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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 document 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.

Promptly at two o'clock Mr. Barnes presented himself at the Fifth Avenue Hotel accompanied by Mr. Neuilly. They were asked to go up to Mr. Mitchel's apartments, and there they were greeted by that gentleman as affably as though they had been of his wedding party. Indeed he began the conversation in rather a jocular way, saying:

"Ah! Mr. Barnes, delighted that now I can entertain you more at my leisure. This morning you see I was in a great hurry. You called at a very inopportune time, and I am afraid that I was rather abrupt."

"Mr. Mitchel, I am not in the humor for nonsense. This is a very serious visit, I assure you. This gentleman is Mr. Neuilly, of New Orleans, and he has come all this distance to aid the cause of justice."

"Delighted to meet you, Mr. Neuilly, I am sure," said Mr. Mitchel, approaching and extending his hand so cordially that the elder man took it, though he had thought that he would rather handle hot coals than the hand of the man who he supposed was guilty of wronging the daughter of his old friend in the South. Mr. Mitchel did not seem to notice his agitation, but begging them to be seated, he himself took a comfortable chair and continued: "Now, Mr. Barnes, I am wondering if it is possible that you have traced my wife's ruby as far away as New Orleans?"

"I have not been looking for it. I suppose you know why I wished to stop your marriage?"

"Why, no; not precisely. What was your reason?"

"If you do not know it, why did you get married yesterday?"

"I might reply that it is often done, but I will be honest and tell you that such a procedure never occurred to me till I heard that you were coming home. Then, you see, I thought that you might take the idea into your head – you do get odd notions, you must admit – that I ought not to get married just now. I knew you well enough to believe that if you did harbor a thought of that nature you would not hesitate to interfere. I did you no injustice there, for that is just what you tried to do, you see. Consequently, as I had set my heart on being married in the Cathedral precisely at the time appointed, I just took the bull by the horns and persuaded my little girl to marry me yesterday. That is my story in full, I assure you. Now, what was your object?"

"You know it very well, and all this yarning is pure bluster. You know well enough that I wanted to use Miss Emily Remsen as a witness against you, and that I could not do so after she became Mrs. Mitchel."

"Oh! Well, yes; I admit that idea was in my mind, Mr. Barnes. And now – what are you going to do about it?"

"In the first place I shall arrest you for abducting the child, who was in the care of Rose Montalbon." Mr. Barnes expected some surprise from his adversary but he was disappointed.

"Yes," said he, "and then?"

"Then I shall compel you, through the court, to reveal her present hiding-place, and to produce her."

"I think you might have trouble to do that, were it not that I do not object to it. In fact we will reverse your order of things and begin with the production of the child. Emily!" In answer to his call, his wife came into the room, bringing with her a beautiful girl. Her husband arose, and taking the little one by the hand, coolly approached Mr. Neuilly, and said, "Rose, this is Mr. Neuilly. He was a dear good friend to your mother, and has come all the way from New Orleans to see you. I think he would like to kiss you, would you not, Mr. Neuilly?"

That gentleman seemed much moved. To him the vision of loveliness standing demurely before him, brought back the memory of the long ago. She reminded him of another little girl whose growth into budding womanhood he had watched tenderly, having in his youth loved her mother, the grandparent of the child before him. His suit had not been successful, and for love of that woman he had remained a bachelor all his days. Now he could see changing expressions in this young face, which reminded him of both of those women who had been dear to him. Without a word, he drew her towards him, and kissed her once. Then he arose, still holding her hand, and led her towards the door of the next room; there he kissed her once more, this time on the forehead, and then bade her wait, shutting the door after she left him. Then turning with a fury in his heart, and repressed passion in his voice, he exclaimed:

"Mr. Mitchel, either you are the most contemptible villain on the face of this earth, or else there is some hideous mistake here. Explain it, man, I must know at once!"

"Must, Mr. Neuilly, is a word that I seldom obey. But I know how you have suffered, and have no desire to prolong this interview a moment more than is absolutely necessary. First, however, I must understand the situation. What do you and Mr. Barnes here think it to be?"

"I will explain briefly," said the detective, "provided your wife will withdraw."

"My wife is now a part of myself," said Mr. Mitchel, proudly placing an arm around her as she stood beside him. "You need not hesitate to speak. She has promised to share my life with me, to take me as I am. She will begin the task at once. Go on."

"So be it. I know now that Rose Mitchel, who was murdered, was known in New Orleans as Rose Montalbon, and that she was your wife. I have also discovered that you deceived a young Creole, the mother of that child who has just left us. That when you deserted her, she died broken hearted, whilst you allowed the Montalbon woman to take the girl and pass it off as her own, though later she was kidnapped by you. The woman suspected that you would wish to marry again, and swore to prevent it. Her appearance upon the scene just as you were to become a husband, must have been a menace to you. Do you see the point? Murders have been committed with less motive. I think therefore that I have sufficient evidence upon which to arrest you."

"You might arrest me upon less evidence," said Mr. Mitchel. "It is done every day. But to convict me you would have to prove all this."

"How do you know that I cannot prove it?"

"For the very simple reason, that your facts are all wrong."

"Very good, Mr. Mitchel, but you will have to prove that."

"I am fully prepared to do so. To begin with, according to your story, I abducted this child. There you are only partly right. I did take her away from the Montalbon, and I did it as you might say, by stealth and force. But I had the fullest right to do so."

"You admit then that you are her father?"

"On the contrary, I deny it, and there is the weak point in your story. Your argument all depends upon my having been guilty of wronging that girl's mother, and the Montalbon's having me in her power. In point of fact, I am not her father, and the Montalbon had but a slim chance to blackmail me."

"But you admitted to me that you allowed her to do so. That you gave her a large amount, in jewels."

"That is true, yet I did not submit to blackmail."

"Mr. Mitchel I seldom forget a man's words. You told me that day in the vaults that you were in the woman's power, that she could ventilate certain scandals which might break your engagement. Yet now you say you were not in her power and that you did not submit to blackmail. How can you explain such conflicting statements?"

"Two conflicting statements may both be true, provided a lapse of time occurs between them. When I admitted that I had been in the power of that woman, I thought so, therefore I spoke the truth. When I say now that I was not, I also speak truly. In the interval, I have learned to appreciate the character of the woman who is now my wife. That is all. I know now that the Montalbon's story blazoned forth to the world, would not have affected her faith in me, if I had told her my own version."

"For heaven's sake, gentlemen," interrupted Mr. Neuilly, "stop this argument, and get down to the facts. I am impatient to know the truth."

"Yes, Roy," said Emily, "why not simply tell the story as a narrative, and let the whole truth be known?"

"That is what I mean to do. I have only been enjoying a little sparring with Mr. Barnes. But it is cruel to Mr. Neuilly, who I hope will pardon me. To begin at the beginning, I must go back to my youth in New Orleans. I was in love with a beautiful young girl." Here he pressed his wife's hand, and she returned it, as though to say that she understood. "I think I need not mention the name of Rose's mother, Mr. Neuilly, unless you have already done so."

"Heaven forbid that I should have betrayed the secret," said the old man.

"I did not suppose that you had, for I know you to be a true man, though I have never met you before. This statement may surprise you, but it is true. I am not the man for whom you take me. He is now in a lunatic asylum, whilst I am his cousin. I know it is supposed that I am the crazy man, but that is an error, promulgated by the Montalbon to serve her own ends. The facts then are thus: Whilst a boy at school I loved my girl companion, little Rose's mother. Just before I left the South to enter Harvard, I told my little girl sweetheart – she was then but fifteen – that I would marry her upon my return. This was my first love, and hers. I had a cousin, older than myself by ten years, handsome and wealthy, but a gambler, and addicted to heavy drinking. This woman Montalbon, as you know, kept a gambling den and naturally my unfortunate cousin was a constant visitor at the house. One night whilst intoxicated with wine, she persuaded him to marry her, a clergyman being called in and a ceremony privately performed. He became entirely sober only after several days had passed, and then had entirely forgotten about the marriage. The scheming devil, Montalbon, did not remind him of it, but by patient work insidiously persuaded him that he should be a married man. She even suggested a bride, none other than my little sweetheart. Her object in this was twofold, money and revenge. By leading my cousin into a bigamous alliance, with her own marriage certificate as a weapon, she could readily extort money from him. Her revenge was to be against the family of my little sweetheart, against whom she thought she had a grievance. Her plotting was entirely successful. My cousin was handsome, I was away, and once he had become thoroughly acquainted with the young Creole's charms, he became so ardent a suitor, that at length she listened to his pleading and married him. Then he was in the power of the Montalbon, and she bled him for five years, by which time little Rose had been born.

"Meanwhile I had completed my college career, but had not returned to New Orleans because of my deep disappointment upon learning that my sweetheart had married another man. At this time I was in Paris, when one day I received a piteous letter from the girl-wife telling me that the blow had fallen, that the Montalbon had produced her marriage certificate and claimed her husband, thus dishonoring the daughter of her enemy. The letter also begged my forgiveness for the wrong done to me. I read between the lines and recognized the cry of a broken heart, the bleat of a lamb left to die on the frozen plain. I hurried home with but one thought uppermost, to have revenge upon my cousin. I arrived too late. Not only was the girl dead, but my cousin had disappeared.

"I heard that he had gone out West, and thither I followed him. I would get track of him from time to time, but it seemed fated always that he should have just left a place when I confidently expected to come up with him. Thus five years passed, and at last I did meet him. I at once charged him with his crime, and asked for revenge. He laughed at me and refused to fight. I then warned him that I should take his life at the first chance that offered, when I could do so either under seeming provocation, or else where I could not be suspected."

"Are you not admitting," interrupted Mr. Barnes, "that you harbored a murderous spirit?"

"Mr. Barnes, if all men were punished for their thoughts, the criminal class would be greatly enlarged. You cannot call me to account for anything except my acts. At last my chance came. I followed him one dark night as he went off prospecting in an entirely new direction; we were in a mining country. He tramped most of the night and I pursued. By dawn we were miles away from a habitation. I then made myself known to him, and once more asked him to fight it out. He saw that I was in earnest, and that he was simply compelled to battle for his life. Under these circumstances of course he fought, as the worst coward must do, when driven to desperation. He decided to use pistols, though I wished to try our cause with knives. I confess that I wanted the satisfaction of stabbing him again and again. I wanted to see his life's blood flow at each stroke. It seemed to me tame to stand off at a distance and send one little leaden ball in his direction. Still I admitted his right of choice, and determined to aim as accurately as possible and to send my bullet straight. You see I did not think of my own life. I had made this vengeance my one object, and after accomplishing that, I thought there would be nothing more for me to do. Consequently I expected to kill him easily, and I did not care if his bullet found my heart or not. Perhaps I hoped it would. Just as we were standing up and preparing to fight, something occurred that almost completely unnerved me and changed the whole result. He lowered his pistol and said:

"'Wait a moment; I have a favor to ask. I feel certain that you will kill me. You have been seeking my life so long, that I am sure you will get it. It is fate. But I too have suffered in the last five years. The favor that I ask is, that if I die you will promise to get my child out of that fiend's clutches.'

"'Your child,' I gasped. 'I thought it died.'

"'That was the Montalbon's lie. The little girl lived, and she took it. I have made a will in favor of my child, leaving her all my wealth; you will find it in my coat. Oddly enough, I named you as executor. I knew that you had loved the mother, though, as God is my judge, I did not know it when I married her. But I am ready if you are.'

"Thus we stood up and fired at each other. The startling news just received made my aim bad, for instead of hitting him in the heart, as I could easily have done, my bullet struck him in the head. He fell, and I rushed towards him, to discover whether he was badly hurt. He was bleeding profusely, and I hastily bandaged up the wound, and so stopped the flow of blood. I then went on to the next mining camp beyond. We returned with a litter, and took him back. There was a man amongst us who claimed that he had studied medicine, and he attended my cousin. He removed the bullet, and found that the wound was not very deep, but the skull was fractured. He was ill for two months, and then slowly recovered his health. But his reason was entirely gone. I took him to New Orleans and placed him in an asylum, and there he has been ever since."

"Very good, Mr. Mitchel," said Mr. Barnes. "But what proof have you that you are not the father, and the lunatic the innocent cousin, as so many believe?"

"Why, in the first place, though we had the same name, we are totally unlike in feature. I think Mr. Neuilly will admit that he would not have recognized me, and he knew the guilty man. However, we will take that up later. I have no fear of not proving my identity. Too many people in New Orleans know me. To continue my tale, I determined to get possession of the child. I knew that the Montalbon would resist, and that I would find it difficult to prove my story. More than all, I knew that I could not obtain legal possession of her without disclosing the secret of her birth, which I wished to avoid for her own sake, as well as for her mother's. I therefore stole her openly in the streets. Detectives were sent out to search for me, but perhaps Mr. Barnes will testify that I am not much afraid of detectives. Perhaps, too, he will understand better now why I know something about detective methods. I led them a dance for two years, until in disgust they abandoned the search. Then I went abroad, for I must tell you that as long as I was hounded I remained close at hand. I enjoyed the excitement. It made me forget, or at least it gave me occupation. I remained in Europe until my recent return to New York. It was not very long after that, when I received the letter from the Montalbon, and the photograph which I showed to you. I recognized the picture, though of course I should not have known the signature, which was Rose Mitchel. I did not fear the woman, but I expected some enjoyment at her discomfiture when I should tell her to do her worst. I was not prepared for what occurred. When she met me she began by saying:

"'I have not the least idea of attempting to blackmail you, though perhaps I could do that. But I have that to sell which I think you would be glad to buy.' I asked what it was, and she told me:

"'A certificate of marriage between your cousin and the child's mother. A certificate of marriage between him and myself, antedating that, and another certificate of marriage between myself and another man who was alive at the time that I inveigled your cousin into marrying me.'"

"Great heaven!" exclaimed Mr. Neuilly; "if she had those papers they would prove that her marriage to your cousin was illegal, and that would make the marriage to Rose's mother perfectly regular."

"Exactly so. I paid the woman ten thousand dollars, or the equivalent of that sum, for those documents. Were they not worth it?"

"Indeed, indeed they are. I would have given twice the sum."

"Now let me show you the audacity of the woman. She told me that in case I should refuse to pay her price, she intended to claim me as her husband, exhibiting her certificate, and leaving me to prove, if I could, that she had married my cousin and not myself. This, you see, would have been most unpleasant, and as the papers were well worth the price, in clearing the name of my cousin and his wife and child, I paid over the money."

"I must again ask you," said Mr. Barnes, "for proof that you are not the woman's husband."

"Does not the fact that she sold me those papers indicate that?"

"Not at all," replied the detective. "Supposing you to be really her husband, wishing to be married to Miss Remsen, you would readily pay the woman her price for the paper which proved that your marriage to her had been fraudulent. You might have found it difficult to prove the existence of her first husband without knowing his name, even though she had given you the hint that there was such a person."

"I declare, Mr. Barnes, you are a doubting Thomas. But I will give you one more bit of evidence." He went to his desk and returned with some papers. "Here is a confession which I exacted from the woman at the time that I made the bargain with her. You see, it confirms my story. But even that you might think manufactured. Here perhaps is better proof. This," handing it to Mr. Neuilly, "is the certificate of the marriage between my cousin and the Montalbon. As is sometimes done, you see, the woman has pasted the likenesses of herself and my cousin upon the paper. Now, Mr. Neuilly, I ask you, is not that the man who was known to you?"

"You are quite right, Mr. Mitchel. I recognize the face perfectly. This is the man I have all along supposed to be a consummate villain. Now I must confess that he was more sinned against than sinning. His one crime was drinking, and the entanglement which wrecked his wife's life and his own was but a wicked plot of which he was innocent. I am glad that it is so, as it leaves the dear little girl without the danger of hereditary taint."

"Come, Mr. Barnes," said Mr. Mitchel, "what have you to say now?"

Mr. Barnes's reply was calculated to startle his hearers, but seemed to have little effect. He said:

"Mr. Mitchel, who do you think killed Rose Mitchel?"

"I don't think I am bound to answer," replied Mr. Mitchel, quickly.

"I wish you a good-afternoon," said the detective, dryly. "Will you go with me, Mr. Neuilly?"

Before the old gentleman could reply Mrs. Mitchel interposed:

"Don't go, Mr. Neuilly. You have seen nothing of Rose yet, and besides we would like you to attend our reception to-night."

"Ha! Ha! Mr. Barnes! Is she not worthy of being my wife? She takes your witness away from you, for I think you will stay, will you not, Mr. Neuilly?"

"It will be a joy to do so. Mr. Barnes, under the circumstances I know you will excuse me, and forgive me, will you not?"

"Certainly. You are right to stay. I will leave you all to your happiness. And I hope it will last. Good-day," with which he left them.

"Really it is too bad," said Mr. Mitchel, "but these detectives are always so sanguine. Just think of it, Queen, he thinks, or he thought, perhaps, would be more correct, that you were a murderer's wife. What do you say, eh?"

For answer she kissed him gently on the forehead, and then went out and brought back Rose.