked the young head of the +house of Robertson Brothers & Co. + +Saunders looked at him with the eye of an idiot, made a visible effort +to answer him, but his face sank heavily in his hands, and he repeated: +“Poor Ada, poor Ada!” + +Mr. Robertson shrugged his shoulders and left. His lips formed into +a smile of satisfaction, for, in his opinion, the former protector +of the drowned woman had not had a gleam of reason in his brain for +twenty-four hours. + +Meanwhile the intrepid Young scattered his agents all along the +wharves, and ransacked the innumerable dens from Shakespeare’s tavern +to Harlem, but in vain, finding no sign of any useful information. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +TAKING A CAST OF THE DEAD. + + +The next day, before noon, the majority of the former servants of Miss +Ada had presented themselves at the morgue, and all, unhesitatingly, +with the exception of two or three, had recognized the unfortunate +woman. The girl July, whose place Mary had taken at No. 17 East +Twenty-third Street, furnished some information, which, of itself +alone, would have sufficed to dispel all doubts, if any had remained +after these successive affirmations. + +July remembered having seen, as she dressed her mistress’ hair, that +her left ear was torn. Now, this wound had not escaped the eye of Dr. +O’Neel, and he specified it in his report of the autopsy. + +The drowned woman was really Miss Ada Ricard. This was the first +indisputable point made at the inquest, of which Coroner Davis took +charge. + +Therefore, it was not necessary to study any further into the identity +of the victim, but to seek her murderer. + +First of all, it was necessary to proceed to burial, but not without +taking an absolutely faithful image of the corpse, in order to reserve +the possibility of any other recognition, or of even confronting it +with the murderer, should he be discovered. It was for this end that +the chief of police had made an appointment with Albert Moor, the +sculptor. + +The woman had been photographed, and the likenesses had been reproduced +and distributed in great number; but Mr. Kelly required even more. + +Albert Moor had been at the morgue a long while when Mr. Kelly arrived, +who explained to him that he wished a cast of the woman’s head. The +artist, who had examined the corpse, found that the work could not be +deferred until the next day, and promised to do it at once. + +Being sure that his instructions would be faithfully followed, the +chief of police ordered the manager of the morgue to transport the body +into the autopsy-room, and to keep it at the disposal of the sculptor; +then he returned to the central office to arrange with the sheriff and +coroner about the rewards for those who had given important information +in the cause of justice. + +Mr. Kelly, as a chief of police and a lawyer, did not hesitate to make +known to the public, by posters and through the press, that a reward of +one hundred dollars would be given to any one who would furnish exact +information in regard to the particulars of the crime, and that whoever +would arrest or deliver up the assassin would receive one thousand +dollars. + +The intelligent officer was ready to double or triple the sum if, +after waiting a while, he obtained no result. Having done this, and +feeling convinced that, like Titus, he had employed his day well, the +honorable chief of the metropolitan police seated himself at his +dinner-table in a cheerful mood, and afterwards went to his club. + +At the same hour, Albert Moor and his guide reached the morgue, +provided with all the apparatus necessary for their work. The manager +of the establishment escorted them to the autopsy-room, where, after +one of the workmen had lighted the gas, for it had become dark, he left +them alone. + +According to orders, the drowned woman had been removed from her stone +bed to one of the large metal tables used for authorized medical +operations. Her face and features were in a good state of preservation, +but, from her chest down, there was a horrible gash, for the surgeon +who had examined the body to discover the causes of death, had but +partially drawn the flesh together, and here and there were dark +streaks upon it. + +The flesh on the upper portion of the form was still firm; the +shoulders were like marble, and the abundant hair so completely hid the +opening in the skull that the luxuriant beauty, being thus preserved, +strikingly recalled Miss Ada as she was in life. The limbs still +retained their perfect shape. + +After examining his subject for a moment with the real curiosity of the +artist, Albert Moor prepared for his work. He first slipped a cushion +under the head, that it might be slightly raised, pushed back the hair +and secured it in a piece of cloth, then washed the face and neck as +carefully as this operation is performed by the people of the extreme +East. Having done this, by the aid of a large brush he moistened those +parts of the body with an oily liquid, intended to prevent the adhesion +of the plaster, and from the top of the head to the chin, and in +various other directions, extended cords, which enabled him to divide +the cast, before it had stiffened, into as many parts as he thought +necessary, for the perfect execution of his work. + +While he was making these preparations his assistant was tempering, in +a large wooden bowl, a plaster fine as starch. + +The sculptor first covered the face and all the parts of which he +wished to take a cast, then he thickened the layer with successive +layers, under which the outlines of the form slowly disappeared. + +He had reached this point in his work when he heard some one softly +open the door. Thinking it was the director of the morgue, whom +curiosity had drawn thither, and being absorbed in his work, he did not +turn round; but he could not check a movement of surprise when he saw +at the head of the dead woman a face unknown to him. + +How did this stranger introduce himself into this gloomy place, to +which admission was forbidden? + +He immediately had the key to this riddle, for the newcomer, bowing, +gave his name. + +It was William Dow. + +Now, although the sculptor did not know the celebrated detective by +sight, he knew him perfectly by name, for in a previous criminal +affair, for several months no one was so much talked of as this retired +doctor. + +Thanks to him, the police of New York had finally put their hands on a +band of counterfeiters who, for more than two years, had boldly drawn +from the coffers of the government. + +Although he did not understand the motive of this nightly visit, the +operator returned William Dow’s greeting with an expression in his face +which told how flattered he was to find himself with a man for whom he +professed real admiration. Both, in their way, were artists. + +“You know, sir,” said the detective, “how curious I am about all that +in any way concerns the discovery of a crime; you therefore will not be +astonished at my presuming to come here. You are doing a great service +to the cause of justice, and I wish to see for myself how you perform +this delicate operation.” + +The sculptor willingly explained to his visitor what he had already +done, and after assuring himself that the plastic was in the necessary +state of cohesion, he took the end of the cord extending the length of +the face, and, raising it skilfully, cut the mask in two. He did the +same with the other cords arranged in various directions, saying: + +“Now, I must wait until the plaster takes the form sufficiently, then +I remove each of these parts which, united, will give me a cast into +which it only remains for me to pour the material of which I am to make +the bust. If I wish to have anything more finished, absolutely perfect, +I go over the bust again with the chisel to correct imperfections, and +use it for a second cast, from which is obtained a work of art which +needs only finishing touches.” + +“That is very ingenious, sir,” said William Dow, “but when I examine +this body, I truly regret that you have taken a cast only of the upper +part. Do you not think that it is one of the most beautiful models for +sculpture that could be found?” + +“It is, indeed, admirable in its shape and proportions.” + +“Why, then, did you not take an entire cast?” + +“Mr. Kelly asked me only for the head. To do more would be considerable +labor, and very difficult besides, for Doctor O’Neel, who made the +autopsy of the unfortunate woman, left the body open. After filling in +the vacuum caused by the removing of the viscera, and which occasions +the alteration in the flesh, it would be necessary to draw together +the separated parts in order to have a model without solutions of +continuity. Don’t you see?” Saying which, Albert Moor removed the cloth +from the body that William Dow might judge of the state of things for +himself. + +“It is true,” answered the detective, examining with the coolness of +a practitioner the open body; “but it does not seem to me impossible +to remedy this obstacle. I have some surgical knowledge, and I think +I could myself put this body in a suitable condition. Give me five +minutes to go to the doctor on duty at Bellevue Hospital to obtain the +necessary instruments, and, if you then think the thing possible, I +shall beg you to do it, and charge your own price for the entire cast +of this woman. I think, in the interest of art, it would be a useful +work.” + +“I think so, too, sir,” said the sculptor, delighted to have an +opportunity to earn a large sum. “My plaster is sufficiently dry; +during your absence I shall take it off. We can then do the whole body.” + +William Dow left. He was, no doubt, well known in the establishment, +for in a few moments he returned to the autopsy-room in company with a +hospital nurse, who brought all the articles needed for the peculiar +operation about to be performed. + +Albert Moor had disengaged the head from its covering, and the face now +appeared of a yellow ivory hue. The moulding had succeeded perfectly. + +The detective began his work at once. After filling in the cavities of +the stomach and bowels with oakum saturated with an aromatic solution +and corrosive sublimate, in order to retard decomposition, he drew +the sides of the opening together, and united them so skilfully that +the body soon took its natural form. He did the same with the other +solutions of continuity which Doctor O’Neel had made in the throat and +the top of the cranium, to find proofs that the poor woman had not been +asphyxiated by submersion, and that she had not succumbed to an attack +of apoplexy. Then he arranged the rich mass of hair with such art that +the head did not show the least sign of the autopsy. + +It was really a moving, peculiar spectacle of which this silent little +room was the scene in the still hours of the night. + +“Is that all right?” asked William Dow, when he had finished his +horrible task. + +“Perfectly, sir,” answered Albert Moor, and then setting to work +himself, the sculptor prepared the body as he had done the head. + +The detective watched him attentively. In less than an hour, all was +done. The corpse was lost to sight beneath a thick coating of plaster, +which after removing cords was divided into twenty fragments. It looked +like a block of snow. + +“In the morning,” said the artist, “I will take off my mould; we can +then decide on what is to be done with it, as you think best.” + +“We will come to an understanding about that. Meanwhile I must thank +and compliment you on the skill with which you have performed this +difficult work.” + +While they were exchanging these words they had made their preparations +for departure; but Albert Moor did not wish to leave until he had told +the watchman at the morgue not to touch or let anyone touch the cast +before his return. + +As for William Dow, before leaving the autopsy-room, his intelligent +eyes gazed long and thoughtfully at the inert mass, and he murmured: + +“Who knows if this will not be more than a work of art, and if this +woman of stone will not accuse herself some day.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +WHAT THE HONORABLE CORONER DAVIS THOUGHT, AND WHAT ROBERTSON, JR., WAS +CONVINCED OF. + + +Mr. Davis, the coroner charged with this mysterious affair, was an +intelligent, laborious man; but, like all his colleagues in the +American magistracy, he had so often encountered the difficulties with +which judicial inquests are armed in the Northern States, that he +hardly hoped to obtain a prompt result. + +A fortnight later the inquest had made great progress, owing to the +reward of one hundred dollars promised to each person who should +furnish useful information in the cause of justice. + +Toby naturally presented himself to declare that the barrel of tar +fastened to the leg of the drowned woman was the one stolen from him on +the night of the ball, at two or three o’clock in the morning. He was +certain of it, for it was at that very moment that he left his post as +watch on Wharf 43 to go and warm himself in Anchor tavern. This inn was +on the wharf, seven or eight hundred yards above Shakespeare’s tavern, +going up toward Yorkville. + +After Toby came Thompson, the keeper of the livery stable, and his +driver, Tom Katters; but the latter could only tell the magistrate of +his traveling in company with three Indians and a woman as far as the +first houses in Yorkville. + +Beyond this stopping-place the legal officers lost all traces of the +unhappy Miss Ada and her kidnappers. + +Captain Young and his skilful agents searched in vain all the taverns, +lodging-houses, dens, and suspicious places from the borders of the +river to Yorkville, and discovered nothing which could throw light upon +the matter. + +This campaign served only to accomplish the arrest of a hundred +offenders against the law--people important to capture, but absolutely +innocent of the crime which excited public opinion in the highest +degree. + +Mary, on being questioned several times, invariably told the same story +of the kidnapping, which she had witnessed, as had all Miss Ada’s +guests. The servants affirmed--and there was no reason to suppose that +she lied--that she, like every one else, had taken the scene for a +carnival joke. + +Mary took care not to speak Colonel Forster’s name, whom she evidently +suspected as she had told Mr. Saunders, for she feared to compromise +herself, and be accused of being an accomplice. Besides it might be +that her silence was caused by her thinking it impossible that the +brilliant officer could have had any part in the crime of which her +mistress had been a victim, admitting that the drowned woman really +was, whatever she had said, the unhappy Miss Ada. Moreover, when the +coroner had proposed to her to return to the morgue to again examine +the body, the young girl began to tremble and weep, and said that +probably she was mistaken, but that not for any amount of money could +she have the courage to confront such a spectacle a second time. + +Mr. Davis, therefore, had to resign himself to go no farther with the +maid; but, without her suspecting it, he placed her under a constant +surveillance. + +However, the examination of this girl had not been useless, for to her +Mr. Davis owed the enumeration and detailed description of the jewels +which Miss Ada had on the day when she was carried off. + +Mary, in giving this information of utmost importance, showed so good +a memory and so much intelligence, that the coroner could have each +of these jewels estimated, drawn, and photographed--they easily found +those who had sold them--so that the principal jewelers in America and +Europe could be notified. + +The assassin, it is true, could change the setting of the necklaces, +bracelets, and rings; but the coroner counted much on the ear-rings +of the victim, for the discovery of the murderer. He knew that these +diamonds were solitaires, valued at ten thousand dollars. Now, it is +difficult to get rid of stones of this cut without awaking suspicion, +even in America. + +What baffled the honorable magistrate was that Miss Ada had been taken +beyond the wharf from which the barrel of tar had been stolen. + +Now, as the report of Doctor O’Neel demonstrated that the victim had +ceased to live before being thrown into the water, he concluded that +the murderer had retraced his steps with the corpse, and, that, not +being provided with a rock to sink the body he took the first object he +could lay hands on. + +This first deduction naturally led the coroner to a second--that the +assassin had been able to descend only by water from the place where +Tom Katters had parted from him--Miss Ada being still living, since the +coachman had heard the man who brought her talking to her--to Wharf 43, +from which the barrel had been taken. + +Mr. Davis thus succeeded in establishing this first point: On leaving +the carriage, the unknown had embarked with the young woman, had +choked, poisoned, or asphyxiated her by means of a poison or narcotic +impossible to state what, and had afterward thrown her into the river. + +The lieutenant of the Liberia had come to make the intelligent +magistrate the declaration which he had previously made to the +Robertson agency, that on Tuesday or Wednesday night, the night of the +kidnapping, he came near running down a boat in which were an Indian +and a woman--a boat going towards Williamsburg--and that this woman had +uttered a cry of fear; but this only made it supposable that the crime +had been committed on the other side of the river, for all these shores +receiving tides, the body might have been as easily carried out by the +waves as to have descended from the top of the river with the current. + +On the opposite shore, at Greenpoint, Williamsburg, and Brooklyn, the +search had not produced any better results than at Yorkville. + +None of the men of the Firefly, not even those of the boat we saw +skirting Staten Island, came to the aid of the police. In the first +place, the crew of the yacht were absolutely ignorant of the aim of the +excursion which we have described, and, moreover, although the sailors +of the boat knew that they had run into a yawl, they knew no more. + +In their natural haste to save themselves they were no more anxious +about those who had made them run so great a danger than about the +stout man, who, no doubt, as an apology for the cold bath he had made +them take, had given them each one hundred dollars. + +As for Saunders, it was impossible to obtain anything, whatever, +from him. Two or three times Mr. Davis had gone to his house, and +had questioned him as shrewdly as possible; but the unhappy man, at +the mere name of Miss Ada, rolled his haggard eyes wildly, muttered +incoherently, accused himself of her death, asked her forgiveness, +burst into sobs, then offered ten thousand dollars to anyone who would +discover her murderer. + +He talked at random, with such good results, that the coroner, agreeing +with Mr. Kelly and Mr. Mortimer, gave up tormenting him, and this +in spite of Captain Young, who swore at them, and remembering the +recognition he had witnessed at the morgue, bet one thousand dollars +against two hundred dollars that the wealthy merchant was the murderer. + +There was only one call which Mr. Saunders received without +terror--that of William Dow. He remembered that the latter had offered +him his arm to lead him from Bellevue Hospital, and in his presence he +wandered a little less. + +So the gentlemanly detective went to see him from time to time, under +the pretext of inquiring about his health. + +Mr. Robertson, Jr., who followed the progress of this search with +interest, as will be understood, reasoned quite differently from Mr. +Davis, and it must be acknowledged that his deductions, considering the +facts within his personal knowledge, were no less honorable than those +of the magistrate. + +According to the intelligent agent, Miss Ada was accidentally drowned +on the shore of Staten Island. Her body, borne off by the current, did +not come to the surface until out to sea, where some fisherman may have +drawn it up in his nets, and, tempted by the precious jewels that the +young woman wore, the man had completely robbed her, then thrown her +into the water, after fastening to her leg a tar barrel, whose presence +in his fishing-boat was very natural. This tar barrel might be that +which had been stolen from Toby, or the fisherman might have stolen it +himself a few days before, or some one might have sold it to him; but +it might also simply be a barrel bearing the same mark as those stored +on Wharf 43, and not the particular one that had disappeared from that +wharf. + +It will be seen that Davis and Robertson, while starting from a +different point, reached the same result--the certifying the identity +of the body of the drowned. + +The coroner also had taken every measure to learn the past of Ada +Ricard, and by some brief information collected in New York, and made +more complete by former servants of the young woman and by the friends +of her first lover, Thomas Cornhill, he had been able to go as far back +as her marriage with James Gobson, which took place at Buffalo, but, as +we know, only to be broken at the end of a year by the divorce courts. + +The documents relative to this case described the brutality of +Gobson toward his wife; and, when he learned that this man--who had +disappeared for more than six months--had been seen at Jefferson, +forty-eight hours distant from New York, a few days before the crime, +Mr. Davis no longer doubted that he was the guilty man. + +It was equally the opinion of William Dow, contrary to all the +reasonings of the terrible Captain Young. + +Now it only remained to arrest James Gobson; but this was not easy, +for it was very evident that the murderer, having committed the crime +and taken possession of the jewels, had made all despatch to put all +possible distance between him and the law. + +Now, unfortunately, they had only one of those imperfect clews which +serve no end, and no photograph, whatever. + +William Dow, who had gone to Buffalo, had brought back nothing +interesting in regard to the antecedents of the unfortunate Ada, as no +one had been able to give any information. + +Gobson, who, when he lived at Buffalo, was often absent on business, +had one day returned from the West with her whom he had made his wife, +and as this union with a girl whose past and family he did not know, +had separated the merchant from his relatives as well as the majority +of his friends, it became almost impossible to find out about Miss Ada +before the time of her marriage. + +Was the name of Ricard, which she had taken or resumed on arriving in +New York, her own? Mr. Davis would not have ventured to affirm it, and +Mr. Dow doubted it. + +Matters, as we see, were progressing slowly, and the mystery seemed to +become more impenetrable every day. + +Albert Moor was the only one who had brought his work to a successful +end. In a fortnight after his night at the morgue with William Dow he +had delivered to Mr. Kelly a head in wax, which in the opinion of all +who had known Ada Ricard was her striking image. + +This head had been placed, according to regulations, in a glass case +outside the exhibition-room, in the large public hall, and every day +attracted considerable of a crowd. + +It was to remain there until the matter was settled, in some way or +another, to be afterwards placed in the museum of curiosities at +Bellevue Hospital, where they keep the heads of murderers and those of +their victims. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A MOHICK TELLS OF A VISIT BIG KELLY RECEIVES WHICH HE LITTLE EXPECTED, +AND HOW WILLIAM DOW TRANSFORMS A VISITOR INTO A PRISONER. + + +A month had already passed without the inquest having advanced a step, +and the irascible Kelly, much disturbed by public opinion which was +against his course, was tempted to doubt even the skill of William Dow, +when, one morning as he was talking with the latter, an office boy +brought a card on which was a name which gave him a start. + +The name was James Gobson, from Buffalo. + +“We have been mistaken,” he cried, passing the card to the detective. + +The latter read it, and immediately answered with his shrewd smile: + +“Oh! that proves nothing; or, at least not much of anything.” + +“Let him come in,” said the officer, and in a few seconds the visitor +was admitted. + +He was a tall man, about forty years old, tolerably good looking, +wearing his beard in the American style, without a mustache, and +seeming by no means embarrassed. + +“Is this card yours?” asked Mr. Kelly, brusquely; for he did not +possess those qualities necessary to his situation--coolness and +self-control. + +“It is mine,” answered the stranger with much assurance. “I read three +days ago at St. Louis, where I happened to be on business, that a woman +named Ada Ricard had been found drowned. Now the woman from whom I have +been divorced bore that name, and I at once took the train to come on +here, and here I am, ready to give you my aid, if I can be useful to +you in discovering the assassin.” + +“What makes you suppose the woman was assassinated?” + +“All the accounts in the newspapers so stated. They relate that when +she was taken from the river she was completely nude, and that a barrel +of tar was fastened to one leg. Her death, therefore, cannot be a +suicide.” + +“Have you been to see her head at the morgue?” + +“No, sir; I thought that my first duty was to come to you.” + +“But you, at least, have a photograph of the dead. They are circulated +everywhere.” + +“I heard of this event on the very morning of my arrival at St. Louis, +and none of these likenesses came under my eye.” + +“Where had you come from?” + +“From a long trip to the Rocky Mountains, where I had gone to visit the +mines.” + +“I think, then, that the first thing to be done is for you to go to the +morgue.” + +“I will go there immediately.” + +“With me, if you will?” + +“I have told you, sir, that I am at your orders.” + +Mr. Kelly had rung the bell and said a few words in a low voice to the +secretary, who had quickly come at the call. + +Almost immediately two agents presented themselves in the office of +their chief. + +James Gobson did not betray any astonishment at the arrival of this +reinforcement. His coolness was that of a man perfectly sure of himself. + +“Let us start, sir,” said the chief of police, rising and slipping in +his pocket the revolver, which was always within reach on his desk. + +William Dow, who had not taken his eyes off of the former husband of +Ada Ricard, also arose. + +“All ready, sir,” answered the stranger, putting on his hat. + +All three went down stairs, followed by the agents, and found in the +yard of the central office two carriages harnessed, and the drivers on +the boxes. + +Kelly, William Dow and James Gobson entered one, and the policemen the +other. + +The chief of police advised the latter not to lose sight of Gobson for +a single instant, and he sent one of his secretaries to Mr. Davis to +beg him to immediately repair to the morgue. + +In less than a quarter of an hour the party alighted at Bellevue +Hospital. + +Mr. Kelly pointing out the way to his companions proceeded to the +clerk’s office without passing the public gallery, where curious +lookers-on were numerous, and he ordered the officer to dismiss the +crowd and close the doors. A few moments later, there was no one left +in the place where the head of the drowned was exhibited. + +“Come,” said the officer to Mr. Gobson, when the clerk informed him +that the gallery was empty. + +Without the least hesitation James Gobson kept pace with his escort, +and, followed by William Dow and the two agents, arrived at the glass +window. + +At the sight of this wax face of the most admirable execution and +truly life-like beauty, the American wore an expression which William +Dow, who was watching him attentively, was not ready to interpret, and +then Mr. Gobson turned at once to Mr. Kelly and said with the greatest +calmness: + +“It is really extraordinary, sir; I did not think such a resemblance +was possible.” + +“Then, you recognize Miss Ada?” asked the chief of police, indignant, +in spite of his scepticism, at seeing the almost smiling face this man +wore in presence of this cast of the head of her who had been his wife. + +“No, not at all, not at all,” answered James Gobson, quickly; “you +hardly understand me. Here are the features, and even the expression of +her who bore my name; but the unhappy woman of whom this cast has been +made was not Miss Ada.” + +The tone in which he said this would have made one think that he really +regretted that it was not Mrs. Gobson. + +“What! not Miss Ada? Take a good look,” resumed Mr. Kelly. “Through +her parted lips you can see that a tooth is missing, and that there +is a cut on the left ear. Now, the two servants who were successively +employed by your wife--” + +“Pardon, my former wife.” + +“Very well, your former wife; the two servants who were successively +employed by her, perfectly recalled these two details so decisive in +the certifying of the identity.” + +“Did they both recognize Miss Ada?” + +“Certainly they did.” + +Mr. Kelly did not state the exact truth, since Mary, it will be +remembered, had at first denied that her mistress was the drowned +woman, and that she afterwards, hesitatingly, admitted her identity +that she might not be forced to re-visit the morgue. But the magistrate +thought a little fib like that of no consequence. + +“Well,” said James Gobson, at the “certainly” of the impetuous officer, +“I do not recognize her.” + +Annoyed, and hardly knowing what to do, the chief of police looked at +William Dow. Ada Ricard’s former husband caught the questioning look, +and immediately resumed: + +“Please understand, sir, that it is for my interest to hold your +opinion.” + +“How so?” said Kelly, surprised anew. + +“Simply because between this former wife of mine and myself there was +an insurance contract which the divorce court could not break, and this +contract was made in favor of the survivor. If you absolutely insist +that this unhappy victim whose head I see here was Mrs. Gobson I should +be very foolish to deny it any longer, for with the certificate of +death which you have made out, and of which you will not refuse me a +copy, I shall have only to present myself at the Gresham Company to +immediately receive twenty thousand dollars.” + +While the widower, no matter how he felt, was thus expressing himself +with the most perfect coolness and with a smile on his lips, Mr. Davis +had entered the gallery and had joined the spectators of this strange +scene. + +“I think,” said William Dow, speaking to both the chief of police and +the coroner, “that the most simple thing to be done is to draw up an +official report of the declaration which you have just heard, and +deliver to him the certificate which he asks for. The death certificate +must be at the morgue.” + +The detective, as he made this proposition, gave Mr. Kelly and Davis a +look which they understood, for they immediately followed him into the +directors’ office, but having first signed to the two policemen to look +after James Gobson. + +The latter, at the firm, grave voice of this man, whom he had not +observed until then, could not conceal a slight shudder. + +It seemed as if he had a presentiment of an adversary, for he turned +quickly toward the man who had made a proposition so in conformance +with his expressed wish, but he had already disappeared. However, after +the departure of the magistrates and their companion, he began to walk +up and down, with the evident intention of warming himself, the place +was so damp and chilly. + +Outside was heard the crowd, which, having become quite large, was +breaking into noisy complaint at having so long been deprived of the +spectacle to which it had a right, and people were entertaining all +kinds of suppositions as to the cause of locking the doors of the +morgue. + +After crossing the clerk’s office, William Dow led Mr. Kelly and Davis +into the directors’ private office, who were absent at that moment. +When there alone with them, he said: + +“This man is Miss Ada’s murderer, I am convinced.” + +“It is quite possible,” answered Kelly. “I have a bad opinion of him. +What do you think, my dear Mr. Davis?” + +“You know,” said the coroner, “that I have always thought Miss Ada’s +husband guilty. But the voluntary appearance of the man, and what I +have just heard trouble my conscience somewhat. I do not dare to give +an opinion.” + +“Follow me a moment in what I have to say,” resumed the detective, “and +without entering upon any hypothesis, let us reason only on what we +have seen and heard.” + +The worthy Kelly, who liked nothing as much as to listen to his friend +Dow, and who, besides, asked nothing better than to be rid of the whole +affair, sank back in an arm-chair and crossed his arms; and the coroner +signified that he was ready to listen. + +“Here is a person,” resumed the retired doctor, “who pretends that +he did not hear of the violent death of this woman whose husband +he was, until he reached St. Louis three days ago, and in that city +where her photographs are on exhibition everywhere, he did not seek to +assure himself, by examining one of them, that it really was his wife. +Then, this man who through the same papers in which he read the event +certainly was aware of the suspicions of which he was the object, and +the reward promised for his arrest, this man arrives here, affects to +know nothing of the fact, which, however, so directly affects him, and +instead of hastening to the morgue where he knows that the head is +exhibited, he does not concern himself an instant about the identity +of the victim, but goes straight to the police. Does not this conduct +betray in the most evident manner a system adopted in advance, and +matured after deep reflection, a system one basis of which is the +non-recognition of the drowned woman, which has just been observed?” + +“Eh! eh!” murmured Mr. Kelly, with a smile, “that is very well +reasoned.” + +“Gobson, in your presence, is calm, and a perfect master of himself,” +continued William Dow, “and when you ask him how it happens that he has +known this event for so short a time he answers you that he comes from +the Rocky Mountains, where he has been several months. Now, Mr. Davis +knows that a few days before the crime, hardly six weeks ago, James +Gobson was met at Jefferson, in Missouri; why then does he tell this +lie?” + +“It is true,” said the coroner, in his turn; “there is a contradiction +about it which is indeed of a nature to arouse suspicion.” + +“That is not all. When, just now, after he said that he did not +recognize Miss Ada, you insisted on this point, that she was recognized +by the two maids, Gobson committed the imprudence of addressing you +this question: ‘Both of them, do you say, both of them recognized Miss +Ada.’ Why should he have this doubt in regard to both recognitions? One +of them, then, astonished him, which one? Mary’s, of course, who, in +fact, refused to recognize her former mistress, whose features were, +however, fresh in her memory. Does not this coincidence strike you? Do +you not see in it the beginning of a proof of an understanding between +these two persons?” + +“That is indisputable,” said Kelly, radiant. + +“That is very possible,” confessed Mr. Davis, more prudently. + +“Gobson tells you, it is true, that it would be for his interest +to recognize Miss Ada, since her death would give him twenty +thousand dollars, but he has this moment a much greater anxiety than +gaining that sum--that of escaping accusation, and this kind of +disinterestedness is one of the weapons he proposes to use. In the +first place the theft of the jewels of his victim is a compensation +for abandoning the twenty thousand dollars; moreover, he hopes, no +doubt, that this money will not be lost to him, for, in the matter of +a contract of life insurance, the forfeiture having a long term, he +reserves for himself certainly the chance to maintain his rights, +when, either through prescription, the uselessness of the inquest, or +by acquittal, for he has foreseen all, he will be safe from pursuit as +a criminal, therefore to recognize his wife was more dangerous from +every point of view than not to recognize her.” + +“Very just, very just,” observed the chief of police; “but why has that +fool come to give himself up?” + +“My dear Mr. Kelly,” answered Dow, “because he is a bold and skilful +man. What is passing between us is a reason for it. Even yesterday Mr. +Davis and you did not suspect his culpability, while now, just because +he has come to you, you hesitate to believe it. Did he not fear being +arrested some day? In order to boldly dispose of the stolen jewels at +a later period, in order to get the premium on his insurance policy, +should he not first be free from the hands of the law. He plays a +shrewd game who comes forward to meet danger. I do not know whether we +shall succeed in convicting him, but my reason and conscience tell me +that he is the assassin, or at least the accomplice of assassins.” + +“Apropos of accomplices,” interrupted Mr. Kelly, “how happens it that, +in spite of the reward offered, a reward that I have raised to two +thousand dollars, the two men who aided in carrying off Miss Ada have +not presented themselves? Knowing, thanks to the declaration of the +driver, that they left the carriage before it reached its destination +and, consequently, that they are not accomplices of the assassination, +I have re-advertised through the papers that they had no pursuit to +fear.” + +“The silence of these two men,” answered the detective, “may be +caused by two very different motives. In the first place it would not +be impossible that these aids were accomplices in the crime in the +complete acceptation of the word; that is, that they met Miss Ada +and her kidnapper after the departure of the carriage, to receive +their share of the jewels. It will be readily understood that they +cared little for your reward. Then, it may also be, and this idea +was suggested to me by certain information which I promise myself to +control and to complete, that these two aids, as you very justly call +them, might have been unconscious aids only, brought from afar by James +Gobson to help him in his enterprise, without knowing his real purpose, +then sent away by him to places where it is certain that neither our +papers nor even the rumors of our cities will reach.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“That, if these Indians, so true in their costumes, singing and +dancing, were real Indians from the prairies, it would not astonish me. +Now you must know that among the Sioux or Comanches the story of the +assassination of Miss Ada is unknown.” + +“By George, my dear Dow, you are admirable!” cried Kelly in the +greatest enthusiasm. + +“Then you are going to arrest Gobson?” + +“I think I shall, if Mr. Davis is of the same opinion.” + +“It is exactly my opinion,” answered the coroner, who having a shrewder +mind than that of the chief of police, was no less astonished at the +deductions of the detective. “Now I am convinced, and as I have here in +my pocket-book the warrant which I have issued against James Gobson, +his arrest is the simplest thing in the world. Come, I will take charge +of it.” + +“Here, my dear William, is a haul for your net for which my worthy +Young will never forgive you,” observed Kelly, laughing and opening the +door of the clerk’s office. “Hark! there he is.” + +The great Young was, indeed, in the next room. Being warned by one of +his agents that the crowd was becoming more numerous and noisier than +usual around the morgue, the captain of detectives hurried to the spot, +and, seeing the doors of the dismal building closed, he went to the +clerk’s room to inquire the cause of this riotous crowd. + +“Then, let us leave him the pleasure and honor of arresting Gobson,” +proposed Dow. + +“Very well,” said the coroner, who, perhaps, had no intense longing to +accomplish this mission himself, and he rapidly acquainted Young with +what had happened and what had been decided upon. Then he gave him the +warrant. + +The captain, although he still adhered to his belief in the culpability +of Saunders, did not make any remark; he turned upon his heels and went +to the door which led from the clerk’s office to the public gallery. + +“One word, my good Young,” said William Dow, signing him to stop. +“Take your precautions; he is a solid customer, and I should not wonder +if he were armed.” + +This was all that was needed to excite the daring of the terrible +detective. He answered with a proud smile, and pushed open the door. + +James Gobson, leaning against the heavy railing which protects the +glass window, behind which the bodies are exposed, from the rudeness of +the crowd, was quietly reading the New York Herald, but he read it with +only one eye, for, at the sound of men leaving the clerk’s office, he +drew himself up, let his paper fall, and took a few steps backward. + +His face was so perfectly calm that one could not have said that he was +putting himself on the defensive. + +But when he saw this powerful man, whom he did not know, coming toward +him, he reached the end of the gallery with one bound, and hearing +Young call out to him in his stentorian voice: “It is useless to +resist, sir, I have orders to arrest you,” he drew a revolver from his +pocket, aimed it at the captain, and answered him in a tone which left +no doubt as to his intention: + +“Why arrest me? If you come near me I shall kill you. A citizen of this +free country cannot be arrested like this.” + +“That is what I feared,” murmured the stout Kelly, who, although very +brave, did not care to risk his life in such an adventure; so, thinking +it wise to parley with him, he took Young by the arm and said in answer +to Gobson: + +“As an American, your remark does not lack justice; but as the former +husband of Ada Ricard it is not common sense, for you are suspected +of being her murderer, and there is a writ against you which must be +executed.” + +“I, the assassin--it is false!” cried James Gobson, and his arm still +preserved its horizontal position. + +At the same moment a great shouting was heard outside. The crowd had +divined what had passed; they wished the murderer to be delivered up to +them, and threatened, in spite of the policemen, to invade the morgue. + +“You understand,” resumed the chief of police, “if you do not give +yourself up with a good grace I shall order the doors to be opened.” + +Miss Ada’s former husband turned somewhat pale, for he knew how the +people in America set to work to administer justice; however, he +replied in a voice none the less steady: + +“I am innocent. Anything rather than deliver myself up like a coward.” + +But he had hardly uttered these words when a pistol shot was heard, he +gave a cry and his shattered revolver fell from his hand. + +All this was due to William Dow, who had entered the exhibition-room, +and had slipped behind the curtain until he was opposite James Gobson, +and a ball skilfully sent had disarmed without wounding him. + +Understanding that all resistance had become useless, Gobson +immediately surrendered to Captain Young, who sprang forward. + +Mr. Kelly ordered the prisoner to be taken to the hospital through the +clerk’s room and the inner courts, for it did not seem to him prudent +to face the crowd, whose excitement the pistol shot had increased. Then +he rushed out of doors that he might himself announce the arrest of +Miss Ada Ricard’s murderer. + +At this news, a thousand enthusiastic hurrahs arose, and the chief of +police felt the gentle satisfaction of having his ears shattered by the +shouts of “Three cheers for Kelly! Kelly forever!” shouts that not only +flattered his pride, but assured his re-election. + +A few moments later, William Dow joined him, and Kelly affectionately +pressed his hand, for it really was to his intelligence and skill that +he owed this new victory. + +As for Captain Young, although but half convinced of the guilt of his +prisoner, he conveyed him in a carriage--a quarter of an hour later--to +the Tombs, with much advice to the director. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A CRIMINAL COURT IN THE STATE OF NEW YORK. + + +That same day the arrest of James Gobson was known all over the city, +and in the evening the principal papers were full of the most absurd +and sensational details of the scene at the morgue. + +The pistol-shot fired by William Dow was represented by some of these +papers as a veritable volley of musketry. Some said that Miss Ada’s +assassin did not give himself up until he had fought and overpowered +half a dozen policemen; others, that it was necessary to fire at and +disable him in order to capture him. + +Not until the next day were the facts exactly known, owing to the +eagerness with which the police of America inform the public, to give +it every means of control, not only by communicating official reports, +but by authorizing journalists to visit the prisoners. + +James Gobson found his cell besieged by a troop of reporters, but the +story he told the first could have served for all the others, for it +did not vary a syllable. + +He had fully recovered his coolness; he ate, drank, and smoked like a +man whose conscience is perfectly quiet. When he read anything severe +about himself in the papers, he merely shrugged his shoulders. + +When he was confronted with the witnesses, skilfully brought together +by Mr. Mortimer and Davis, Thomson, the livery stable-keeper, and Tom +Katters, his driver, who had recognized him by his features and voice, +then with ten of Miss Ada Ricard’s guests, who declared that his form +and bearing were those of the Indian in whose arms the unfortunate +woman had been carried off, he answered them firmly, but without anger, +that they were mistaken. + +As for Mary, she could say nothing since she had seen the kidnapper +only at a distance, beyond the throng of dancers. + +But James Gobson had convinced none of his innocence, Mr. Davis less +than anyone, for he refused to give him any liberty whatever, and +notwithstanding the efforts of the lawyer Macready, who called to his +aid all the ruses which the arsenal of the American law provides, the +examination was so quickly ended that a month after his arrest the +prisoner was informed that he was soon to appear before the Criminal +Court. + +The grand jury referred the indictment to the common jury. + +“Do you plead guilty, or not guilty?” asked his defender on bringing +him this news. + +“Not guilty, Mr. Macready, not guilty,” answered the prisoner, warmly. +“Do you doubt my innocence after all the proof I have given you?” + +“Heaven forbid. I am certain of it, and I promise you that the lawyer +for the State--the illustrious O’Brien--will have some ugly hours to +pass,” and leaving his client with this kind promise, Mr. Macready went +to once more look over his documents. + +As for James Gobson, we must confess, that when he was alone in his +cell, he did not so well conceal the anxiety which he had felt for +several days and which visibly increased as the hour for his trial +approached. + +Public opinion, which has such great weight in matters of justice in +the United States, was not favorable to him; and he lacked, what to the +accused is a defensive weapon, often all-powerful--he belonged to no +political party or any religious sect. + +Now, James Gobson had not this advantage on his side. Politics were +quiet, and without very great difficulty, in spite of the trickery +of his defender, they had drawn the twelve necessary jurors, a more +difficult operation in the United States than elsewhere. + +Mr. Macready, who was an able man, had full confidence in the result of +the trial, and so well convinced his client of this that on the morning +when he was to appear before the criminal court, he breakfasted with +an excellent appetite. Toward eleven o’clock, when the guards came to +take the prisoner before the audience, he quietly put on his gloves, +followed them with firm step, and took his place before the judges more +as a curious spectator than as an accused man. + +The crowd was large, and occupied, as it was, by the wax head of Ada +Ricard, which had been placed on a small table, the people turned their +looks away to fasten them on James Gobson, whom, perhaps, not one +present knew by sight. But this movement of curiosity did not for a +moment disturb the accused, who was sitting near his lawyer and talking +to him in a low voice. + +James Gobson raised his head only when the chief justice, Mr. Douglas, +announced that the court was open. + +It is useless to say that Mr. Mortimer and the coroner, Davis, were +present, as well as our friends, William Dow and Young. + +When the usual formalities were gone through with, Mr. O’Brien, the +lawyer for the State, took up the arguments to review the facts on +which the accusation rested. + +If, among the auditors, there remained any persons still doubting the +guilt of James Gobson, they were soon convinced of it, for, after +having traced the accused back to the time of his marriage, to review +his conduct toward his wife, his divorce, his habits, his vows of +revenge, and his adventurous life, Mr. O’Brien showed him a few days +before the crime at Jefferson preparing everything for its execution. +Then he traced him to the livery stable-keeper, followed him to the +ball at Miss Ada’s house, accompanied him to Yorkville, and then +taking as a basis the ingenious deductions he had made, he got on +board the boat with James Gobson and his wife, to make those present +who were listening to him, witness the terrible scene that took place +on the river at night. They saw the assassin choke Miss Ada, rob her of +her jewels and clothing, and leave nothing on her by which she could be +recognized in case she should come to the surface of the water later, +fasten to one of her legs the barrel of tar stolen from Wharf 43; that +the body, kept down at the bottom of the river, could not float before +decomposition had made it quite unrecognizable, and finally, to fling +into the deep the unhappy victim of this frightful murder. + +“Having accomplished his crime, then,” said his accuser, “James Gobson +had only one anxiety--to prepare an alibi to escape all suspicions. +He then set out for the Rocky Mountains, where he remained not three +months, as he pretended, but only one month; and when he returned and +presented himself at the central police office it was to affirm that +he had heard of the crime only a few hours, and that the drowned woman +was not the one who had borne his name. Fortunately for justice, two +honorable inhabitants of Jefferson saw James Gobson in that city only a +few days before the crime, and ten witnesses found in him the features, +voice and stature of the man who hired a carriage, gave orders to the +coachman, Tom Katters, and so audaciously carried away Miss Ada Ricard +from her guests. As for his accomplices, if they did not betray him, +it was because they received their share of the booty, and because +silence alone could save them.” + +After this plain conclusive presentation of Mr. O’Brien, the court +heard the witnesses. All confirmed their preceding testimony, all again +recognized the poor woman in the wax head, excepting Mary, who, without +daring to raise her eyes, murmured-- + +“I did not recognize my mistress at the morgue; how do you expect me to +recognize her here?” + +Only one witness failed to appear, and that was the fat Saunders; but, +after a medical examination, the court and Mr. Macready excused him +from appearing. Since we saw him last his condition had not improved; +when Mr. Davis made a last attempt with him, he threw himself on his +knees crying: + +“It is I who am the cause of her death, but I did not mean to drown +her. Oh! that colonel, I will kill him.” + +And seeing in these inexplicable exclamations only the despair of a +lover maddened by the loss of his loved one, the coroner said that +Saunders before long would completely lose his reason. + +As overpowering as the first part of this testimony might have been to +him, James Gobson lost none of his calmness. He interrupted neither Mr. +O’Brien nor the witnesses; he merely smiled at times. + +The honorable chief justice, Mr. Douglas, had not addressed a word to +James Gobson, and was about to let Mr. Macready have his turn, when +Mr. Gobson suddenly arose and said in a firm voice: + +“Your honors, and gentlemen of the jury; my lawyer, I am sure, is +going to prove to you, without much trouble, how unfounded are the +accusations which you have just heard. I wish only to tell you this: +That all the witnesses who declare that they recognize me for the +person of whom they speak are misled by a strange resemblance, as well +as those who find in this wax face the features of the former Mrs. +Gobson. I am no more the murderer of the drowned woman of whom that +cast is taken, than the drowned woman is Ada Ricard.” + +Having uttered these words, without feeling disturbed at the murmur +with which the spectators had received them, the accused seated himself. + +Mr. Macready then took the stand, and although his task seemed +difficult, one would have thought from his very first words that there +was not the shadow of a doubt in his mind as to the acquittal of his +client. + +“Whether the victim of this mysterious event,” were his opening words, +“is or is not the woman called Ada Ricard, having first been Mrs. +Gobson, matters little. Some recognize her, others do not, and the man +whose greatest interest it would be to find the features of his wife +in this wax face sees only a resemblance which did not for a moment +deceive him. Yes, gentlemen, the greatest interest, for if Miss Ada +Ricard were dead, her former husband, James Gobson, would receive +twenty thousand dollars from Gresham Insurance Company. I know, and +James Gobson knows as well as I do, that the assassination of one by +the other of the contractors annuls the contract; then you would have +to accuse my client of complicity only, for bold and skilful as you +believe him, he would never have been so simple as to make himself +unworthy of the only benefit he might obtain from the death of her +who had been his wife. The very situation in which you have placed +him makes the crime impossible; he had no object to commit it only +through vengeance. To give himself that cruel satisfaction, he would +have risked his honor, his life, and twenty thousand dollars; that is +a great deal. Oh! I know very well that my opponent would like to make +him out not only an assassin but a thief, who not only killed his wife +but even robbed her of her jewels, and that they were the reward of his +crime, a reward that would compensate, and how greatly indeed, for the +loss of twenty thousand dollars. + +“Well, where are these jewels? Has he sold them? To whom? Have you +found them at his house, in his trunks? It is not sufficient to say of +a man that he has stolen; if he has not been caught in the act, it must +be further proven what he has done with the articles stolen or discover +a trace of them. In this case you make the accusation of a theft and +the main proof nowhere exists. I affirm, then, that you cannot condemn +him as a murderer, for, apart from the theft, he would have acted like +a fool if he had made himself the murderer of his wife. + +“Let us consider. If he had murdered and robbed Ada Ricard, what would +have been his object in presenting himself to Mr. Kelly? Consider, I +say, that here is a man who, having a certain fortune, has committed +a crime which brings him nearly one hundred thousand dollars. He can +escape pursuit, yet he delivers himself up to the police. Is the +idea admissible for a single instant? No; the truth is this: When, +learning the death of the former Mrs. Gobson, James remembered his +assurance policy; and his sole aim in coming to New York was to obtain +a death certificate to benefit by the clauses of this policy, and it +was he--even when he could not doubt your suspicions, ready to break +forth into an accusation--it was he who cried out, sacrificing his own +interests: ‘You are all mistaken, that is not Ada Ricard.’ + +“Does not common sense, logic and reason overthrow your romantic +construction? Unless it was committed by some blood-thirsty brute, +is not all crime a speculation? A monstrous speculation, but still a +speculation. Well, is James Gobson a brute? No; then what could his +speculation have been? + +“Let us pass now to these facts which the lawyer for the State links +with such skill, or what he thinks he does. They will not bear +examining an instant; he is no wise man who accepts them. You wish to +make out that James Gobson killed his wife because he tells you that +he was in the Rocky Mountains at the moment of the crime, and that two +persons saw him a few days before at Jefferson. In the first place +were not these persons mistaken? But admitting that they tell the +truth, I do not think you have made a point as regards the assertion. + +“James Gobson must then be forced, under penalty of being regarded as a +criminal, to recall what he was doing during that night that Miss Ada +was entertaining her friends? I confess to you, for my part, that if I +had to say what I was doing and where I was three months ago at that +hour, I should be very much embarrassed; and I defy any one here to +declare on his honor that he can precisely answer such a question. And +then, is it my mission to prove that my client is innocent? That is a +mistake; it is you, whose mission it is to prove him guilty. Now you do +not do so. You present a man disguised and masked. You do not tear off +the mask. You give him accomplices and do not find them again. You say +that he has stolen, and you do not know what has became of the articles +stolen. All that is very serious, and have I not a right to cry out? +A crime has been committed--a mysterious crime--whose victim even, +is not absolutely recognized; a crime that has deeply stirred public +opinion, which you wish to bring to your side and calm, and you think +it indispensable to offer a guilty man; whoever it may be, were it even +James Gobson, a perfectly innocent man.” + +This, it will be understood, is only Mr. Macready’s plea abridged, for +he spoke more than five hours, and often succeeded in winning a portion +of his hearers. But his influence was not so great on the jury, for, +after less than an hour’s deliberation, they brought in a verdict of +guilty. + +On hearing the head juryman declare his client guilty of murder, with +extenuating circumstances there could be no question about it--nothing +of the kind being allowed in the American law, Mr. Macready, who had +arisen, sank back overcome on his chair. As for James Gobson, he did +not betray the least surprise, but a smile of scorn was on his lips. + +Hon. Mr. Douglas now arose. He read in a loud voice the various +articles of the penal law relating to the case, and pronounced the +accused condemned to death. Then, after consulting an almanac, he added: + +“James Gobson, unless you have some serious objection to the day, you +will be hanged on the twenty-fifth of this month. To-day is Tuesday; it +will be a fortnight from to-morrow.” + +“I should prefer, your honor,” answered the condemned man, with much +coolness, “to live a little longer, but I have no other remark to make. +Wednesday awakens no repugnance in my mind. On that day you will cause +an innocent man to die.” + +After putting on his hat and clasping the hand of his defender, James +Gobson retired as calm as when he had come there. + +The crowd, from which there had not been the slightest murmur of +approbation or disapprobation, moved quietly away. It was evident, +nevertheless, that Mr. Macready had gained a certain number of his +hearers. To the minds of some there was a doubt as to the guilt of his +client. + +The intrepid Young was one of the latter; for, as he was leaving the +court-room in company with William Dow, the latter asking him if he was +convinced, he answered: + +“Not at all. That devil of a man did not betray himself a single +minute; he had the calmness of an innocent man. Besides, what vexes me +is that we cannot put our hands on his accomplices or the jewels of +Miss Ada. Mr. Macready is right, if he stole the jewels why did he come +and give himself up?” + +“To believe a thing you have to see it.” + +“Well, deuce take it, when I see a thing I know it.” + +“Then, when the wind carries away your hat you do not believe it is +the wind because it is not visible. Ah, my dear captain, you are the +bravest soldier I know, but you will never be a wise detective. Well, +now, to please you and quiet your conscience, I promise to find you +James Gobson’s accomplices and his wife’s jewels.” + +“Ah, that day my admiration for you will be unbounded.” + +William Dow received this flattering assurance with a sad smile, which +said that he had a very different aim than the puerile satisfaction of +vanity; then he pressed the hand the chief of detectives offered him +and left, saying: + +“Yes, certainly, I shall find the accomplices, or rather the aids, of +James Gobson, and before long, I hope.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +HOW THE WORTHY MR. MIDLER EXHORTED HIS PENITENTS TO DIE LIKE CHRISTIANS. + + +William Dow resided in Sixth Avenue, in a pretty and comfortably +furnished house. He lived very retired, with a charming child of +sixteen, Miss Jane, who called him “my friend,” and showed him the most +tender affection. Who the young girl was none knew, and the few who +tried to question Mrs. Wandright, the governess, gained little, for the +good woman invariably answered: “Miss Jane is the daughter of a distant +relative of Mr. Dow; she was an orphan, and he adopted her.” + +However it was, Miss Jane was an adorable young girl, morally and +physically. She was a blonde, slender, but not fragile, with a rosy, +smiling mouth, large blue eyes, both lively and gentle, and was pretty +enough to set the least poetical Yankee to dreaming. When one knew the +kindness of her heart, the uprightness of her mind, and the refinement +and purity of her sentiments, he could not but adore her. + +William Dow adored her, but with a reserve, tinged with melancholy, +that caused a struggle with his affectionate impulses. + +When Miss Jane gazed at him with her pure eyes, after one of his +frequent absences, and throwing her arms around his neck, covered his +forehead and cheeks with innocent kisses, scolding him gently for +leaving her so often, William, whose strength of will we already know, +would turn suddenly pale and look sad. + +When unobserved he gazed at the child, who looked smilingly at life, a +shadow rested on his forehead and his eyes became moist. One would have +thought Miss Jane was to him both the source of happiness and remorse. + +She occupied all of the first story of the house. She had a dainty +sleeping-room and a large parlor, fragrant with flowers, and filled +with birds. Mrs. Wandright occupied a small room near her pupil’s +apartments. + +William Dow reserved the ground floor for himself, the principal room +being his study. There he received the chief of police, Captain Young, +and a few rare friends, but the most of his time was spent in solitude, +his only companions being the books in his library. + +Sometimes Miss Jane would come and take her friend away from his work, +and he would then smile at the little girl he so dearly loved that she +might have no anxiety. Occasionally they went out together, sometimes +on horseback, sometimes on foot, and he completed her education during +this exercise by interesting and instructive conversation. In a word, +between these two, whom a mysterious event had united, there existed +an intimacy of admiration and love on the part of the child, and +protection and duty on the part of the man. + +“How learned you are, my friend,” cried Jane, when, in his clear, +precise way of stating things, her professor had explained to her some +physical phenomenon or some controverted point in history. + +William Dow, turning aside his head, blushed as if the compliment awoke +some sorrowful memory. + +Although Miss Jane was carefully guarded against indulging unhealthy +curiosity, she learned, as every one in New York, the history of the +drowned woman, James Gobson’s arrest and his appearance before the +Criminal Court. Therefore she was impatiently awaiting William Dow, and +when she heard him come in she ran to meet him in her eagerness to hear +the news. + +“Confess it was just,” said the detective, “the wretch is condemned to +death.” + +The young girl, in the kindness of her heart could not restrain a cry +of pity, and, no doubt, she was about to ask for the details, but +William Dow adroitly changed the conversation. + +In the city hardly anything was talked of that evening but the sentence +of James Gobson; and the next day when the papers gave the arguments, +there were two opinions as among the hearers in court. The majority +thought the sentence just, while the minority believed the explanations +of the lawyer Macready, regarding the innocence of the condemned, or at +least, the doubt, of which he ought to have the benefit. + +But James Gobson belonged to no political party or religious sect, or +any small church, and as none, in consequence, had any direct interest +through party spirit in making himself his defender, the excitement +rapidly died away, to be roused again on the eve of the execution. + +All this time, Mary, who was on guard at the abandoned home, had been +making an inventory of the unfortunate Miss Ada’s wardrobe, while the +condemned man passed the last days allowed him by his honor Judge +Douglas, with considerable bravery. + +“He is a very agreeable boarder,” said Mr. Peters, the manager of the +Tombs. “He has received an excellent education, and I enjoy calling on +him. Everything will go very quietly between Master Meyer and him.” + +The amiable Mr. Peters smiled as he got off this dismal joke, for +Meyer, as we have said, was the hangman for the County of New York. + +It was with him that James Gobson would have to do in a few days. + +While awaiting this dreadful moment the prisoner seemed to be taking +things rather philosophically. When the worthy Mr. Midler, the reverend +Methodist, whose charge it was to prepare the condemned for death, came +to visit him, James Gobson politely begged him to leave him in quiet; +then he offered the worthy man, in the place of a religious talk, a +glass of sherry, which was always accepted. + +Mr. Midler was a worthy man, gentle and indulgent, having ordinary +intelligence, but an excellent stomach, which made him sometimes +forget one of the fundamental principles of the sect to which he +belonged--to set the example of abstinence. He liked good living and +good wines, which had a visible effect, for he was plump and fresh, +rosy-faced and smiling. + +Such was the consoler whom James Gobson received politely, but whose +holy exhortations he philosophically repelled. + +However, when a week had elapsed, the condemned lost his calmness +somewhat at times, it required an effort to repress his anger, and when +Mr. Mortimer, the sheriff, who was to be present at his execution, +came to see him on the evening of the fatal day, he arose and walked +directly toward him. + +The honorable magistrate, perhaps for a moment, believed that the +prisoner was going to make him some important revelation, but, as if +ashamed of his weakness, James Gobson suddenly resumed his ordinary +demeanor and simply asked his visitor: + +“It is to-morrow, is it not?” + +“Yes; to-morrow, at nine o’clock in the morning,” answered the sheriff, +“and I come to offer myself as an intermediary in case you have any +legal arrangements to make or any papers to convey to your family.” + +“I am very grateful to you; you will find my will in my pocket; it +contains my last wishes.” + +“Have you nothing else to say to me?” + +“Nothing, unless, as it is, to protest my innocence for the last time.” + +“Would you like to receive a call from the pastor, Midler?” + +“To-morrow morning, certainly. The worthy chaplain will help me to +finish the bottle of excellent whiskey which the warden kindly sent me; +besides, when one has a disagreeable journey to take it is always well +to be accompanied and encouraged, as long as possible, by a worthy man.” + +Finding that he would obtain nothing from the condemned, Mr. Mortimer +wished him good courage and left. + +James Gobson returned to his table and leaned on his elbow, hiding +his pale face in his hands. If the sheriff could have seen him then +he would have discovered that there had been more bravado than real +courage in his attitude. It seemed as if, sustained until then by an +imaginary hope, it was now lost. + +But he dined as usual, passed the night without complaining, and the +next day at seven o’clock, when Mr. Midler came to him he manifested no +emotion. Now, there remained but a few hours for him to live. + +This was his own conviction, and he was listening to Mr. Midler’s +religious exhortations with more thoughtfulness than the latter had +hoped, when suddenly the door of the cell was opened to admit the +warden, accompanied by Mr. Mortimer and Davis. + +The prisoner turned somewhat pale, but soon recovering that powerful +self-command of which he had given so many proofs, he said to them in a +firm voice, taking out his watch: + +“Why, gentlemen, you are ahead of time; it is hardly eight o’clock, and +the execution is not to be until nine.” + +“You will not be hanged to-day, James Gobson,” replied the sheriff. + +“Why not? Is there any sudden proof of my innocence? It was time.” + +“No; but a serious accident has happened to Meyer.” + +“Meyer, ah! I know.” + +“He broke his leg a moment ago.” + +“Poor man.” + +“As his aid is a young, inexperienced man, I have had to telegraph +to have Meyer’s assistant sent me, and he cannot arrive until this +evening.” + +“Then it will be to-morrow.” + +“It will be to-morrow.” + +And, bowing to the prisoner as well as the pastor, the officers left +the cell. + +“Supposing we continue our conversation,” said the reverend gentleman +to Gobson, after their departure. + +“No,” answered Mr. Gobson, warmly, his face having suddenly recovered +its sceptical expression; “no, Mr. Midler, we will not resume it until +to-morrow morning, if you will be so kind. I have arisen earlier to-day +than usual, and all these successive emotions have made a hollow place +in my stomach. Will you do me the honor to breakfast with me? I have +two bottles of exquisite port which I did not expect to drink; we will +empty them together. I promise to listen to you while eating, and we +will strengthen at the same time both soul and body.” + +“Very well, Mr. Gobson,” sighed the good minister, somewhat abashed at +the pleasantry, but evidently touched by the proposition. “It is my +mission to remain with you until the time of----” + +“The rope. Well, since an accident to Master Meyer gives me twenty-four +hours more, let us breakfast.” + +James Gobson had called the guard and ordered some ham, cold meats and +Chester cheese. + +Good Mr. Midler was sitting opposite his penitent. + +“To your health,” said the latter, after filling a glass for the +excellent man. + +“To the health of your soul,” answered the pastor, with true unction, +and raising his eyes to heaven he devoutly drank the wine, then bravely +attacked the iced partridge which his host had placed before him. + +James Gobson also fell to with a will, and there was a momentary +silence between the convivial host and guest. + +William Dow himself would have been astonished at the philosophy and +coolness of the man he had caused to be arrested, and Mr. Davis, at the +sight of his calmness, would have remembered his first doubts, which +the arguments, it is true, had quickly banished from his mind. + +When his partridge had disappeared, and his glass was emptied a second +time, the Methodist threw himself back, uttering a deep sigh. + +“What is the matter, reverend sir?” asked the prisoner, affectionately. + +“What a misfortune,” answered Mr. Midler, “that I did not know you +sooner. I should certainly have checked you by my advice on the path +you have entered.” + +“Do you think I regret it any less than you, sir? Will you have a slice +of this ham?” + +“Resist one’s propensities; everything is in that, Mr. Gobson. This ham +is excellent.” + +“It comes from York, where the best wine is had, too.” + +“Yours is delicious. We are all predestined to eternal felicity, +and----” + +“Will you have a glass of port?” + +“With pleasure. And these are the first concessions we make to our +passions, and to our tastes, which lead us on, but----” + +“Will you have a little of this cheese, it is perfect for digestion?” + +“Yes, epicures think a great deal of it. But if our miserable nature +causes us to fall, God renders our faith a justification and conversion +takes place instantaneously----” + +“Do you like coffee?” + +“I think it indispensable to every meal.” + +“I have not failed to ask for it. One would say that my guard was only +waiting for the proper moment to bring it, for, see, here he comes.” + +In fact, the servant appointed to wait on the prisoner was that moment +entering the cell with a waiter, which he placed on the table, then +left. + +James Gobson filled Mr. Midler’s cup, who thanked him with a tender +glance. + +“Do you smoke?” asked the prisoner. + +“No, thanks,” answered the minister; “Mrs. Midler does not allow me to +do so.” + +“But smoke does not incommode you.” + +“By no means. What was I saying?” + +“That God renders faith a justification, and that conversion takes +place instantly.” + +“Ah, yes! There is some pleasure in exhorting with you.” + +“Talk on, sir, talk on; I am listening to you with the most respectful +attention; but do not let your coffee get cold. You must take it +smoking-hot or iced; otherwise it is a detestable drink.” + +“You are right.” And while sipping his wine the worthy Midler resumed: +“The conversion is instantaneous.... God’s miracles work ever ... the +soul is elevated, and if there is any account to settle with men ... +grace renders us worthy of this eternal felicity for which we are all +predestined.” + +But Gobson no longer listened, if ever he had listened seriously. With +his chair tipped back against the wall, and leaning back in it, he was +phlegmatically sending rings of smoke from his cigar to the ceiling, +while his preacher, yielding to the influence of digestion, lowered his +voice more and more, gently closed his eyelids, devoutly crossed his +arms on his bosom and fell into his customary doze, murmuring: + +“Excellent port ... instantaneous pardon ... York ham ... felicity +eternal.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +IN WHICH JAMES GOBSON MIRACULOUSLY ESCAPES THE GALLOWS, AND THE +HONORABLE CORONER DAVIS’ REMORSE. + + +By a strange coincidence, while this scene was occurring, an inventory +was being taken of Miss Ada’s furniture and wardrobe. + +The owner of the house in Twenty-third Street wishing to take +possession of it unfurnished, the law had decided that all that had +belonged to the unhappy woman should be sold, and that the proceeds of +the sale should be held three years at the disposition of the heirs. +At the expiration of this time the money should be placed in the State +treasury. + +Mr. Mortimer’s clerk and the sheriff took charge of this inventory, +and Mary, who, as we have said, was watching the house, was helping +these gentlemen. They had just left the parlor to pass into the +sleeping-room, and the young girl, with many sobs in her voice, was +enumerating each of the articles which the secretary of the justice of +peace was writing down on his list, when they heard a carriage stop +before the house. + +“It is the sheriff, no doubt,” said the clerk to Mary; “you must run +and let him in.” + +“The watchman is below,” answered the maid. + +“Then let us hurry and get through our work.” + +But the young girl, who had just taken a bundle of lace from one of the +wardrobes, suddenly stood still and her face became frightfully pale. + +She had heard in the hall, and the clerk and his secretary also heard, +a woman’s voice raised to an angry pitch. + +Then the sound of hurrying footsteps was heard in the parlor, the door +of the sleeping-room suddenly opened, a woman appeared, and Mary, with +eyes wild with fright, shrieked and leaned against a piece of furniture +to keep from falling. + +“What does all this mean?” asked the new comer, with a questioning look +at each actor in the scene. + +“Madam, Miss Ada!” gasped the servant. “Miss Ada!” repeated the clerk, +bounding from the arm-chair on which he was reclining. + +“Well, yes, Miss Ada,” said the young woman. “Are you all mad? And are +you even more so than the others?” she said, moving rapidly toward +Mary, who threw herself in her arms, crying: + +“I said that she was not dead!” + +“Dead! What do you say?” + +“Why, yes, dead,” repeated the clerk in his turn; “they hanged your +murderer this morning.” + +“My murderer?” + +“Yes--James Gobson.” + +“James Gobson, my former husband?” + +“That very man, who killed you and threw you into the water, three +months ago.” + +“Killed me--threw me into the water? Unless this is an odious joke you +are playing, gentlemen, it is frightful. Come, Mary, let us run and see +what it means.” + +“Oh, it is too late,” observed the sheriff. “Master Meyer must have +finished his work. It was at nine o’clock, at the Tombs, as usual.” + +The woman gave a cry of horror and sank into a chair; but she +immediately arose, ran down the stairs and into the street. Without +taking time to put on a hat or shawl, Mary followed her. + +The carriage which had brought the traveler was waiting for her at the +door; they both entered it, ordering the driver to take them to the +prison. The horse set off at a gallop. + +But when, half an hour later, they reached the square, on one side of +which stood the Tombs, the carriage got into so dense a crowd that it +had to stop. + +“It is impossible to go any farther,” said the driver. + +Mary sprang to the ground. She had just caught a glimpse of Captain +Young, who, with the aid of one of his agents, was trying to drive away +the curious crowd. + +“Captain,” she cried, “in the name of God, let us pass.” + +“Will it be too late? Oh, these people alarm me. I beg you, sir, to +help us,” said the young woman beseechingly, having joined her servant. + +“Too late?” asked the chief of detectives in his rough voice, advancing +toward them. “What do you mean? There is no execution to-day.” + +“What! no execution!” cried the mistress and servant at the same time. +“James Gobson is still living.” + +“It is put off until to-morrow.” + +“God be praised,” said the chamber-maid with a sigh of relief. + +“‘God be praised.’ What is it to you?” repeated Young. + +“What is it to us, captain?” answered Mary. “Why, here is Miss Ada!” + +“Miss Ada,” exclaimed the detective. + +“My God, Miss Ada! My God!” + +Amazement would not allow him to say any more; he led away the two +women whom the crowd were approaching, for the nearest among them had +heard the few words that had been exchanged, and they repeated them +aloud, pointing to the young woman. + +The agents made a passage for their chief, who, after giving an order +to one of his men, immediately introduced mistress and maid into the +prison yard, then from there into the directors’ office. + +Mr. Peters, who was bending over his desk, raised his head at the +captain’s noisy entrance, and at the sight of his two proteges, +understanding nothing of the unexpected visit, he opened his eyes wide. + +“Miss Ada Ricard!” said Mr. Young, who not having quite recovered from +his amazement could not utter another word. + +“Miss Ada Ricard,” said the officer, rising suddenly; “the wife of....” + +“Her very self, sir,” affirmed the visitor; “the divorced wife of that +unfortunate James Gobson, who came near losing his life this morning +through a frightful mistake.” + +Mr. Peters gave one bound toward the woman who said these words, and +immediately recognizing her he could not find words to express his +astonishment. His looks wandered wildly from her to the chief of +detectives, who repeated: “My God, my God, what an adventure; I told +Mr. Dow so.” + +“You must notify Mr. Kelly and Mortimer at once,” said Mr. Peters +finally to the captain, when he had recovered somewhat. + +“I sent at once to one of my agents at the Central office,” answered +Young. + +“Meanwhile, gentlemen, cannot Miss Ada see Mr. Gobson?” asked the young +girl. + +“It would be cruel,” added her mistress, “to leave him any longer in +his horrible situation.” + +“You are right,” said the director, moving toward the door. “I have, +besides, no right to refuse the prisoner a visitor. What a scandal it +will be. Come, accompany us, captain.” + +In passing the former, Mr. Peters crossed the clerk’s court to reach +that part of the prison in which were the cells of those condemned to +death. + +The worthy officer walked so quickly, shaking his head and +gesticulating, that the two women could hardly keep up with him. + +Captain Young, who brought up the rear of the procession, exclaimed: + +“Ah! this will be a sad story to tell friend Dow.” + +They thus reached, almost on a run, the corridor on which James +Gobson’s cell opened. When he had reached the door the director had it +opened by the guard, who immediately approached, and he hastened in. +The prisoner was still in the position in which we left him. Lolling +back in his chair, he was finishing his second cigar, and the worthy +Mr. Midler, who was hardly awake, was psalmodizing tenderly: + +“Yes, my dear Mr. Gobson, a second of repentance on the part of the +sinner is sufficient to pay for all his errors, and....” + +But the sudden entrance of Mr. Peters cut short the words of the good +Methodist, and when he saw the two women who were accompanying the +director, he rubbed his eyes, imagining perhaps that he was still +asleep. + +As for James Gobson, at the sight of the visitors his face betrayed +more strongly than it had done since his sentence a violent emotion, +but through a strong effort of will he did not make a gesture or utter +a cry, and after having fixed his eyes upon the young woman for a +moment he turned to his guest, saying to him in a perfectly calm voice: + +“Dear Mr. Midler, permit me to present to you the former Mrs. Gobson, +Miss Ada Ricard, my unfortunate victim.” + +The reverend gentleman no longer thought he was asleep--he believed he +had become crazy. + +“Pardon me James for this horrible calamity, of which I involuntarily +came near being the cause,” said the woman whom the prisoner at once +recognized. “It is fortunate that I came in time.” + +“If Master Meyer had not broken his leg you would have come too late,” +answered the prisoner dryly. + +“I beg you to pardon me,” entreated the young woman, approaching Gobson +and holding out her hands. + +“Yes, certainly, I pardon you, since you are here;” and rising, he took +in his and affectionately pressed the hands of her who had saved his +life. + +At the same instant Captain Young respectfully made way for a new comer. + +It was Mr. Mortimer whom the messenger sent by the chief of detectives +met when within a few steps of the prison. + +The sheriff was very pale and he stammered to the pretty American: + +“Are you Miss Ada Ricard?” + +“I think so, sir,” answered the latter, smiling. + +In order to prove this identity, if the magistrate had wished to call +to his aid one of the well-known details in the person of the former +Mrs. Gobson, a detail specified by Dr. O’Neel in his report of the +autopsy, he would have seen, when she smiled, the space in her superb +teeth; but he paid no attention to it, for doubt was not possible. + +“You arrive just in time, madam,” he continued, “to prevent an +irreparable calamity; while waiting for the legal examination have the +kindness, I beg, to explain your long absence.” + +“I am quite willing to do so, sir, but not here,” she said, blushing. +Mr. Mortimer understood, and invited her to follow him into the clerk’s +room. + +“I am ready to obey your orders, sir,” said Miss Ada; “but what are you +going to do with James Gobson? Are we going to leave him here?” + +“Oh, I find it very pleasant in the worthy Mr. Midler’s society,” +observed the condemned, smiling at his consoler. + +The good Methodist could thank him only with a low bow, for he hardly +knew what he was about. + +“Madam,” said the sheriff, “I cannot give any orders in regard to the +prisoner.” + +“I understood the law did not foresee my case as it now stands,” +interrupted James. + +“The sentence must be revoked,” said the magistrate; “but I think that +Mr. Gobson can be set at liberty at once.” + +“Whatever sum is fixed I will pay,” said the young woman, warmly; +“it is the least I can do for a man whose life my absence came near +costing. I will see you soon again, James Commany.” While saying these +words, the former Mrs. Gobson had walked toward the corridor, where Mr. +Mortimer awaited her. + +The prisoner now held out his hand to the pastor, saying: + +“This does not prevent me from being quite grateful for your holy +exhortations, my reverend friend; of course you did not expect what +has just happened; nor I, either. Suppose we finish our spiritual +conversation with a glass of brandy.” + +“The designs of God are unfathomable, dear Mr. Gobson,” devoutly +answered the good man, holding out his glass; “but still preserve +yourself from the danger you have run, most certainly, for the +punishment of your errors.” + +“Oh, I will never forget it. Here’s to my resurrection and your health.” + +While drinking with Mr. Midler the prisoner resumed on his chair that +position essentially American in which his deliverer had found him. + +The latter meanwhile was saying to Mr. Mortimer, with whom the director +had left her alone in his office-- + +“Unless it is indispensable to do otherwise, I should much prefer, sir, +not to confess the motives of my journey, for the recital would oblige +me to name someone who is very desirous of remaining unknown. Let it +suffice you to know that this kidnapping, laid to the account of my +murderers, was planned in advance, and that I passed the two months and +a half, partly on the sea and partly at Havana. The only interesting +point to the law is that here I am, alive and in very good health. All +else belongs to my private life, and none has a right to ask an account +of it, for I am not, or rather I am no longer married.” + +“You are right, madam,” answered the sheriff, “you will, however, +confess that this is very extraordinary.” + +“What is more so, still, is your singular mistake.” + +“The mistake was general.” + +“Not so, for neither Mr. Gobson nor Mary recognized me in that +unfortunate woman.” + +“You will see the cast which has been made of it and you yourself will +be amazed.” + +“But Mr. Saunders ought not to have been mistaken.” + +“Mr. Saunders is a little out of his head. We have not been able to get +anything out of him.” + +“Poor man; this news pains me deeply.” + +“He accuses himself of your death. To believe him, he killed you +himself.” + +“He!” + +“At least as far as it was possible to understand him.” + +“But, first, I hope you are going to let me go home to my house.” + +“Certainly. I have notified Mr. Davis, the coroner in your district. +In a moment he will be here, and we will make out the necessary +formalities.” + +Mr. Mortimer did not think he spoke so truly, for that very moment +the office door opened and Mr. Kelly and Davis came out. In each of +these magistrates emotion was betrayed according to their respective +temperaments. The face of the big chief of police was flushed as in +a congestion, and that of the coroner was of a livid pallor. After +looking a few seconds at the charming face of the young woman, they +exchanged despairing looks. It was no longer to be doubted, ridicule +would fall on both of them. + +Mr. Davis, whose elevated mind saw only the error committed, asked +himself in horror what would have become of his honor as a magistrate, +if the absent woman had not presented herself in time. He certainly +could not have endured the shame. + +Mr. Kelly, who was more positive, saw in this strange event only a +calamity, which would singularly affect his political career. + +When they had recovered somewhat the officers questioned Miss Ada, who +told the same story as to Mr. Mortimer. + +“It is very well, madam,” answered the chief of police, with +difficulty conquering his anger; “but you might have dispensed with +that mysterious journey. Devil take it, there was no one to object +to your going. You were free to jilt that stupid Saunders for some +one else. Who can that woman be who resembles you so greatly? She was +even prettier than you. She had a tooth broken out and an ear torn +expressly--just as you have.” + +Kelly was so furious that, not very gallant usually, he became +absolutely rude. For sole answer to these rude questions, the one to +whom they were addressed gave him a gracious smile, which disclosed the +casket that lacked a pearl, and approaching him she raised with one +pretty little finger the big diamond beneath which was concealed the +slight wound which she had in her rosy and exquisitely shaped ear. + +All this was so coquettishly done that the gruff officer could not help +murmuring: + +“By George, she is a superb woman.” + +“Captain, you will go with the sheriff to escort madam home and to +put her in possession of her house. You will afterwards join me at +the central office, and notify Mr. William Dow. This time he was less +shrewd than every one else. His blunder will perhaps cost me dear.” + +Not thinking it prudent to defend his friend, the chief of detectives +gave a military salute, and pointing out the way to Miss Ada, who had +taken Mary’s arm, left the prison with them. + +The crowd on the square was immense; it already knew the error +committed by the law, an error that would have been irreparable, but +for the accident to the executioner, and the young woman was received +with enthusiastic hurrahs. + +If the captain had not kept the most excited ones at a distance by +means of his agents, they certainly would have had to unharness the +horses from the carriage in which he was riding in company with Mr. +Mortimer, Miss Ada and Mary. + +Suspecting that a different reception was waiting for him, Mr. Kelly +hastened to take another direction with Mr. Davis. + +“God be praised,” said the coroner, crossing the threshold of the +Tombs, “I should never have forgiven myself that mistake.” + +“By George,” sighed the chief of police, “I fear that my electors will +never forgive me. Devil take William Dow.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +IN WHICH WILLIE SAUNDERS PASSES FROM DESPAIR TO AMAZEMENT, AND FROM +AMAZEMENT TO ANGER. + + +The news of the return of a woman whose corpse a thousand persons had +seen, caused an emotion difficult to describe. At first the event +seemed so impossible that no one would believe it; and the lawyers were +accused of conniving with the police to save the life of the condemned. +But when the papers published special supplements describing in detail +the scene that had taken place at the Tombs, the most incredulous were +obliged to accept the evidence. The few defenders that James Gobson +had among the people had the best of the matter, and the excitement +increased so rapidly that the minister of justice, the justice of the +criminal court, Mr. Kelly, and the sheriff and coroner thought it +prudent to release the prisoner on bail without further delay. + +For political reasons they set the sum, without further consideration, +at the insignificant figure of one hundred dollars. They knew, +moreover, that if they had asked ten thousand dollars, a hundred +individuals, to gain a little popularity, would have come to offer it +themselves. Having come to this decision, Mr. Mortimer ran at once to +the Tombs to erase the prisoner’s name from the jail register. + +James was about to play a game of chess with the good Mr. Midler. When +the magistrate had apprised him of what had been done, he quietly made +his preparations, went down to the clerk’s office, counted out the one +hundred dollars for the keeper of the prison, Mr. Peters, and after +shaking hands with the worthy Methodist, whose eyes filled with tears, +he went out by the door through which Mr. Kelly and Davis had passed a +few hours before, in order to avoid the crowd. + +“Where are you going to put up?” asked the sheriff, who was +accompanying James Gobson. + +“To the ‘United States,’ where I am unknown, sir,” he answered; “but +I think it polite to devote my first moments of liberty to Miss Ada +Ricard. Although she came near arriving too late, I nevertheless owe +her a visit of thanks.” + +And, hailing a passing hack, James bowed to the sheriff, then entered +the carriage, giving orders to drive to No. 17 East Twenty-third Street. + +At the same moment William Dow reached the central police office. +Learning through public rumor of the return of the drowned woman, he +did not wait for Mr. Kelly to send for him. + +“Well,” said the latter, “what do you think of this foolish event?” + +“I think, Mr. Kelly,” he answered, “that it is a foolish mistake, and +that it is very fortunate that it did not become an irreparable error.” + +“You are, in a measure, the cause of it.” + +“I! Was it I who recognized Miss Ada in the dead woman, whom I had +never seen?” + +“No; but it was you who had James Gobson arrested.” + +“I arrested him only a little sooner, perhaps, than you would have +ordered the arrest yourself. Confess that the body, really being that +of Mrs. Gobson, the guilt of her husband could be doubted by none.” + +“Evidently. The lawyer for the State proved it as plain as daylight. +O’Brien never was so eloquent.” + +“To Mr. Davis especially, who had the examination, the blow is heavy.” + +“That is the least of my troubles. What disturbs me is that my +reputation and position are jeopardized. But was there ever such +a resemblance even in the slightest details? One would think some +political enemy chose the corpse particularly to defeat me. There are +not only the same features, but the tooth is gone and the ear cut as in +the drowned woman. It is enough to make one lose one’s head.” + +“It is certainly inexplicable, and this coincidence of circumstances +confuses the mind.” + +“Here I am with this corpse on my hands. It is not enough to find this +roving woman whom the devil ought to have carried off, and not to +have hung this Gobson, whom the devil would gladly have taken, I am +convinced, but we must now discover the name of the drowned woman and +that of her murderer.” + +“We will find out all that.” + +“If we fail, my dear Dow, I am a lost man.” + +“We shall succeed. Let me study this mystery a little. Meanwhile face +the storm bravely.” And clasping the hand of Mr. Kelly, who hardly +knew what saint to call on, William Dow went home, more anxious than +he appeared. He knew that the chief of police was right, and that +public sentiment, doubly excited, exacted double satisfaction for the +revising of James Gobson’s case and the explanation of the mystery that +surrounded the death of the strange body found near Wharf 43. + +During this time the crowd thronged Twenty-third Street, and the +reporters literally besieged Miss Ada Ricard’s house. She had received +several of her former servants, who, through personal interest or +curiosity, had hastened to visit her at the first news of her return. +After generously rewarding them for their sympathy, she dismissed them, +saying that she would not reorganize her house for several days. Then +the tradesmen came one after the other, protesting the sorrow they had +felt and their present delight at seeing her again; and this procession +had already lasted two hours, when formidable hurrahs were suddenly +heard in the street. + +“Go see what it is, Mary,” said Miss Ada, becoming somewhat pale. + +Mary sprang to the window, and immediately answered laughingly: + +“It is Mr. Gobson, madam, whom the crowd has recognized and is +following with cheers.” + +At the same moment the bell was rung. Mary ran to open the door; and +Gobson, after giving three ringing cheers by way of thanks, crossed +the threshold of the house. But that was not enough for the curious, +and the cry a thousand times repeated of “Miss Ada! Miss Ada!” +immediately rang out. + +“You must show yourself, madam,” said one of the journalists who was +present. + +At the same instant James Gobson entered the parlor and held out his +hand to his former wife. + +“And show yourself with Mr. Gobson,” added the reporter. + +“The gentleman is right,” said the released prisoner, “otherwise these +people might push in your door.” + +Then taking the young woman’s arm, who did not seem much inclined to +exhibit herself thus, he went with her out on to the balcony. There +was then an indescribable enthusiasm, and a racket enough to drive +one crazy. The cries of “Miss Ada, Gobson forever!” were mingled with +complaints and epithets not very flattering to Mr. Kelly. This lasted +half an hour, and the crowd did not become quiet until Gobson made a +sign that he was going to make a speech. + +“Citizens,” he said, in a stentorian voice, “Miss Ada and I thank you +sincerely for this sympathetic demonstration.” + +“Hurrah! hurrah!” repeated the crowd in delirium. James Gobson, after +bowing a last time, gallantly offered his arm to Ada Ricard and entered +the house. + +A person who was no less moved at the reappearance of the drowned woman +than those of whom we have just spoken, was Mr. Robertson, Jr., whom +one of his agents had informed of the event at the very first. He, too, +had been deceived like a mere police officer. His vanity was greatly +piqued, whatever joy his elder brother might manifest, for he, it is +remembered, had been the rival of Mr. Kelly in the last elections. + +The chief of the agency saw in the error of the chief of police the +surety of a brilliant political revenge, and he congratulated himself; +but Mr. Robertson, Jr., who was more of an artist, could not forgive +himself for having made what he, at the time, thought, the skilful +deductions which we have already placed before our readers. What +consoled him a little was, that in order to avoid being called upon as +a witness, and not to compromise his establishment, he had confided in +none, not even in Saunders, who, however, was not in a condition to +understand him, pursued as the unhappy man was by the fixed idea of +being Miss Ada’s murderer. However, thinking it wise to get credit with +the cracker-merchant for having prevented him from denouncing himself, +Mr. Robertson, Jr., resolved to go and see him immediately. + +Mr. Saunders was calmer than when we met him a few weeks before. He had +finally persuaded himself that if Miss Ada had fallen into the water +near Staten Island, that she was not drowned in that spot, but had +been the victim of a crime, of which Colonel Forster, perhaps, might +be guilty. Later, when James Gobson’s guilt was so convincingly shown +at the trial, the worthy merchant did not try to explain how it could +be that Miss Ada had fallen from the colonel’s yacht into the hands +of her former husband; he adopted the conclusions of the State lawyer +and silenced his conscience, to listen only to the voice of his heart, +or to give himself wholly up to the sorrow caused by the death of his +loved one. + +His friends urged him to interest himself in business, but he could not +bring his mind to it; he passed almost all his days at home, drinking, +eating, and sighing. It was at this last occupation that Mr. Robertson, +Jr., surprised him. He had not heard a word about the young woman’s +return. + +“You are a very welcome visitor,” he said to the agent; “tell me how +that infamous murderer went to the gallows.” + +“Dear sir,” answered the young man, “the execution has been postponed +until to-morrow, on account of Meyer having broken his leg, the +accident saved the prisoner.” + +“Saved, how?” repeated Saunders, without understanding. + +“Yes, saved; for Miss Ada Ricard, the victim, has returned.” + +The stout man leaped from his chair and opened his eyes, gasping: + +“Miss Ada returned! Miss Ada!” + +“Yes, Miss Ada,” resumed Robertson, Jr. + +“The devil!” + +“Do be calm. You see I was right to advise you to be silent in regard +to the adventure at Staten Island. We should have uselessly compromised +ourselves. Yes, Miss Ada has returned; she was merely on a voyage.” + +“In company with that d----d Foster, but what of that other, that +other?” + +“The drowned woman. Who she is no person knows.” + +“Have you seen Miss Ada?” + +“No; but one of my agents who was at the Tombs when she arrived +followed her to her door.” + +“Did she return to her house?” + +“Two hours ago, at least.” + +“And Mary, the wretch, did not notify me.” + +“Who is Mary?” + +“Her maid.” + +On saying this, Saunders had taken his hat and run out of the room. + +“Where are you going, pray?” asked Mr. Robertson, running after him. + +“Where am I going? Why, to Miss Ada’s house.” + +“I wish to tell the wretch what I think of her conduct.” + +“Or to fall at her feet.” + +The unhappy cracker-merchant suddenly stopped still. The secret agent +had aimed a true blow. It was more love than anger that led the +inflammable Yankee to the unfaithful one. + +“Well, yes,” he said, “I still love her; and I wish to see her,” he +added, with a deep sigh. + +“Then I will accompany you,” proposed Robertson. + +“If you wish.” + +The young man was delighted to profit by the opportunity to see alive +the woman whom he had known only through the corpse at the morgue. +They sprang into a carriage, and soon reached No. 17 East Twenty-third +Street. + +Satisfied by the speech James Gobson had made them, the crowd had +dispersed, and only a few groups remained around the house. + +Mr. Robertson helped his companion to alight, and rang the bell. Mary +answered it, but at the sight of Saunders’ flushed face, and not +feeling very easy in her conscience, she uttered a cry and ran away +to warn her mistress. The latter was having a private talk with James +Gobson. + +“Bah! receive him,” advised the former husband, complacently, “and try +to get rid of him if you can, and especially if you wish to do so.” + +The young woman left her room, closed the door behind her and passed +into the parlor. + +It was time. The stout Saunders, who had climbed the stairs with an +agility quite juvenile, was crossing the threshold of this room. + +“Ada, my dear Ada!” he cried, rushing toward her. + +The poor man had forgotten his anger, and remembered only his love. +With arms held out, he thought only of forgiving. But, to his +amazement, the ungrateful woman withdrew from his embrace, and merely +held out her hand, saying: + +“My dear Saunders, you, too, thought me dead, and I will never forgive +you such an error. However, I am none the less delighted to see you.” + +All this was said in so calm and chilling a tone that the unfortunate +cracker-merchant, already exhausted and breathless, felt his limbs give +way beneath him. Fortunately, Mr. Robertson supported him to a lounge, +on which he sank heavily, with his great, tearful eyes fixed on her for +whom he had wept so much, and who had received him thus, he was really +pitiable to behold. + +Miss Ada seated herself near him and took his hand. + +“Come, my good Saunders,” she said, “have a little courage. I still +love you very much, but I am going to leave New York.” + +“To return with Colonel Forster. Oh! I will kill him,” murmured the +merchant. + +“With Colonel Forster? I do not know what you mean.” + +“Is it possible? But, Robertson, tell her that we know all.” + +“I know nothing,” answered the agent, who wished merely to play the +part of a looker-on in this call. + +It was too much for the unhappy man, whose head was not yet steady. +Ada repulsed him, and his friend Robertson denied him. Exasperated and +furious, he suddenly arose, and casting a scornful look at the young +woman, he left the parlor with something like an air of dignity. + +Robertson, Jr., who had nothing more to do in the house, bowed to Miss +Ada and followed Saunders, to whom he said, when he had joined him on +the door-step: + +“Pardon me for having given you the lie, dear sir; but it is useless +for us to both appear in the revision which is to be opened. Do you +wish any advice? Remain quietly at home and forget Miss Ada; she is not +worthy of your love.” + +“She is a cheat,” he gasped, in the manner of a peroration, and as if +speaking to himself more than to his companion. + +A few moments later he saw William Dow on the threshold of his door, +and he gave a cry of joy. “Oh, my only friend,” he said to the +detective, falling almost into his arms. “She is living; I have just +come from her house. What a wretch she is! You must do me the service +to find that cursed Colonel Forster; I wish to fight with him. If he +refuses, I will kill him.” + +“Be calm, dear Mr. Saunders,” answered William, helping the poor man to +ascend his steps. “In the first place I will not go to Forster, because +he is not in New York. If it is he who carried off Miss Ada, she did +not return with him. We know that his yacht is now in the harbor, and +that she returned to the city by the Harlem Railroad. You understand +that Mr. Edward Forster, who must now be acquainted with all this +scandal, does not care to give explanations that are compromising to +him.” + +“That is true, dear Mr. Dow,” murmured Saunders, sinking back in an +arm-chair, for while exchanging these words, the friends had reached +the merchant’s parlor. “Besides, of what use would it be for you, a +peaceful citizen, to fight with that officer?” continued the detective. +“A duel would not restore you Miss Ada; and that thief of a Robertson, +after taking I don’t know how many thousand dollars from me for absurd +information, seems to think this girl’s conduct very natural.” + +“What, Robertson; one of the firm of the agency of Robertson & Co.?” + +“Yes, Robertson, Jr. Upon my word, it is even worse. I would like to +tell you all that passed between him and me.” + +And the good Saunders, whose heart overflowed, told William Dow all +that our readers know about the secret agent; then he concluded by +giving him the famous report that had caused the expedition to Staten +Island. + +“All this is truly extraordinary,” said the police officer, shaking his +head, after having carefully read the document. “Trust this report to +me.” + +“Willingly,” answered the cracker-merchant. “What are you going to do +with it?” + +“Oh, nothing against the Robertson agency, but it contains details +which may be useful to me some day or another. I would like also a +photograph of Miss Ada. You must have one.” + +“Only one, dear sir; here it is. And see, here is the letter that +unhappy woman wrote to her maid to tell her not to be anxious in her +absence. The wretch!” + +The poor lover had drawn from his pocket-book the photograph of the +woman, which was inclosed in the note which Mary had given him a few +moments after having received it from her mistress. He handed the whole +to the detective, giving a sigh. + +William Dow passed more than an hour with Saunders, and when he left +it was with a smile on his lips, and he said, to the amazement of +the simple Mr. Saunders: “Have patience; I think I am beginning to +understand.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +WILLIAM DOW’S PROMISE. + + +In order to quiet public opinion by giving it one of the two sources +of satisfaction it demanded, the district attorney urged the higher +criminal court to hasten the revision of the case of James Gobson. + +When the first examination was made, Mr. Mortimer and Davis had heard +certain rumors concerning the role which Colonel Forster must have +played in the kidnapping of Ada Ricard, but they paid little attention +to them, because it had not been proved that the rumor had a serious +basis, afterwards because the officer was too important a man to be +compromised on simple suspicion. + +Later, when the corpse was discovered, Dr. O’Neel had assigned for the +death of the victim a date after the departure of the yacht which, to +every one, had set off the day after the ball given at No. 17 East +Twenty-third Street. Then came the arrest of Gobson and the proving +of his guilt, and the magistrates had congratulated themselves on +the perspicacity which they had shown in not pronouncing the name of +Colonel Forster, whom some political enemies would have been delighted +to see figure in this scandalous and dramatic affair. But after that +had passed and the return of Miss Ada, which had preceded by only a few +days the entrance of the Gleam into New York harbor, the complicity of +the gallant officer in the kidnapping of the pretty New Yorker was no +longer to be doubted. + +Now, although neither the lawyers nor the police could see anything +to object to in this act, since Miss Ada did not complain, Mr. +Mortimer and Davis thought they could not do otherwise than question +the colonel, in order to obtain from him a declaration of a nature +to enlighten the magistrates charged with the revision of the case +relating to the employment of the time of the woman whose absence had +caused this bad judicial error. What might be worse would be Colonel +Forster’s refusal to say anything. In that case it would be necessary +to do without him, and they could not count on Ada Ricard. + +Having been questioned twice, she answered: + +“I cannot tell you how I passed my time without compromising some +one to whom I have promised silence. If that person releases me from +my promise I will speak, although I do not see wherein it concerns +justice. I am not dead, for here I am, and that seems to me the +essential point.” + +Mr. Mortimer and Davis knew so well that the young woman was in +the right that they used every art before asking Mr. Forster for +information; but to their great delight, from their first overtures on +this subject the officer said to them: + +“You understand, gentlemen, that I am very anxious not to figure in any +way in these debates to which I am absolutely a stranger, excepting +by the single fact of the error committed; but as I am of the opinion +that none should refuse his aid to the laws of his country, I am ready +to tell you everything, provided you give me your word of honor not to +speak my name, to give publicity either to myself or the adventure.” + +The sheriff and the coroner readily promised all that the colonel +wished, and the day after Mr. Forster went to the house of Mr. Douglas, +the judge of the Criminal Court. + +They found Mr. Kelly, Mortimer and Davis there, and when these +magistrates thanked him for his readiness to place himself at their +disposal, when they pledged themselves again to the most entire +discretion, they introduced Miss Ada Ricard, who had been invited to +the rendezvous. + +The elegant officer hastened to hold out his hand to the young woman, +and she answered his greeting with a charming smile. + +Colonel Forster then gave a frank account of the manner in which the +proposal to carry off Miss Ada had been made to him by a man he did not +know, and the subsequent events of which the reader is already informed. + +The officers thanked him warmly, and the reunion ended. + +In less than a fortnight after this the Criminal Court met for the +revision of James Gobson’s case, who lived as he told Mr. Mortimer, at +the United States Hotel, but who saw the woman who bore his name almost +every day. + +One would have said that the grave events in which the divorced couple +had found themselves, had lessened their former grievance; that they +had forgiven each other their mutual wrongs, and that the woman forgot +the brutalities of the husband as the husband forgot the unfaithfulness +of the wife. + +It was known that the latter was to appear before the court to defend +James against the suspicions which had led to his arrest and his +sentence, and this prospect gave the new arguments a doubly piquant +attraction. + +Therefore, on the day of the hearing, the court-room was filled at an +early hour. At the entrance of James Gobson a round of applause rang +through the room, and when Miss Ada Ricard appeared on the arm of the +lawyer, Macready, the crowd gave a true ovation. + +The court opened, and the lawyer for the State presented the case, +explaining with great clearness and perfect loyalty, how the lawyers +had been led to commit an error, which, fortunately, was reparable. He +concluded by asking the jury to render a negative verdict, and to the +court to acquit and reinstate the man so unjustly condemned. + +Matters would have ended thus, but that would not have answered for +the lawyer Macready. It was too fine an occasion for criticising the +police, the criminal examination, the law and justice. For the defender +of James Gobson this case might be the turning-point in his political +career. He must profit by it. + +In the first place, as had been agreed, the young woman arose, and +spoke in a voice sufficiently moved by emotion: + +“Gentlemen, I deeply regret that the law should have sought, in my +conjugal life with Mr. Gobson, troubles of a nature to arouse its +suspicions. If, for reasons I need not recall, I had to ask for +divorce, I must protest against the character which the requirements +of the examination gave to him whose wife I was. Mr. Gobson has never +ceased to be an honest man, and it would have been easy, by addressing +those who formerly knew him, to gain the conviction that he could not +have become a thief or assassin. For my part, while waiting for the +just reparation to which he is entitled, I ask pardon for having been +the involuntary cause of the misfortune that has befallen him.” + +One can easily imagine the shouts of applause with which this little +speech was received by the audience. Mr. Macready let it subside +somewhat, then he took the stand. + +We will not give his address. It was crushing to Mr. Mortimer and +Davis, and especially to the chief of police. + +Mr. Kelly was a political enemy and the defender was pitiless. He +specified him to the electors as unworthy of being elected, and +he concluded by saying what besides was absolutely true, from the +standpoint of the law, that the magistrates, who had come near hanging +an innocent person, should esteem themselves very happy that James +Gobson did not demand great damages. + +This terrible harangue had no less success than Miss Ada’s few words, +and in less than a quarter of an hour the jury, having given a +unanimous negative verdict, the court acquitted and reinstated James +Gobson. + +As expected, this result excited an enthusiasm that amounted to +delirium when the young woman, with a smile on her lips, was seen to +approach her former husband and hold out her hand to him in a friendly +manner. + +Among the spectators were William Dow and Captain Young, hidden behind +the curious privileged ones who had found a place within the railing. + +“Well, Mr. Dow,” said the chief of the detectives to his friend, when +all was concluded, “it is done, and I am delighted. This affair weighed +on my conscience somewhat.” + +“My dear Young,” answered William, pointing to James Gobson and Miss +Ada, who were leaving by the magistrate’s door in order to avoid +the crowd. “I think that those two have simply come here to mock at +justice.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Nothing that you can understand this moment.” + +The zealous detective, without adding a word, parted from the captain, +who irreverently shrugged his shoulders. + +It was evident that through the judicial error he had caused, one +mysterious character now seemed hardly worthy the admiration of the +terrible Young. + +But the one most displeased with William Dow was the stout Kelly, and +he received him quite coldly when he presented himself at his office a +week later. + +“It is vain for you to excuse yourself,” he said to him in a gruff +tone, “and to give me the most favorable explanations; it is none the +less true that, politically, I am a lost man. If we could discover the +identity of the drowned woman, I could recover myself; but we shall do +nothing of the sort, nothing! That imbecile of a Young is arresting +twenty drunkards and as many pickpockets by way of compensation. It is +enough to drive one out of his mind. I can only send in my resignation.” + +“Be careful how you do that, dear Mr. Kelly,” said our hero, after +leaving the chief of the police to vent his bile. “You know that Gobson +and Ada Ricard left New York this morning.” + +“May Satan carry them off and they may go hang elsewhere.” + +“When will the elections take place?” + +“In four months.” + +“Can you give a leave of absence of a fortnight to Captain Young?” + +“Indeed, yes, for all the good he does in New York. Where are you going +to send him?” + +“I shall send him nowhere. I am going to take him with me.” + +“Where?” + +“Ah! that is my secret.” + +“If you only had one to help me get back my electors.” + +“By how many votes have you been nominated?” + +“By forty-five thousand.” + +“Well, my dear Mr. Kelly, in four months you will have ten thousand +votes more. It is I who promise you. I am so far certain of it that I +give you my word.” + +“By George! tell me a little what you----” + +“Not a word, if you will allow me. Give Young his leave of absence +and count on me. All that I ask of you are very strong letters of +recommendation to your police friends in Boston, Buffalo, Jefferson, +and San Francisco.” + +“This evening the letters will be at your house.” + +The chief of police escorted William Dow to the office door. + +“This fellow is capable of doing what he says,” murmured Kelly, +reseating himself in his arm-chair, “only why does he take the captain +with him, as he is good for nothing? After all it does not matter. If +he keeps his promise, and in four months I beat that Robertson, I shall +ask no more of him, not even what has become of that brute of a Young, +if he does not bring him back with him.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +WILLIAM DOW’S REVENGE--SEEKING THE UNKNOWN. + + +Almost a fortnight had elapsed, and New York had forgotten James +Gobson’s case, although the identity of the drowned woman had not +been discovered, and her assassin was unknown, when, one evening the +hotel stage brought to the Union Hotel, at Jefferson City, Mo., three +travelers, whom fate seemed to have united for pleasure by the love of +contrasts. + +One was of medium height, of an intelligent countenance, and +distinguished bearing. The other was tall, with a bony frame and surly +expression. The third was stout, florid, with a good, placid face and +innocent look. Our readers have already recognized William Dow, Captain +Young, and poor Saunders. + +These three travelers had left New York only three days before, under +the following circumstances: One morning William Dow paid an unexpected +visit to the cracker-merchant, for the latter had not seen him since +James Gobson was reinstated. + +“Is it you, Mr. Dow?” cried Saunders; “then you haven’t quite forgotten +me?” + +“I have scarcely thought of you, on the contrary,” answered the +detective, clasping the hand of the merchant. + +“Where were you?” + +“I have been to Buffalo.” + +“To Buffalo?” + +“Yes, the city where Miss Ada and her husband used to live before the +divorce. I will tell you later about this little trip. At present there +is something else to think of. Do you still wish to avenge yourself +upon the man who carried off Miss Ada?” + +“Certainly. I wish also to be avenged on the cheat herself.” + +All the anger, and perhaps all the love of the susceptible Yankee +awoke at the memory of the woman, and the indifferent way in which she +forsook him. + +“Then,” resumed Dow, “regulate your business for an absence of about +ten days. I will take you with me.” + +Saunders had not asked his friend where he wished to take him; he +simply went, valise in hand and a pocket-book stuffed with bank notes, +to meet him at the Washington depot. It was the same with Young. +Mr. Kelly having notified the chief of detectives that he might go +with William Dow when the latter desired, the terrible captain had +not ventured a remark. When he received the order to meet him at the +station he merely announced his departure at the central office, and he +manifested but little surprise when he met Mr. Saunders at the railway +station. + +During the journey from New York to Washington, from Washington to St. +Louis, and from St. Louis to Jefferson, Saunders had ventured several +questions from time to time, but William Dow was non-committal. The +only information which he gave Ada’s former lover was that they should +stop at Jefferson City. The worthy merchant sighed twice as often after +their arrival in the first place, because he liked his ease and the +journey had fatigued him extremely, and next, because he hoped his +friend Dow would not delay much longer in telling him the object of his +journey. Therefore, he questioned him. + +“Dear sir,” answered our hero, “I needed to have two aids and two +witnesses with me in what I am undertaking. You and Young, of all +others, were most suitable, because of your honorable character and +energy.” + +Flattered by this praise, to his share of which he was entitled, +Saunders smilingly said: + +“No doubt; but aids in what way--witnesses of what?” + +“I do not know yet, as everything will depend on circumstances. We have +reached only the first stopping-place in our journey.” + +“The first. Where are we going, then?” + +“I cannot tell you now.” + +“I suppose, however, that we shall not make the tour of the world?” + +“Oh! not quite.” + +“What, not quite; but I do not wish to make even a part of it.” + +The stout man said this with so disturbed a face and with such a +comical accent of fear that William Dow, who was always grave, could +not help smiling as he answered: + +“Calm yourself; after to-morrow you will beg me not to interrupt our +journey. Let us dine.” + +Somewhat reassured, but not convinced, Saunders then decided to go to +dinner, and did such justice to it that two hours afterwards he went to +his bed and instantly forgot that he was three hundred miles from New +York, trying to solve a problem to which he had not the least clue. + +The next morning after an excellent night, and as he was about to +join Dow and Young, they were announced by one of the hotel servants, +and ascended to his room. Before they had closed the door the Yankee +thought he saw half a dozen individuals who had stopped in the hall +following his companions. He went to inquire what they wanted, but he +had not time, for William Dow immediately said to him, clasping his +hand: + +“Dear sir, will you allow us to receive some visitors in your room?” + +“Certainly,” answered the cracker-merchant, who had wisely decided to +ask no explanation of his mysterious friend. The latter had seated +himself at a table and drawn a large packet from his pocket, in which +were papers and photographs. + +“Are you acquainted with this man,” he asked Saunders, handing him one +of the pictures. + +“No,” said the merchant, after a moment’s examination. + +“And you, my good Young?” + +“Why!” cried the chief of detectives, “it is James Gobson.” + +“His very self, Miss Ada’s husband.” + +He snatched the photograph from the hands of the detective, and with +furious looks devoured the man whom his jealousy pictured at the feet +of the woman. + +“Captain,” cried William Dow, “do me the kindness to introduce each of +the men who are there in the hall. Begin with Thomas Bernett.” + +“Thomas Bernett,” called Young, in his grandest, most commanding tone, +as he opened the door. + +The man who bore this name hastened to appear. It was the porter of the +Union Hotel. + +“Were you in this establishment January last?” asked Dow. + +“I have been interpreter and porter here for a year.” + +“Then you have to do with all the travelers?” + +“With all.” + +“Do you remember this one?” + +He showed him James Gobson’s photograph. + +“Perfectly,” he affirmed; “as well as I can recollect I saw this +gentleman in the first days of January. He remained here three or four +days.” + +“Thanks. The next, Tom Byng.” Tom Byng was the hotel stage-driver. +He as well as his comrade, immediately recognized Gobson in the +photograph, as a traveler whom he had driven to the Northern depot +early in January. Then came the butler, the steward, the barber of the +hotel, and a gunsmith, who all recognized in James Gobson’s picture +the features of an individual with whom they had had various relations +at the time about which they were questioned. + +“My dear Mr. Saunders,” said the detective, after making a note of this +information, “do me the kindness to give ten dollars to each of these +men.” + +Without venturing a remark, the cracker-merchant paid the sum and +waited patiently until his fifty dollars had departed, to have a clue +to the puzzle. + +“You do not understand?” asked William Dow. + +“No,” he answered frankly. + +“Nor you, Young?” + +“Not any,” said the captain with a smile, which he tried to render +mocking. + +“Well, my dear friends, I ask you only to exactly recall the words +you have just heard. James Gobson was here at Jefferson City in the +beginning of January, a few days before Miss Ada was carried off and +the discovery of this drowned woman, whose name is still unknown. From +that city the same person set out for Omaha; the stage-driver remembers +it perfectly.” + +“From which you conclude,” ventured the sceptical Young. + +“I do not conclude, I state; and this first point being assured, I have +decided to leave for Omaha.” + +“For Omaha!” cried Saunders. + +“Where, I hope, we shall find some trail more interesting still. The +train leaves at noon; we shall reach there early to-morrow.” + +While saying this, William Dow had carefully put James Gobson’s picture +back in his pocket-book and had arisen. Mr. Saunders, having no +objections to make, looked at the captain, and the latter shrugged his +shoulders. + +Not understanding his friend’s plans, the terrible but not very +intelligent chief of detectives thought it wisest to affect a kind of +ironical condescension toward him; but as he obeyed no less blindly +than Saunders, they all three took the cars after breakfast. + +The next morning they reached Omaha, the last stopping-place at that +time for the cars, which soon went to the West, across the desert and +the Rocky Mountains to San Francisco. + +When Saunders was left alone by William Dow, under the piazza of the +hotel at Omaha, he was asking himself what his friend had come to seek +in this forsaken country, when he espied him crossing the garden of the +establishment in company with Young and another strangely-accoutred +being. One would have thought it one of Fenimore Cooper’s or Captain +Mayne Reid’s heroes. He wore strong boots, into which were tucked brown +ribbed velvet breeches, fastened by a broad leather belt, which seemed +to be his arsenal and money-safe, for it was adorned by two revolvers +and a long knife, and its thickness revealed the presence of a +respectable quantity of change. His partly-opened hunting-jacket showed +a red woolen shirt and his hairy bosom. He had on a soft felt hat with +broad brim, and proudly carried in a shoulder strap a double-shot +carbine. As well as his thick tawny beard enabled one to judge, the +man must be about forty years old. His energy and vigor were plainly +evident in his looks, voice, and broad shoulders. + +While the cracker-merchant was examining him, the stranger, still +talking to his companions, had reached the piazza. + +“Mr. Saunders,” said the detective, when the two men joined him, “allow +me to present to you John Butler, the bravest trapper on the shores of +the Missouri.” + +The good man rose politely from the lolling-chair on which he had been +stretched out, and gave Mr Dow so questioning a look that the latter +knew that he was imploring an explanation. Therefore, beckoning the +trapper and Young to sit down, and taking a chair himself, he said: + +“This is a nice place for a chat. Mr. Butler, dear sir, knows better +than even an Indian all the tribes who occupy the reserves to the +north of Omaha, and the chiefs of the Dakota Sioux are his particular +friends. As it is with these worthy men that we have to do, I have +begged him to serve as a guide.” + +Saunders, who had again stretched himself out in his arm-chair, sprang +out of it in alarm. + +“To the Sioux!” he repeated. And, with a very expressive gesture, he +described around his head the circular motion in the operation of +scalping. + +“Have no fear, sir,” said John Butler, smiling. “With me there is no +danger of that kind to run.” + +The peaceful Yankee, who looked with eyes of terror at the murderous +outfit of the trapper, seemed so plainly to say that it was not the +Indians alone of whom he was afraid, that Captain Young himself burst +out laughing. John Butler, without being offended at his suspicions, +resumed with the same calmness: + +“No, sir; you will have nothing to dread; we are at this moment at +peace with the Indians of the plains. The chiefs who went to Washington +in January have returned satisfied; one can cross Dakota and Iowa +without the shadow of danger.” + +“You hear, do you not, dear Mr. Saunders,” observed Dow, “the chiefs +who went to Washington in the month of January? Retain these words in +your memory--in the month of January.” + +“The devil, yes. I hear well enough,” answered Miss Ada’s former lover, +“but I do not understand what you are going to do among the Sioux.” + +“That is my secret. Do you refuse to accompany me?” + +“Heavens, no. You would say I was afraid. But if I understand a +confounded word what it all means, I am willing to be hung some day.” + +“You are not the one who will be hung.” + +“I hope not. But who will be?” + +“James Gobson.” + +“James Gobson! Then Miss Ada will be free again. Do you know, I am +certain that it was terror alone that united her to that wretch! James +Gobson hung! But why, in order to bring this about, must we go among +the Indians?” + +“Because there the rope which I destine for him will be found.” + +“Stop; I prefer not to question you any more, for you will answer me in +a manner to make me lose my head again. Well, so be it. Let’s be off +for the prairie. Ah! if ever any one had told me that I should become a +trapper! When shall we start?” + +“To-morrow, at daybreak,” answered Butler, to whom this question was +particularly addressed. “The cars will leave us at Sioux City the same +evening. We shall find horses there, and in a few hours we shall be on +the reserves.” + +“To-morrow, then,” said Saunders, with a heroic gesture. + +“To-morrow, gentlemen,” repeated the trapper, “I will wake you.” +And throwing his carbine over his shoulder he bowed to his future +companions and left the piazza. + +“Mr. Dow,” said Mr. Saunders, pointing to the adventurer who was +crossing the garden, “can you depend upon that fellow?” + +“My dear friend,” answered the detective, “I have made every inquiry +about Butler. He has been traveling over this prairie ten years, +hunting and trading, often serving as an intermediary between the +commanders of forts and the Indians, and never has any one had to +complain of him. Besides, what interest would it be to him to betray +us? I shall give him one hundred dollars to-morrow when we arrive at +Sioux City, one hundred dollars more when we return, and even another +hundred dollars still if the information he furnishes me is correct +and if I bring back what I am going to seek. Besides, as everything +makes me suppose that Butler has some peccadillo on his conscience +which has led him to this adventurous life, I have promised to arrange +matters for him on my return to New York. He has my word and that of +Young.” + +“Positively,” answered the captain. “But what need have we of all these +precautions? Are we three not equal to all the adventurers and Indians +on the plains?” + +This proud declaration of the intrepid captain cut short any last words +which poor Saunders would have liked to venture. Putting a good face on +a bad matter, he stood up straight and said to the chief of detectives, +in a deliberate tone: + +“Very well; I still do not understand why we are going in that +direction, but I am with you; when I see Miss Ada again, I wish her to +know what I have done for her.” + +The next day the three travelers, accompanied by John Butler, took the +first train, and reached in a few hours Sioux City, one of the railway +stations which unites Omaha with Chicago. After passing the night +there, the following day at sunrise they left it to take the route +along the Sioux River as far as Fort Dakota. William Dow had a letter +of recommendation to the commander of this advanced post. + +The four excursionists mounted excellent horses, and Saunders looked +superb in his war-like attire. Imitating the trapper, he had made a +veritable arsenal of his belt, and he often looked affectionately +at the carbine attached to his saddle. One would have thought he was +setting out for the conquest of an enemy’s territory. But toward the +middle of the morning, as the sun became higher and burning, his fine +ardor began to decrease, and Dow regulated it by saying: + +“If we keep up this gait our horses will be foundered before we have +gone our twenty-five miles.” + +“Besides,” observed Butler, “we cannot reach the fort to-day. The +wisest thing is not to hurry, but to favor our horses. We shall have +need enough of them on the prairie.” + +These few words restored the good city man to calmness, and the +little party pursued their course at a more moderate gait. Toward +noon they had halted on the banks of the river in the shade of some +sickly-looking trees, and Saunders ate with a very good appetite his +share of the provisions with which the trapper had not failed to +provide himself; then, after a few hours’ rest, our travelers started +on their way again. + +That evening they enjoyed, by means of their dollars, the hospitality +of a German farm, and the next day, after fording one of the arms of +the Sioux River, they finally reached Fort Dakota. + +Captain Semmas, who commanded this military position, received +William Dow with marvelous cordiality, and as the fort was admirably +provisioned, Saunders, whom the length of the route had somewhat +sobered, immediately recovered his warlike mood. The next morning, he +had already been equipped for a long time, when Butler gave the signal +for departure. An hour later, after pushing on straight to the north, +our heroes were on the prairie. They now had for the horizon around +them an immense plain without an undulation in the ground, of a dull +green coloring, and gloomy enough to drive one to despair. + +Only a few bushes broke the monotony here and there, rising above the +thick grass, in which the horses sank to their knees. Disdaining in +spite of the fog the paths made by the cattle, the trapper had led his +companions across the plain, having for his guide in this complete +desert only landmarks known to himself alone. + +“Master John,” cried Saunders all at once, after having kept silence as +well as his impatience would permit, “have we much more of this foolish +ride?” + +“Two hours, at least,” answered Butler, who was preceding him; “and +I advise you to keep in my tracks, for if you go to one side or the +other you might meet with some bog, in which you and your horse would +disappear.” + +“My God!” cried the poor man, frightened at this new danger which he +had been running without knowing it ever since he entered the prairie. +“You ought to have warned me sooner.” + +“Come, be calm, dear Mr. Saunders,” advised William Dow. “Listen to the +counsels of this excellent fellow, and take the captain and me for your +models.” + +“This excellent fellow! That is very well for you to say, Mr. Dow, +for you know where you are going; you have your plan, but I don’t know +anything about it. As for Mr. Young, it is in his profession to risk +his skin, but it is not in mine.” + +We do not know that the chief of detectives held this opinion, for the +journey did not make him any more talkative than usual. Trimly seated +in his saddle, with a cigar in his mouth, he concerned himself neither +about his companions nor the route, nor the end of the excursion. +Mr. Kelly had told him: “You will accompany Mr. William Dow,” and he +accompanied William Dow. He would have accompanied him in the same +way as far as the Pacific. The captain, therefore, did not answer the +irascible cracker-merchant. + +However, at the end of an hour the appearance of the prairie gradually +changed. The grass was less thick, and the riders could distinguish +before them a group of tall trees, which were like an oasis in the +midst of this desert of grass. Soon they perceived cultivated fields, +cattle, and every sign, in short, of a village not far away, probably, +behind a little hill about a hundred yards off. + +Saunders’ face became joyful again, and he was already dashing on when +Butler stopped him brusquely. A man who had sprung up from the tall +grass with a carbine on his shoulder seemed to wish to prevent the +travelers from going further. + +At this threatening apparition, the prudent merchant suddenly +remembered that the trapper had advised him to follow in his traces, +and he fell into file again. + +Butler sprang to the ground, and approached the Indian, who was only +one of those sentinels by whom the Sioux villages are surrounded within +a large circle, and he said a few words to him which caused him to +immediately change his attitude. Putting back his weapon, he held out +his hand to the adventurer. + +The latter then mounted his horse, and the little band, escorted by the +Sioux, went at a walk through the fields of maize toward the village, +whose first tents they soon saw. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A SOUVENIR OF LOVE. + + +Saunders had heard much about these Indian villages composed of tents +made of buffalo skins, and he was not quite ignorant that there still +existed nomadic tribes whom civilization drove into the desert; but all +this had interested him but little, and now he, a peaceful merchant, +a positive man of a practical mind, found himself transported into +the midst of this strange world. Therefore, he examined with as +much amazement as curiosity these primitive dwellings and strangely +accoutred beings who were grouped together, thirty in number at least, +before their tents, to receive the travelers. The latter alighted and +advanced toward the Sioux. Butler, who walked ahead, approached the +chief and made a little speech, which seemed to meet with general +approbation. The Sioux answered him in a few guttural words, and the +trapper, turning to his companions, said to them: + +“Jimin, the Swift Deer, the chief of this village, gives a welcome to +his brothers from the East--the pale-faces--and offers them hospitality +beneath his tent.” + +Then Butler added, ceasing to translate the words of the Sioux, but +using his own language: + +“I told Jimin that you were rich fur-merchants intending to open a +shop at Omaha, and that your only object in coming to the prairie is +to establish direct communication with its tribes in order to buy +their skins on more favorable terms than those of the agents of the +companies.” + +“That is very ingenious,” answered William Dow. + +“Good! I am now a fur-trader,” murmured Saunders. + +As for Young, his bravery was humiliated at this new social situation, +and without departing from his accustomed speechlessness, he protested +by twisting his long moustache with a gesture more warlike than ever. + +However, the presentation being over, the excursionists proceeded +to the tent of the chief through the entire population of the +village--men, women, and children--who thronged curiously around them. + +Jimin’s tent resembled all the others excepting that it was a little +larger. It was made of buffalo skins, rudely sewn together, and divided +into two parts; one was occupied by the family of the chief, the other +was intended for official receptions, when Jimin wanted his warriors in +council. It was in the second part of the tent that the warriors were +introduced. + +Stout mats of braided maize carpeted the floor; the walls were adorned +with weapons and fishing tackle; the only seats were boxes and piles of +skins so badly dressed that they exhaled a detestable odor. + +Saunders, like his companions, had to make the best of these primitive +lounges; he sat down, or rather threw himself down, on one of them; +milk and maize cakes were at once served, then the chief lighted his +long pipe, and after smoking in silence for a full quarter of an hour, +he entered into conversation with Butler, which the latter, in a +measure, translated. + +Jimin inquired about the disposition of the government towards the +Indians, about the price of provisions, and he bitterly complained of +the agents of the great fur companies, who in exchange for the hunting +products of the Indians gave them only worthless gunpowder, wretched +weapons, adulterated brandy, and execrable tobacco. + +The trapper assured him, in the names of his friends, that his just +grievances should be conveyed to the President of the United States, +who would not fail to inquire into it, and he advised him to go himself +to Washington to make out his complaints. + +“Of what use would that be?” resumed Jimin, shaking his head, sadly. +“Our brothers, the pale-faces, promise, but forget their promises. Four +moons ago I went with ten of my warriors to Washington; they swore to +us that our claims should be made right, but nothing has been changed. +The Great Father forsakes his children.” + +“Ask him,” said William Dow to Butler, having listened attentively to +every word of the chief, “if he did not return full of wonder at the +splendor of our cities?” + +“The Indian,” answered Jimin, “sees nothing when he goes to your +cities; his eyes, like his heart, bound over space to find his wigwam +and prairies again. I should not have remained more than one day at +Washington if I had not been waiting for two of my warriors who had +wandered away.” + +“Which ones?” asked Butler, at the detective’s entreaty. + +“Washah and Winka,” said the chief, pointing to the two Sioux crouched +at his right. “One of your people, whose wife had been carried off, +asked them for the help of their arms. He knew that the Indian, +oppressed himself, is always at the service of him who suffers. The +pale-face was not ungrateful, and with the gold he gave to Washah and +Winka they bought weapons superior to those the agents sell us so dear.” + +Each of the two warriors, in fact, had a solid double-barreled carbine +by his side. + +As the trapper translated Jimin’s last words, William Dow’s face +expressed a more and more lively satisfaction. + +“Dear sir,” he said, addressing Saunders when the interpreter had +finished, and pointing to the two Sioux, whose eyes shone with pride, +“do you not recognize two of your guests?” + +“Hey, what?” answered the merchant, whom fatigue, the smoke, the +odor of the skins, and especially the indifference he felt in the +conversation had half lulled to sleep. + +“Those two Indians there at the right of the chief.” + +“Yes; well, what of them?” + +“Don’t you recognize them?” + +“Where the devil do you suppose I have ever seen those monkeys?” + +“At Miss Ada Ricard’s.” + +“At Ada’s! Come, now, dear Mr. Dow, ah, ha!” + +Poor Saunders’ exclamation expressing that he was beginning to +understand, his friend took pity on his brain, already so shattered, +and continued: + +“Yes, at Miss Ada Ricard’s, at the ball. Those Indians are two of the +three masks who carried her off.” + +“But the third?” + +“He was her husband.” + +“James Gobson?” + +“His very self; there is no doubt of it.” + +“The man who carried her off took her to Colonel Forster; it cannot be +her husband, for he would have kept her for himself.” + +“You go too fast; we shall come to that later. Meanwhile do you wish to +assure yourself in regard to the part those two men played that famous +night?” + +“I believe I do; but tell me quietly, for I swear to you I do not see +through it at all.” + +The good man, indeed, holding his head in his hands, looked imploringly +with his great eyes at Captain Young, who, feeling very much interested +in this unexpected scene, did not take his eyes off of William Dow. + +“Your two valiant warriors,” said the latter to Jimin, through the +medium of Butler, “have this day rendered a great service to one of my +friends. Knowing that I was coming to the reserves, he charged me to +thank them again. Do they remember his features?” + +“The Indian never forgets the man from whom he receives a benefit,” +answered the chief, sententiously. + +The two Sioux, by way of affirmation, clicked their carbines. + +The detective had taken from his pocket-book the photograph of James +Gobson, which he handed to Jimin, who passed it on to his warriors. + +The latter immediately exclaimed: “Yes, it is really the pale-face +whose wife we helped carry away from an infamous man.” + +At this epithet, which Saunders had to take to himself, he looked so +completely astounded that his two companions and Butler himself could +hardly keep serious. + +Dow, who had put the picture of Miss Ada’s husband back in his +pocket, arose, and after saying to Jimin that they thanked him for +his hospitality, but that they could not enjoy it any longer, as they +wished to return to Fort Dakota that evening, he begged him to accept +as a souvenir one of his revolvers. + +The chief took the weapon which his guest held out, and not being able +to conceal the pleasure which the gift caused him, he thanked him in a +rigmarole of metaphors, quite worthy of the Indian of the prairies. + +“Look there behind you,” just then said Captain Young to William Dow, +“on the arm of that young girl.” + +He pointed to quite a pretty Indian, crouching with both hands on her +knees. On her left wrist shone a large gold bracelet. + +“Is it the wife or daughter of either of you?” the detective asked +Washah and Winka. + +“It is my wife,” answered the latter. + +“Will you allow me to look at the gold bracelet she wears on her arm?” + +Visibly embarrassed, the warrior spoke a few words, and the Indian +woman, raising her great black eyes to the stranger, allowed him to +take her hand. + +“Look, Mr. Saunders,” said William, showing him the bracelet; “see if +you do not recognize this.” + +The stout man leaned over the young woman and exclaimed: + +“Why, it is one of Miss Ada’s bracelets; I gave it to her. I offered +her two alike. They came from Jefferie Muller’s. Our initials, twined +together, are engraved on the inside.” + +The tender Yankee was quite touched at the sight of this pledge of his +love to the woman. + +“Do you suppose that she would like to sell it to me?” he ventured with +a sigh. + +Butler conveyed this proposal to the Indian woman, who immediately drew +back her hand. + +“It was the wife of the pale-face who gave me that gold bracelet,” said +the Sioux; “I gave it to Makeni; it belongs to her.” + +“More likely that man stole it from Miss Ada,” answered Young, when the +trapper translated the warrior’s answer. + +“The wife of the pale-face is dead,” said William Dow, “and he would +be very happy if we should bring back from the prairie this souvenir +of his companion. I offer you for it twenty pounds of powder, thirty +of tobacco, and twenty-five bottles of brandy. You will come with us +to the fort, and it will be given to you. Besides, in the name of the +Great Spirit, I promise to send to Makeni by Butler on his next visit +to the reserves a bracelet even heavier than that.” + +It was a bargain in gold which the detective offered the Sioux warrior, +so he hastened to accept it. At his order, the young Indian girl, with +tears, slipped the jewel from her bronze arm. Saunders seized and +opened it and showed to Dow, engraved inside, two initials lovingly +entwined, and the date of the day he had made this present to Miss +Ada. While he stood with his eyes fixed on these initials and date, +which awoke memories so varied, his face expressed so much anger, +mingled with love, that Young, unable to hold in any longer, burst out +laughing, to the amazement of the Indians. But William Dow, to whom +everything was serious, preserved his gravity, and said to Saunders: + +“Trust me with this bracelet, I will return it before long.” + +Without a word, but not without a sigh of regret, the good man handed +the jewel to the detective, who immediately gave the signal for +departure. + +It had been decided that Washah and Winka should accompany the +strangers as far as Fort Dakota, in order to receive the promised +articles. + +Five minutes later all were in the saddle, and our travelers, after +shaking hands with Jimin and saluting the village with a discharge from +their carbines, set off again across the prairie. + +Mounted on excellent little horses, the two Sioux warriors escorted +them on their flanks. In two hours the little band traveled the +distance which separates the reserve from the American post. + +Night began to fall, and Saunders, overcome with fatigue, did not ask +the detective a single question that evening, but the next morning, +when the latter came to announce that they must start again, he thought +he would ask for an explanation of several things. + +“My dear sir,” answered our mysterious hero, “we will talk about all +this at Sioux City, where we shall part. Meanwhile, believe me, we have +not made a useless trip across the prairie. I have brought back, as I +hoped, an end of the rope by which James Gobson will be hung.” + +Without insisting further, Willie Saunders mounted his horse, and +the four travelers left Fort Dakota. Forty-eight hours later they +re-entered Sioux City. + +“Here,” said William Dow to his companions, the next day after +breakfast, “we part; we have completed all that we had to do together; +you are now free.” + +Then he added, addressing the trapper: “As for you, Butler, your help +has been valuable to me, and here is the hundred dollars I promised +to give you on our return from our expedition; and, in addition, here +is an extra hundred dollars, for I have really brought back from the +Indians all that I went to find. Mr. Saunders will not forget to give +you at the Union Hotel, in Jefferson, the bracelet intended for Winka’s +wife.” + +Miss Ada’s former lover confirmed the detective’s promise, and the +trapper, who had slipped the two hundred dollars into his belt, shook +hands with the three friends and left them. + +“Then,” Saunders asked William, “you are not to return with us to New +York?” + +“No,” answered the latter; “I am going to the opposite coast--to San +Francisco.” + +“To San Francisco?” + +“Yes, it is there I expect to find the rest of the rope which I intend +for James Gobson. You will soon hear from me, in a month at the latest, +but promise me, at my first despatch, to come and join me.” + +“If it is not too far.” + +“You will have only a few hours on the railroad.” + +“Now, before separating, let us talk more about this matter.” + +“I confess that I ask nothing better. It is time that I understood a +little, and I am sure the captain is of my opinion.” + +Young, who sat smoking his cigar, with his chair tipped back and his +feet on the table, nodded assent, and Dow continued: + +“We gained at Jefferson City the certainty that James Gobson was there +several days before Miss Ada was carried off; and, among the Sioux, +that it was really he who performed the kidnapping.” + +“Yes, it is indisputable,” said Saunders, “and it proves that if that +man is a wretch, his former wife is not much better than he, for after +letting her former husband give her up, she not only saved the scamp +from the gallows, but pardoned him besides.” + +“Even more than that, dear sir, she has become again his lawful wife.” + +“His lawful wife! Gobson has married Ada?” + +“By a second marriage since they were divorced.” + +“The wretches!” + +Poor Willie Saunders could say no more. Loving still, he retained the +hope of meeting Miss Ada again, and here was a new barrier raised +between her and himself. + +“But, my dear Dow,” observed Young, speaking in his turn; “how in the +devil can this testimony we have just received serve you?” + +“Yes; how?” murmured Saunders. + +“This Gobson,” resumed the captain, “carried off a woman, whether she +did or did not belong to him matters little; then this woman, forgiving +the abuse she had formerly received, accepted his name a second time. +It is odious, but the law has no power in such a matter. It was neither +a crime nor an offence, and, what is most curious, even if it were a +crime or offence, James Gobson would not be disturbed, since the court +revised his case and acquitted him.” + +It was weeks, and perhaps months, since the captain had indulged in so +long a speech and had reasoned with so much logic. He was astonished +himself, and waited for the answer of his friend Dow with the air of a +conqueror. + +“My dear Young,” said the latter, “you talk of guilt. James Gobson was +acquitted by the jury, it is true, but he has not been acquitted by +William Dow, and William Dow is keeping for him as well as for you, a +surprise. Ask me no more; return to New York and hold yourself ready to +join me when I send you word.” + +The captain and Saunders knew their friend too well to address any +more questions, and the travelers separated after this conversation. A +few hours later Young and Saunders took the cars at Sioux City for New +York, going east, while the detective, returning over the route already +traveled, went in the direction of the West. + +The next day, when Saunders, delighted at enjoying his ease again, +was having an excellent dinner with the captain in the luxurious +dining-room at the Sherman House, in Chicago, William Dow was on the +train to Omaha, which he was to leave at Benton, in Wyoming Territory. + +Ten days after his departure from Benton, when, perhaps, Young and +Saunders were no longer thinking of him, he arrived at San Francisco. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +TWO VILLAS AT JAMAICA PLAIN. + + +As William Dow had informed Mr. Kelly, it was really in Boston that +James Gobson had located himself, after leaving New York, to avoid the +rude and annoying curiosity of the latter city. But the rumor of the +legal error of which he had nearly been the victim, had so quickly +preceded him to the capital of Massachusetts, that a week after his +arrival, when he married Miss Ada Ricard, his divorced wife, the +Democrats offered him a banquet and received him with applause at +Barker’s, the fashionable club rendezvous. + +Imitating the custom of retired and wealthy merchants, Gobson did not +reside in the city proper, but lived about five miles out, at Jamaica +Plain, in a pretty villa, which was converted into a sumptuous dwelling +by Miss Ada’s taste. + +The re-married couple lived in comfort under the same roof, but almost +apart, which would have greatly calmed the jealousy of the unhappy +Saunders if he had known of it. + +The young woman occupied a charming apartment on the first +floor, composed of a large parlor, a boudoir, sleeping-room, and +dressing-room. The door of the latter room was at the head of the bed, +hidden by a blue silk portiere. The room was entirely hung with the +same material. James Gobson never set foot in this part of the house, +for once installed and received among the high-livers of Boston, he +resumed his former life and vices. Forgetting what his habits of +drinking, play, and his brutal ways had cost him, from his divorce to +the suspicions which had led him to the foot of the gallows, he had +fallen into the same excesses. He passed his days at the races, and +his evenings at Barker’s, and nine times out of ten he was intoxicated +when he went home in the middle of the night. Mrs. Gobson then had +everything to fear from her husband’s anger, and her fear must have +been extreme, for she never dared answer when he swore at her, nor +refuse him the money squandered. + +If Saunders could have witnessed one of these scenes, he certainly +would not have recognized the beautiful, capricious woman, so whimsical +and self-willed, who formerly ruled him. This life was doubly hard for +the former Miss Ada, for she no longer had Mary with her, for Gobson, +after generously rewarding the girl, had dismissed her, and then +replaced her by a servant in whom he inspired as much fear as in his +wife. + +The other servants in this gloomy household were a cook and a gardener, +who were not interested in the conjugal quarrels of the couple, and who +besides rarely witnessed them, since they took place very late, when, +their work being over, they had retired to their own quarters. + +Mrs. Gobson then lived in absolute solitude with the exception of her +seamstress, her dress-maker, and a few tradespeople she was acquainted +with, and received no one, and that this isolation was mournful to her +was plainly shown in her face. + +She was still beautiful, but her complexion had grown pale and her +eyes hollow. Her whole countenance expressed sorrow, lassitude and +discouragement. + +Sometimes, however, when her husband went in town after committing +some rude or violent act, her eyes would flash lightning and her lips +contract in a menacing smile. In such moments a leaven of rebellion and +vengeance seemed to rise within her. But it lasted only an instant; +some secret and terrible thought passed through her mind, and with a +shudder she burst into sobs. What still further increased the martyrdom +of the pretty, forsaken woman, and what rendered her life more horrible +and her isolation more cruel, was the sight that met her eyes when, +concealed behind the curtains of her sleeping-room, she looked into the +park of the next house. + +There all was calm, happy, and pure. This house was inhabited by a +distinguished-looking man about forty years old, of a particularly +intelligent face, and by a young girl nearly sixteen, of a bewitching, +gentle beauty, who had a middle-aged governess or teacher with her. +The forsaken Mrs. Gobson supposed it was the home of a couple in their +honeymoon, and her heart, she could not tell why, was saddened; but, on +inquiring, she learned that her neighbor was named Charles Murray, and +that the young person called Jane was his daughter or ward, and she +felt an unhoped-for relief. From that moment she continued her curious +watching without the unconscious jealousy she at first had felt, and +she soon learned by the despotism with which her thoughts reverted to +Charles Murray, that she loved the stranger whom chance had brought so +near her. + +She soon made her neighbor aware of the attention of which he was the +object, and he was evidently as much flattered as touched, for in less +than a fortnight after the first looks exchanged, Mrs. Gobson read +with deep emotion these two lines which she found in a bunch of roses, +thrown to her over the garden-wall: + +“You are adorably beautiful, and I love you. How can I speak with you?” + +Her husband had just left for his club, where he was going to dine, +and, according to his custom, pass the evening and a part of the night. +Mrs. Gobson went up to her room, where from her window she saw her +neighbor, who, pretending to be absorbed in reading a newspaper, was +watching her. + +She immediately wrote a few words, slipped them in an envelope, in +which she placed a dollar to give it the necessary weight, and tossed +it so skilfully that the loving projectile fell at Charles Murray’s +feet. + +He picked it up, and read: + +“At eight o’clock this evening, at the end of the avenue.” + +He gave her a look of thanks which made her blush with happiness, and +returned home. + +Charles Murray had given Miss Jane the first floor of his villa, but +he had reserved for himself two rooms on the ground-floor which had a +private entrance. The first of these rooms was a sleeping-room, the +second a study, the door of which was always carefully locked, and no +one, not even the servants, ever entered it. + +Murray, who was interested in science, had, they said, dangerous +materials and fragile apparatuses which he wished to protect from +curious eyes or from being handled. When he established himself at +Jamaica Plain, he alone received and opened the boxes which contained +them. His orders were strictly obeyed. When her friend or guardian was +at home and she wished to see him, Miss Jane herself did not cross the +threshold of this mysterious apartment--she called to him from outside. + +It was to this study that Murray proceeded when he left Mrs. Gobson, +and if the latter had followed him she would have been strangely +surprised; for, instead of covering her note with loving kisses, as she +perhaps fancied, her neighbor, when once at home, took a voluminous +package of papers from his desk, drew out one crumpled letter, and, +comparing it with that from Mr. Gobson’s wife, said: + +“It is, indeed, the same handwriting.” + +During this time Ada was plunged in her dreams of love. When dinner +was ready she seated herself at table, but ate hardly anything. At +eight o’clock, taking the chance while her servants were busy in the +kitchen, she stole out of the house. + +It was beginning to grow dark, and the air was warm and fragrant. +She drew her mantle around her and quickened her steps, and soon +discovered, under one of the tall trees in the avenue, the man she was +coming to meet. + +Murray, who had recognized her, quickly advanced to meet her, and said +in a low voice, full of feeling: + +“Madam, forgive me for having dared to break in upon your solitude.” + +“I forgive you, sir,” she answered, “by coming here.” + +“Thank you--thank you with all my heart.” + +He offered her his arm, and she took it, saying: + +“You wrote me that you loved me, did you know who I am?” + +“I might answer you no, but that would be unworthy of you and me. Yes, +I know who you are. The name of your husband told me that you were the +heroine of that event which all New York was talking about for two +months.” + +“And was this why you have made me a declaration of love?” + +She said this in a tone of pique, and withdrew her arm from that of her +escort. + +Understanding what was passing in her mind, Charles Murray hastened to +answer, gently replacing her arm within his. + +“Oh! you do not believe it, madam; I love you because you are lovely, +and I judged you were unhappy because you are beautiful, and my heart, +void of affection, went out to you.” + +“Is all this really the truth?” + +Ada, wishing to be convinced, smiled. + +“Really the truth,” repeated Murray, tenderly pressing the little hand +she had let him take. + +“But the foolishness of this love; I am married.” + +“Why did you marry a second time a man of whom you had so much to +complain?” + +“Ah, I don’t know. The peculiar situation in which the law placed us. +Weakness.” + +“Get a divorce a second time.” + +“Impossible.” + +“Impossible, why?” + +“Because, on the mere suspicion of such an intention on my part, my +husband would kill me. You see, I came to meet you to warn you of the +danger to which you expose me. I have been able to escape to-day; but +to come out again in this way would seem strange to my servants, for we +receive no one, and Mr. Gobson is not acquainted with you.” + +“I can become acquainted with him.” + +“I think not; and I hope not, for your sake.” + +“But if it is the only way to see you, and talk with you.” + +“Yes, it is the only way. You love me, then?” + +“I have never met a more charming woman than you. Give me a little hope +and I will become your husband’s friend in less than a week.” + +“Do so, and we will see. Meanwhile let me go; my absence may be +remarked.” + +They retraced their steps, then separated a hundred yards from their +villas, not without pressing hands and giving many promises. + +When Mrs. Gobson reached the house, she went at once to her room, where +her first look was at her mirror which gave her back a smile. The few +moments which she had just passed in a loving tete-a-tete had restored +all her beauty. + +Murray, after noiselessly closing the garden gate, which he had left +open when he went out, entered his study. Absorbed in his thoughts, +he had not seen, two steps from the fence, hidden behind a cluster +of trees, a young girl watching him, no doubt, for the emotion which +overcame her at sight of him was so great that she had to cover her +face to stifle a sob. It was this lovely child whose chaste beauty +awakening Mrs. Gobson’s jealousy, had, perhaps, more than any other +sentiment, awakened in her heart the imperious desire to be loved. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +WHAT HAPPENED ON LEAVING BARKER’S. + + +In less than a fortnight after his reception at Barker’s, James Gobson +became one of the most constant attendants at the club. A great drinker +and gambler, he found adversaries equal to him, who soon became +intimate with him and who led him without any difficulty into every +excess. They knew he was rich, and cared little how he made his money. +He was at every race, took part in all the betting, and was invited to +every entertainment, and, like certain other high-livers of the club, +he finally took a room at Barker’s, in order to have a bed ready for +the days when drunkenness did not permit him to go home, even if he +were carried there. + +Master Gobson thus led the gayest, most irregular existence, while his +wife remained alone in her villa, at Jamaica Plain. It would have been +a real satisfaction to the inconsolable Saunders to see how forsaken +was the woman who, in order to marry a second time, had repelled his +love. + +Being very jolly, even when he was thoroughly drunk, Ada Ricard’s +husband took every joke in good part, excepting those about his trial. +He did not like to be reminded of the critical days which he had spent +at the Tombs, and liked still less to speak of the woman who bore his +name. When people expressed astonishment at never seeing him with the +beautiful Mrs. Gobson, who had saved his life and given a true proof of +love in marrying him a second time, in spite of the past, he answered +evasively. If any one persisted he grew pale and his eyes wore a look +of hatred people could not explain. But these questions were not +repeated. At the end of a month his pleasure companions gave as little +thought to his wife as if she did not exist. James then became quite +happy. + +Matters were like this at the time of the rendezvous of Mrs. Gobson +and Charles Murray. That evening Gobson spent the night at his club, +but the next day he had to return home, for he had emptied his pockets +in gambling. Naturally, he had expected reproaches, as usual on such +occurrences, but to his amazement Ada received him charmingly. + +What to her henceforth were the follies and absence of the man she was +about to escape? + +But James cared too little for Mrs. Gobson to question about this +sudden change. Coldly sceptical, and profoundly selfish, he accepted +the effect without seeking to trace it back to the cause. + +The couple passed the day in perfect harmony, and toward five o’clock, +when her husband, with his pocket-book replenished, told her that he +was going to his club, Ada bade him a friendly good-by. + +Gobson wished particularly to dine at Barker’s that evening, for they +were going to receive a new member into their club, and this ceremony +was always accompanied by a banquet at which the most important members +of the club did not fail to be present. + +The newly elected member, Harris Burnett by name, came to Boston with +the warmest recommendations, and preceded by the reputation of a brave +drinker. They presented James Gobson to him, who sat on his right, and +these two gentlemen, with their wine-glasses in their hands, became so +well acquainted that when they arose from the table, at ten o’clock, +they were intimate boon companions. From the dining-room they passed +into a parlor, but there, instead of taking a seat at the gaming-table +as Gobson invited him, Harris asked to be excused a moment, under the +pretext of going to his hotel. + +In fact, he ran to it, for a man was waiting for him on the door-step. + +It was Charles Murray. + +“Well,” asked the latter, “how are you getting on?” + +“We have reached the most tender friendship,” answered Harris Burnett, +“only I do not think he will leave Barker’s to-night. He is going to +play, and he is so drunk that he will probably fall asleep at the club.” + +“So much the better; I am not ready, and that assures us of his return +to-morrow to Jamaica Plain. But to-morrow he must not leave before +half-past twelve at night. Do not let him get too drunk; keep him +steady enough to get into a carriage which will stand two doors above +Barker’s. Above all, if he has a revolver take it away from him, or +what is better, unload it. The rest I will take care of.” + +“How shall I notify you?” + +“I shall be here to-morrow at this hour. If any unforeseen obstacle +presents itself it will be the next day.” + +Having received these strange instructions Burnett returned to +Barker’s, and Charles Murray, stepping into the carriage waiting for +him, drove to Jamaica Plain. + +Things went on as he had predicted, James Gobson played half the night +and slept at his club. + +The next day his new friend came to see him; they went together to the +races. Then returned to Barker’s for dinner, then at ten o’clock they +began to play with opponents who had been mentioned to Harris as never +keeping very late hours. Therefore, toward midnight these gentlemen +expressed a desire to end the game, and James Gobson who, while +playing, had not ceased to drink, prepared to leave. + +“Are you going home?” asked Burnett, who, at the hour agreed, had +absented himself a moment to tell Charles Murray what had happened. + +“Upon my word I am,” answered James; “it is forty-eight hours since I +have set foot in it.” + +“Then let us go down together?” + +“Agreed.” + +They entered the vestibule, where Harris, not being able to further +carry out the orders he had received, adroitly drew out the revolver +in Gobson’s pocket. Having done that, he took the arm of his new +friend, who reeled somewhat, and they went out. The street was deserted. + +“My God,” murmured the drunken man, “no carriage! I shall go back to +the club; I have no desire to go to Jamaica Plain by means of my own +legs; in fact, they would not take me there.” + +“Here is a carriage,” said Harris, laughing at his friend’s pleasantry. + +He pointed out a cab, the driver of which was evidently waiting for a +passenger, for he drove his horse toward the men approaching. + +Gobson tumbled into the carriage, shook the hand of his new dinner +companion energetically, stammered out his address, and threw himself +back in a corner and closed his eyes. + +The cab had been rolling on for three-quarters of an hour, and was +within a hundred yards of the avenue where is the villa with which our +readers are already acquainted, when Gobson, who had fallen asleep, +suddenly awoke, hearing the oaths which his autonedon was pouring out. +The man had jumped down from his box and was carefully examining one of +the wheels of his carriage. + +“What is the matter?” asked James, whom the brief sleep had partly +sobered. + +“One of the nuts has come off, and I cannot go any farther,” answered +the man. + +“Pooh! That is nothing,” said Gobson, jumping out into the road; “I +will go home on foot. Stop--here’s your pay.” + +He gave a dollar to the driver, who thanked him, and, while his +passenger went whistling toward the avenue, he turned his cab around, +then leading his horse by the bridle, took the road toward the city. + +But five minutes later he quietly drew a nut from his pocket, put it in +place, jumped on his box, and set off at a gallop. + +James, without suspecting the trick of which he was a victim, had +reached the avenue, where, owing to the tall trees that bordered it, +it was rather dark. Suddenly, as he was going along the wall of a wide +park, two men sprang upon him, and so quickly that he hardly had time +to give a shout. One of his assailants had seized him by the throat, +and the other was trying to throw him on the ground, saying: + +“If you call, you are dead. Quick, your money and your watch.” + +But Gobson was brave and strong. Holding with one hand the arm of the +thief who was threatening him with his knife, and giving a vigorous +bump with his head on the face of the man who was strangling him, he +disengaged himself sufficiently to be able to give a second cry for +help. + +“Keep up, I am coming,” a voice immediately answered, and he heard +steps running toward him. + +At once understanding that their shot had missed, the two robbers +bound their victim and sprang to the other side of the road, but +James’ preserver no doubt did not wish them to get off so easily, for +two shots resounded the air, and one of the two wretches gave a cry +which Gobson, had he been less drunk, would have understood, for his +deliverer had simply fired in the air. + +Gobson was hardly saved before he wished also to take his revenge, only +to his amazement he no longer found in his overcoat pocket the revolver +he was sure he had put there. Besides, the thieves had disappeared, and +the man who had so fortunately come to his aid had approached. + +“You are not wounded, are you, sir?” asked the stranger. + +“No,” answered Gobson; “but had it not been for your arrival I believe +that all would have been over with me. The rogues almost strangled me. +I cannot tell you how grateful I am.” + +While saying this James arranged his toilet, the harmony of which was +singularly disturbed by this attack, and he fumbled in vain in his +pockets, saying: + +“It is singular; I am, however, certain I took it from home yesterday.” + +“What is it?” asked his savior. + +“My revolver. However, thanks to yours, one of those robbers has paid +for his audacity. But, one question, sir. How happen you to be in this +avenue at such an hour?” + +“I was returning home.” + +“Home?” + +“Yes; I live two hundred steps from here, at No. 67.” + +“Indeed. We are neighbors, then; I live at villa 66.” + +“You are Mr. James Gobson.” + +“I am. But you have the advantage of me. I am not acquainted with your +name.” + +“My name is Charles Murray.” + +“Well, Mr. Charles Murray, I owe you my life, and I shall not forget +it; and since we are neighbors we will not part thus. You will do me +the pleasure of coming into my house and taking a glass of champagne.” + +“It is very late.” + +“Hardly one o’clock.” + +“Are you not married? We should awaken Mrs. Gobson.” + +“Bah! Mrs. Gobson will be delighted to see the man who saved her +husband, unless it was she who tried to have me assassinated.” + +James said this with a laugh, but his laugh was ironical, and expressed +that he believed his wife perfectly capable of such an act. Charles +Murray did not seem to understand; he merely observed to his neighbor +that the men who attacked him seemed to have no other intention than to +rob him. + +“Yes; that is true,” said Gobson, laughing again; “and you think this +is only joking on my part?” + +While talking thus the two were walking homeward. They soon reached the +first of the two villas. + +“What, you really wish me to enter your house at such an hour?” asked +Murray, as Gobson opened the gate and stood aside to let him pass in. + +“Certainly, my dear sir, I absolutely insist on it. You would disoblige +me very much by refusing.” + +“Let it be then as you wish.” + +And following the master of the villa, who preceded him to show him the +way, Charles Murray crossed the garden and entered the house. + +“Hallo! Betsy, Betsy, come down,” shouted Gobson at the foot of the +staircase. + +Betsy was Ada’s maid. She had retired to her bed but was not yet +asleep. She immediately answered, and James, taking the lamp which +lighted the hall, showed his neighbor into the dining-room. The servant +appeared almost immediately. + +“Light the gas,” ordered the master; “give us some champagne, cigars +and crackers, and tell Mrs. Gobson to join us.” + +“Madam is asleep,” said Betsy. + +“Wake her up,” answered the brute, roughly. + +“No, I beg you,” entreated Murray. “I shall have the honor of seeing +Mrs. Gobson to-morrow.” + +“No such thing; she will have time enough to sleep--she has nothing +better to do. Be off with you, quick, you stupid creature.” + +These last words were addressed to the maid, who was no doubt +accustomed to this rude tone, and ventured no remark. She lighted the +room, served the champagne, and disappeared to obey her orders. + +Gobson poured out the wine like a man expert in such operations, +filled the glasses, and emptied his at one swallow, with a bow to his +preserver. Murray drank with his host, who said, filling the glasses +again: + +“It is truly a good fortune for me to have you for a neighbor. Have +you lived in the avenue long?” + +“Hardly a month. The air of the neighborhood was recommended for my +niece. I came here on her account.” + +“Are you not married?” + +“No.” + +“You are very fortunate.” + +“You are more so. They say Mrs. Gobson is very pretty.” + +“Yes, that may be; but you see, dear Mr. Murray, the best wife--when +you are tied to her--is worse than the devil. She is an obstacle. I for +my part like liberty.” + +The rustle of a dress interrupted this coarse outburst of James Gobson, +who was rapidly returning on the road to drunkenness, and a few seconds +later the mistress of the house appeared on the threshold of the +dining-room. + +Ada was prettier than ever. In a long blue satin robe, with her +beautiful hair simply drawn up in a knot on her head, she was simply +charming. + +On recognizing in her husband’s companion the man she loved, she +stopped in the doorway an instant, but understanding that there was +some mystery that would be explained later she silenced the beating of +her heart, became mistress of herself again, and, bowing to Mr. Murray +as she would have done to a stranger, she entered, saying to James, in +a dry, curt tone: + +“Betsy awoke me, saying that you wanted me. What can you wish at such +an hour?” + +“Why, my dear,” answered Gobson, in a mocking tone, “I simply wish to +present to you the man who has saved my life, Mr. Murray, our neighbor. +Without his aid, two scamps were about to do me an evil deed.” + +“I do not understand you,” said the young woman, slightly shrugging her +shoulders with indifferent concern. + +“Oh, I know very well,” returned the drunkard, who had caught this +movement, “that if those fellows had driven six inches of steel into me +you would not have felt greatly displeased. I have been attacked; they +tried to rob me, but my savior arrived. It was time, for I was half +strangled, and his timely appearance no doubt saved my life.” + +“Madam,” said Charles Murray, who had risen at Ada’s entrance, “your +husband exaggerates a little the service which I have rendered him. I +believe that he would have saved himself without me. However that may +be, I beg pardon for having disturbed your rest. I did not wish to +enter your house, but Mr. Gobson insisted, and my refusal would have +offended him.” + +“Ah, certainly, yes; I insisted,” replied James, quickly, “and I think +it won’t end here; you seem to me like a lively companion. Another +glass of champagne. Come, Ada, drink with us, or I shall think that you +are grieving because I returned safe and sound.” + +“I am quite ready,” answered Mrs. Gobson, smiling, divining that this +attack on her husband was only a comedy. “Whatever you may think, I +am happy that nothing happened to you. I thank you very sincerely, +Mr.--Mr.--” + +“Murray,” was the answer. + +And taking the full glass which her husband handed her, she moistened +her rosy lips, looking steadily at her neighbor with an expression of +countenance that indicated pleasure. + +“Now,” said the latter, “you will permit me, dear Mr. Gobson, to +intrude no longer; we will see each other again, since you kindly +invite me to your house.” + +“Let me show you the way home.” + +“Pray do not take the trouble; I can find the way.” + +This offer, in fact, was almost impossible for James to carry out, for +the four or five glasses of champagne which he had just drank had again +intoxicated him. + +“Then,” he stuttered, “let Betsy show you the way.” + +“I will do it myself,” said Mrs. Gobson. + +Gobson nodded approval, and held out his hand to his guest, making him +promise to return the next day. + +Ada was already on the steps when Charles Murray joined her. They +crossed the garden together. + +“Well,” he said, when they reached the gate, “you see I have kept my +promise; here I am, your husband’s friend. Will you not give me a word +of hope?” + +“You are charming,” said Mrs. Gobson, her eyes sparkling. “I will see +you to-morrow.” Unclosing the gate after making this promise, she ran +up to her room without entering the dining-room, where James, with his +elbows on the table, was murmuring, with eyes full of hatred: + +“If I thought those men were set on by her I would kill her as I would +a dog.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +A WIFE’S LOVE AND A MAID’S LOVE. + + +Under the conditions just described, the love-making of Charles Murray +and Mrs. Gobson promised rapid progress. Ada was charmed by the easy +address of the handsome stranger, for she knew that in order to visit +her he had planned this attack from which he had saved her husband, +but humiliated at her husband’s rudeness in the presence of his guest +thought only of revenge. + +Being sure that Gobson would be eager for an acquaintance with his +preserver in proportion to the repugnance she might show for the +intimacy, the next day, when she was told that Mr. Murray would lunch +at the villa, she received the news with displeasure; she seated +herself at the table, pouting, and before the end of the meal excused +herself with some pretext, in spite of the rude remarks of her husband. +But the latter cared little; he was none the less convivial with his +guest, so much so that at the last course he was intoxicated and would +not allow his new friend to leave. + +“Let it please or not please Mrs. Gobson,” he said. “We must see each +other often. Get admitted to our club at Barker’s; I will vouch for +you. We will return to Jamaica Plain when we please, and if by chance +we happen to come home early we will end our night gayly here.” + +“I accept,” answered Murray, touching his glass for the tenth time to +that of the drunken man. “Ah! you know how to enjoy life.” + +“Better still; I wish our two villas to be like one. They formerly +communicated by a gate now out of use; to-morrow it shall be opened +again. Will that suit you?” + +“Perfectly.” + +“Hurrah, then! A good table, play and friends give the only true +pleasure. To the devil with a wife--that is, your own--” + +Charles Murray, who seemed proof against intoxication, touched glasses +as often as it pleased his host, and they did not separate until the +latter wishing to go to his club, thought it best to throw himself on +his bed and rest for several hours before starting. + +At nightfall, after dinner, when her husband had gone, Mrs. Gobson +watched for her neighbor; but to her amazement and great chagrin he did +not give a sign of his existence. She did not see him again until the +next day, when Gobson, having opened the connecting-gate between the +two villas, did the honors of the house and park to him. + +During this visit Murray found a chance to say to Mrs. Gobson, +“This evening,” and in the hope of this interview she forgot her +disappointment and useless waiting of the evening before. She was +punctual at the rendezvous. She waited for Murray at the garden-gate, +and led him to a green bower, where no curious eye could see them. + +“I waited for you in vain yesterday,” she said, in a gentle tone of +reproach, as soon as they had seated themselves on a broad rattan bench. + +“Ada, listen to me,” answered Mr. Murray, in a grave voice, but +lovingly pressing the two little hands Mrs. Gobson gave him. “I feel +drawn toward you by a genuine love. The thought that that coarse +creature is your husband drives me to despair, and I long to break the +fatal link that binds you to him. Is it not possible?” + +“I think not,” answered Ada sadly, rapt by these words, for being +little accustomed to delicate sentiments, she found a peculiar charm in +feeling herself jealously loved. + +“Why is it impossible?” + +“Oh! I cannot tell you. Do not question me, if you love me.” + +The young woman said this with an inexpressible accent of terror. Her +hands trembled in Murray’s, and she bowed before him as if begging him +to defend her, and tears shone in her beautiful eyes. + +But this man seemed as if made of bronze; not a pulse was stirred, and +yet this woman was appealing to him by the ardor of her heart, and the +tone of her voice, but he gently tried to console her with kind words. +He then led her to the doorsteps, saying: + +“Again to-morrow.” + +Ada went to her room, where, in a fit of despair, she flung herself +upon her bed, giving vent to fierce words of hatred against her husband. + +The following days passed the same. One evening when she was with him, +she said: + +“I entreat you to tell me what to do.” + +“I repeat to you, Ada,” answered Murray, “you must separate from that +man, since you have had the weakness to marry him a second time.” + +“A second time!” said the young woman, with a smile whose irony +transformed it into a sob, and falling at Murray’s feet, she repeated: +“A second time! Oh! if you only knew.” + +“Explain yourself. What secret links you to him? Have confidence in me. +Let us try every means to free you.” + +“Oh! no, no; never,” cried Mrs. Gobson, with an indescribable tone of +terror. “If I were to die of your scorn, I shall not speak. Farewell.” + +Speaking these words in a heart-rending tone, she had arisen and, +without looking around, hastened to her room, shutting the door quickly +behind her. + +Murray who, no doubt, hardly expected this sudden disappearance, stood +a moment amazed and disappointed, but he made no attempt to recall the +fugitive. He took his hat, went slowly down stairs, left the house and +walked toward the gate leading to his own villa. He had almost reached +it when, suddenly, the rustling of a dress and hurrying footsteps +indicated that some one was running after him. He turned round and saw +Ada, who sprang toward him. + +“No, I do not wish to part thus. To-morrow I will tell you all, and you +will free me from that man. But you will love me, you will love me, +won’t you?” + +“How could I help loving you, when you give me such a proof of love,” +he answered. “I love you so much already.” + +At the same moment a mournful groan was heard on the other side of the +gate. + +“What is that?” asked Mrs. Gobson, frightened. + +“Nothing, nothing,” said Charles Murray, whose paleness was hidden by +the darkness. “Go home now.” + +“But then----” + +“Go, go, I beg you; it is my wish,” and paying no further attention to +her, he sprang into his garden, fastening the gate after him; within +two steps he came near stumbling over some one lying near a cluster of +trees. + +“Jane,” he cried, recognizing who it was. + +He took her in his arms and, laden with his precious burden, ran into +the house. + +“Oh, Miss Jane, what has happened?” cried her good governess, on +recognizing her pupil. “She was with me only five minutes ago.” + +“It is not much, I hope,” answered Murray, mounting the stairs as +lightly as if he were carrying a child. + +Having reached Jane’s sleeping-room he lay her on a lolling-chair, +and immediately assured himself that it was only a fainting turn. A +moment later, owing to prompt measures, she came to herself. Opening +her large eyes, and after trying a few minutes to steady her head, she +recognized her friend, and blushingly clasping her hands, said: + +“Forgive me, Charles, forgive me, I am punished enough,” and she burst +into sobs. + +“Forgive you, Jane? For what? Weep if you must; it will relieve you, +and you can explain all to me later. Meanwhile, dear little one, be +calm. I forgive you with all my heart, although I do not know what +fault you have committed, and I love you.” + +At these words the young girl grew pale, and, as if she felt herself +growing ill again, her lids drooped. + +“Let your maid attend to you,” continued Murray, after touching the +child’s forehead with his lips, “and your governess and I will then +come and stay with you until you fall asleep.” + +He signed to the governess, and leaving the invalid in the care of the +maid, they passed into the boudoir. There they were far enough away not +to be heard. + +“What does this mean?” Murray asked the old lady. + +“It was sure to happen some day or another, sir,” answered the teacher; +“I reproach myself with having kept silence.” + +“Silence? Explain yourself; you frighten me.” + +“Miss Jane loves you, sir.” + +“Miss Jane loves me.” And as he repeated these words Murray carried his +hands to his face, which became of a livid pallor. + +“Yes, she loves you and is jealous.” + +“Jealous of whom, great God?” + +But with his customary clearness of mind immediately reviewing the +scene whose ending caused the young girl’s cry and fainting, he +understood that she had been watching him in the garden when Ada joined +him near the gate, and it was the loving words she heard which caused +her illness. + +“Oh! it is frightful,” he murmured, with great agitation. + +“That is not all, sir; I must conceal nothing from you,” replied the +teacher. + +“What more?” + +“Day before yesterday, early in the evening, Miss Jane, who had left +me only a quarter of an hour before, came up suffering from a nervous +attack. I wished to call you, but she objected, saying: ‘He is with her +in his library. I suspected it, but I wished to see for myself. Oh! I +am cruelly punished for my curiosity.’” + +“She saw me with Mrs. Gobson?” questioned Murray in amazement, and in a +voice strangely moved. + +“That is how it was,” continued the governess, “but I ask your pardon +for speaking to you of things that do not concern me.” + +“Continue, continue. Did Miss Jane watch me and hear me enter?” + +“I do not know; it is probable. At any rate, she came down slowly, +noiselessly slipped into your sleeping-room, of which you had only +dropped the portieres without closing the door, and she recognized that +woman, and she ran away for fear of being caught. And she came and +told me this with sobs.” + +“Poor little one,” said Murray, with a strange smile, “I am in despair. +Go up to her; do not leave her alone a single instant; tell her that +she is mistaken, and that I will explain all some day. Above all, +advise her to be calm.” + +Then he added, as if speaking to himself, while the teacher left to +join her pupil, “The love of this angel is my punishment; well, I +must finish my task; God will do the rest.” And immediately going +down-stairs to his study, he rapidly wrote the following lines: + + MY DEAR FRIEND:--The hour has come; on receipt of this letter, run to + Mr. Kelly’s and tell him to ask Mr. Davis for a warrant against James + Gobson and his wife. Tell these gentlemen that I will answer for this + measure with my honor. Then take the first train for Boston with Mr. + Saunders and stop at the American House, where await yours truly, + + WILLIAM. + +Having addressed it to Captain Young at the office of the central +police, New York, Charles Murray, or rather William Dow, whom the +reader has already recognized, left his study calmer than he had +entered it a few moments before. + +He ordered one of his servants to mail this letter and went to inquire +after Jane. The young girl had recovered and fallen asleep. As he +went down he gave a threatening look at the lighted windows of Mrs. +Gobson, who, no doubt, was thinking lovingly of him and he entered his +apartments, saying: + +“Young will have my letter to-morrow; in forty-eight hours he will +arrive. I have more time than I need. Before then all will be ready.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE MURDERER OF A DEAD WOMAN. + + +Since the day he was attacked, James Gobson had become ruder and more +brutal to his wife than before. Although he seemed to have been joking +when reproaching her for having set assassins on his track, the idea of +a trap laid by her had taken root in his mind, and, brave as he was, he +so feared that the attempt would be renewed that he no longer returned +to Jamaica Plain at night. When he had prolonged his stay at the club +he slept there, and did not return to the villa until daylight the next +day. + +His first duty, on arriving home, was invariably to make a scene, +either with his servants or Mrs. Gobson; then, this duty of a drunkard +being accomplished, he would call on Charles Murray, of whom he had +made a confidant. The latter tried to calm him, but took such strange +means that Gobson always left him after such conversations filled with +greater hatred than ever toward Ada. + +The day after the event which ends the preceding chapter, James +returned home towards three o’clock, and as usual called on his +neighbor, and talked about his wife in such a manner that Mr. Dow +answered: + +“Such a life is a perfect purgatory; why do you not separate from Mrs. +Gobson? It would be better than any scandal, for certainly she will run +off some morning. Some fine evening, when you return home, you won’t +find her.” + +“Separate from her? Is that possible?” growled the husband. “If I +thought she had any idea of flight, I swear she should not go out of my +house until she went with her feet foremost. There will be trouble yet. +Does she ever say anything in particular to you?” + +“I have never been alone with her more than twice since we have been +acquainted, and you know she does not like me very well.” + +“Of course not. You saved my life.” + +“No, that is not the reason; but she knows that I have great friendship +for you. However, it is very evident that she has some plan in her +head. Have you not a relative or friend by the name of Davis?” + +“Davis? No. Why?” + +“I had reason to think so, for the other evening, when you had been +treating her rather badly, it must be confessed, I heard her murmur, as +she followed you about with her eyes: ‘And to think I had only to write +a word to Davis to put an end to it all.’” + +“Davis? The wretch!” + +This name, no doubt, had suddenly awakened terrible memories in +Gobson’s mind, for in uttering this exclamation he had become very pale +and had arisen. + +“You will not betray me,” said Charles Murray. “Come, calm yourself. It +is of no use to be violent with women. You must use a little cunning, +and don’t let them surprise you. This Davis, or any other friend or +relative, matters little to you. No one could frighten you; you are +master in your own house. If I were in your place I should leave Mrs. +Gobson to live as she pleases; I would authorize her to amuse herself +as best suits her; I would even urge her to keep less secluded. It +would not need any more to satisfy her and restore peace to both of +you.” + +“Yes, perhaps you are right,” answered James, with a visible effort to +master himself. + +“And above all, I would not say anything to her. If you do, she will be +on her guard, and will play you some trick and do something rash. Do +you think we had better go and see her together?” + +“No, indeed, not to-day, or to-morrow, probably. This evening I dine +at the club, and to-morrow we shall go to the races with a jolly +companion, who has lately joined us, Harris Burnett. Now, you know that +on the day of the races, there is a great banquet at Barker’s. After +to-morrow, in two or three days, we will see what is best to be done. +Meanwhile, since you will not come with us, preach to Ada, and if you +see anything promise to warn me.” + +“I will not fail to do so.” + +“And, then, you see, at heart I do not think her capable of playing me +a wicked trick. However, I know what I am about.” + +James Gobson spoke these words in a peculiar tone, and the friends +having separated after this conversation, the drunken Gobson went to +Boston without even stopping to see his wife. The latter, however, +waited in vain for Charles Murray all the evening. The door between +the two villas remained closed, and she passed a terrible night, +not understanding why he had not come to see her. Mad with love and +despair, she did not fall asleep until late into the night, and the +next morning she hastily wrote a note, which she sent to her neighbor. + +On reading this letter, Murray could not conceal a smile of triumph. +Ada, however, had written only these three lines, but no doubt did not +wish more: + + Come, I beg you, I will tell you everything, I cannot live thus; I do + not wish Mr. Gobson to find me at Jamaica Plain to-morrow. + +An hour later Charles Murray was warmly greeted by Mrs. Gobson. + +“Ada,” he said, gently, “I do not wish to know your secrets; from +yourself, I wish only you; will you elope with me?” + +“Will I?” answered the young woman with a joyful cry. + +“Well, in the first place, your husband must be sent away for two or +three days, but he must certainly be sent away from Boston, for he +might come home from his club at any moment and suddenly surprise you +making preparations for departure. You know him well.” + +“He would kill me; but how can I manage to send him away?” + +“You must send him to some city away from Boston. Let me think. Has he +not some friends at Buffalo?” + +“I don’t know of any.” + +“Ah! I think I have found a plan. What were the names of those +magistrates who made such a foolish mistake in accusing your husband of +having murdered you?” + +“Mortimer and Davis. The latter was the coroner in my district.” + +Mrs. Gobson spoke these names with a blush and in a choking voice. + +But her neighbor did not observe her emotion, and said: + +“Coroner Davis, that is perfect. I have a plan; write down his name and +address for me that I may not forget it. Here, on this envelope.” + +Murray took a tablet from the table and placed it on Miss Ada’s knees. +The latter tremblingly obeyed. + +“Do you not understand me?” he asked. + +“No,” she answered. + +“It is very simple, however. I am going to get a friend of mine in +New York to write a letter to Mr. Gobson, in which Mr. Davis will be +supposed to have some information to ask of him.” + +“Oh, don’t do that,” cried Ada, in terror. + +“Why, what is there to fear? Absolutely nothing.” + +But seeing Mrs. Gobson’s eyes look wild and her face terrified, he +continued gently: + +“Well, let us think of something else--or rather we will think of +something this evening; calm yourself now.” + +“Yes, this evening,” she repeated, questioning him with her eyes. + +“But until then you must obey me.” + +“Blindly.” + +“You must take care to keep your servants out of the way; I don’t wish +to be betrayed by any of them.” + +“The gardener has gone to the races and will not return. The cook is +ill, and I shall send my maid to the city.” + +“Then stand near the garden-gate this evening at nine o’clock, and I +will come for you.” + +“Give me one kiss,” entreated Mrs. Gobson. + +Murray, who had arisen, lightly touched his lips to her forehead and +left her. + +He remained only a few moments in his room, then went out and stepped +into a carriage standing at his door. An hour later he was in the +American House shaking hands with Saunders and Young, who had just +arrived. + +The chief of detectives was still the same--friendly and gruff, and +talking, as usual, of arresting every one in the world. + +William Dow asked after Mr. Kelly. + +“I saw him yesterday,” answered the captain; “he was impatiently +waiting for you to keep your promise.” + +“The elections will not take place for a fortnight; now, to-morrow +morning I hope all will be ended.” + +In Saunders a great change had taken place, to his advantage. His love +had vanished, and in his heart remained only anger and humiliation +at having been duped. In physique he was wonderfully improved. His +complexion had recovered its freshness, and stout as he was he had even +gained flesh. It is useless to add that he was very affectionate to his +friend Dow, especially when he learned that the moment for vengeance +had come. + +Toward six o’clock the travelers had dinner served in their room, and +the detective left them a moment to receive, in an adjoining parlor, a +visitor who had asked for him. + +It was Harris Burnett. + +“Well,” said William Dow, “where is our man?” + +“He has lost much at the races, which has put him in a bad mood; +besides, he is half drunk,” answered Burnett. + +“He must not get wholly drunk. Now listen to me attentively. At +half-past eleven, while it is still possible for Gobson to take the +train for Jamaica Plain, you must have one of the servants at the club +hand him this letter, telling him to answer; if he is asked who brought +it, say that it was a messenger. Keep near James when he reads it. He +will immediately leave Barker’s. If he begs you to accompany him you +will go with him; if he does not you must follow him home, and if he +closes his gate behind him you must enter mine, which you will find +open, and wait behind the little gate that connects his place and mine +until I call you. Have you understood me?” + +“Perfectly, sir.” + +“Then return to Gobson quickly, lest he perceive your absence.” + +Harris Burnett hastened back to the club, and William Dow rejoined +Young and Saunders at the table. At eight o’clock he gave the signal +for departure. + +The three friends entered the carriage, and a few moments before nine +Dow introduced the chief of detectives and Saunders into his private +room on the ground floor of his house. There, after begging them to +wait with as much patience as they could, he left them alone and went +up to Miss Jane’s room. The young girl, still pale from her emotion of +the evening before, was with her teacher. + +“My dear child,” said William to her, “I have come to beg you not to go +down to the garden this evening, and whatever sound you may hear not to +stir from your room.” + +Jane turned a look upon her friend so full of anxious affection that he +continued: + +“Fear nothing for me, I run no danger; but there is great need for you +to do what I wish. If I can accomplish, as I hope, the work that is +approaching an end, you yourself will thank me. I can count on you, can +I not, and you, Mrs. Wandright?” + +The governess and her pupil, without asking a question, promised +immediately that they would not leave their room until he gave them +their liberty, and he left them, with an affectionate smile at Miss +Jane, feeling assured that his instructions would be strictly obeyed. + +It had just struck nine. He ran to the gate and opened it. Prompt at +the rendezvous, Ada was waiting for him. + +“Come,” he said to her, and taking her hand he led her to the hall +connecting with his room. Then, from there, without passing the +sleeping-room where Young and Saunders were standing, he took her +into the library. But the door of this room was hardly closed before +a horrible cry was heard--the cry of a woman mad with terror and +despair--and followed by the sound of some one falling to the floor. +Then groans, laments, and sobs followed one another, and silence again +filled that part of the villa so suddenly and strangely disturbed. + +Two hours later William Dow and Young, carrying an inert body, +crossed the garden and ascended the stairs which led to Mrs. Gobson’s +rooms. Reaching her sleeping-room, they placed their burden on the +bed and withdrew. A few moments later they took the same path again, +accompanied this time by Saunders, who seemed deeply moved, and by a +woman enveloped in a large cloak, and who seemed hardly able to support +herself. + +At the same moment a servant handed James Gobson, at Barker’s, a letter +which a messenger had just brought. Excited by losses and wine, Gobson +opened it angrily. It contained a note of two lines and an inclosed +letter. The note, signed Murray, was as follows: + + This is what I have found on your door-step, and as this letter, + which you have lost, may be urgent I send it by a messenger. + +“What does this mean?” asked James. + +But, as he asked this question, he cast his eyes on the envelope, and +immediately became very pale. He read on this envelope, written in a +woman’s hand: + +“Mr. Davis, coroner of the Saint Vincent district of New York.” + +The letter, which he hastened to open, increased his fear still more; +for, without uttering a word, he sprang out of the room, ran down into +the street, and, after giving an address to the coachman, sprang into a +carriage. + +He did not perceive that he was followed by Harris Burnett, who stood +a few steps away when the letter was handed him, and had kept him in +sight every moment. + +Twenty minutes later, Gobson was driving hastily along the avenue, in +Jamaica Plain, but, when he reached his door, he stopped a moment. His +forehead was bathed with an icy sweat; his hideous face expressed an +implacable resolution, and he muttered, with a sinister smile: + +“Oh! no, wretch, you shall not escape thus.” + +All was silent in the villa, and the garden was enveloped in darkness. +When he recovered from his rapid drive, he noiselessly opened his +gate, slipped along the wall as far as his house, entered, and, owing +to the carpet which smothered his footsteps, he softly reached the +threshold of the door of his wife’s apartment. He held a revolver in +his hand; but, as he was about to cross the parlor, he said to himself: + +“No, not thus; some one might hear,” and putting the pistol back in his +pocket, he armed himself with a short, stout dagger, without which he +had not gone out of the house since the attack of which he had nearly +become a victim. + +The door that led from the parlor to the sleeping-room was open. He +soon reached it, and raising the portieres, and although the room +was lighted only by the soft, shaded light of an elaborate lamp, he +recognized Ada, who, lying in her bed, seemed to be in a profound +sleep. Her luxuriant hair rolled down over the lace alabaster-trimmed +pillows beneath her charming head, and one of her bare arms, ornamented +by one of those large gold bracelets with which she was so fond of +decking herself, was gracefully extended on the coverlet. Overcome by +fatigue, she had no doubt forgotten to divest herself of a part of her +jewels, for, from the spot where like a wild beast Gobson was devouring +his prey with glaring eyes, he saw the flash as of a fiery star of one +of the magnificent diamonds in her pretty ears, a present from Saunders. + +The charming tableau was not of a nature to calm his revengeful +feelings. It seemed as if it roused his hatred, for, after a moment’s +hesitation, he sprang forward, and his dagger, with a thrust that +would have pierced the heart of his victim, struck her in the throat, +and the murderer whispered hoarsely: + +“Now, Kitty Bell, you will not speak.” + +But the wretch gave a frightful shriek, and bounded backward. + +His weapon, he did not understand how, had met with resistance, and at +the bedside suddenly rose before his horrified gaze the figure of a +woman in Indian costume, which cried: + +“Assassin! assassin! a second time!” + +“Miss Ada,” screamed Gobson, at this terrible apparition, and with +affrighted eyes, foaming mouth, and convulsed features, his whole being +shuddering with horror and fear, he seized his pistol and fired at the +accusing phantom. + +But his ball, badly aimed, struck the wall above the young woman’s +head, and the murderer had not time to repeat his homicidal attempt, +for, being immediately seized and disarmed by Young and Dow, who sprang +from behind the curtains where they had hidden themselves, he was soon +thrown upon the floor, and made powerless. + +At the same moment a sob was heard. + +Poor Saunders had thrown himself upon this waxen statue, the +faithful image of her he had so much loved, and he said, through his +tears, pressing in his burning hand the icy hand of Albert Moor’s +_chef-d’œuvre_: + +“Poor Ada! poor Ada! I knew that she had not deceived me.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +KITTY BELL’S STORY. + + +If we retrace our steps and enter William Dow’s study when he admitted +Mrs. Gobson, we shall witness a scene which explains how the events +came about which we have just described. + +Ada, absorbed in her love, had just crossed the threshold of this room, +when the man, from whom she expected only smiles, suddenly looked +stern, and drawing back, looked and pointed at the body of a woman +lying on a lounge. + +“Miss Ada, Miss Ada!” cried Mrs. Gobson. + +“You confess, then, Kitty Bell?” said William Dow. + +It was then that the unhappy woman uttered the cry of terror and +despair of which we have spoken, and who, not being able to endure such +emotion, had fallen almost lifeless to the floor. + +At the sound, Young and Saunders rushed from the sleeping-room into the +library. + +Words could not picture the amazement of the cracker-merchant. He at +first sprang toward Mrs. Gobson, as if to help her; but the detective +stopped him, pointing to the lounge where lay the woman of wax, and the +poor man, his face looking wild and discomposed, stood motionless, +wondering which of these two women was his own Ada. + +Fearing that such a shock might be too violent for the ill-balanced +brain of Saunders, William Dow hastened to say: + +“Calm yourself, my friend; the woman you loved is really dead; this +body is only the cast I had made in the secret hope that it would serve +me some day. As for this woman, her strange resemblance to Miss Ada +made her the accomplice of James Gobson; but it is she who will become +our instrument of justice and vengeance.” + +And that the too impressionable Yankee might not longer have under his +eyes the image which fascinated him, he carried it from his sight. + +At this unexpected spectacle, Young manifested no sensibility, but +divining, in spite of his moderate intelligence, that his friend Dow +was going to take his revenge, he gave him a look of admiration. Then +he leaned down to Mrs. Gobson and bore her to a lounge, where, in a few +moments, she began to recover consciousness. + +“Kitty Bell,” said William to her, when he saw that she was in a +condition to understand him, “rouse yourself; your fate is in your own +hands.” + +“Kitty Bell! Why do you call me that name, Mr. Murray?” stammered the +young woman. + +“Because it is your name. My name is William Dow. And look at those +gentlemen--you will recognize them, perhaps.” + +Mrs. Gobson looked alternately at Young and Saunders, and her face, +which had began to resume its rosy coloring, became livid. She knew +that she was lost. + +“Hear these few lines,” resumed the detective, who had drawn from +his pocket-book a sheet of paper covered with printed characters and +manuscript: + + To-day, the twentieth of February, 184--, by us, Armand Rebours, + vicar of the parish of St. Joseph, have been baptized according to + the rites of the Holy Church, Catholic, Apostolic and Roman, Kitty + and Anna Bell, born the thirteenth of this month, twin sisters, and + daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Bell, in presence of these the witnesses: + Jack Howey, Bernard Lowe, godfathers, and Mary Fellen and Lucy + Molden, godmothers. + + (Signed) + + ARMAND REBOURS, Priest. + + EDWARD BERNEY, + Rector of the parish of St. Joseph. + + ROBERT HALL, + Coroner of the said parish. + + New Orleans, June 14, 186--. + +Mrs. Gobson was so overcome she could not speak, but her eyes spoke for +her, and so entreatingly that William Dow continued: + +“You are Kitty Bell, and this wax statue is all that remains of your +sister Anna, whom Gobson murdered, and whose name and place you took +owing to your wonderful resemblance to her.” + +“My sister!” she cried, at this horrible revelation, “my sister. Oh! +gentlemen, you did not think me an accomplice in this frightful crime.” +She had thrown herself on her knees, holding out her hands imploringly +to her judges, and she repeated between her sobs: “No, no; do not +believe it, I entreat you.” + +There was the ring of truth in her prayer, and William himself was +moved by it. He leaned over toward her, raised her and forced her to +seat herself in the arm-chair she had just left, and knowing that tears +are the best sedative, he let her weep a few minutes, then said: + +“I believe you, but you must confess the whole truth, conceal nothing +from us, and afterwards you must obey me.” + +“Do with me as you will, gentlemen,” groaned the weeping woman. “My +poor Anna, I have not heard from her for more than ten years. I thought +she resided in New Orleans with our family, where she met this wretch +who has destroyed my life. Our mother was dead, and our father did not +trouble himself about us. I did not know of Gobson’s marriage. And +it was that infamous man Gobson who married her, and I--I was in his +power, and then I became his wife. Oh! it is horrible. Let me----” + +Saying thus, Kitty Bell struggled in the arms of William Dow and Young, +who stopped her as she was going to jump out of the window. They +carried her into the sleeping-room and laid her on an easy-chair. + +Saunders, who witnessed this scene with an air of amazement impossible +to describe, followed them. A few moments later Mrs. Gobson became a +little calmer, and William Dow having urged her to acquaint him with +the slightest details of her relations with James Gobson, she said, +weeping: + +“I became acquainted with James Gobson hardly six months ago at San +Francisco. I was employed in an establishment where this man was an +habitue. He paid court to me; I was tolerably happy, in spite of the +scenes when he was intoxicated. One day I wished to break off with +him because in an angry fit he wounded me in pulling out one of my +ear-rings, but he apologized so humbly for his rudeness, and took such +good care of me, that I forgave him. Why was I so weak?” + +“Go on, Kitty, don’t forget anything,” said the detective. + +“About a fortnight after this occurrence, he gave me a cup of tea, +and I fell into a strange sleep. It lasted about three or four hours +at least. When I awoke he was near me, looking at me anxiously. ‘You +fainted,’ he said, ‘and in falling you came near killing yourself. +Happily, you are all right now.’ I felt a sharp pain in my mouth. I +put my hand to it and drew it away covered with blood. I sprang to a +looking-glass. A tooth was gone, on the right side. I uttered a cry of +despair and the wretch tried to console me. I had broken a tooth he +declared in slipping against a piece of furniture. This accident caused +me alarm, for I was not subject to fainting turns. But from that moment +Gobson became so gentle, and anxious, and generous, that I did not +express a wish that was not gratified, and I soon forgot the event.” + +“You now understand what his object was.” + +“Oh! yes, the wretch; my poor Anna. We were so alike when we lived +together that father, in order to distinguish us himself, made us wear +velvet bands of different colors around our throats.” + +“Now, as Gobson had torn his wife’s ear and broken out a tooth, the one +who was to replace her must lose a tooth and have a cut on her ear. Go +on; tell about your departure from San Francisco.” + +“We left San Francisco toward the month of November, of last year, and +went to Washington, where I lived in a little country house in complete +retirement. Gobson I did not see for weeks, but after being absent he +showed me much affection, and said, after returning from his journeys, +that he was working for my happiness, and as he wished soon to marry +me, I obeyed. However, I instinctively feared him. I would have liked +to end with him. Such was the state of things when one day in January, +James came to me in a state of exaltation which frightened me. What he +said to me then, oh! I do not believe I could reveal.” + +“You must; your testimony is indispensable,” said William Dow, sternly; +“for your fate depends on your frankness in telling what else you can +make known. Besides, do you not wish to avenge your sister?” + +“Yes, yes; I must,” answered Kitty, raising her head, that she had +concealed in her hands, and, speaking hurriedly, she continued: + +“He told me about a woman whom I resembled in so extraordinary a manner +that every one took me for her. Her name was Ada Ricard. A Colonel +Forster was in love with her. With audacity and coolness I could pass +for her. He himself would take me to this colonel, who had promised him +quite a large sum. + +“‘Mr. Forster,’ he added, ‘hardly knows Miss Ada; his error will be +complete; he will adore you, and as he is rich and generous, you will +have all you wish.’ It was horrible, but it was a chance to get away +from Gobson, who alarmed me, and I consented. He gave me even the +slightest details about Ada Ricard’s life, for he learned them from +some one who lived in her house; finally he taught me to play the part. +I held myself in readiness and one morning we set out for New York, +where we arrived during the night. He procured lodgings for me in a +house which I should not recognize again, for although we went on foot, +it was in a dense fog. I think it was in a horrible neighborhood and +that the streets were narrow and muddy. The river was about two hundred +steps beyond. After locking the door of my room and providing me with +the necessary provisions, he left me alone in this house all the next +day. It was Tuesday, I remember, and he came back at about two o’clock +in the morning and brought a bundle, which he opened before me. It +contained the costume of an Indian woman in the time of the Incas. He +bade me put it on. I then had a gloomy presentiment, for Gobson was +pale and much more moved than he wished to appear. But he said to me +in so threatening a tone, ‘Let us have done quickly; it was in this +disguise that Miss Ada was carried off, and you must go to Colonel +Forster dressed as she was.’ I was afraid, and did not dare ask what +had become of the woman whose place I was to take. I dressed as Gobson +ordered me and according to his directions. He had foreseen everything +at each of the colonel’s stopping-places. I was to send him word, with +the initials ‘A. Z.,’ to Baltimore immediately, and announce my return +in the same manner. If anything happened to him I must, on returning +to New York, boldly present myself at No. 17 East Twenty-third Street, +where I should find a woman, Mary, who would recognize me as Miss Ada.” + +Kitty Bell spoke the name of her sister with so much emotion that sobs +choked her voice. + +After leaving her a moment to recover, William Dow ordered her to +continue her story. + +“This servant,” continued the young woman, weeping, “was the accomplice +of that wretch. All passed as Gobson had arranged. As soon as I was +ready he made me cross the river and meet Colonel Forster, who had not +the least suspicion of my identity. When I reached Baltimore I learned +the mysterious crime through the papers. I understood it thus, but +I was afraid to confess the truth, and I acknowledge that, maddened +at being duped and in the power of James Gobson, I wished to play my +part to the end to avenge myself on him. If it had not been for the +accident to the hangman, Meyer, I should have been late enough not to +have seen him. I knew what day had been fixed for the execution, and +that is why I did not return to New York until the hour when I thought +all over. But fate decided it should be otherwise, and that I must save +the wretch from the gallows. You know the rest; but I swear to you, +on my eternal salvation--oh! however low I may have fallen, I should +not dare to be false in swearing this--I swear to you that when I was +forced to escape from Gobson by means of Colonel Forster, I did not +know that Miss Ada had been murdered, and only here in this room have I +learned that Gobson’s victim was his wife and that she was my sister, +my unhappy Anna. Now, do with me as you will; deliver me up to justice; +kill me or let me die.” + +“No, Kitty Bell, you shall not die, and the law will be indulgent +toward you; why, you must help us to punish the guilty.” + +“I obey your commands.” + +“The costume of an Indian woman in which you deceived a lover of Ada +Ricard, you must once more wear, in order that we may attack the guilty +man.” + +Saying this, the detective drew from a chest a dress absolutely like +that worn by Ada Ricard the night she was carried away, and while Kitty +Bell was dressing, with the aid of Young he transported the wax statue +to Mrs. Gobson’s bed. + +The reader is familiar with the subsequent movements, and let us now +return to the room where we left James Gobson in the hands of Young and +William Dow. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +WHARF 32. + + +Harris Burnett, who was merely an agent sent by Kelly, by order of +William Dow, had exactly followed the latter’s instructions. In spite +of the courage and strength of the captain and detective, he reinforced +them none too soon, for Gobson, mad with anger, was becoming difficult +to hold. He foamed at the mouth, gave horrible shrieks, poured out the +most frightful curses upon his wife and rolled upon the floor, and, +for lack of other weapons, used his teeth like a wild beast. However, +his three adversaries succeeded in mastering him, and he was so firmly +bound and gagged that he could have been left alone without danger. As +for Kitty Bell, she sank sobbing on the bed. + +“Madam,” said William Dow, “I am obliged to arrest you, but I renew the +promise I made you. I shall speak to the judges about you in a manner +to render them as indulgent as possible, on account of your frankness +and the services you have rendered.” + +“Ah! do as you will with me, sir,” answered the young woman. + +“Mr. Young will accompany you to my house, that you may resume your +own dress, and he will afterwards bring you here, where you will rest a +few hours. We will go to New York by the first train in the morning.” + +Mrs. Gobson obediently took Young’s arm, for without this support she +could hardly have sustained herself, and left the room without daring +to look back. + +As for Saunders, his love for Miss Ada had returned, and kneeling +beside her bed he was still weeping. William Dow forced him to rise, +and led him to the boudoir, in order to take him as much as possible +from his sad memories, by keeping him from the statue which so cruelly +reminded him of the past. + +The captain and Mrs. Gobson returned about a quarter of an hour +later. The young woman sank exhausted on an arm-chair, hiding her +face in both hands. It was a singular tableau which this elegant and +mysterious sleeping-room presented, now transformed into a field of +combat; and he, whose intelligence had so quickly made it the theatre +of his justice, glanced around it with just pride. On one side sat Mrs. +Gobson, perhaps weeping more for her vanished dreams than for her dread +of reality; on the other, reduced to powerlessness, the wretch who had +been conquered by the same weapons he had made use of. + +“Burnett,” said William Dow to the agent, after a few moments’ silence, +“watch this man. We will return in a moment.” + +And then, leaving the prisoner and his wife in the care of the chief +of detectives, William and Burnett raised the woman of wax and carried +her into the adjoining villa, and placed her on the same lounge where +Kitty Bell first saw her. + +“Now, Young,” said William Dow to his friend, “return to Gobson, and in +a few moments I will join you.” + +The captain obeyed, and the detective went up to see Miss Jane. The +young girl was pale and trembling, as well as her governess, for she +wondered if anything had happened to her friend, having heard the +pistol-shot in the next house. On perceiving him she gave a cry of joy +and threw herself into his arms. + +“Come, my dear child,” he said, “and you, too, Mrs. Wandright; I have +an explanation to make.” + +And preceding the teacher and her pupil, who followed him without +understanding what it was all about, he led them into his study. At +sight of the wax figure on the lounge, Miss Jane stepped back. + +“Do not be afraid,” said William Dow, taking her hand, “but come and +look at her. Here, Jane, is the Mrs. Gobson whom you saw here one day +when curiosity tempted you. It is only the statue of Miss Ada Ricard, +the victim of the mysterious murder whose author I discovered.” + +Ashamed to find that William Dow had learned what jealousy had caused +her to do, the pretty child hung her head, blushing, but gave her +friend a happy, grateful look, murmuring, “Forgive me,” and her friend +returned it with a smile and affectionate caress. + +Having informed Miss Jane and her governess that he should be absent +a few days, Mr. Dow begged them to go up to their rooms and he joined +Young and Burnett. They had dragged James Gobson up against the wall, +and for humanity’s sake had slipped a cushion under his head. The +wretch was foaming at the mouth and his eyes glared, but he did not try +to cry out or to combat with them. + +The captain and agent watched him in turn that night, and at daybreak +William Dow hastened to the chief of police at Boston to inform him of +what had passed, and to ask his aid in order to convey the prisoner to +New York without further delay. + +This officer, who had faith in our hero, immediately gave the necessary +orders, and toward noon, without the same being made known at Jamaica +Plain, for Young had given orders to the servants in the house, James +Gobson was conveyed on the railroad under charge of Burnett and two +agents from Boston who had joined him. + +The assassin was calmer, but what they knew of his past led his guards +to mistrust him. They kept handcuffs on him, telling him that at the +first cry, or attempt at rebellion, they would tie his legs and gag him +again. + +Young took a seat in a car reserved for him with Mrs. Gobson, who was +resigned to her fate, and William Dow, after telegraphing to Kelly, +seated himself with Saunders, whose mind was again off the balance. + +The journey was marked by no incident, and at eight o’clock that same +day all the characters of our story reached New York. + +The first face William Dow espied on the wharf was the expansive one +of Fat Kelly, who was accompanied by Mortimer and Davis, who had been +notified. It is useless to say how these gentlemen greeted the skilful +detective. James Gobson was captured--that was the most important fact; +but they were eager to know the details of his capture, and they plied +William Dow with questions. + +“Pardon, gentlemen,” said the latter, “we must first attend to the +prisoner, or prisoners; we will talk afterwards.” + +James Gobson did not attempt resistance, but it would be impossible to +describe the look he gave his wife. She could hardly stand, and had to +be carried into the waiting-room. + +The assassin, after having his identity proved, entered a carriage +waiting for him, and Mr. Kelly ordered Young to take him at once to +Blackwell’s Island, where he was to be imprisoned until he was called +before the criminal court a second time. + +The worthy Saunders did not know what to make of it when William Dow +said to him: + +“My dear sir, return home, resume business, and think of this tragedy +only as a bad dream, until the law has need of you again. But before +then I shall come and see you.” And clasping the hand that with a sigh +was held out to him, he joined Kelly, Davis, and Mortimer, who were +impatiently waiting for him. + +It was decided that owing to Mrs. Gobson’s exhausted condition and the +services that she had rendered the cause of justice, that she should +have comparative liberty, but under the surveillance of the two agents, +and she had already left for No. 17 East Twenty-third Street. + +Everything being settled thus, Mr. Kelly quickly went with William Dow +to the central office. He was eager, as well as Mortimer and Davis, to +know the whole story and all the details. + +William Dow told them from beginning to end, and then said to Kelly, +who was almost shaking his hands off: + +“Well, have I done right--have I kept my promise?” + +“You are a splendid man, my dear Dow,” he answered. “How the devil came +you to have your suspicions? You can tell me now.” + +“Certainly; besides, nothing is simpler or less mysterious. I must +first confess that I had in my possession a certain report of your +rival, Robertson which contained precious information. Ah! his agents +are keen and smart.” + +“It is no more trouble for them to be so than for that great blockhead, +Young,” observed Mr. Kelly, shrugging his shoulders. + +“I agree with you. Well,” continued Dow, “and while in yours, trace of +Miss Ada was lost in her entrance to Yorkville, in that of Robertson, +on the contrary, they mention her as being in Colonel Forster’s yacht, +at Staten Island, three days before the body of the drowned woman was +found at Shakespeare’s tavern. Saunders told me that a boat, in which +were the Colonel and Miss Ada, had been run down and capsized, and that +the latter was drowned; but I questioned the best seamen in the harbor, +and I myself made experiments with floating objects, and while learning +about submarine currents I obtained the almost complete certainty that +a human body could not be carried in so short a time from Staten Island +to the top of the river. Besides, nothing was less certain than the +fatal consequences of the accident of which Saunders accused himself. +I concluded from that that either Miss Ada was not drowned at Staten +Island; or, that if she had perished on these shores, her body could +not have been brought by the current to Wharf 32. Therefore the woman +who was in Forster’s yawl was not Miss Ada, although Robertson’s agent, +who had her photograph--the only one Saunders possessed--might have +recognized her on board the Gleam, unless there were two women on the +yacht; but the colonel talked of only one, the Miss Ada whom he carried +off.” + +“This is well reasoned,” said the officers. + +“There was then, either with Colonel Forster or drowned at Staten +Island, a woman who was or was not Miss Ada, at the very moment when +at the bottom of East River was lying a woman who was soon also to be +recognized as Miss Ada Ricard. This coincidence was too strange and +complete, and improbable, not to lead me at once to think that I had +found an absolutely planned crime, a substitution of persons. Now, as +we could not substitute an Ada dead for an Ada living, for what would +have been the object, it was for an Ada dead that a living Ada had been +substituted.” + +“Very true, Mr. Dow, very true,” said the magistrates, bowing before +this logic. + +“This first reasoning,” continued the detective, “naturally led me to +suppose that it was really Gobson, the jealous husband, who had taken +a woman to Colonel Forster, but not Miss Ada, his wife. It must be +another woman, and since I admitted that he was the man who took her +off he must also be the assassin. + +“As for the hour when the crime was committed, nothing was easier +to certify; it was in the carriage itself, for in the boat in which +James Gobson crossed the East River was but one woman, and that woman +was living. The officer on watch on the Liberia heard a cry when the +steamer came near running it down. What Kitty Bell told me later proved +to me that I had reasoned justly, and fixed the place and moment of the +crime. Gobson smothered his victim in the carriage, and if he spoke +the words reported by the driver Katters it is nothing astonishing; +for his cunning and skill we know very well. He wished that this man +might some day affirm, if necessary, that Miss Ada was living when +she left the carriage, but she was dead. Kitty Bell waiting for James +Gobson in a house at Yorkville, the murderer would never have committed +the blunder of carrying into the house a living woman who might have +screamed, called for help or betrayed her presence, and make the one +who was to take her place fear that she was becoming the accomplice +of a murderer. But the dead Ada he murdered at his ease, took off her +jewels, excepting the gold bracelet, which he found among the Sioux, +and which one of those Indians, no doubt, picked up on the young +woman’s door-step, as it probably fell off when she was carried away; +then, having done this, Gobson dressed Kitty Bell in his victim’s +dress, and took her to Forster as Miss Ada, and when he returned he had +accomplished the last act in his tragedy. That is to say, he took away +the corpse, embarked with it again and threw it in the water, after +fastening to it the barrel of tar which he found in his boat, or which +he stole, it matters little. When, later, after escaping the gallows in +spite of Kitty Bell, who would have been delighted to have him hanged, +James Gobson married that woman, it was both to have his share of Miss +Ada’s fortune and to make sure of the silence of his accomplice. Mrs. +Gobson could not denounce her husband without destroying herself. This +marriage of itself would have sufficed to awaken my suspicions; was it +like a woman to do what the one supposed to be Mrs. Gobson did? Miss +Ada would have let her husband be hanged, for she feared him, and if +she had saved him she would never have become his wife. Between Gobson +who would have remembered, and Saunders who asked only to be forgiven, +she would not have hesitated. This, gentlemen, was how it happened; you +know the rest.” + +“You are an astonishing detective, my dear Dow,” cried Fat Kelly, in +the utmost enthusiasm. + +“That is perhaps saying a great deal,” said William, smiling; “but what +is more certain, is that I am a man, and being such I can do no more. I +will ask you and these gentlemen, therefore, for permission to go home. +It is forty-eight hours since I have been in bed.” + +“Certainly, my friend. Only one word more. Since you knew all this, why +did you not simply arrest Gobson instead of taking the trouble to bring +about that dramatic episode at Jamaica Plain?” + +“Dear Mr. Kelly, I will explain to you, but I am sure that Mr. Mortimer +and Davis, who are lawyers, have already divined my reason.” + +The two magistrates smilingly bowed, and the detective continued: + +“Acquitted and reinstated by the criminal court, Gobson could no longer +be pursued for the same crime, evident as his culpability might become, +and had he even confessed all. Now, I, William Dow, had sworn that this +man should be punished for murdering Miss Ada, and I made him murder +her a second time. By striking that wax statue, which he took for his +wife, James Gobson made himself guilty of an attempt to murder, the +effect of which was destroyed only by a circumstance independent of +his will. He, then, is under the jurisdiction of the criminal court, +and, as I wished, the murder was really attempted upon Miss Ada. Do you +understand now?” + +“My God, my dear friend,” said the chief of police, “I am only a +blockhead like that stupid Young while you, you----” + +“I only kept my promise to you and the vow I made to myself.” + +Mr. Mortimer and Davis joined their thanks and congratulations to those +of Kelly, and knowing that William Dow needed rest, they gave him his +liberty. + +The next day, as will be understood, nothing else was talked of in New +York but the new arrest of James Gobson; for the papers, being covertly +informed by order of the chief of police, could completely satisfy the +curiosity of their readers by relating to them the smallest details of +the events that had happened at Boston. + +The mystery with which the murder had been enveloped was at last +unveiled; this horrible crime was going to be punished. The public +conscience was satisfied, and Kelly, who since James Gobson’s discharge +had lost so much ground with his electors, was in the way to become a +great man. For, although all had been told about the tragedy at Jamaica +Plain, the name of William Dow had remained a secret; the latter +exacted it from motives best known to himself. + +Only the political adversaries of the chief of police were in despair, +and the head of the agency of Robertson Brothers & Co., who was up for +Congress, found that he had no chance for success owing to the sudden +change in affairs. + +Kelly’s partisans profited so well by the event, as the election day +approached, that the victory of Mr. Kelly became more certain. + +During this time Mr. Davis and Mortimer were preparing the case +of James Gobson, who was still in prison at Blackwell’s Island, +and awaiting to be transferred to the Tombs, a few days before his +appearance before the jury. He had completely broken down, losing all +that bravado and assumed indifference which so cunningly characterized +him at his previous incarceration for the murder of Miss Ada Ricard. + +Kitty Bell renewed her confessions before the examining magistrates, +and a hearing had been appointed for the day after election, when one +morning Captain Young plunged like an avalanche into Kelly’s office, +crying: + +“Oh! Mr. Kelly, Mr. Kelly, such a misfortune has happened!” + +“What is it?--what is it?” asked Kelly. + +“James Gobson is drowned!” + +“Drowned! What do you mean?” + +“Yes, drowned. Just as he was crossing the planking at Blackwell’s +Island to enter the government boat to come to the Tombs, he pushed +against the guards and leaped into the water, dragging one of the +unhappy men after him.” + +“And did that man also disappear?” + +“No; fortunately he was saved, but they could not fish up Gobson.” + +“That is a pity, for I should really have taken pleasure in seeing +him at the end of a rope; but what can be done? Has the river been +searched?” + +“They are still working at it.” + +“Well, let them continue to search, and if the rascal’s body is found, +let it be sent to Bellevue Hospital, to Dr. O’Neel. It will at least +be of some use after his death.” + +Having said this, Kelly dismissed the captain, who did not understand +the philosophy with which his chief took James Gobson’s death. The +officer immediately reflected as follows: That the assassin would +have made revelations to his judges that would have brought to notice +William Dow, and would have lessened the role of Kelly. He was +therefore delighted that the accused had disappeared. + +Kitty Bell, it is true, remained, but he knew that by promising +her the indulgence of the court she would say only what he wished. +Nevertheless, at the news of this suicide, the disappointment was +general, and the opponents of Mr. Kelly tried to profit by it, but the +movement was started in his favor, and election day for Mr. Kelly was +one of triumph. + +William Dow was in the latter’s office when they came to tell him the +result of the voting. He was elected with twenty thousand votes more +than at the last time. The effect of this announcement upon Mr. Kelly +can well be imagined. + +“To you I owe this victory, my dear friend,” he said to the detective, +embracing him with enthusiasm; “how can I prove my gratitude to you for +all this?” + +“By giving me the first possible opportunity to make myself useful,” +answered William, with a sad smile, “for in attending to your affairs I +also attend to my own.” + +“Oh, yes; that mystery in your life, a mystery in which the pretty and +charming Miss Jane must play a part. When will you have confidence and +friendship enough for me to judge me worthy of being your confidant?” + +“Some time, my dear Kelly, some time. Jane has gone to New York with +her governess, but I wish to have her take a trip, for she is ill. +I will tell you some day what terrible tie attaches me to this dear +child, for whom I would give my life, and whom I make suffer, alas, +from a malady which to any one else would be an immense joy, for it +might cure her.” + +Greatly puzzled at these words, spoken so sadly, Mr. Kelly was about, +perhaps, to beg for the key to the riddle, when, after knocking, +Captain Young appeared. + +“Sir,” said the captain to his chief, after shaking hands with his +visitor, “they have just found James Gobson’s body.” + +“Ah!” said the officer; “where?” + +“Under Wharf 32, opposite Shakespeare’s tavern.” + +“Under Wharf 32,” cried William Dow. “Well, my dear friends, was I +not right in stating that Ada Ricard’s body had been thrown into the +water at Blackwell’s Island, and on that side of the river. One would +say that Heaven itself wished to furnish the proof of my theories. +Having fallen into the water near the spot where he threw his wife, +James Gobson--and observe, after the same interval of time--James +Gobson reappeared just there where the corpse of the unhappy woman was +discovered, under Wharf 32.” + +“This is, indeed, truly wonderful,” exclaimed Kelly. + +As for Young, he could not find a word to express his thoughts; only +his looks plainly said that his former admiration for the intelligent +detective had become enthusiasm. + +A few days after this conversation, Kitty Bell appeared alone before +the criminal court, for the maid Mary, supposed to be Gobson’s +accomplice, could not be found. Kitty Bell was simply convicted of +complicity in the kidnapping, and her judges, aware of the services she +had rendered in the cause of justice, condemned her to only a year’s +imprisonment. She received her sentence with utter composure, having +determined to submit to the decree of the court, whatever it might be, +without any show of feeling that he whom she had so dearly loved might +detect. + +Ada, or rather Anna Bell’s fortune went to her father, who was still +living. + +Six months later, Kitty Bell, at Mr. Kelly’s request, was released, and +entered a cafe in New York, where she made her fortune in less than a +year. + +Then her success on the other side of the ocean led the still pretty +Mrs. Gobson to try her fortune in Paris, where we met her at the house +of the leader of the opera bouffe, who came near engaging her. She +would evidently have been a great attraction, but the impressario did +not dare risk the adventure, and the beautiful American disappeared. +Perhaps she will yet meet our stout friend, Mr. Saunders, who, after +keeping the Woman of Wax at his house several weeks, one day sacrificed +it for the benefit of Barnum’s Museum. + +William Dow remained the true friend and aid of Mr. Kelly, until an +event occurred in his life which we may some day narrate--an event +which enabled him to finally take his place in society, which a +horrible adventure, followed by a promise, made him abandon. + + +THE END. + + + + +The Name of + +Street & Smith + +on a publication is + + _A GUARANTEE + OF GOODNESS_ + + That’s why + everybody buys them + in preference + to others. + +Insist on getting Street & Smith’s. 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They banish + pain and prolong life. One gives relief. Note the word R·I·P·A·N·S on + the packet. Accept no substitute. + + + + +A Well-dressed Face + + +Perhaps you like that yellow moustache, but we are sure your friends do +not. + +Perhaps you think your gray whiskers don’t tell how old you are, but +they do. + +Perhaps you have never noticed how a beautiful brown or rich black adds +to the moustache or whiskers, but we have. + +Perhaps you would like a natural brown or black dye for your whiskers +and moustache, one that defies detection. + +Perhaps you don’t know that + + A beautiful brown or a rich black always follows the use of + + Buckingham’s Dye + +It isn’t a brown or black today, and then some miserable color +tomorrow. When dyed once it is dyed to stay. Two, or three bottles at +most, will keep the beard and moustache colored for a whole year. You +are the only one aware of it when you use + + +Buckingham’s + + If your druggist cannot supply you, send 50 cents to + R. P. HALL & CO., Nashua, N. H. + + + + +THE BEST-KNOWN SERIES OF DETECTIVE STORIES IN THE WORLD + +are those of + +Nicholas Carter + + +The only publishers who issue them are STREET & SMITH, and they are to +be found in the + +[Illustration: Magnet Library + +at THE RIGHT PRICE + +TEN CENTS] + + +For the benefit of the many admirers of these grand books, we give +herewith a complete list of titles and numbers up to date (November 1, +1899), meanwhile we add a new book to the list every third week + + Accidental Password, An Magnet No. 53 + American Marquis, The ” ” 7 + Among the Counterfeiters ” ” 39 + Among the Nihilists ” ” 43 + At Odds with Scotland Yard ” ” 49 + At Thompson’s Ranch ” ” 56 + Australian Klondike, An ” ” 8 + Bite of an Apple, A, and Other Stories ” ” 105 + Caught in the Toils ” ” 14 + Chance Discovery, A ” ” 19 + Check No. 777 ” ” 46 + Clever Celestial, A ” ” 75 + Crescent Brotherhood, The ” ” 83 + Crime of a Countess, The ” ” 5 + Dead Man’s Grip, A ” ” 85 + Deposit Vault Puzzle, A ” ” 21 + Detective’s Pretty Neighbor, and Other + Stories ” ” 89 + Diamond Mine Case, The ” ” 71 + Double Shuffle Club, The ” ” 68 + Evidence by Telephone ” ” 23 + Fair Criminal, A ” ” 62 + Fighting Against Millions ” ” 11 + Found on the Beach ” ” 65 + Gamblers’ Syndicate, The ” ” 18 + Gideon Drexel’s Millions ” ” 99 + Great Enigma, The ” ” 2 + Great Money Order Swindle, The ” ” 91 + Harrison Keith, Detective ” ” 93 + Klondike Claim, A ” ” 1 + Man from India, The ” ” 50 + Millionaire Partner, A ” ” 59 + Mysterious Mail Robbery, The ” ” 13 + Nick Carter and the Green Goods Man ” ” 87 + Old Detective’s Pupil, The ” ” 10 + Piano Box Mystery, The ” ” 17 + Playing a Bold Game ” ” 12 + Puzzle of Five Pistols, The, and Other + Stories ” ” 97 + Queer Case, A ” ” 103 + Sealed Orders ” ” 95 + Sign of the Crossed Knives, The ” ” 79 + Stolen Identity, A ” ” 9 + Stolen Pay Train, The, and Other + Stories ” ” 101 + Titled Counterfeiter, A ” ” 3 + Tracked Across the Atlantic ” ” 4 + Two Plus Two ” ” 73 + Van Alstine Case, The ” ” 77 + Wall Street Haul, A ” ” 6 + Wanted by Two Clients ” ” 81 + Woman’s Hand, A ” ” 16 + +ANY of the above-mentioned books can be obtained from nearly all +newsdealers at 10 cents per copy. Patronize the dealer if you can--if +not send 10 cents direct to the publishers. + + + STREET & SMITH, 238 William St, New York + + + + +A. Conan Doyle + +_It were superfluous to say more in regard to the achievements of this +great story writer than to allude to the perfect clamor of critical +congratulation which greets every new production of his pen._ + + +Now Offered 10 Cents + +_in the Arrow Library_ + + +_The White Company_ + + “This is a romance of the days of chivalry in Merrie England. For + vivid description, trenchant wit and historical glamour, we have read + nothing to equal it since ‘Ivanhoe.’” + +_The Firm of Girdlestone_ + + “A startingly realistic novel of the world of business in the + metropolis of the universe, London. It is a fascinating book.” + +_A Study in Scarlet_ + + “In this weird book the reader first meets that most fascinating and + incomprehensible character, Sherlock Holmes, the detective. One had + heard of him so much before, it is like renewing an old and loved + acquaintance.” + +_Beyond the City_ + + “A simple recital of tragedy and mystery in English family life. + Written in the same style as this author’s other delightful stories + of Sherlock Holmes. ‘Beyond the City’ possesses the magnetism which + obliges complete perusal once the opening chapter is read.” + +_At the Sign of the Four_ + + “Herewith we behold again the wonderful detective work of Sherlock + Holmes in the tracing of crimes and criminals. Beyond question, he is + the greatest detective creation of any time or language. The story is + simply irresistible.” + + +_For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postage free, on +receipt of price, by the publishers_ + + +STREET & SMITH, New York + + + + +A PARTIAL LIST + +... OF ... + +STREET & SMITH’S BOOKS + +Including those published at 10 CENTS in the + + _Eagle, Arrow, Magnet, + Medal, Columbia, Historical + and Alliance Libraries_ + + _Classified alphabetically by authors for + the better convenience of our patrons._ + + _For sale by all newsdealers, or post-paid, + from the publishers at 10c. each._ + +[Illustration] + + + STREET & SMITH, Publishers + 238 William Street, New York + + +ADAMS, O. L. + + Detective’s Clew, The. Magnet No. 66. 10c. + + +ALLEN, GRANT + + In All Shades. Arrow No. 22. 10c. + + +AUGUSTA, CLARA + + Nobody’s Daughter. Eagle No. 127. 10c. + + +BARRETT, FRANK + + Great Hesper, The. Arrow No. 31. 10c. + + +BARRIE, J. M. + + Little Minister, The. Eagle No. 96. 10c. + Also a better edition. (Illustrated), Drama No. 34. 25c. + Also in cloth. (Six illustrations), 50c. + + +BELOT, ADOLPHE + + Tragedy of the Rue de la Paix, The. Arrow No. 32. 10c. + + +BOURGET, PAUL + + Living Lie, A. Arrow No. 8. 10c. + + +BULLEN, FRANK T. + + Cruise of the Cachalot. Arrow No. 78. 10c. + + +BURGESS, NEIL + + County Fair, The. Eagle No. 60. 10c. + + +CAFFYN, MANNINGTON, author of “A Yellow Aster.” + + Miss Milne and I. Arrow No. 44. 10c. + + +CAINE, HALL + + Bondman, The. Arrow No. 73. 10c. + She’s All the World to Me. Arrow No. 2. 10c. + + +CAMERON, MRS. EMILY LOVETT + + Worth Winning. Arrow No. 52. 10c. + + +CARTER, NICHOLAS + + Accidental Password, An. Magnet No. 53. 10c. + American Marquis, The. ” 7. ” + Among the Counterfeiters. ” 39. ” + Among the Nihilists. ” 43. ” + At Odds with Scotland Yard. ” 49. ” + At Thompson’s Ranch. ” 56. ” + Australian Klondike, An. ” 8. ” + Caught in the Toils. ” 14. ” + Chance Discovery, A. ” 19. ” + Check No 777. ” 46. ” + Clever Celestial, A. ” 75. ” + Crescent Brotherhood, The. ” 83. ” + Crime of a Countess, The. ” 5. ” + Dead Man’s Grip, A. ” 85. ” + Deposit Vault Puzzle, A. ” 21. ” + Detective’s Pretty Neighbor and Other Stories ” 89. ” + Diamond Mine Case, The. ” 71. ” + Double Shuffle Club, The. ” 68. ” + Evidence by Telephone. ” 23. ” + Fair Criminal, A. ” 62. ” + Fighting Against Millions. ” 11. ” + Found on the Beach. ” 65. ” + Gambler’s Syndicate, The. ” 18. ” + Gideon Drexel’s Millions. ” 99. ” + Great Enigma, The. ” 2. ” + Great Money Order Swindle, The. ” 91. ” + Harrison Keith, Detective ” 93. ” + Klondike Claim, A. ” 1. ” + Man from India, The. ” 50. ” + Millionaire Partner, A. ” 59. ” + Mysterious Mail Robbery, The. ” 13. ” + Nick Carter and the Green Goods Man. ” 87. ” + Old Detective’s Pupil, The. ” 10. ” + Piano Box Mystery, The. ” 17. ” + Playing a Bold Game. ” 12. ” + Puzzle of Five Pistols, The, and Other Stories. ” 97. ” + Sealed Orders. ” 95. ” + Sign of the Crossed Knives, The. ” 79. ” + Stolen Identity, A. ” 9. ” + Titled Counterfeiter, A. ” 3. ” + Tracked Across the Atlantic. ” 4. ” + Two Plus Two. ” 73. ” + Van Alstine Case, The. ” 77. ” + Wall Street Haul, A. ” 6. ” + Wanted by Two Clients. ” 81. ” + Woman’s Hand, A. ” 16. ” + + +CLAY, BERTHA M. + + Another Man’s Wife. Eagle No. 48. 10c. + Another Woman’s Husband. Eagle No. 42. 10c. + Between Two Hearts. Eagle No. 84. 10c. + Fair but Faithless. Eagle No. 102. 10c. + For a Woman’s Honor. Eagle No. 4. 10c. + Gipsy’s Daughter, The. Eagle No. 11. 10c. + Gladys Greye. Eagle No. 59. 10c. + Heart’s Bitterness, A. Eagle No. 109. 10c. + Heart’s Idol, A. Eagle No. 21. 10c. + Ideal Love, An. Eagle No. 119. 10c. + In Love’s Crucible. Eagle No. 70. 10c. + Marjorie Deane. Eagle No. 79. 10c. + ’Twixt Love and Hate. Eagle No. 95. 10c. + Violet Lisle. Eagle No. 14. 10c. + + +CLEMENS, WILL M. + + Life of Admiral Dewey, The. Historical No. 7. 10c. + + +COBB, C. W. + + The Mountaineer Detective. Magnet No. 40. 10c. + + +COBB, SYLVANUS, Jr. + + Ben Hamed. Columbia No. 18. 10c. + Golden Eagle, The. ” 19. 10c. + King’s Talisman, The. ” 21. 10c. + Yankee Champion, The. Eagle No. 78. 10c. + + +COLLINS, WILKIE + + My Lady’s Money. Arrow No. 58. 10c. + + +COMFORT, LUCY RANDALL + + Cecile’s Marriage. Eagle No. 121. 10c. + Widowed Bride, The. Eagle No. 86. 10c. + + +CORELLI, MARIE + + Ardath, Vol. I. Arrow No. 26. 10c. + Ardath. Vol. II. ” 27. ” + Romance of Two Worlds, A. ” 18. ” + Thelma. ” 55. ” + Vendetta. ” 36. ” + Wormwood. ” 47. ” + + +DARRELL, CHARLES + + When London Sleeps. Eagle No. 105. 10c. + + +DAUDET, ALFONSE + + Jack. Arrow No. 59. 10c. + Partners, The. Arrow No. 67. 10c. + Sappho. Arrow No. 10. 10c. + + +DE GONCOURT, E. AND J. + + Germinie Lacerteux. Arrow No. 4. 10c. + + +DELPIT, ALBERT + + Coralie’s Son. Arrow No. 35. 10c. + + +DENISON, MRS. MARY A. + + Daughter of the Regiment, The. Eagle No. 116. 10c. + + +DE PONT JEST, RENE. + + No. 13 Rue Marlot. Magnet No. 96. 10c. + + +DE TINSEAU, LEON + + His Fatal Vow or Sealed Lips. Arrow No. 23. 10c. + + +DEY, MARMADUKE + + Muertalma; or, the Poisoned Pin. Magnet No. 58. 10c. + + +DONNELLY, H. GRATTAN + + Darkest Russia. Eagle No. 94. 10c. + + +DOUGLAS, A. M. + + Midnight Marriage, The. Eagle No. 6. 10c. + + +DOYLE, A. CONAN + + Beyond the City. Arrow No. 6. 10c. + Firm of Girdlestone, The. Arrow No. 69. 10c. + Sherlock Holmes’ Detective Stories, The. Magnet No. 72. 10c. + Sign of the Four, The. Arrow No. 17. 10c. + Study in Scarlet, A. Arrow No. 3. 10c. + + +DU BOISGOBEY, FORTUNE + + Blue Veil, The. Magnet No. 44. 10c. + Chevalier Casse Cou, The. ” 63. ” + Convict Colonel, The. ” 33. ” + Crime of the Opera House. The. Vol. I. ” 35. ” + Crime of the Opera House, The. Vol. II. ” 36. ” + His Great Revenge. Vol. I. ” 54. ” + His Great Revenge. Vol. II. ” 55. ” + Matapan Affair, The. ” 38. ” + Red Camellia, The. ” 64. ” + Red Lottery Ticket, The. ” 31. ” + Steel Necklace, The. ” 27. ” + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes: + + +This novel is a translation of _La femme de cire : Mémoires d’un +détective_ by René de Pont-Jest, the middle part of a trilogy about +detective William Dow. It was first serialized in the _Boston Globe_ +from May 3 to June 11, 1884 under the title _The woman of wax; or, +Memoirs of a detective_. When reprinted in book form, the original +author’s name was omitted and only the translator received credit. + +Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. + +Inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. bloodthirsty vs. blood-thirsty) has been +retained from the original. + +In a few places, paragraph breaks in conversations seem to be in +the wrong places. These instances are present in both the original +newspaper serial and the later book reprint, so they have been left +unmodified. + +The word “autonedon” is likely a typo for “automedon” but is reproduced +as printed in both the original newspaper series and the later book +reprint. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78812 *** |