An Artist in Crime

"Well, I'm an old-timer, I am. There an't much that's happened in the Crescent that I couldn't remember, if I was paid for it."

"See here, my man, you are not dealing with Sefton now. You tell me what I want to know, and if I find it is true, I'll pay you for it. But if you play any tricks, I'll make it warm for you."

"That's all right. Suppose I begin by telling you that this Rose Mitchel, that you say was murdered, was known down here chiefly as Rose Montalbon. 'La Montalbon,' she was generally called."

"La Montalbon?" repeated Mr. Barnes. "Then, was she an actress?"

"Actress? Well, I guess she was, considerable. But not on the stage. No, she kept a gambling-den on Royal Street. Fitted up like a palace too, and many a young fool has lost his last dime in that house."

"But what about Mitchel? Do you know whether he was connected with her in any way?"

"I can't give you that dead straight. There was some mystery there. I used to go to the Royal Street place, and I knew Mitchel in a sort of way. He was always hanging around there. Then there was a while that he didn't show up, and then he turned up again and was introduced as La Montalbon's husband. There was a story going that he had married another girl and deserted her. A young Creole I think, though I never heard her name."

"Did you know anything about a child, a girl?"

"That was another queer part of it. There was a girl, little Rosy. Some said it was the Creole's, but La Montalbon always claimed it was hers."

"What became of Mitchel?"

"About a year after he passed as La Montalbon's husband he skipped out – vanished. Several years after that there was another sensation. The child was kidnapped. La Montalbon offered big rewards to recover her, but she never did. Then about three years ago her place began to run down; she lost money, and finally she too disappeared."

"If this story is true it may be quite important. Do you think you could identify this man Mitchel?"

"Well, I don't know for certain. But see here, come to think of it, there were two Mitchels, and both named Leroy too."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Pretty sure. They were cousins. The other fellow was younger. I didn't know him myself. He was a Young-Men's-Christian-Association sort of a boy, and not quite in my line. But I sort of remember hearing that he was in love with the Creole girl. But say, I'll tell you who can give it to you straight as a shingle."

"Ah, who is that?"

"An old man named Neuilly. He knew all about the Creole, and so must know about the Mitchels. I think he was in La Montalbon's power. She knew something about him and blackmailed him, as she did lots of others. Now that she is dead, you might make him open his mouth."

"Very good. Get me his address, and then see what you can find out about the other Leroy Mitchel, the good boy. Discover what became of him and I'll pay you well. Meanwhile don't let Sefton know that you are not carrying out his scheme."

"Say, pard, I tumble to you now. You suspected Sefton and you played your cards to draw me out. Well, you did it neat, and now I'm with you. Good-day. When I see you again I'll have some news for you."

The following day Mr. Barnes called at the bachelor home of Mr. Neuilly. The handsome old man received him in stately fashion and courteously asked the detective to explain his mission.

For a moment Mr. Barnes did not know how to proceed; he at last said:

"Mr. Neuilly, I have come to ask your aid in the cause of justice. I have hesitated to do this, not wishing to disturb you. That I do so now is due to the fact that every other resource has been tried and has failed me."

"Proceed, sir," said the host, with a courteous bow.

"I am seeking certain information about a woman who was known as La Montalbon, and – " An instantaneous change came over the face of Mr. Neuilly. His hospitable smile of welcome vanished. He rose erect and stiffly said:

"I know nothing of that woman, and must wish you a very good morning," with which he deliberately began to walk from the room. Mr. Barnes for a moment was nonplussed, but saw that he must act quickly or lose all chance of gaining any information from this man.

"One moment, Mr. Neuilly," he said; "you certainly would not refuse to help me convict her murderer." As he expected, the last word brought him back.

"Murderer? Did you mean to intimate that she has been murdered?" Saying this he stopped for a second, and then slowly returned and sat down again.

"Rose Montalbon was murdered in New York some months ago. I believe that I am on the track of the guilty man. Will you aid me?"

"That depends upon circumstances. You say the woman is dead. That alters my position in this matter very much. I had reasons, good ones to me, for refusing to converse with you on this subject. But if the woman is dead, the objections vanish." Mr. Barnes thought he understood. Here was one of those who had been ruled by fear, as Chambers had said.

"What I want from you, Mr. Neuilly, is very simple. You either can or you cannot give me the information that I wish. Did you know a man named Leroy Mitchel who was at one time this woman's husband?"

"I knew him very well. He was a scoundrel of the deepest dye, for all that he had the manners of the polished gentleman."

"Do you know what became of him?"

"No; he left this city suddenly and has never returned."

"Did you know little Rose Mitchel?"

"Many a time has she sat upon my knee. This man was her father. He wronged one of the sweetest little girls that ever lived."

"You knew this girl? Knew her name?"

"I did."

"What was it?"

"That is a secret I have guarded for too many years to be willing to yield it now to a stranger. You must show me good reasons for giving it to you before I tell it."

"I will explain. This man Mitchel is now in New York. He is about to marry a sweet, good woman. Yet I think that he murdered Rose Montalbon, or Mitchel, to get her out of his way. I think that she was blackmailing him. Besides, he has his child with him."

Mr. Neuilly started up and paced the room for some time, much agitated. Finally he stopped and said:

"You say he has the child with him?"

"Yes. Here is her likeness." He handed Mr. Neuilly the photograph made by Lucette.

Mr. Neuilly looked at it, muttered "very like! very like!" then remained silent for some moments; finally he said:

"And you think he murdered this woman, Montalbon?"

"I do."

"It would be terrible to hang that child's father. What dishonor! What dishonor! But Justice is Justice!" He seemed to be talking rather to himself than to Mr. Barnes. Suddenly he turned and said:

"I cannot tell you the name for which you ask. But I will go with you to New York, and if this story of yours is true, I will move heaven and earth to see justice done. That villain must not ruin another young life."

"Good," exclaimed the detective, delighted with the result of his visit.

"One more point, Mr. Neuilly. What do you know of the existence of another Mr. Leroy Mitchel?"