An Artist in Crime

"In consideration of your not placing me under arrest, Mr. Barnes, I will give you a hint. I made that wager with my friend Randolph yesterday morning, that is to say December 2d. I have until January 2d, to commit the crime about which the bet was made. Should you come to the conclusion that I am not guilty of either of those now engaging your attention, it might enter your head that I still have a crime on hand, and it might pay you to watch me. Do you catch the idea?"

"There is little danger of your committing any crime during the next month without my knowing of it," said Mr. Barnes.

"Now let us change the subject. Do you see this ruby?" taking a large ruby from the case before them. "I am thinking of having it set as a present to Miss Remsen. Will she not be envied when she wears it?"

CHAPTER VII.

MR. RANDOLPH HAS A FIGHT WITH HIS CONSCIENCE

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

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

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

"Well, what of it!"

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

"So far as what?"

"Why haven't you read the papers?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well?"

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

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

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

"That is impossible."

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

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

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

"Randolph, does your conscience trouble you?"

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

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

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

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

"I wish to heaven you would."

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

"But that is betraying you to the police."

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

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

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

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

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

"This was at Forty-second Street?"

"Yes. He took the down train."

"Did he notice you in any way?"