An Artist in Crime Part 29

Mr. Mitchel thought that he understood the object of the question, and for reasons of his own was glad to reply to it.

"O, not at all," said he. "The father left each of them a handsome sum, fifty thousand in fact, which they are to receive as soon as married.

The bulk of the money, of course, went to the widow, but her interest is only for life, and then it is to be equally divided between the girls. I think it is somewhere near half a million."

"You are a fortunate fellow. I wish I had your luck."

"My dear Thauret, can a man of your intelligence believe in such a stupid thing as luck? It no more exists than its ant.i.thesis, ill luck.

Every man succeeds or not, according to his own skill in guiding his life. Now you envy me my marriage to Emily, when certainly her sister Dora is just as charming, and richer, too."

"Miss Dora is charming, true; but that does not make me a successful suitor. But what do you mean by saying that she is richer?"

"Why, you see, her sister is devoted to her, and has promised her a gift of ten thousand dollars the day she marries, upon one condition."

"And that condition is?"

"That the husband shall be satisfactory to her."

There was a silence for several minutes, finally broken by Mr. Thauret:

"Well, in the light of your approaching marriage, which will make you the only man in the family, I presume your influence would count. If I should wish to marry Miss Dora, I suppose you would favor my suit?"

"That is not a new idea to me, I a.s.sure you. All I need say is that when you gain Dora's consent, you shall have mine."

"Thank you." Mr. Thauret said this with suppressed emotion, and after that neither man spoke until they said good-night at Mr. Mitchel's hotel. Mr. Thauret, upon reaching his own room, smoked a cigar, and blew little ringlets over his head, thus occupying himself till long after midnight. He seemed to be building castles, and from the satisfied expression on his face, they must have been grand ones.

Thus matters stood when the day dawned upon which the marriage was to occur. Everything was bustle and confusion at the home of the Remsens.

The bridesmaids arrived early, helped to deck the bride, and then stood around in delighted admiration. Dora was in ecstasies. Two magnificent bouquets had been sent to her, one entirely of carnation pinks, from Mr.

Randolph, and the other a fine a.s.sortment of cut-flowers, amongst which were three beautiful Calla lilies, tied with long white satin ribbons.

These were the gift of Mr. Thauret. She stood admiring the flowers for a few moments, then tenderly untied the pinks, and, taking a few of each color, made a small bouquet, which she pinned just at the opening of her dress near the throat. Thus they were near enough to exhale a fragrance of which she would be continually conscious. Just before leaving the house, however, she took the Callas and carried them with her in her gloved hand.

Before the day was over a little tragedy occurred, of which she was not only innocent, but unconscious. In the throng entering the church her pinks were swept from her breast, and in her excitement she did not observe her loss. Mr. Randolph, however, the groom's best man, noted carefully that she carried flowers, and that they were not his.

Subsequently she, in reply to a question from him, admitted who had sent them, and though he made no remark, he slept little that night. Thus easily men suffer.

Emily was dressed--but there, why should I attempt to describe what only a Worth could have furnished, and only wealth could afford? If you can imagine the most beautiful shade and quality of pearl-colored silk, and add to that the finest of lace, and to that the most marvellous profusion of tiny ribbon bows, then, as I hinted, recall that the genius of Worth designed the garment, perhaps you will imagine all that I could tell you. At least I may say that as the bride entered the church on the arm of that magnificent man, Mr. Van Rawlston, who, as her father's dearest friend, had been invited to take his place, every woman present took one lingering look at the woman and her gown, and then turned to her neighbor to express her admiration. Moreover, I will say that the sum of all that praise was not enough fully to describe Emily Remsen, who looked every inch "a royal queen," as Dora delightedly told every one for years afterward.

But after the bridal party had pa.s.sed, people naturally looked for the groom, and they wondered not to see him. Whispering occurred, and inquiries were made without satisfactory response. Some thought that there had been a mistake, and that the signal had been given to the bride and her friends too soon. It was an awkward situation, because of course, once having reached the altar, they could not turn and leave the church again. Consequently they simply stood and waited. Every one at length grew so nervous, that save for the organ, there gradually stole over the whole edifice a solemn silence. People were awed, and fearing at last as the minutes pa.s.sed and still the groom did not appear, that something dreadful either had or was about to occur, they almost held their breaths. A few intimate friends went out on tip-toe, but the door leading to the vestry-room was guarded by a man in livery, who would say nothing but that no one could be admitted.

Meanwhile an exciting scene, though a brief one, was being enacted behind that door. Just as the two parties were about to start on their way to the altar, a carriage had driven up furiously, and from it had alighted Mr. Barnes. He quickly entered the building, and went straightway into the vestry-room, brus.h.i.+ng aside the man at the door.

Once in the presence of the groom and his gentlemen attendants, he astonished them by saying:

"Thank G.o.d, I am not too late."

"Are you quite sure?" said Mr. Mitchel, with provoking calmness.

"I have come here to stop this wedding," said the detective, a little excited.

"You mean, to delay it. That you are doing now, as I should be on my way to the altar to join my bride."

"I tell you, I come to stop this wedding altogether, and----"

"One moment, Mr. Barnes. There is no time to lose, and I do not wish you to speak too openly. Let me talk for you. You have reasons, which I can guess, for wis.h.i.+ng me not to be married. Am I right?"

"I have said as much."

"If I can prove to you that you gain nothing by hindering this ceremony, will you allow it to proceed, and then act as you may please afterward, instead of now?"

"Of course, but that is impossible."

"Nothing is impossible, Mr. Barnes; read that if you please."

Taking from his pocket a folded paper, he handed it to Mr. Barnes, who took it nervously, read it, and looked up amazed.

"This is an outrage, Mr. Mitchel, and----"

"And you have given me your word not to further interfere at this time.

If you will meet me at my hotel at two o'clock, I will answer whatever other demands you may have upon me. I think you know that you may trust me to keep the engagement. Now, gentlemen, we will proceed." Saying which he and his friends filed out of the room and down the aisle of the church, much to the relief of the immense throng awaiting them, leaving Mr. Barnes utterly discomfited. The ceremony then proceeded without further delay, and in half an hour Mr. and Mrs. Leroy Mitchel were taken in their carriage to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Mr. Barnes did not wait to see them leave the Cathedral, but hurried away almost immediately after having read the doc.u.ment which Mr. Mitchel had handed to him. This was a certificate of marriage dated the day before, and performed at the Mayor's office. Thus, whatever reason the detective had for stopping the marriage, the telegram from Sefton had enabled Mr. Mitchel to once more outwit Mr. Barnes, by simply allowing a civil contract to antedate the religious ceremony.

CHAPTER XV.

MR. MITCHEL EXPLAINS A FEW THINGS.

Immediately upon his arrival in New York, Mr. Barnes went to his office.

Here he was slightly surprised to find Lucette.

"Well," said he, tersely.

"I came here," said the girl, "so that I could report to you the minute you got here. There is no time to lose."

"Why, what is up?"

"Your plan about my getting information from the East Orange post-office did not work. The man said that though he would like to serve you, he was afraid it might be construed into tampering with the mails. That you would need an order from the Postmaster-General. I went to work then on the other line, and began a systematic examination of every house in the place. It was hard work, but at last I found the child. You don't want details now, because she has been taken away again. Mitchel went down yesterday and brought her to New York."

"Why did you not follow him and see where he took her?"

"I did, and this time I am sure he did not suspect that I was after him.

He took the child to the Remsens."

"To the Remsens? What can that mean?"

"I don't know. But Mitchel and Miss Remsen are to be married at St.

Patrick's Cathedral at ten o'clock this morning."

"Not if I can stop it," replied the detective, and he hastened up to the church with the result told in the last chapter.