An Artist in Crime Part 32

If Mr. Thauret annoyed Mr. Randolph by being at this resort, the former gentleman was none the more pleased at his arrival. Being left alone with Dora, and construing her present mood to be one favorable to his wooing, he determined to speak to her before the other man might find a chance. Moving his chair nearer hers, he began, getting to his subject without much circ.u.mlocution.

"Miss Dora," said he, "do you recall a conversation that I had with you one day? I mean about loneliness, and the longing one has for companions.h.i.+p?"

"Oh, yes," said she, frankly, "why? Do you wish to continue it now?"

"If you please. You remember you said you would be better able to do so after your sister's marriage."

"Because I thought that I would miss her so much and be lonely myself, was not that it? Well, of course I have missed Queen very much, but I have scarcely been lonely. You have taken care of that, and I am sure that I am very grateful to you. You have been very nice to me."

"You think so? You admit that?" He spoke eagerly.

"Why, yes! Why not, since it is true?"

"Of course, but then you know so many young ladies hide their feelings.

I mean suppression of all emotion is considered so necessary in a woman in these days."

"Suppression!" and she laughed heartily. "Now do you think that I could ever be suppressed?"

"No, indeed, and certainly I hope that you never will be. But if you have not been lonely, perhaps you have thought some of that other subject, love, I mean."

"Oh! That!"

"Yes. That is one question, supreme to me, about which I wish to have your views. Do you think you would be happier or unhappier,--if you were married?"

"That is a question. It would depend upon--my husband, would it not?"

"Suppose that we were----"

"Don't call names, please. I couldn't suppose such a thing. I have promised not to."

"Promised not to, I don't understand?"

"I mean that I have made a bet. You don't think I am horrid to bet, do you? Of course you don't. Well, I have made a curious bet with Bob, Mr.

Mitchel, you know. I call him Bob now, and I used to do it sometimes before. That was when I wanted him to do anything for me. It made him feel like one of the family. Well, to tell you about my bet. You see, sometimes, when Emily was out, Bob would play make love to me. He said it would be good practice for me; would teach me the ways of the world and all that sort of thing. Oh! Bob is a curious man, but he is great sport. Don't you like him?"

"Immensely. But you have not told me yet about your bet."

"I am coming to it. Well, one day when he was making love to me, and I was doing my best, suddenly he burst out laughing, and said: 'Dora, I'll bet you'll be engaged within six months of our marriage.' 'How much?'

said I. 'As much as you like,' said he. I asked him if he would make it a thousand dollars, and he whistled and called me a little gambler. But I don't think it was gambling, because I was to have a certainty. Of course I wanted the stake to be a large one. So it was agreed, and he wrote it down on paper. I'll show it to you sometime if you like. If I am not engaged before the 1st of January, Bob will have to pay me a thousand dollars."

"And you mean to win that bet?"

"Indeed I do. I am young and can afford to wait that long, I am sure.

There will be time enough afterwards to get a husband."

"Then it would not make any difference how anxious a suitor might be to have his reply at once?"

"No, certainly not. If a man did not love me enough to wait a few months for his answer I should think myself well rid of him. Besides it would give me a chance to study him."

"Suppose--but no--I do ask you. Miss Dora--Dora--I love you madly, pa.s.sionately, and----"

"Well, don't say any more. If that is true, and you love me madly, pa.s.sionately, why then you will surely wait till January for your answer." This was said rather curtly, and Mr. Thauret's hopes sank, but rose again to fever heat as she said, very softly: "There, I did not mean to hurt you. You must not think me hard. But I must win that wager.

Not so much for the money as for the gratification of proving to Bob that I have some control over myself. Surely, if you truly love me you will not begrudge me that satisfaction?"

"No, no, sweet one. Have your own way. I'll wait. Only say that there is some chance of my succeeding."

"Why, of course, every one has a chance. But I must not tell you how great yours is, because if I did I would not be winning my bet fairly.

And I must say good-night," with which she left him. Her last words lingered with him, and he took comfort. For what could she mean but that his chances were good, since if otherwise, how could the telling prevent her from winning her wager? Nevertheless, as the weeks went on, he tried many times to get a more definite reply from her, but never succeeded.

Still he hugged the cherished hope to his heart and waited as patiently as man could.

Randolph was simply miserable all the time. Whenever he was with Dora she was good to him, kind to him, and often used tender tones that thrilled his heart. But he too failed to get anything from her, save the old request that he should be patient and wait. He too waited, but not patiently.

Meanwhile, in New York, Mr. Barnes was still burrowing into everything that seemed to have any connection direct or otherwise with the mystery, or mysteries, that baffled him. Of one thing he had satisfied himself beyond all doubt. That was that Mr. Fisher had not been implicated in the train robbery. His spy had found that he had been absent from the city during three days at the time of the crime, but this very fact had been shown to be his safeguard. By some skilful work the man discovered, that during that time he had simply been off shooting ducks, in a part of the country where it would have been impossible for him to be an accomplice. This simple fact should not have been hard to discover, were it not that Fisher had kept his trip a secret. This for some time puzzled the detective, but finally he followed him out of the city, and practically accompanied him on a similar outing, after which he learned that his sister was morbidly opposed to all killing, whether for sport or for a livelihood. It was to humor this idea that her brother made his excursions in secret. The spy learned from the man from whom the dogs were hired that Mr. Fisher had used them in December. So that left him out of the score, or at least so it seemed. It was still possible that he was implicated in the ruby robbery, though save that he was present there seemed nothing against him. Mr. Barnes did not entirely leave him out of the account.

Thus practically the detective made no progress, and was chagrined to be compelled to admit it. Finally, however, an idea occurred to him, upon which the more he dwelt, the more fascinated he became with it. To put it into practice, however, he felt that he must await the return of Mr.

Mitchel. He thought he would injure his cause by seeking him and so disturbing him during his pleasure trip.

The Mitchels did not keep their promise to go to the White Mountains, but on the contrary prolonged their western travel, so that it was November before they were at home again, and temporarily quartered at the Fifth Avenue. A few days after, Mr. Barnes sent up his card, and as usual, was cordially received.

"Any news of my wife's ruby?" asked Mr. Mitchel, grasping the detective warmly by the hand.

"No, Mr. Mitchel. I am sorry to say that I am utterly unable to prove any of my theories about that. But I have come to a set determination, and one that to you may seem a peculiar one. I have come to ask your a.s.sistance in the murder case."

"Why, certainly, I will help you. Did I not tell you so at the very outset? Have I not always been willing to talk freely to you?"

"You have, but as long as I thought that you yourself might have committed the crime, how could I come to you to ask you to a.s.sist me?"

"Then I am to understand that at present you do not suspect me?"

"I have come to that conclusion at last, and wish now that I had done so sooner."

"Would you mind telling me why you have altered your mind? You have told me so much that seemed to implicate me, that I am curious to hear the other side."

"Certainly. I overheard your wager. Then came the robbery, and then the murder. Later there was a second jewel robbery; all of these crimes occurred within the limit which you set. One of them of course you committed. It seems more probable that you stole the single ruby, for in doing that you committed a crime for which you could not be punished, especially since you have married the lady. Even before, she would willingly have testified that it was understood between you, and that it was simply a trick to win a wager. Is not that correct logic?"

"Correct logic? Yes. Of course I admit nothing as to facts."

"Either or both of these robberies are secondary to the murder. That I have determined to unravel if I can. At present I think the train robber and the murderer was one and the same person. Now, there is one clue which I have not been able to follow, but which, if pursued, I am certain will lead me straight to the criminal."

"And that is?"

"The b.u.t.ton which I found in the room. That is significant. It is too great a coincidence that it should match your set, not to have an explanation that would shed light upon this case."

"How do you expect me to a.s.sist you in that direction?"

"As long as I thought you guilty, I believed that you had lied when you said that the seventh b.u.t.ton of the set was the Shakespeare pin which your wife had. That is why I thought it of importance to recover it; sufficiently so, to send my spy, Lucette, into the house with instructions to obtain it if possible. Now that I believe you innocent of the murder, this thought has recently come to me. When I first told you about this b.u.t.ton, before you would speak about it, you asked me to allow you to examine it. After doing so, you gave it back to me, with a cheerful smile. If that b.u.t.ton had been evidence against you, I see now that it would have required a powerful nerve to appear so unconcerned, and especially to return it to me. The question then that I wish you to answer is, what was it that you saw on that b.u.t.ton, which satisfied you that it was not of your set?"

"In the first place, Mr. Barnes, I knew that there were but three like it, the other three having different heads, and the seventh being the Shakespeare b.u.t.ton. Thus as I knew that all the b.u.t.tons were in my possession, I felt safe."