The Spiritualists and the Detectives
by Allan Pinkerton · English · Gutenberg #32007 · 555,262 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Spiritualists and the Detectives
Author: Allan Pinkerton
Release date: April 16, 2010 [eBook #32007]
Most recently updated: January 6, 2021
Language: English
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ALLAN PINKERTON'S
DETECTIVE STORIES.
***
VOL. V.
THE SPIRITUALISTS AND DETECTIVES.
ALLAN PINKERTON'S
GREAT DETECTIVE BOOKS.
***
1.--MOLLIE MAGUIRES AND DETECTIVES.
2.--STRIKERS, COMMUNISTS, AND DETECTIVES.
3.--CRIMINAL REMINISCENCES AND DETECTIVES.
4.--THE MODEL TOWN AND DETECTIVES.
5.--SPIRITUALISTS AND DETECTIVES.
6.--EXPRESSMAN AND DETECTIVES.
7.--THE SOMNAMBULIST AND DETECTIVES.
8.--CLAUDE MELNOTTE AS A DETECTIVE.
9.--MISSISSIPPI OUTLAWS AND DETECTIVES.
10.--GYPSIES AND DETECTIVES.
11.--BUCHOLZ AND DETECTIVES.
12.--THE RAILROAD FORGER AND DETECTIVES.
13.--BANK ROBBERS AND DETECTIVES.
14.--BURGLAR'S FATE AND DETECTIVES.
15.--A DOUBLE LIFE AND DETECTIVES.
***
These wonderful Detective Stories by Allan Pinkerton are
having an unprecedented success. Their sale far
exceeding one hundred thousand copies. "The
interest which the reader feels from the outset
is intense and resistless; he is swept along
by the narrative, held by it, whether
he will or no."
***
All beautifully illustrated, and published uniform with this
volume. Price $1.50 each. Sold by all booksellers, and
sent _free_ by mail, on receipt of price, by
G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers,
New York.
THE
SPIRITUALISTS
AND
THE DETECTIVES.
BY
ALLAN PINKERTON,
AUTHOR OF
"THE EXPRESSMAN AND THE DETECTIVE," "CLAUDE MELNOTTE AS
A DETECTIVE," "THE SOMNAMBULIST AND THE DETECTIVE,"
"THE MODEL TOWN AND THE DETECTIVES," ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
_G. W. Dillingham, Publisher_,
SUCCESSOR TO G. W. CARLETON & CO.
LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO.
MDCCCLXXXIX.
COPYRIGHTED, 1876, BY
ALLAN PINKERTON
TROW'S
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING CO.,
PRINTERS AND STEREOTYPERS,
_205-213 East 12th St._,
NEW YORK.
CONTENTS.
***
CHAPTER I.
"Kal'm'zoo!"-- The Home of the Nettletons.-- Lilly
Nettleton.-- A wild Heart and a burning Brain. 13
CHAPTER II.
The "Circuit-Rider."-- Mr. Pinkerton and these Gospel
Knights-Errant in the early Days.-- The Rev. Mr. Bland
appears.-- "And Satan came also!"-- A "charge" is
established.-- A Compact "where the golden maple-leaves
fall."-- Bland departs.-- "The scared form of a young
Woman steals away from her Home!" 19
CHAPTER III.
Lilly in Detroit.-- First and last Remorse.-- The reverend
Villain and his Victim enjoy the Hospitality of the
Michigan Exchange Hotel.-- A Scene.-- "Bland, am I to go
to your Mother's, as you promised?"-- The Clergyman(?)
"crazed."-- Everything, save Respectability.-- A Woman's
Will.-- And a Man's Cajolement. 27
CHAPTER IV.
Tells how the Rev. Mr. Bland preached a Funeral Sermon.--
Shows a dainty Cottage, holding more than the Neighbors
knew.-- Installs Lilly as a Clergyman's Mistress.--
Reverts to a Desolate Home.-- Introduces Dick Hosford, a
returned "Forty-Niner," who begins a despairing Search.--
And shows that unholy, as well as true Love, does not
always run smoothly. 33
CHAPTER V.
Reckless Fancies.-- The "Cursed Church Interests."-- Bland's
"little Bird" becomes a busy Bird.-- Merges into a great
Raven of the Night.-- Gathers together Valuables.-- And
while a folded Handkerchief lies across the Clergyman's
Face, steals away into the Storm and the Night.-- Gone!--
"Are ye all dead in there?"-- Drifting together.-- "Don't
give the Gal that Ticket!"-- A great-hearted Man.-- The
Rev. Bland officiates at a Wedding.-- Competence and
Contentment. 39
CHAPTER VI.
Mr. Pinkerton is called upon.-- Mr. Harcout, a
ministerial-looking Man, with an After-dinner Voice,
appears.-- A Case with a Woman in it, as is usually
the case.-- Mr. Pinkerton hesitates.-- An anxious
Millionaire. 47
CHAPTER VII.
In Council.-- Mr. Lyon the Millionaire, with Mr. Harcout the
Adventurer and Adviser, appear together.-- How Mr. Lyon
became Mrs. Winslow's Victim.-- "Our blessed Faith" and
the Woman's strange Power.-- A Tender Subject.-- Deep
Games.-- A One Hundred Thousand Dollar Suit for Breach
of Promise of Marriage.-- A good deal of Money.-- All
liable to err.-- A most magnificent Woman.-- The "Case"
taken. 55
CHAPTER VIII.
The Case begun.-- Mr. Pinkerton makes a preliminary
Investigation at Rochester.-- Mrs. Winslow, Trance
Medium.-- A Ride to Port Charlotte.-- Harcout as a
Barnacle.-- Much married.-- Mr. Pinkerton visits the
Mediums.-- Drops in at a Washington Hall Meeting.-- Sees
the naughty Woman.-- And returns to New York convinced
that the Spiritualistic Adventuress is a Woman of
remarkable Ability. 65
CHAPTER IX.
"Our Case."-- Harcout's Egotism and Interference.-- The
strange Chain of Evidence.-- A Trail of Spiritualism,
Lust, and Licentiousness.-- Superintendent Bangs locates
the Detectives.-- A pernicious System.-- Three Old Maids
named Grim.-- Mr. Bangs baffled by Mr. Lyon, who won't be
"worried."-- One Honest Spiritualistic Doctor.-- The Trail
secured.-- A Tigress.-- Mr. Bangs "goes West." 75
CHAPTER X.
Rochester.-- A Profitable Field for Mrs. Winslow.-- Her
sumptuous Apartments.-- The Detectives at Work.-- Mrs.
Winslow's Cautiousness.-- Child-Training.-- Mysterious
Drives.-- A dapper little Blond Gentleman.-- Two Birds
with one Stone.-- A French Divinity.-- Le Compte. 87
CHAPTER XI.
The Half-way House.-- A jolly German Landlord.-- Detective
Fox runs down Le Compte.-- A "Positive, Prophetic, Healing
and Trance Medium."-- Harcout the Adviser reappears, and
is anxious lest Mr. Lyon be drawn into some terrible
Confession.-- Mr. Pinkerton decides to know more about Le
Compte.-- And with the harassed Mr. Lyon interviews him.--
Treachery and Blackmail.-- "A much untractable Man."--
Light shines upon Mrs. Winslow.-- Another Man.-- Mr.
Pinkerton mad. 98
CHAPTER XII.
The Raven of the Detroit Cottage in another Character.-- Mrs.
Winslow yearns for a retired Montreal Banker.-- Love's
Rivalry.-- A mysterious Note.-- The Response.-- Another
Trip to Port Charlotte by four Hearts that beat as one.--
What Mr. Pinkerton, as one of the party, sees and hears.--
"Jones of Rochester."-- Le Compte and Mrs. Winslow resolve
to fly to Paris, "the magnificent, the beautiful, the
sublime!"-- "My God, are they all that way?" 114
CHAPTER XIII.
Mr. Pinkerton again interviews Le Compte.-- And very much
desires to wring his Neck.-- A Bargain and Sale.-- Le
Compte's Story-- "Little by Little, Patience by
Patience."-- A Toronto Merchant in Mrs. Winslow's Toils.--
Detective Bristol, "the retired Banker," in Clover.--
Tabitha, Amanda, and Hannah individually and
collectively woo him.-- Ancient Maidens full of Soul.--
A Signal. 128
CHAPTER XIV.
Mr. Bangs on the Trail in the West.-- Terre Haute and its
Spiritualists.-- Mrs. Deck's Boarding-house.-- The
Nettleton Family broken up.-- Back at the Michigan
Exchange.-- Mother Blake's Recital.-- Through Chicago to
Wisconsin.-- A disheartening Story.-- The practical result
of Spiritualism. 141
CHAPTER XV.
A Chicago Divorce "Shyster."-- Hosford found.-- His pathetic
Narrative.-- More Facts. 151
CHAPTER XVI.
Mrs. Winslow's Signal answered.-- She endeavors to win
Bristol, and shows that they are "Affinities."-- Detective
Fox mystified.-- An Evening with the One fair Woman.--
Closer Intimacies.-- A Journey proposed.-- Detective
Bristol as a Lover. 162
CHAPTER XVII.
Careful Work.-- Bristol's Trick on the Bell-boy at Queen's
Hotel, Toronto.-- The old Merchant.-- In the Toils.-- A
Face at the Transom.-- A cowardly Puppet before a brazen
Adventuress.-- The Horrors of Blackmail.-- "Furnished
Rooms to Rent." 175
CHAPTER XVIII.
Harcout again.-- "Things going slow."-- A Bit of personal
History.-- A new Tenant.-- Detective Generalship.--
Mrs. Winslow fears she is watched.-- Mr. Pinkerton
cogitates. 186
CHAPTER XIX.
Mrs. Winslow becomes confidential.-- Some of her Exploits.--
Her Plans.-- A Sample of Legal Pleading.-- A fishy
Story.-- The Adventuress as a Somnambulist.-- Detective
Bristol virtuously indignant.-- Failing to win the
"Retired Banker," Mrs. Winslow assails Detective Fox with
her Charms. 197
CHAPTER XX.
A Female Spiritualist's Ideas of Political and Social
Economy.-- The Weaknesses of Judges.-- Legal Acumen of the
Adventuress.-- An unfriendly Move.-- Harcout attacked.--
Lilly Nettleton and the Rev. Mr. Bland again together.-- A
Whirlwind. 209
CHAPTER XXI.
Mrs. Winslow, under the Influence of "Spirits" of an earthly
Order, becomes romantic, religious, and poetical.-- A
Trance.-- Detective Bristol also proves a Poet.-- A Drama
to be written. 220
CHAPTER XXII.
Mr. Pinkerton decides to favor Mrs. Winslow with a Series of
Annoyances.-- The mysterious Package.-- The Detectives
labor under well-merited Suspicion.-- "My God! what's
that?"-- The deadly Phial.-- This Time a Mysterious Box.--
Its suggestive Contents.-- "The Thing she was."-- Tabitha,
Amanda, and Hannah assaulted.-- A Punch and Judy
Show. 230
CHAPTER XXIII.
Cast down.-- "Trifles."-- A charitable Offering.--
Dreariness.-- Going Crazy.-- An interrupted Seance.-- A
new Form of the Devil.-- The Red-herring Expedition and
its Result.-- A mad Dutchman.-- Desolation.-- An order
for a Coffin.-- The sympathizing Undertaker, Mr.
Boxem. 244
CHAPTER XXIV.
Breaking up.-- Doubts and Queries.-- Suspected
Developments.-- The Detectives completely outwitted.-- On
the Trail again.-- From Rochester to St. Louis.-- A
prophetic Hotel Clerk.-- More Detectives and more Need for
them.-- Lightning Changes. 269
CHAPTER XXV.
Still foiled.-- Mr. Pinkerton perplexed over the Character of
the Adventuress.-- Her wonderful recuperative Powers.-- A
lively Chase.-- Another unexpected Move.-- The Detectives
beaten at every Point.-- From Town to Town.-- Mrs.
Winslow's Shrewdness.-- Among the Spiritualists at Terre
Haute.-- Plotting.-- The beautiful Belle Ruggles.-- A wild
Night in a ramshackle old Boarding-House.-- Blood-curdling
"Manifestations."-- Moaning and weeping for Day.--
Outwitted again.-- Mr. Pinkerton makes a chance
Discovery.-- Success. 285
CHAPTER XXVI.
Shows how Mrs. Winslow makes a new Move.-- Also introduces
the famous Evalena Gray, Physical Spiritual Medium, at her
sumptuous Apartments on West Twenty-first Street, New
York.-- Reminds the Reader of the Aristocratic Classes
deluded by Spiritualism.-- Describes a Seance and explains
the "Rope-trick," and other Spiritualistic Sleight-of-hand
Performances. 307
CHAPTER XXVII.
After the Seance.-- Daddy, the "Accommodation Husband."-- The
two fascinating Swindlers in Council.-- Miss Evalena's
European Career.-- How the Millionaire Brewer was baited
and played with.-- A Bit of Criminal History.-- A choice
Pair.-- Mrs. Winslow's Aspirations and Resolves. 326
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Mrs. Winslow demonstrates her Legal Ability.-- The "Breach of
Promise Trial."-- A grand Rally of the Spiritualistic
Friends of the Adventuress.-- The Jury disagree.-- Mrs.
Winslow convicted at St. Louis of Common Barratry.-- An
honest Judge's Rebuke.-- A new Trial.-- The Spiritualistic
Swindler overthrown.-- Remorse and Wretchedness. 341
PREFACE.
I wish to anticipate any adverse criticism that may be made upon the
following pages, by being as frank with the public as I trust the
critics will be fair with me.
Therefore I must say at the beginning that I expect many well-meaning
people to differ with me as to the propriety of giving this book to the
public; but I am exceedingly hopeful that that difference will not
amount to a serious condemnation. Nor can I think it will when I
earnestly assert that I have caused its publication out of as honest a
motive as I ever possessed; and I am sure that whatever the American
people have come to think of me in other respects, they are pretty
certain of my honesty.
The incidents related are true, though, out of a proper regard for my
patrons and many who do not sustain that relation, but who unavoidably
become identified in numberless ways with my operations in ferreting out
crime and criminals, I have deemed it best to locate the story in a city
several hundred miles from the place where the occurrences really
transpired, and, for the same reason, have given the characters
fictitious names; but the incidents are exact parallels of the original
facts, and in many cases are literal transcripts of, while in every
instance they agree with, the records of the case as minutely reported
during its progress.
By way of further explanation, I desire to remind my readers how very
difficult it is for those not familiar with the detective business to
realize the masses of iniquity we are often obliged to unearth,
unpalatable as the work may be and is. But while, from the nature of my
business, my records are necessarily so exhaustive, and have been made
so thoroughly minute, as to contain simply everything, good or bad,
regarding an operation, and are, therefore, as records, reliable and
true--though they thus become repositories of much that is vile--I have
striven in every instance, while relating the truth and nothing but the
truth, to speak of unpleasant things in as delicate a manner as
possible, and in a way which, while plain enough to convey with proper
force and directness the moral lessons that these developments cannot
fail to impress upon the minds of all readers, might still leave no
unclean thought behind them; and the only sense in which a charge that
my "Detective Stories" were in any respect untrue might be sustained,
would be in the fact that I have in numberless instances, for the very
good reason mentioned, told immeasurably less, and never more, than the
whole truth.
I make no assumption of having given in this book an exhaustive _exposé_
of modern spiritualism, and I wish it as well remembered that I have no
more prejudice against the good there is in that ism than I have
against the good there is in any other ism; but my experience with these
people, which has been large, has invariably been against their honesty
or social purity.
So far as there being anything about Spiritualism to compel awe or
attract any but weak-minded or "weak-moraled" people, the assumption is
simply absurd; for the few illustrations given in the following pages
will show how utterly preposterous the claim of supernatural power is,
as applied to the _cause_ of these "manifestations," which are not, in
themselves, first-class tricks, but which, when made mysterious and
enshrouded with the element of superstitious fear--which all of us in
some measure possess--lead crowds of inconsiderate people into unusual
eccentricities, if not eventually into insane asylums, as in some
painful instances of which the public are already well aware.
In my exceptionally strange avocation I have been enabled to view this
entire matter from the side which the public cannot reach--the side
where the fraud of it all is so apparent that it becomes disgustingly
monotonous and common; and as a matter of duty to those who are half
inclined to accept Spiritualism as a divine revelation and blessed
experience, I have given but a single case--a sample of hundreds of
others--which illustrates the despicable character of many, if not a
majority, of Spiritualism's public champions and private disciples; only
adding that in this instance the picture does not show a thousandth part
of the hideousness of the original.
The Judge Williams mentioned as having presided at Batavia, N. Y., is
no myth, but an eminent jurist at present sitting upon the bench of one
of the most important courts in the country. He has not only furnished a
copy of his scathing remarks to the Winslow-Lyon jury upon their
disagreement, as related, but will vouch for the correctness of much of
this narrative, as most of the facts mentioned came under his personal
observation.
I have given them to the public trusting they will fill some good place
in the world, and assist in removing from the minds of those who are
occupying the debatable ground regarding the question of the genuineness
of Spiritualism and Spiritualistic "manifestations" the superstitious
fear and the sensuous fascination which have heretofore bound and held
them.
ALLAN PINKERTON.
CHICAGO, January, 1877.
THE SPIRITUALISTS
AND
THE DETECTIVES.
***
CHAPTER I.
"Kal'm'zoo!"-- The Home of the Nettletons.-- Lilly
Nettleton.-- A wild Heart and a burning Brain.
Most commercial and uncommercial travellers filling the swift shuttles
of transit between the East and the West will remember that while
passing through Michigan, over the Central road, the brakeman has
shrieked the legend "Kal'm'zoo!" at them as the train rushed into one of
the prettiest little cities in the country. There is nothing
particularly picturesque about Kalamazoo, unless the wondering face of
some harmless lunatic, on parole from the Asylum which stands so
gloomily among the hills beyond the town, the solemn visage of some
Baptist University student, who with his toast, tea and Thucydides, has
become grave and attenuated, or the plump form of some "seminary girl"
who _will_ look at the incoming trains, and flout her handkerchief too,
in spite of parents, principals, and all the proprieties, and the
ordinary ebb and flow of the life of a stirring provincial town, may be
so considered. Neither is there anything particularly interesting about
Kalamazoo, save its native, quiet beauty. It meets life easily, and,
like a happily-disposed tradesman, takes its full measure of traffic and
enjoyment with undisturbed tranquillity, cultivating neat yards and
streets, the social graces, and occasionally the arts, with a lazy sort
of satisfaction that is pleasant to look upon and contemplate.
Standing at any street-corner of the city, you will see wide avenues of
fine business houses or elegant residences, and, where the latter, a
wealth of neatly-trimmed shrubbery, and long lines of overarching maple
trees merging into pretty vistas which seem to invite you beyond to the
beautiful hills, uplands and valleys, with their murmuring streams,
sloping farms and well-kept homes, where both plenty and contentment
seem to be waiting to give you a right hearty welcome.
About twenty-five years ago, when the country was much newer, and the
sturdy farmers that have made this great West blossom so magically until
it has become the whole world's storehouse, were held closely to their
arduous work by the hard hand of necessity and toil, a few miles up the
river from the then little village of Kalamazoo might have been seen a
comfortable log farm-house which nestled within a pretty ravine sloping
down to the banks of the lazily-flowing stream. It was a plain, homely
sort of a place, but there was an air of thrift and cleanliness about
the locality that told of earnest toil and its sure reward.
The farm was of that character generally described as "openings;" here a
clump of oak, beech, and maple trees, there a rich stretch of
meadow-land; beyond, a series of hills extending to the uplands, the
bases of which were girted with groves, and whose summits were composed
of a warm, rich, stony loam, where the golden seas of ripening grain,
touched by passing zephyrs, waved and shimmered in the glowing summer
sun; while where the river wound along towards the villages below, there
was a dense growth of elm, maple, and beech trees, standing there dark
and sombre, save where the glintings of sunlight pierced their foliaged
armor, like grim sentinels of the centuries.
This was the home of Robert Nettleton, a plain and uneducated farmer,
who had several years before removed from the East with his family, and
with them was slowly accumulating a competence for his declining days.
Robert Nettleton's family consisted of himself, his wife, and their
three children. He was looked upon by his neighbors as somewhat erratic
and strange, being repelling in his manner, and at times sullen and
reticent. He went about his duties in a severe way, and at all times
compelled the strictest obedience from each member of his family. On the
contrary, his wife was a meek-eyed little woman, patient and
long-suffering, and was looked upon in the neighborhood as a nonentity
from her unresisting, broken-down demeanor, save in times of sickness
and trouble, when she was immediately in great demand, as she had little
to say, but much to do, and had an effective method of noiseless, tender
watching and nursing at command, which was at all times ungrudgingly
employed.
The children consisted of one boy and two girls, the eldest of whom, now
in her eighteenth year, little dreamed of the despicable commotion she
was to create in after-life, and was the reigning belle of the
community, though she always kept the country bumpkins at a respectful
distance and was feared by fully as many as she was admired, from her
impetuous, imperious ways, that brooked no opposition or hinderance. One
would have to travel a long distance to find a more attractive figure
and face than those possessed by this country girl. She was somewhat
above the medium height, a living model for a Venus, supple and lithe as
the willows that grew upon the banks of the winding stream, and so
physically powerful that she had already gained some notoriety among her
acquaintances through having soundly shaken the pedagogue of the
district school, and afterwards pitched him through the window into an
adjacent snow-drift, where he had remained buried to his middle, his
legs wildly waving signals of distress, until she had just as
impulsively released him.
Although somewhat strange and unusual, her features, while not
strikingly beautiful, were still singularly attractive. Her head, which
was large and seemingly well provided with faculties of quick
perception, was covered with a wondrous wealth of black hair, so heavy
and luxurious as to be almost unmanageable, and which, when not in
restraint, fell about her form, hiding it completely, nearly to her
feet. Her forehead was full and prominent, while her eyes, large and
rather deeply set, and fringed with heavy lashes, were of that peculiar
gray color which at times may be touched by all shades, while a trace of
blue always predominates. There was nothing worth remarking about other
portions of her face, save that, critically examined, too much of it
seemed to have got into her chin, and her upper lip had a strange habit
of hugging her brilliantly white teeth too closely, and then curling
upward before meeting the lower one, where sometimes crimson and ashy
paleness played like quick and cruel lightning, a key to the slumbering
devils within her. At these times, too, there was a certain light in her
eyes that an observing person would feel a peculiar dread of awakening,
though usually her face showed a complete repose, and it would have been
difficult to decide whether she was a very ordinary or a very
extraordinary character.
Still, with her magnificent figure and strangely attractive face, she
was a young woman to strongly draw just two classes of men towards
her--students of character and students of form. The first she
invariably disappointed and repelled, always awakening the indefinable
dread I have mentioned, while her presence among the latter class as
swiftly opened the floodgates of passion to swiftly sweep the better
nature and all good resolves before it. So, with her peculiarly
unfortunate construction, it is not strange that, on arriving at that
period of life when the almost omnipotent power of a self-willed woman
begins to develop and hint at the possibilities beyond the threshold of
the strange life her inexperienced feet had just reached, Lilly
Nettleton should have felt an oppressive sense of littleness in the
quiet community in which she lived, and experienced a burning desire to
cast these humble associations from her, to compel admiration and
conquer whoever and whatever she might meet in the wide, wide world
beyond.
CHAPTER II.
The "Circuit-Rider."-- Mr. Pinkerton and these Gospel
Knights-Errant in the early Days.-- The Rev. Mr. Bland
appears.-- "And Satan came also!"-- A "charge" is
established.-- A Compact "where the golden maple-leaves
fall."-- Bland departs.-- "The scared form of a young
Woman steals away from her Home!"
During the summer the presiding elder of the Kalamazoo district decided
to bid for the benighted souls that dwelt in Mr. Nettleton's
neighborhood, and made arrangements to "supply" the school-house at the
corners where Lilly had distinguished herself in giving the schoolmaster
a cold bath in the snow-bank, with circuit-riders, or with young
clergymen who had just graduated and were supposed to be in training for
more extended fields of labor.
At that time the system of salvation as carried on by the Methodist
Church--which must certainly be credited with a vast amount of push and
energy in furthering its peculiar plan of redemption--outside of the
large cities was almost exclusively one which necessitated the
employment of circuit-riders, as they were then called, and are now
called in some portions of the extreme west. They were usually men of
great suavity of manner, personal bravery, unbounded zeal, and
remarkable religious enthusiasm. They trusted principally in the Lord,
but also placed implicit confidence in the extraordinary hospitality of
the plain pioneer people with whom they came in contact, who, if not
prepared to accept everything told them, responded to their strenuous
efforts for their salvation by an unqualified welcome; so that the
appearance of the circuit-rider, or "supply," was not only cause for
unusual Bible catechism and hymn reading, but also a signal for culinary
preparations on a grand scale, to which, as a rule, the hen-roost
materially contributed.
Time and time again, in the early days, have I journeyed with these
Gospel Knights-errant, listening to their interesting adventures, almost
as strange as my own, and their simple tales of blessed experiences;
often tarrying with them at their "stations," and for some good purpose,
best known to myself, joining in their efforts to sow seed meet unto
repentance as we crossed the beautiful streams and broad prairies of
Illinois; and as we journeyed along so pleasantly together the thought
that my comrade was giving his whole life to the work of saving sin-sick
souls, while mine was as irrevocably devoted to bringing many of them to
summary justice, has flashed across my mind with such startling force,
that the dramatic nature of the life we live was presented to me more
powerfully than I have since seen it shown before the footlights of any
of the grandest theatres of the world.
As the Nettleton family had belonged to that church in the East, and had
also attended service at the village when the roads and weather were
favorable, they were, of course, leaders in the plan to secure
"meetings" nearer home; and when the good brother made his appearance
one pleasant autumn Saturday afternoon, as was natural, he directed his
faithful Rozinante to the comfortable log-house by the river, where both
it and its reverend rider were given a genuine welcome.
The new preacher was none of your soiled, worked-out, toiling
itinerants. He was a young clergyman, scarcely thirty years old, and
just from college; tall, well-formed, with a florid, smoothly-shaven
face, and plenty of hair and hallelujah about him. He could tell you all
about the stars, and just as easily point out the merits or demerits in
your plate of mutton or porter-house; and, being of this tropical
nature, if there were two things above any other two things in life for
which he had a penchant, they were a spirited nag and a spirited woman.
In fact, he had accepted the ministry just the same as he would have
accepted any other profession, merely as a makeshift, and had submitted
to being ground through the theological mill, and afterwards to this
backwoods breaking-in process, simply because his widowed mother, a
Detroit lady, was immensely pious and also immensely wealthy; and if he
should become a noted minister, he would get all her property, which
otherwise would go to the good cause direct, but which, once in his
hands, would enable him to gratify his elegant tastes and do as he
pleased generally.
So, being a thorough judge of women, he was at once more interested in
Lilly Nettleton than in the welfare of the souls of the Nettleton
neighborhood; and after a bountiful supper had been disposed of, and
the family were gathered upon the verandah for a pleasant chat with the
minister in the long, hazy September sunset, and the Rev. Mr. Bland--for
that was the young clergyman's name--had flattered Mr. Nettleton on the
merits of his pretty farm, Mrs. Nettleton upon her elegant cooking, and
the younger children upon their various degrees of perfection, he passed
directly to the subject which most occupied his mind, and in a
patronizing way, evidently with a view of attracting Lilly's attention
without arousing the suspicions of her honest parents, said:
"By the way, Mr. Nettleton, your beautiful daughter here--ah, what may I
call her? thank you, Lilly; and a very appropriate name, too--is the
perfect image of a very dear friend of ours--my mother's and my own--in
Detroit."
There was certainly a flush on Lilly's face deeper than could have been
put there by the red glow of the setting sun. Mr. Bland did not fail to
notice it either; and as there was no response to his remark, he
continued, occasionally glancing at Lilly, who, though apparently only
interested in her needle-work, drank in every word that fell from the
reverend gentleman's lips.
"In fact," said the minister, "the resemblance is quite striking, though
I really think your daughter Lilly is the finer-looking of the
two--indeed, has quite an intellectual face, and would, I am sure, make
a thorough student."
"But she won't go to school here," interrupted Mr. Nettleton; while the
strange light came into Lilly's eyes and the crimson and ashy paleness
played upon the curled lips.
"But, Brother Nettleton, you must remember that we are not all similarly
created. The world must have its hewers of wood and drawers of water,
but it must also have its grand minds to direct----"
"I can do all the directin' necessary here," bluntly persisted Mr.
Nettleton.
"Of course, of course," pleasantly continued Mr. Bland, talking _at_
Lilly, though answering her father; "but I hope Lilly can some time have
those advantages which would certainly cause her to shine in
society----"
"And despise her home!" said Mr. Nettleton, bitterly.
The storm was still playing fiercely over Lilly's face, and her heaving
bosom told how hard a struggle was necessary to restrain her from then
and there saying or doing some reckless thing, and then rushing away
into the woods and the night to escape the restraint that set so heavily
upon her imperious spirit.
"No, I think not," replied Mr. Bland soothingly. "I am a pretty good
judge of human nature, though a young man, and am sure that Lilly has a
kind heart and will prove a blessing to your later years. Our dear
Detroit friend was also a little spirited, but she is now one of the
leaders of Sunday-school and church society, and is much sought
after--yes, much sought after," repeated Mr. Bland slowly, as he saw its
effect upon Lilly.
The clergyman's good opinion of their daughter made the simple parents
really happy; but she knew as well as he what it was all said for, and
she already hated the flippant Mr. Bland, for her quick woman's
instinct--they never reason--had analyzed him thoroughly. But her heart
throbbed at the idea of being considered "fine-looking," and her brain
burned with the desire to also become "sought after." Yes, young and
inexperienced as she was, she was old in the crime of impure thought and
unbridled ambition, and was ready to lend herself to any scheme, however
questionable, that might offer release, or give promise of the
gratification of her passion for notoriety, and ruling or ruining
anything with which she came in contact.
After this the evening passed pleasantly to the old people, who, after a
time, went into the house to attend to their several duties; and also to
the young people, Mr. Bland and Lilly, who, without any effort on the
part of either, had arrived at a thorough understanding--so much so,
indeed, that when the voice of Mr. Nettleton was heard apprising Mr.
Bland that he would show him to his room whenever he desired to retire,
he quietly stepped near to where Lilly was sitting in the weird
moonlight, and taking her pretty, warm hand within his own, said
rapidly, but in a low voice:
"My dear Lilly, I have a deep interest in you; your people cannot
understand it, and, should they know it, would only suspect me, and
watch and restrain you. _Make_ an opportunity for us to be together
alone. I will remain until you accomplish it; and--" Mr. Nettleton's
step was now heard in the hall--"quick, Lilly! do we understand each
other?"
She gave him a look that would have withered any but a lecherous
villain as he was; but he met it in kind, as she whispered "Yes!" and
added, disengaging herself as Bland stealthily stepped back and
carelessly leaned against the door:
"What book did you say?"
"Ah, yes--'hem! 'Young's Night Thoughts.' It is a pure book, and would
not only cultivate your mind, but aid you in the common duties of life.
I will send it to you, and you can read it aloud to your parents. I know
they will enjoy it too! Ha! Mr. Nettleton, excuse me Lilly, of course
you will join us at prayers?"
She had been taught her first lesson, was an apt scholar, too; and as
the man of God on his bended knees prayed that all blessings might
descend upon this happy home, however much his cursed soul might have
been stung by the devilish hypocrisy of the hour, there was not a pang
of remorse in her heart for the bold step she knew she had taken.
Lilly did not attend service at the school-house on Sabbath, and made
her appearance but once or twice during the day, feigning illness; but
on Monday she was about the house fresh and rosy as ever, and the first
opportunity that offered suggested to Bland the propriety of asking her
out for a boat-ride on the river, which he did in the afternoon during
Mr. Nettleton's absence, his meek wife thinking it a great honor to the
family, and in her poor mother's heart, no doubt, praying that the good
man might so soften her proud daughter's heart that she might be
bettered, and eventually led to the source of all good.
Whether he did or not, if the reader of this book could have followed
the couple up the winding river to a secluded spot where the golden
maple-leaves fell upon the stream and were borne away in silence,
whatever of mad passion or reckless guilt might have been discovered,
just before they stepped into the boat to float with the tide back to
the dishonored home, a certain Rev. Mr. Bland might have been seen
placing in Lilly Nettleton's shameless hand a roll of bills, and heard
to say to the same person:
"Be sure, now--next Sunday night. Row down to Kalamazoo in this boat,
and take the late night train for Detroit. Go to the Michigan Exchange
Hotel, where I will meet you Monday evening!"
So the little neighborhood had had its "religious supply," but had also
had its loss; for, as the weird moonlight of the next Sunday evening
fell upon the quiet log farm-house, built strange forms among the
moaning, almost leafless trees, and pictured upon the river's bosom a
thousand ghostly figures, the scared form of a young woman stole away
from her home, glided to the murmuring stream, sprang into the little
boat, and was borne away to the hell of her future just as noiselessly
but just as resistlessly as the river itself pushed onward to the great
lakes, and was swept from thence to the ultimate, all-absorbing sea!
CHAPTER III.
Lilly in Detroit.-- First and last Remorse.-- The reverend
Villain and his Victim enjoy the Hospitality of the
Michigan Exchange Hotel.-- A Scene.-- "Bland, am I to go
to your Mother's, as you promised?"-- The Clergyman(?)
"crazed."-- Everything, save Respectability.-- A Woman's
Will-- And a Man's Cajolement.
To the imagination of the wayward country girl Detroit was a great city,
and as she was whirled into the depot, where she saw the rushing river
beyond, and was hustled hither and thither by the clamorous cabmen, a
sense of giddiness came upon her, and for the first, and undoubtedly
last time, she yearned for the quiet of the old log farm-house by the
pleasant river.
Perhaps the old forms and faces called to her imploringly, pleading with
her, as only the simple things of home, however plain and commonplace,
can plead with the wandering one; and in a swift, agonized longing for
the restfulness which the meanest virtue gives, but which had forever
fled from her, the thought, if not the words:
"Of all sad words of tongue or pen
The saddest are these: It might have been"--
sped through her mind in a pitiful way; but just as she had almost
resolved to return to her parents, ask their forgiveness, and disclose
the character of the reverend villain, a man approached her, who,
saying he was "from Bland," conducted her to a carriage in waiting and
conveyed her to the Michigan Exchange Hotel, where she was fictitiously
registered, and the clerk informed that her brother would call for her
in the evening.
She had been assigned a very pretty room, elegantly furnished, and the
windows gave her a view of the river and the shipping, with Windsor and
the bluff hills of Canada beyond. It was all beautiful and wonderful to
her--the hotel a palace, the river, with its great steamers, vessels,
and ferries--a fairy scene; and Windsor, with the broken country beyond,
all covered by the soft, blue, gossamer veil of early autumn--a
beautiful dream!
With her thoroughly unprincipled nature there was a lazy sort of
enjoyment in all this; and when her dinner was brought to her room, as
had been previously ordered by the hackman, and she was gingerly served
by an ordinarily nimble waiter, but who took every possible occasion to
illustrate the fact that he was cultivated and she was not, she received
the attention in as dignified a manner as though born to rule, and had
been accustomed to the service of menials from infancy.
The afternoon wore away, and as the gas-lights began to flare out upon
the city, a gentle tap was heard at her door, and a moment after, before
an invitation to enter had been given, the oily Bland slid into Lilly's
apartment, closed the door after him, and turned the key in the lock.
Then he walked right over to where Lilly was sitting upon the sofa, and
took her in his arms, saying:
"Well, I see my dearest Lilly has kept her word."
She allowed him to fondle her just long enough to dare to repel him
gently, and answered:
"After what passed by the river, I could not do otherwise than keep my
word. Yes, your 'dearest Lilly' has kept her word. And what now, Mr.
Bland?"
Seeing that she was disposed to ask leading questions, he changed the
subject laughingly.
"Why, some supper, of course," and immediately rang the bell, ordering
of the servant, who appeared directly, a sumptuous spread, not
forgetting a bottle of wine.
During the preparation of the meal Lilly stepped to the window, and
pressing her restless face against the panes, seemed intently regarding
the dancing lights upon the broad river, while Bland whistled softly,
and warmed his delicate, pliable hands at the coals in the fireplace,
which gave to the chilly evening a pleasant, cheery glow. Suddenly she
stepped close to him, leaned her head in her left hand, her elbow
resting upon the marble mantel, while with her right hand she firmly
grasped his shoulder. She then said, in a quiet, determined way:
"Bland, am I to go to your mother's, as you promised?"
[Illustration: _"Bland, am I to go to your mother's as you
promised?"--_]
She said this in such a resolute, icy way, and her hand rested upon his
shoulder so heavily, that, for the first time, he looked at her as if
satisfied that he had a beautiful tigress in keeping, and it might
possibly require supreme will force to control her.
"No, Lilly, you will not go to my mother's."
"Then I will go home."
"You will not go home. You will remain here."
"Bland, no person on God's earth shall say 'will' to me. That is just as
certain as the course of that river!" and her long, trembling forefinger
swept towards the rushing stream.
The appearance of the waiter with supper quieted the conversation, which
was becoming stormy, and it was only resumed when Bland saw that Lilly
was mellowing under the influence of the wine, which thrilled through
her veins, pushing the rich, healthy blood to her cheeks, and lighting
her great gray eyes with a wonderful lustre. It could not be said that
he loved the girl, but he had a mad passion for her which was simply
overwhelming at these times when, untutored and uncultivated as she was,
she became truly queenly in appearance.
It was a dainty little supper served upon a dainty little table, and
they were sitting very closely together, and Bland, after feasting his
eyes upon her magnificent form for a time, drew her into his arms
impulsively, kissing her again and again, calling her endearing names,
and promising her everything that could come to the tongue of a talented
man made wild by wine and a woman.
"Lilly, you have crazed me--ruined me!" he said, excitedly. "You know
what I profess to be--a Christian minister! God forgive me for my cursed
weakness, but you have me in your power!"
Although her face rested against his, and their hot cheeks burned
together, the old wicked light gleamed in her eyes, and the crimson and
ashy paleness played upon the curled lip. If it all could have been seen
by the reverend gentleman, it would have sobered him. The words "in your
power" had flung the lightning into Lilly Nettleton's face. Power,
power, power! No matter how secured; no matter what the result. The very
word maddened her, made a scheming devil of her, but also made her ready
for any proposition Bland might offer, as it swiftly came into her mind
that the deeper she sank with him the greater would be her power over
him.
"Well?" she said, reassuringly.
"'Well?'--I am at your mercy. A knowledge of what has passed between us
would be my ruin; your ruin also. We have done what cannot be undone;
yes," he continued passionately, and drawing her closer to him, "what I
would not undo!"
"Well?" It was tenderly said, and gave him courage.
"I am rich, or will be, Lilly."
"If you are careful," she added with a light laugh.
"Exactly. I can do a great deal for you, and will----"
"Conditionally?"
"Yes, conditionally. The conditions are that you live quietly at an
elegant place to which we will shortly be driven. You will be mistress
of the place; that is, you will have everything you can desire----"
"Save respectability, Mr. Bland?"
She was shrewder than he--in fact, his master already; but hinted at
the sale of her soul so heartlessly that it shocked even him.
"You had 'respectability' at home, Lilly; and," glancing at her plain
garments, which were a burlesque upon her beautiful figure, "and old
clothes, and surveillance, and restraint, and----"
"Bland," she said, springing to her feet with such violence as to send
him sprawling to the floor, from which he stared in amazement at her
magnificent form, which trembled like a leaf, while the wicked lightning
gleamed from her eyes, and swift shuttles of color flashed back and
forth upon her lips; "Bland, be careful! Never speak to me again of the
meanness of my home. The meanness of your black heart is a million times
greater. You have something more than a country girl to deal with, sir;
you have a woman and a woman's will. It is enough that I have sold my
body and soul for what you can, or might, give me. I bargained for no
contempt; and, Bland," she continued, advancing towards him fiercely as
he regained his feet and retreated from her in dismay, "as sure as there
is a heaven, and as sure as there ought to be a hell for such as we, if
you begin it, I will kill you! Yes," she hissed, "I will kill you!" and
then, woman-like, having passed the climax of feeling and expression,
she threw herself on the bed for a good cry, while Bland, with wine and
words and countless caresses, soothed her wild spirit, bringing her back
to pliant good nature, where she was as putty in his dexterous hands.
CHAPTER IV.
Tells how the Rev. Mr. Bland preached a Funeral Sermon.--
Shows a dainty Cottage, holding more than the Neighbors
knew.-- Installs Lilly as a Clergyman's Mistress.--
Reverts to a Desolate Home.-- Introduces Dick Hosford, a
returned "Forty-Niner," who begins a despairing Search.--
And shows that unholy, as well as true Love, does not
always run smoothly.
Shortly afterwards a closed cabriolet containing two persons was rapidly
driven from the Michigan Exchange up Wisconsin street, from thence into
Griswold, and out towards the suburbs, finally drawing up before a neat
cottage-house, where the lights, peeping around the edges of the drawn
curtains, showed the place to be in a state of preparation.
A man and a woman quickly alighted from the carriage, and as the woman,
apparently a young one, though closely veiled, stepped to the gate,
opened it and waited for her escort, the gentleman said in a low tone to
the coachman:
"James, drive to the house and inform mother that while down town this
evening I received an unexpected call to Ann Arbor, to preach a funeral
sermon over the remains of an old student-friend at the University, and
that I may not be home until late to-morrow evening;" then, after
handing James some coin, "you understand, James?"
James thought he understood, grinned grimly, put the money in his pocket
and drove away.
"Remember, Lilly," said Bland, stepping to the gate and taking her arm,
"you are Lilly Mercer here."
"Yes, Bland."
"And you are never to mention anything regarding yourself to the lady
who owns this place."
"I think I can keep my own counsel."
"And, if any inquiries are made here, by any person whatever, regarding
myself, you are to be innocently and utterly ignorant."
"And what are you to do?" asked Lilly, naïvely.
"I?--why I am to do well by you."
"Just so long as you do that, Bland, you are perfectly safe!"
She had taken to dictating also; but it was a pretty little cottage and
grounds, and a feeling of satisfaction at being their mistress, even if
it necessitated being his mistress, came over her that made her affable
and winning, if she did occasionally say things that hinted at a stormy
future.
They strolled up the broad brick walk, he thrilled with his magnificent
capture, and she just as satisfied with the power she had attained over
one so high socially, and who stood in such near prospect of obtaining
vast wealth. Instead of entering the house at its little front door with
its highly ornamented porch, they opened the door of a little
trellis-worked addition to the cottage, which was now covered by an
almost leafless mass of vines, and passed to a side entrance, where a
gentle pull of the bell caused the immediate appearance of a very fat
and very flabby woman of middle age, who at once conducted them to a
suite of rooms, consisting of a parlor and a large sleeping-room,
between which, in place of the original folding-doors, had been
substituted rich hangings sufficiently drawn apart to admit of the
passage of one person, and which, with the tastefully draped windows,
the deeply-framed pictures, the vari-colored marble mantels and
fireplaces, the heavy, yielding carpet giving back no sound to the
foot-fall, and the great easy-chairs into which one sank as into pillows
of down, gave the rooms the hintings of such luxuriousness that Lilly
was completely dazzled and bewildered with the unexpected elegance, and
the, to her, never before realized splendor.
"Mother Blake," said Bland, "this is Lilly Mercer, who is my friend, and
whom you are to make comfortable."
Mother Blake, as if realizing that her duties began whenever Bland
spoke, majestically crossed the room, sat down beside Lilly and
immediately kissed her very affectionately, merely remarking, "And a
very nice girl she is, too, Mr. Bland."
"That'll do, mother. You may get us a small bottle of wine, and then go
to bed. It's getting late, and you know you need a good deal of sleep."
Mother Blake chuckled, and shook from it as though her enjoyment of any
sort of pleasantry came to the surface only in a series of ripples over
her great fat body, instead of in echoes of enjoyment from her great fat
throat. But it might have been merely a habit with its origin in the
necessities of her quiet mode of life; and, doing as requested, only
lingered to fasten back the curtain so that the low, luxurious bed came
temptingly into view, after which she beamingly backed out of the room,
wishing the couple "a pleasant night, and many of 'em!"
If shame hovered over this pretty place, it did not pale the amber glow
of the sparkling wine; it came not into the ruddy coals upon the hearth,
which gave forth their glowing warmth just as cheerily as from any other
hearth in the broad land; it never dimmed the light from the gilded
chandeliers; it put no crimson flush upon the faces which touched each
other with an even flow of blood, nor quickened the pulses of the hands
that as often met; and God only knows whether, when, as sleep came down
upon the city, and the man and woman rested in each other's arms upon
the bed beyond the rich curtains (which, as the light in the fireplaces
grew or waned, never contained one ghostly rustle or semblance), there
was even a guilty dream to mark its presence!
But what of the inmates of the old log farm-house by the pleasant river?
The morning came, and the agonized parents found that their daughter had
gone. Robert Nettleton set his teeth and swore that he would never
search for her, while his poor wife was completely broken and crushed as
much from the agonized fears that flooded into her heart as from the
actual loss of her child.
The most dejected member of the household, however, was a new-comer, one
Dick Hosford, who years before had drifted into the Nettleton family and
had been brought up by them until, becoming a stout young man, he was
borne away in the gold excitement with the "Forty-niners" to California,
where by hard work and no luck whatever, being an honest, simple soul,
he had got together a few thousand dollars; with no announcement of his
proposed return, had come back as far as Terre Haute, Indiana, where he
had purchased a snug farm, and immediately turned his footsteps towards
Mr. Nettleton's, arriving there the very morning after Lilly's
departure, as he said, "to marry the gal, but couldn't find her
shadder."
He was simply inconsolable, and it took off the keen edge of the
parents' grief somewhat to find that another shared it with them, and
even seemed to feel that it was all his own.
So it was arranged that the inquisitive neighbors should only know that
Lilly had "gone to town for a week or two," while Dick Hosford should go
to Chicago, and then back east as far as Detroit, making diligent search
for something even more tangible than the "shadder" of the lost girl;
and as he said good-by to the Nettletons with quivering lips and
suspiciously dimmed eyes, he added:
"Bob Nettleton, and mother--for you've always been a half-dozen mothers
to me--don't ye never expect to see me back to these yer diggin's
'thout I bring the gal. I've sot my heart onto her; and" with an oath
that the Recording Angel as surely blotted out as Uncle Toby's, for it
was only the clinching of a brave determination, "I'll have her if I
find her in a----" He stopped suddenly as he saw the pain in their
faces, shook their hands in a way that told them more than his simple
words ever could have expressed, and trudged away with as little
certainty of finding whom he sought, save by accident--or, if found, of
securing the prize for himself, unless through her whim--as of ever
himself becoming anything save the honest, faithful, gullible soul that
he was.
At Detroit, Mother Blake had orders to provide Lilly Mercer, her latest
charge, with a suitable wardrobe and some fine pieces of jewelry, which
was accordingly done; and in the novelty of her transformation, which
really made her a beautiful young woman, her ardor of fondness for Bland
was certainly sufficient to gratify both his vanity and passion to the
fullest extent. But, to some women, both passion and finery must be
frequently renewed in order to insure constancy; and while Bland was as
hopelessly in her toils as ever, as she had always despised him and now
despised his offerings, which were neither so numerous or costly as at
first, she became almost unmanageable, caused Mother Blake great
perturbation of spirit, and led Bland a deservedly stormy life.
CHAPTER V.
Reckless Fancies.-- The "Cursed Church Interests."-- Bland's
"little Bird" becomes a busy Bird.-- Merges into a great
Raven of the Night.-- Gathers together Valuables.-- And
while a folded Handkerchief lies across the Clergyman's
Face, steals away into the Storm and the Night.-- Gone!--
"Are ye all dead in there?"-- Drifting together.-- "Don't
give the Gal that Ticket!"-- A great-hearted Man.-- The
Rev. Bland officiates at a Wedding.-- Competence and
Contentment.
A few weeks later, one November evening, the first snow-storm of the
year came hurrying and skurrying down upon the city. The streets seemed
filled with that thrilling, electric life which comes with the first
snow-flakes, and as they tapped their ghostly knuckles against the panes
of Lilly Mercer's boudoir, the weird _staccato_ passed into her restless
spirit and filled her mind with wild, reckless fancies. The storm had
beaten up against the cottage but a little time until it brought Bland
with it.
He came to tell his Lilly, he said, that the cursed church interests
would compel him to go to the West, to be absent for several weeks. In
mentioning the fact he sat down by the fireplace and gave her some money
for use while he was away, and also counted over quite an amount which
he had provided for his travelling expenses.
He also told her that he should leave the next evening, and would,
after a little time, of course, return for the night, as he could never
go on so long a journey without spending the parting hours with his
little bird, as he had come to call her.
His little bird had sat remarkably passive during all this, but now
fluttered about him with cooings and regrets innumerable, and seemed to
still be in a flutter of excitement when he had gone; for, after walking
up and down the rooms for a time, she flung some wrappings about her,
and quickly glided out among the pelting flakes that hid her among the
hurrying thousands upon the streets and within the shops, until she as
rapidly returned.
Within the warm nest again, there was a note to be written, and several
feathery but valuable trifles to be got together. In fact, Bland's
little bird was a busy bird, until when, at a late hour, he came back to
its unusually tender ways and wooings, and was soon slumbering beside
it.
Then the little bird became a great raven of the night, and stole
quietly about the apartments, gathering together, quite like any other
raven, everything that pleased its fancy, including even the money that
was to have been used in the "cursed church interests," and the gold
watch that ticked away at its sleeping owner's head, but not loud enough
to awaken him, for he slept with a peculiar heaviness, and, strangely
enough, with a folded handkerchief across his face. But the raven of the
cottage, in a quiet way that ravens have, never ceased gathering what
pleased it, until the early hours of morning, when, kissing its beak to
the bed and the sleeper, and flinging upon the bed a little note which
read:
_A double exposé if you like._
LILLY "MERCER."--
took itself and its gathered treasures out into the storm and the night.
The storm was gone when the chloroformed man awoke, and the bright sun
pushed through the shutters upon his feverish face. Slowly and with
great effort he groped his way back to consciousness, and with a thrill
of fear reached out his hand for his little bird, and to reassure
himself that what was flooding furiously into his mind was untrue, and
was but some horrible nightmare that her dear touch would drive away.
But the place where she had lain was as cold and empty as her own
heartless heart; and as he faintly called, "Lilly! oh, Lilly!" the very
realistic voice of Mother Blake was heard in the hall, and her very
realistic fists banging away against the door.
"Say, Bland, are ye all dead in there? Lord! it's broad noon!"
All dead? No; but far better so, as the Rev. Mr. Bland with a mighty
effort sprang from the bed and saw the gas-light struggling with the
sunlight, the dead ashes in the fireplace, and himself in the great
mirror, a dishonored, despoiled, deserted roué, drugged, robbed and
defied by the simple maiden from the log farm-house by the pleasant
river.
The same evening two persons on wonderfully different missions drifted
into the depot and transfer-house at Detroit, and mingled with the great
throng that the east and the west continually throw together at this
point. One was a handsome, apparently self-possessed young lady, who
attended to her baggage personally, and moved about among the crowds
with apparent unconcern; though, closely watched, her face would have
shown anxiety and restlessness. The other was a gaunt, though solidly
built young fellow, whose clothes, although of good material, had the
appearance of having been thrown at him and caught with considerable
uncertainty upon his bony angles. He wandered about in a dejected way,
looking hither and thither as if forever searching for some one whose
discovery had become improbable, but who should not escape if an honest
search by an honest, simple fellow as he seemed to be, could avail
anything. By one of those unexplainable coincidences, or fatuities, as
some are pleased to term them, these two persons--the one desirous of
avoiding a crowd, and the other anxious to ascertain whom every throng
contained--approached the ticket-office from different directions at the
same moment.
He at the gent's window heard her at the ladies' window say to the
agent, "Yes, to Buffalo, if you please;" and he jumped as though he had
been lifted by an explosion. He peered through the window and saw her
face at the other window, and without waiting to step around to her,
yelled to the agent like a madman: "Say, you, mister!--don't give the
gal that ticket. It's a mistake. She's going 'tother way;" and shoving
his gaunt head and shoulders into the window and wildly gesticulating to
the young lady, as the agent in a scared way saw the muscular intruder
hovering over his tickets and money-box, he continued excitedly:
"Say, Lil, old gal! Lil Nettleton!--Dick--Dick Hosford, ye know! Ain't I
tellin' the truth? ain't it all a mistake, and ain't you goin' the other
way--with _me_, ye know--yes, 'long with Dick?"
[Illustration: _"Say, you?--mister?--don't give the gal that ticket!
It's all a mistake!"--_]
Lilly Nettleton, for it was no other, nodded to the agent--who returned
the money--and quickly stepped around to help Dick disengage himself
from the window, and then quickly drew him away from the crowd which the
little episode had collected, sat down beside him, and, heartily
laughing at his ludicrous appearance, said, "Why, Dick, where under
heaven did _you_ come from?"
"Lil, gal," said poor Dick, wiping the tears of joy out of his eyes, "I
come all the way from Californy fur ye, found ye gone and the old folks
all bust and banged up about it. Fur six weary weeks I've been huntin',
huntin' ye up and down, here and yon, and was goin' back to Terre Haute,
sell the d----d farm I bought fur ye, and skip back to the Slope to kill
Injuns, or somethin', to drown my sorrow, fur I told the old folks I'd
bring ye back, or never set foot in them diggin's agin'!"
Lilly looked at the great-hearted man beside her in a strange,
calculating kind of a way, never touched by his tenderness and simple
sacrifice, but moving very closely to him in a winsome way that quite
overcame him.
"And I come to marry ye, Lil," persisted Dick, anxiously.
"To marry me, Dick?"
"Yes, and bought ye a purty farm at Terre Haute."
"A farm, Dick?"
"Yes, Lil, a farm, with as snug a little house as ye ever sot eyes on."
"But where did you get so much money? You never wrote anything about
it."
"No, I wanted to kinder surprise ye; but I got it honest--got it honest;
with these two hands, Lil, that'll work for ye all yer life like a
nigger, if ye'll only come 'long with me and never go gallavantin' any
more."
"And won't you ask me any questions or allow them--at home, Dick--to ask
any, and take me just as I am?"
"Just as ye are; fur better, or fur wus, Lil."
"And marry me here, now, before we go home?"
"Marry ye, Lil? I'd marry ye if I'd a found ye in a----; I won't give it
a name, Lil. I didn't to them, and I won't to you."
She gave him her hand as firmly and frankly as though she had been a
pure woman, and said, "I'm yours, Dick. We'll be married here,
to-morrow."
She took charge of all the arrangements; called a cab which took them to
the Michigan Exchange; sent Dick off to his room with orders to secure a
license the first thing in the morning; wrote two notes to a certain
person, one addressed to Mother Blake, and the other to _his_
post-office box, ordering them posted that night; and went to her room
to sleep the sleep of the just, which, contrary to general belief, also
often comes to the unjust.
Early in the morning, Dick came with the license and suggested securing
the services of a preacher; but Lilly said that she had arranged that
matter already, and had got a clergyman who, she was sure, would not
disappoint them; and promptly at two o'clock in the afternoon
courteously admitted the Rev. Mr. Bland, whom she had given the choice
of officiating or an exposure, and who performed the ceremony in a pale,
trembling way as the wicked old light gleamed in her great, gray eyes,
and the swift shuttles of color played over her curled lip.
That night found the newly-wedded couple whirling back to Kalamazoo,
where they arrived the next morning and were driven out to the
farm-house, where they were joyfully welcomed, and where Dick Hosford in
his blunt way announced that he had "found Lil workin' away like a good
girl, had married her and took a little bridal 'tower,' and had come
back to have no d----d questions asked."
So in a few days the young couple bade the Nettletons good-by and were
soon after installed in the pleasant farm-house near Terre Haute, where
the years passed on happily enough and brought them competence and
contentment and three children, who for a long time never knew the
meaning of the strange light in the eyes, or the swift colors on the
lips, of the mother who cared for them with an apparent full measure of
kindness and affection.
CHAPTER VI.
Mr. Pinkerton is called upon.-- Mr. Harcout, a
ministerial-looking Man, with an After-dinner Voice,
appears.-- A Case with a Woman in it, as is usually the
case.-- Mr. Pinkerton hesitates.-- An anxious Millionaire.
One hot July afternoon in 186-, I was sitting in my private office at my
New York Agency, located then, and now, at the corner of New Street and
Exchange Place, in the very heart of the money and stock battles of
Gotham, pretty well tired out from a busy day's work in carrying to
completion some of the vast transactions that had accumulated during the
war, and which were in turn waiting for my professional services to
unravel.
It had been a terribly hot day, and the city seemed like a vast caldron
filled with a million boiling victims; and now that the day's labor was
nearly over, I was principally employed in an attempt to keep cool, but
finding it impossible with everybody about me, settled myself in my
easy-chair at the window to watch the Babel of brokers below.
From such an altitude, where one can look down soberly upon these madmen
and see their wild antics, when for the moment they are absolutely
insane in their thirst for gold, never halting at the most extreme
recklessness even though they know it may compel wholesale ruin, it is
easy to realize how isolated cases occur where the whole human nature
yields to greed, and sweeps on to the certain accomplishment of crime
for its satisfaction.
Just after a particularly heavy "rush" had been made, resulting in a few
broken limbs and numberless tattered hats and demolished garments, and
the bulls and bears were gathered about in knots excitedly talking over
their profit and loss, and wiping the great beads of perspiration, from
their lobster-like faces, I noticed an important-looking gentleman turn
into New Street from the direction of Broadway, and after edging through
the crowds, occasionally halting to ask a question in the politest
possible manner--the replies and gestures to which seemed to indicate
that he was seeking my agency, which afterwards proved true--this vision
of precision and politeness passed from my sight into Exchange Place,
and in a few moments after I was informed that a gentleman desired to
see me on very important business.
After ascertaining who the gentleman was, and already knowing him to be
a harmless sort of an adventurer, and under the particular patronage of
a wealthy Rochester gentleman, I admitted him and he was introduced as
Mr. Harcout, of Rochester and New York.
Mr. Harcout was a character in his way, and deserving of some notice. He
was a tall, heavily-built, obese gentleman of about forty-five years of
age, impressive, important, and supremely polite. His face was a strange
combination of imbecility and assumption; while his head, which was
particularly developed in the back part, indicating low instincts that
were evidently only repressed as occasion required, was consistent with
the formation of his square, flat forehead, which sloped back at a
suspiciously sharp angle from a pair of little, gray, expressionless
eyes, which from the lack of intelligence behind them would look you out
of face without blinking. His nose was straight and solidly set below,
like some sharp instrument, to assist him in getting on in the world.
His lips, though not unusually gross or sensual, had a way of opening
and closing, during the pauses of conversation with a persistency of
assertion that had the effect of keeping in the mind of the average
listener that great weight should be attached to what Mr. Harcout had
said, or was about to say; and at the same time, as also when he
patronizingly smiled, which was almost constantly, disclosed a set of
teeth of singular regularity and dazzling whiteness. A pair of very
large ears, closely-cut and neatly-trimmed hair, and a whitish-olive
complexion that suggested sluggish blood and a lack of fine
organization, complete the sketch of his face, but could never give the
full effect of the grandeur of his assumption and manners, which were a
huge burlesque on chivalric courtliness. As he entered the room his
gloved hand swept to the rim of his faultless silk hat, and removed it
with an indescribably graceful gesture that actually seemed to make the
hat say, "Ah! my very dear sir, while I belong to a gentleman of the
vastest importance imaginable, be assured that we are both
inexpressibly honored by this interview!" Nor were these all of his
strikingly good points. He was a man that was always dressed in a suit
of the finest procurable cloth, most artistically fitted to his
commanding figure, and never a day passed when there was not an
exquisite favor in the neat button-hole of his collar. When he had
become seated in a most dignified and engaging manner, he had a neat
habit of showing his little foot encased in patent leather so shining
that, at a pinch, it might have answered for a mirror, by carelessly
throwing his right leg over his left knee, so that he could keep up an
incessant tapping upon his boot with the disengaged glove which his left
hand contained; and, with his head thrown slightly back and to one side,
emphasized his remarks in a graceful and convincing way with the digit
finger of his soft white right hand. Altogether he would have passed for
a person of considerable importance and good commercial and social
standing; but to one versed in character-reading he gave the impression
that he might at one time have been an easy-going clergyman, who had
lapsed into some successful insurance or real estate agency that had
been unexpectedly profitable; or, at least, was a man who had thoroughly
and artistically acquired the science of securing an elegant livelihood
through the confidence he could readily inspire in others.
"Ah! Mr. Pinkerton, I am very glad to see you--very glad to see you; in
fact, I take it as a peculiar honor, though my business with you is of
an unpleasant nature," said Mr. Harcout, settling into his chair with a
kind of bland and amiable dignity.
I saw that he was making a great effort to please me, and told him
pleasantly that it was quite natural for people to visit me on
unpleasant business.
"Thank you, thank you," he replied in his rich, after-dinner voice, that
seemed to come with his winning smile to his lips through a vast measure
of good-fellowship and great-heartedness. "I feel that I am occupying a
peculiar position, both painful and embarrassing to me: first, as the
friend and agent of a wealthy man who is also an acquaintance of yours,
and operates on the Produce Exchange, here; and second, in being obliged
to ascertain whether you will take our case without your becoming too
fully aware of the particulars, in the event of your refusal."
"Well," said I encouragingly, highly enjoying his embarrassment and
assumed importance, "if you will give me a general outline of the
matter, I will take it into consideration; and, in any event, you can
rest assured that our walls have no ears to what our patrons have to say
within them."
"Well, then," replied Harcout with a winning smile, "to be honest with
you, Mr. Pinkerton, there's a woman in our case; yes--though I'm very
sorry to say it--the case is almost entirely a woman case."
"In that event, Mr. Harcout, I must plainly say to you that I don't like
those cases at all. I have all the business that I can attend to, and
even more than I sometimes desire; and I really think you had better
secure the services of some other person."
"Pray don't say so; pray don't say so, Mr. Pinkerton. Ah! what _could_
induce you to take the case?"
"No sum of money," I replied, "unless I was fully assured that it was
all right--that is, had the right on your side. Almost without exception
these cases with women in them, where men become jealous of their
mistresses, mistresses of their men, wives of their husbands, husbands
of their wives, or when the lively and vigorous mother-in-law lends
spice to life, and, indeed, all those troubles arising from social
abuses, are a disgrace to every one connected with them."
Harcout seemed quite disappointed that I did not express more avidity to
transact the business he proffered, but continued in his blandest
manner:
"Still, supposing, although we were not altogether in the right, we were
endeavoring to defend ourselves against a vile woman who had manipulated
circumstances so that she had us greatly in her power?"
"I should still feel a great reluctance in taking the case. All my life
I have had one steady aim before me, and that has been to purify and
ennoble the detective service; and I am sure that all this sort of
business is degrading in the extreme to operatives engaged upon it."
"Very good, very good. But, Mr. Pinkerton, supposing the person pursued
was worth two or three millions of dollars; that after the parties had
met in a casual way, and, through a strange and unexplainable feeling of
admiration mingled with awe which she had compelled in him, she had
acquired a familiarity with his habits, business, and vast wealth, and
had from that time schemingly begun a plan of operations to entrap him
into marrying her, working upon his rather susceptible temperament
through his peculiar religious belief, in order to gain power over him,
and then, failing to secure him as a husband, had for some time pursued
a system of threats and quiet, persistent robbery, constantly becoming
more brazen and impudent, until he could bear it no longer, when he had
refused to see her or submit to further blackmail, whereupon she had
heartlessly attempted his social and financial ruin, by bringing a suit
against him for $100,000 damages for breach of promise of marriage?"
This extended conundrum flushed Harcout, and his magnificent silk
handkerchief came gracefully into use to very gently and delicately
absorb the perspiration that had started upon his porous face.
"Mr. Harcout," I still insisted, "I should then require to be
unqualifiedly assured that the woman in question was not a young woman
who had really been led to believe the promise of some man old enough to
be her father, and who should accept the consequences of his
indiscretion philosophically."
"Exactly, exactly," responded Harcout, quite uneasily, though with an
evident endeavor at pleasantry; "and quite noble of you, too, Mr.
Pinkerton! Really, I had not anticipated finding such delicate honor
among detectives!" and he laughed a low, musical laugh which seemed to
come gurgling up from his capacious middle.
I told him he might term it "delicate honor" or whatever he liked; that
I had made thorough justice a strict business principle, and found that
it won, too; but that, with the understanding that he had fairly
represented the case, I would give it my consideration and apprise him
of my decision the next day, giving him an appointment for that purpose;
after which, while verbosely expressing the hope that I would assist
him, he bowed himself out in a very impressive manner, passed into the
street, which was now nearly as quiet as the Trinity Church-yard close
by, and immediately went to the St. Nicholas, where he flourishingly
reported the interview to the anxious millionaire, who thanked fortune
for such a powerful and majestic friend.
CHAPTER VII.
In Council.-- Mr. Lyon the Millionaire, with Mr. Harcout the
Adventurer and Adviser, appear together.-- How Mr. Lyon
became Mrs. Winslow's Victim.-- "Our blessed Faith" and
the Woman's strange Power.-- A Tender Subject.-- Deep
Games.-- A One Hundred Thousand Dollar Suit for Breach of
Promise of Marriage.-- A good deal of Money.-- All liable
to err.-- A most magnificent Woman.-- The "Case" taken.
In the meantime I had a conversation on the subject with my General
Superintendent, Mr. Bangs, in which we weighed the case thoroughly in
all its bearings. I held, as I always do in such cases, if further
investigation proved that the woman was one whose youth, or even
inexperience, was such as to make it probable that she had been met by a
man whose position had dazzled and bewildered her, and who, from his
wealth and opportunities for exerting the immense influence of wealth,
had led her to believe that he loved her, and had had such attention
lavished upon her as had awakened in her heart an affection for him
which should deserve some consideration, and that finally, after
accomplishing his purpose, he had flung her from him, as was an
every-day occurrence, it was a case which I could under no circumstances
touch; its justice ought only to be determined in the courts.
On the other hand, I argued that if this troublesome woman was grown in
years, had arrived at a mature age, and had deliberately planned to
secure a certain power over Harcout's friend in the questionable manner
ascribed--had, in fact, used the "black arts" upon him, and in every
manner possible fascinated him irresistibly, and wrung from him promises
and pledges which no man in his sane moments would give, in order
through this dishonorably-gained power to secure him for a husband--or
worse, in the event of failing in this, of levying upon his wealth for
the dishonor she had herself compelled, it was a case where I had a
right to interfere in the best interests of society, as the professional
female blackmailer is below pity, ought to be beyond protection of any
sort whatever, has forfeited all the actual and poetical regard due her
sex, and should be in every instance remorselessly hunted down.
This conclusion was easily arrived at; for at each of my agencies all
that is necessary for a decision upon a desired investigation is that my
local superintendent shall sift the matter, to prove beyond the shadow
of a doubt that the vast power of the detective service under my control
shall not, under any circumstances, be prostituted to the assistance of
questionable enterprises, or the furtherance of dishonorable schemes.
Accordingly, when Mr. Harcout wafted himself into my office the next
day, like a fragrance-laden zephyr of early summer, I informed him that
he could depend on my assistance to discover the history and antecedents
of the woman; but that I should have to reserve the privilege of
discontinuing the service, should it at any time transpire that my
operatives were being employed for the purpose of discouraging a
defenceless woman in securing the justice due her.
It was arranged that Harcout was to call the next day with his patron,
the persecuted millionaire, and he also expressed a desire to defer a
settlement of the case in detail until that time, which was quite
agreeable to me, as I wished to see the parties together and closely
observe them, as well as their statements.
The next afternoon Mr. Harcout's elegant card was delivered to me, with
the message that his friend was also with him. I ordered that they
should be at once admitted, and in a moment the two gentlemen were
ushered into my private office. I immediately recognized the elder of
the two as J. H. Lyon, one of the wealthiest elevator owners and millers
of Rochester, a quiet, shrewd, calculating business man, who had amassed
vast wealth, or the reputation of its possession, and its consequent
commercial respect and credit.
He was a short, small-sized man, dressed in plain but rich garments, and
wore no jewelry save a massive solitaire diamond ring. His head, which
seemed to contain an average brain, was solidly set on a great, heavy
neck, that actually continued to the top of the back of his head without
a curve or depression. His hair, and beard--which was shaven away from
his lower lip to the curve of his chin--had a shaggy sort of look,
though generally well kept, and were considerably tinged with gray;
while his eyebrows were remarkably long, irregular, and forbidding. His
eyes were medium-sized, of a grayish-brown color, and under the heavy
shade of the brows somewhat keen and restless. His cheek-bones were
quite prominent, and below them his cheeks sank away noticeably, which
served to more strikingly show the upward turn of his nose and his full
lips and broad, sensual mouth, which, with its half-shown, irregular
teeth and ever-present tobacco-stains (for he smoked or chewed
incessantly), gave him a face quite unlike those ordinarily supposed to
be captivating to women. With his broad, bony hands, large, ill-shaped
feet, and retiring, hesitating way, as if never exactly certain of
anything, he was truly a great contrast to the pompous, elegant
gentleman who seemed to have taken him under his fatherly protection.
Lyon slid into his seat in a nervous, diffident way; while Harcout, who
had just drawn his chair between us, as if he desired it understood that
he did not propose to yield his office of general manager of this
vitally important affair under any circumstances, beamed on his friend
reassuringly.
After a few remarks on the current topics of the day, and before they
were themselves aware of it, we were getting along swimmingly towards an
understanding of the subject-matter--Lyon, who had removed his cigar,
fairly eating an immense amount of fine-cut as the voluble Harcout
rattled away about the bold, bad woman who had entrapped him.
"Why, my dear Mr. Pinkerton, it's a terrible matter--an infamous
affair! My friend here, Mr. Lyon, is quite nettled about it--I might
say, quite cut up. You can see for yourself, sir, that it's wearing on
him." This with a deprecating wave of his hand towards Lyon, who
nervously gazed out of the window from under his shaggy brows.
I merely said that these things _were_ sometimes a little wearing.
"But you see, Mr. Pinkerton, this is a peculiarly cruel case--a
peculiarly cruel case. Hem! _I_ know what is cruel in this respect, as I
was once victimized by very much the same sort of a female, though she
was _much younger_. Why, do you know, sir," and here the sympathetic
Harcout's voice fell into a solemn murmur, "that my friend's beloved
wife was scarcely at rest beneath the daisies when this Mrs. Winslow
began worming herself into the confidence of my somewhat impressible
friend here?"
I made no answer, and only took a memorandum of the facts developed, not
forgetting Harcout's statement that he had once been victimized by very
much the same sort of a female.
"She came to Rochester as a shining light among the exponents of our
blessed faith----"
"And what may your religion be?" I asked.
"We believe in the constant communication between mortals and the
occupants of the beautiful spirit home beyond the river."
"Exactly," said I, noticing the remarkable development at the back of
their heads and about their mouths.
"And our friend here, Mr. Lyon," continued Harcout, with his eyes
devoutly raised to the ceiling, "met her at one of our pleasant
seances."
I made another note at this point.
"To be frank--'hem! it's my nature to be frank--" then turning his face
to me and raising his eyebrows inquiringly--"I suppose, Mr. Pinkerton,
it is quite desirable that I should be so?" To which I responded,
"Necessarily so," when he resumed: "To be frank, then, Mr. Lyon was
wonderfully interested in her. In fact, the woman _has_ a strange power
of compelling admiration and even fear--shall I say fear, Mr. Lyon?"
"Guess that's about right," said Mr. Lyon tersely.
"Admiration and fear," repeated Mr. Harcout, as if thinking of something
long gone by, while Lyon chewed more fiercely than ever. "Indeed, Mr.
Pinkerton, she's a superb woman--a superb woman; but a she-devil for all
that!"
I noticed that Harcout's fervor seemed to have come from some similar
experience, and I noted both it and his heated estimate of Mrs. Winslow,
although he remarked that he had never met her.
"Well, my friend here was irresistibly drawn to her, and he has told me
that for a time it seemed that he had found his real affinity. You felt
that way, didn't you, Lyon?"
Lyon nodded and chewed rapidly.
"But for a long time the more my friend endeavored to secure her favor,
the more she seemed to draw away from and avoid him, though constantly
making opportunities to more deeply impress him with her most splendid
physical and mental qualities. My friend recollects now, though he gave
it no attention at the time, that she shrewdly drew from him much
information regarding his family affairs, habits, business relations,
and wealth; and as she was, or pretended to be, a medium of great power,
at those times when he sought her professional services she worked upon
his feelings in such a peculiar manner as to completely upset him."
Here Mr. Lyon offered an extended remark for the first time, and said:
"The truth is, Mr. Pinkerton, this is a subject that I am particularly
tender upon. I think under certain circumstances I could really have
made the woman my wife;" then turning to his agent, he said, "Harcout,
cut it short."
"But," Harcout protested, "we can't cut it short. Mr. Pinkerton wants
facts--he must have facts. Well, at one time Mr. Lyon felt a real
affection for the woman, which does him honor--is no disgrace to him;
but after a time began to suspect, and eventually to feel sure, that
Mrs. Winslow was playing a deep game; indeed, had originally come to
Rochester for that purpose; and while he still regarded her highly on
account of her fine qualities, refrained from seeking her society, which
at once seemed to awaken a violent and uncontrollable passion for him in
her heart. She sought him everywhere and compelled him to visit her
frequently, lavishing the wildest affection upon him, which he
delicately repelled--delicately repelled; and, as she represented
herself in straitened circumstances, charitably assisted her just as he
would have done any other person in want--any other person in want; but,
you see, Mrs. Winslow presumed upon this, accused him of having broken
her heart, and was now cruelly deserting her after he had taught her to
worship him."
Mr. Lyon's nervous face presented a singular combination of pride at his
own powers, chagrin at his predicament, and a general protest that the
tender privacies of a millionaire should be thus disclosed.
"In this way," continued Harcout, "she so worked upon his kindly
feelings that he really gave her large sums of money--large sums of
money."
"A good deal of money," interrupted Mr. Lyon.
"But finally," pursued Harcout, "my friend saw that he must discontinue
his charity altogether, and through my advice--hem! through my advice,
he did. Mrs. Winslow then became very impudent indeed, and annoyed my
friend beyond endurance, until he was forced to refuse to recognize her,
and gave orders that she should be denied admission to his office. But,
being a very talented woman----"
"She _is_ talented," said Lyon, with a start.
"She has found means to continue her operations against him incessantly,
demanding still larger sums of money, and has engaged counsel to act for
her. Hem!--under my advice, quite recently Mr. Lyon, by paying her five
thousand dollars, secured from her a relinquishment of all claims
against him, rather than oblige a public scandal. But now Mrs. Winslow
claims that this was secured by fraud, and after making another
fruitless demand for ten thousand dollars, which--hem! Mr. Lyon resisted
through my advice, last week began suit against him for one hundred
thousand dollars for breach of promise of marriage. And a hundred
thousand dollars is a big sum of money, Mr. Pinkerton."
"A big sum of money," echoed Lyon.
"But of course," continued Harcout, inserting his thumbs in the
arm-holes of his vest and looking the very picture of injured virtue,
"Mr. Lyon cares nothing for that amount. It is the principle of the
thing. It is the stain upon his good name that he desires to
prevent--and these juries are confoundedly unreliable."
"Confoundedly unreliable," repeated Lyon, chewing nervously.
"Therefore," said Harcout, "really believing, as we do, that we--hem!
that is, Mr. Lyon, of course--is the victim of a designing woman who
really means to wrongfully compel the payment of a large sum of money
and ruin my friend in the estimation of the public, we are anxious that
you should set about ascertaining everything concerning her for use as
evidence in the case."
After asking them a few questions touching facts I desired to ascertain,
the interview terminated with the understanding that Harcout should act
for Mr. Lyon unqualifiedly in the matter, and call at my office as
often as desirable to listen to reports of the progress of my
investigations into the life and history of Mrs. Winslow. I was
satisfied that not half the truth had been given me, and I was more than
ever convinced of this fact when Lyon called me to one side as the
lordly Harcout passed out, and said to me hurriedly:
"Don't be too hard upon the woman, Mr. Pinkerton. You know we are _all_
liable to err; and--and, by Jupiter! Mrs. Winslow is certainly a most
magnificent woman--a _most_ magnificent woman," and then chewed himself
out after his courtly henchman.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Case begun.-- Mr. Pinkerton makes a preliminary
Investigation at Rochester.-- Mrs. Winslow, Trance
Medium.-- A Ride to Port Charlotte.-- Harcout as a
Barnacle.-- Much married.-- Mr. Pinkerton visits the
Mediums.-- Drops in at a Washington Hall Meeting.-- Sees
the naughty Woman.-- And returns to New York convinced
that the Spiritualistic Adventuress is a Woman of
remarkable Ability.
As the interview related in the previous chapter occurred on Friday, and
I could not attend to the matter at once, I was obliged to wait until
the following Sunday evening, when I quietly took the western-bound
express, which brought me to Rochester the following noon, where I
engaged rooms at the Brackett House under an assumed name, and
immediately began a preliminary examination on my own account, having
directed my New York Superintendent to inform either Lyon or Harcout, in
the event of their calling at the agency, that I could not be seen
regarding their matter for a few days, as I had suddenly been called
South on important business.
My object in doing this was to look over the ground at Rochester myself,
and get an unbiased idea of the whole matter, so that I could properly
proceed with the work, being satisfied that this was the only way to
secure a basis to operate upon, as I was sure that I had not got at the
bottom facts in the late interview. I invariably insist on having all
the facts, and always take measures to secure them before any decided
move is made.
As a rule, however, in cases of this kind, it is almost impossible to
secure what the detective absolutely needs from the parties from whom
the information should come; as it is a principle of human nature
possessed by us all, to be very frank about our merits, and quite
careful about mentioning anything that might be construed into either a
lack of judgment or principle.
I found that the New York papers were already publishing specials
concerning the matter, with solemn editorials regarding the perfidy of
man, the constancy of woman, and the general cussedness of both; and
that at Rochester the knowledge of the commencement of the suit had just
got into the papers, and consequently, into everybody's mouth; and was
creating a great sensation, as Lyon was known to the whole city as one
of its richest citizens, "though a little off on Spiritualism lately,"
as the talk went; and Mrs. Winslow had also become quite notorious from
her magnificent figure and winning manner, her equally notorious
mediumistic powers, and through her prominent connection with the more
_material_ believers in spiritual phenomena; or, to be plain, that vast
majority of so-called spiritualists whose only visible means of support
are in excellently humbugging their brethren or sisters, or any other
portion of the gullible world with whom they come in contact.
Nearly every Rochester paper contained the advertisement of Mrs.
Winslow, trance medium, and I concluded that either the lady had been
unusually successful in her trance business, or that her levies upon
Lyon had been remunerative--perhaps both--to pay for such extensive
advertising.
After dinner I took a stroll and found that the lady occupied very
luxurious apartments on South St. Paul street, near Meech's Opera-house,
a location well adapted for her business. I also ordered a carriage and
drove out to Port Charlotte--a magnificent drive through a lovely
country dotted with fine farm-houses and the splendid suburban
residences of wealthy Rochester citizens--and, as a casual stranger,
inspected Lyon's warehouses and elevators, the largest and most
expensive at the Port, returning to the Brackett House in time to eat a
hearty supper.
After supper, without any effort, and without disclosing my identity, I
got into conversation with the genial landlord of the house, who gave
me--as a part of my entertainment, I presume--a rich account of Lyon's
business relations, and particularly of his personal habits, painted in
entirely different colors than by the blarneying tongue of Harcout; and
also spoke of the latter as "a d----d barnacle," who had in some
unexplainable way fastened himself upon Lyon and was living like a
prince off the "old fool," as he called him. He also told me
confidentially that he believed Mrs. Winslow to be a woman of
questionable character; as, when she first came to the city, she had
stopped at his hotel, and had advertised her mediumistic powers so
largely that it had brought a class of men there whom he thought, from
his personal knowledge of their habits, to be more interested in
inquiries into the mysteries of the _present_ than of the hereafter,
until he had become so anxious as to the reputation of his house that he
had informed the lady of the preference of her absence to her company;
whereupon she had raised such a storm about his ears that he was only
too glad to compromise by letting her go, bag and baggage, without
paying her bill, which was a large one and of a month's standing.
I also gained from him the opinion that she had been married a
half-dozen times, or as often as had suited her convenience; and that he
had only a day or so previous conversed with a gentleman from some part
of the West, who had told him that somebody in Rochester had assisted
her in procuring her a divorce from her husband. I made a note of all
these points after I had retired to my room, and felt quite satisfied
with the day's work.
The next day, with a gentleman at the hotel with whom I had become
acquainted, representing myself as a person of means who might possibly
make an investment at Rochester, I visited Lyon's mills, and
incidentally became quite well informed as to his financial and social
standing.
The latter was a little peculiar. His wife, a most estimable lady, had
died a few years previous, and it appeared that during her life the Lyon
family were among the aristocrats of the city; but at her death, and
Lyon's subsequent dabbling in Spiritualism, they had been gradually
dropped from the visiting lists, and nothing remained of the former home
circle save a gaunt, grim mother-in-law, who vainly waged war against
the loose habits, laxity of morals, and general degeneracy that had come
with the new order of things.
I also secured the addresses of all the professional mediums,
fortune-tellers, and astrologers of the city, and during that day and
the next visited their rooms, claiming to be a devoted believer in
Spiritualism, having my fortune told at various places, and picking up a
good deal of information regarding the fascinating Mrs. Winslow, which
tended to prove her a remarkably talented woman, capable of not only
attending to her mediumistic duties, but also of carrying on litigation
of various kinds in different parts of the country. My investigations
also showed that these different "doctors" and "doctresses," claiming to
perform almost miraculous cures and their ability to foretell the fates
of others through the aid of this supernatural spirit-power, were quite
like other people in their bickerings and jealousies, and, as a rule,
they gave each other quite as bad names as the public generally gave
them; and that Mrs. Winslow could not have been considered exactly the
pink of perfection if judged even by those of her own persuasion, as one
vaguely hinted at her having played the same game on other parties.
Another was sure she had been a camp-follower during the war. Another
assured me that she had similar suits at Louisville, Cincinnati, and St.
Louis. Still another was quite certain that she was only a common
woman. Altogether, according to these reports, which were easily enough
secured, as her case against Lyon was the engrossing subject of the hour
at Rochester, it appeared that the ravishing Mrs. Winslow held her
place, such as it was, in the world more through her supreme will power,
and the respect through fear she unconsciously inspired in others, than
through any of the tenderer graces or a superabundance of personal
purity.
From cautious inquiries and the wonderful amount of street, saloon, and
hotel talk which the affair was causing, I also ascertained that Mrs.
Winslow had made her appearance in Rochester some years before; some
said from the east, and some from the West, but the preponderance of
evidence indicated that it had been from the West; that she had at once
allied herself with the spiritualists of the city, and Lyon had first
met or seen her at one of their seances or lectures; that he had at once
yielded to her charms, and begun visiting her for "advice," as it was
sarcastically reported, continuing the visits with such frequency and
regularity as to hasten the death of his wife, after which event he had
given his new affinity nearly his entire attention until she had come to
be commonly considered as his mistress; that she had frequently boasted
among her friends that she was to become Lyon's wife, and was even by
some called Mrs. Lyon, to which pleasant designation she made no murmur;
that she had made a common practice of visiting Lyon at his offices in
the Arcade, where she had been treated with considerable deference and
respect by his employees; and that during this period Mrs. Winslow had
made several trips to the West, evidently at Lyon's instigation, and
through his financial aid.
I found also that she was as truly a believer in the farces others of
her profession enacted for her benefit as she was in the mediumistic
power she had persuaded herself that she possessed, and was consequently
a regular attendant at all the meetings and seances held in the city;
and as there was one to be held that evening at Washington Hall, I
decided to attend for the purpose of getting a good view of the lady
with whom, for a time, we should be obliged to keep close company.
Accordingly, at half-past seven o'clock I found the hall, which is but a
few blocks above the bridge on Main Street, and after purchasing a
ticket of a sleek, long-haired individual with deft fingers and a
restless eye, passed into the room, where there was already quite a
number of the faithful, all bearing unmistakable evidences of either
their peculiar faith, or the character of their business.
As the exercises of the evening had not yet begun, those present were
gathered about the hall excitedly discussing the great sensation of the
hour, which was particularly interesting to them, as the parties to it
were both of their number, and from what I could gather they were about
evenly divided in their opinion as to the merits of the case--the male
portion of the assemblage warmly espousing the cause of Mrs. Winslow,
and the female portion as eagerly sympathizing with "poor dear Mr.
Lyon," and roundly condemning the naughty woman who had ensnared him and
was so relentlessly pursuing him.
I was sure the naughty woman had now arrived, as there was a sudden
twisting of necks and buzzing of "That's her--that's her!" "There's Mrs.
Winslow!" and "Yes, that's Mrs. Lyon!" and the females that had given
Mrs. Winslow such a bad reputation a few moments before, now pressed
around her with sympathizing inquiries and loud protestations of regard,
quite like other ladies under similar circumstances. But the lady
appeared to be quite unconcerned as to their good or ill feeling towards
her, and swept up the aisle with a regal air, taking a seat so near me
and in such a position that I was able to make a perfect study of her
while apparently only absorbed in the wonderful revelation that fell
from the trance-speaker's lips.
She appeared to be a lady of about thirty five years of age, and of a
very commanding appearance. She was not a beautiful woman, but there was
an indescribable something about her entire face and figure that was
strangely attractive. It was both the dignity of self-conscious power
and the peculiar attractiveness of a majestically formed woman. It could
not be said that there was a single beautiful feature about her face,
though it attracted and held every observer. Her head was large, well
formed, and covered with a wavy mass of black hair marvelous in its
richness of color and luxuriance. Her complexion was a clear, wax-like
white, singularly contrasting with her hair, delicately arching
eyebrows, and long, dark lashes, which heavily shaded great gray eyes
that were sometimes touched with a shading of blue, and occasionally
glowed with a light as keen, glittering, and cold as might flash from a
diamond or a dagger's point, which seemed to work in sympathy with the
rapid movement of her thin nostrils, and the swift shuttles of crimson
and paleness that darted over her curled upper lip, which,
notwithstanding this singularity, touched the full, pouting lower one
with a hint of wild and riotous blood.
Although Mrs. Winslow was a woman who, being met in the better circles
of society, would have wonderfully interested every one with whom she
came in contact, in the circle within which she moved, and which,
unconsciously, seemed to be far beneath her, she surely commanded a
certain kind of respect, with a touch of fear, perhaps; and in any
circle of life was undoubtedly one in whom the ambition for power was
only equalled by the remorseless way with which she would wield it after
it had been gained.
Not once during the whole evening did she by any movement of her person
or motion of her features give any further indication of her character;
and I could only leave the hall and return to my hotel, and from thence
immediately to New York, with the thorough conviction that Mrs. Winslow
was a remarkably shrewd woman; had systematically fastened herself upon
Lyon with the view of becoming his wife, or compelling him to divide his
immense wealth with her; would give us plenty to attend to, and had
easily gained a wonderful power over Lyon; which, even after her
repeated piracies upon him, and the evident knowledge he possessed of
her villainous character, was yet strong upon him.
CHAPTER IX.
"Our Case."-- Harcout's Egotism and Interference.-- The
strange Chain of Evidence.-- A Trail of Spiritualism,
Lust, and Licentiousness.-- Superintendent Bangs locates
the Detectives.-- A pernicious System.-- Three Old Maids
named Grim.-- Mr. Bangs baffled by Mr. Lyon, who won't be
"worried."-- One Honest Spiritualistic Doctor.-- The Trail
secured.-- A Tigress.-- Mr. Bangs "goes West."
On my return to New York I found that the splendid Harcout had been
using the interim in a succession of heated rushes from the St. Nicholas
Hotel to the Agency, where he had given my superintendents and clerks
voluminous instructions as to how the investigation should be conducted,
and, in explaining his idea of how detectives should work up any case,
permeated the entire establishment with his fragrant pomposity. He was
also quite impatient that nothing had been done in "our case," as he
termed it, and I could only pacify him by assuring him that it should be
given my immediate attention.
As soon as I could dispose of Harcout I held another consultation with
my General Superintendent, during which the information I had secured at
Rochester was analyzed and recorded, and which, with some other facts
already in possession of the Agency bearing on the case, we decided to
be sufficient to warrant a conclusion that Mrs. Winslow was not Mrs.
Winslow at all, but somebody else altogether, and had had as many
_aliases_ as a cat is supposed to have lives. It was also quite evident,
the more we looked into the matter and searched the records, that
certain other cities of the country had suffered from the much-named
Mrs. Winslow, and in many instances in a quite similar manner to that of
the Rochester infliction.
Running through all the strange chain of evidence that the records of
our almost numberless operations gave, there were also found items which
told of a female not altogether unlike Mrs. Winslow, and there were in
them all traces of a woman absolutely heartless, cold, calculating,
cruel; now here under one name and in one guise, now there under another
name and in another guise, but forever upon that unrelenting search for
power and with that remorseless greed for gold, and also showing as
truly a trace of spiritualism, of lust, and of licentiousness.
Of course the result of it all was only a question of time; only a
question of duration in villainy and shrewd human deviltry; a mere
question of how long supreme depravity would wear in a constant war upon
fairness, purity, and the conscience of society. It never wins--it
always loses, and, as certain as life or death, good or evil, reaches
its sure punishment here, whatever may be the result in that
undiscovered territory of the future which the preachers find happiness
and good incomes in quarrelling over. But as my long experience with
crime and criminals had proven to me the fact that one desperately bad
woman brings upon society vastly more misery than a hundred equally as
bad men, and being equally as certain that Mrs. Winslow was an
exceptionally bad woman, I felt no regret whatever in becoming her
Nemesis, and even experienced a peculiar degree of satisfaction in
inaugurating a crusade against her as a pitiless, heartless, dangerous
woman, utterly devoid of conscience, and without a single redeeming
trait of character.
I accordingly detailed two of my operatives, Fox and Bristol, to proceed
to Rochester in charge of Superintendent Bangs, whom I gave instructions
to locate the men so that they could keep Mrs. Winslow under the
strictest surveillance, and make daily reports in writing to me
concerning her habits and associates, and operations of any character
whatever, using the telegraph freely if occasion required. I also
instructed him, after the men were located in Rochester, and he had
followed up the clue I had got for him as to Mrs. Winslow's western
exploits, to proceed to the West, taking all the time necessary, and
ascertain everything possible favorable or unfavorable to the woman; as
I held it to be not only a matter of utmost importance to thorough
detective work, but also a principle of common justice, that any
suspected person should receive the benefit of whatever good there is in
them.
For these reasons I have always fought against the system of rewards for
the capture and conviction of supposed criminals. There could be nothing
more absolutely unjust. Under that system, through a combination of
circumstances, an innocent party is often deemed guilty of crime, and
the detective, anxious to secure professional honor and large
remuneration for small work, begins with the presumption of guilt, and
industriously piles up a mountain of presumptive and circumstantial
evidence that times without number has sent innocent persons to the
felon's cell or the hangman's noose.
On arriving at Rochester the following Monday, Bangs took rooms at the
National Hotel, opposite the court-house--a house more a resort for
persons in attendance at the courts, and people visiting Rochester from
neighboring towns, than for fashionable people or commercial travellers;
while Fox settled himself at a little hotel nearly opposite Mrs.
Winslow's rooms on South St. Paul street, and Bristol found a home at a
little saloon, restaurant and boarding-house, kept by three old maids
named Grim, who were firm believers in Spiritualism--probably from never
having got any satisfaction out of life from any other religion--under
Washington Hall, on East Main street, a place given up to variety shows,
masked balls, sleight-of-hand performances, seances, and other
questionable entertainments; so that they were all within easy
communication, and could work to advantage. It was also arranged that
the reports of Fox and Bristol should be put in Mr. Bangs's hands, by a
mode of communication which would prevent their being seen together,
before being forwarded to me, so that their observations might be of
assistance in his securing necessary information for his western tour.
While Bristol and Fox were watching the movements of the gay madam,
familiarizing themselves with the city, and getting on an easy footing
at their boarding-houses, Mr. Bangs set to work to ascertain if possible
in what part of the West Mrs. Winslow had operated.
He first visited Mr. Lyon at his office in the Arcade, introducing
himself as Mr. Clement, one of my operatives, not giving his correct
name, as the newspaper reporters were flying around at a great rate for
items, and the appearance of a man so well known by reputation as Mr.
Bangs would have given their overcharged imaginations an opportunity to
flood over several columns of their respective papers. After being
seated in Lyon's private office Mr. Bangs, as Mr. Clement, began the
conversation:
"Mr. Lyon, I am directed by Mr. Pinkerton to ascertain if possible from
you whether Mrs. Winslow has ever informed you of having at any previous
time resided in the West?"
Lyon gave Bangs a cigar, lighted one for himself, and after puffing away
vigorously for a little time, replied: "Mr. Clement, I think she has
done so, but I can't recollect what the information was."
"Couldn't you call to mind anything that would be of some little
assistance to us, Mr. Lyon?"
"No," he nervously answered; "no, I think not. I have put this whole
matter away from me as much as possible."
"We have positively ascertained," continued Bangs, looking searchingly
into Lyon's face, "that she recently secured a divorce from a former
husband. We also know that some one here in Rochester rendered her
substantial assistance. That person found, tracing her history would be
comparatively an easy matter."
Lyon moved about uneasily, and finally through the clouds of smoke about
his head puffed out, "Indeed!"
"Yes," replied Bangs, "and, Mr. Lyon, if we could get at the exact truth
about this part of it, I am sure it would not only greatly facilitate
our work, but also greatly lessen the expense of the operation."
Lyon sat for a little time twisting his shaggy gray whiskers, and
finally said: "Mr. Clement, I insist on not being worried about this
business; perhaps Harcout didn't make that point quite clear. Harcout
_is_ a little flighty, but a noble fellow though, after all. I don't
hardly know what I would do without Harcout, Mr. Clement; he takes the
whole thing off my shoulders, as it were."
Bangs saw that Lyon could have given him just what information he
needed, and also saw with equal certainty that he had fully decided to
throw the matter off his mind entirely, and compel us to gain whatever
necessary by hard work. He was also now satisfied of the truth of my
conviction, that Lyon had assisted Mrs. Winslow in this divorce matter,
and had been very much more intimate with her than he even desired us to
know. So he bade him good-day, returned to his hotel, and telegraphed
for instructions. I directed him to go ahead and use his own judgment
altogether, also suggesting that he should visit the different
clairvoyants and mediums, with a view of getting further information
which might be secured from their almost ceaseless chatter upon the
subject.
As Rochester is as full of mediums as a thistle of thorns, this was a
kind of investigation which necessitated the expenditure of considerable
time, and three days had elapsed before any information of a
satisfactory nature was secured. He had expended quite a little fortune
in having his "horoscope cast," his fortune told, and his fate pointed
out with such unerring certainty by male and female seers of every name,
appearance and nature, that if any two of these predictions had borne
the slightest possible resemblance to each other, he would have been
horrified enough to have taken a last leap into the surging Genesee like
poor Sam Patch. But he persisted in the face of these terrible
revelations until he had found a certain Dr. Hubbard, who proved to be
one of the jolliest of the profession he had ever met. The Doctor was a
pleasant gentleman, and proved more pleasant than ever when Mr. Bangs
informed him that he did not desire any fortune-telling, predictions or
horoscopes, but was interested in the subject of Spiritualism, and had
been directed to him as one likely to give some information that could
be relied on, for which he would liberally remunerate him.
As Mr. Bangs had some choice cigars, which he divided with the Doctor,
and the Doctor had some choice brandy, which he divided with Mr. Bangs,
they at once became easy together, and taking seats at the window
overlooking Main street, while watching the crowds below, were soon
chatting away quite unlike two people very badly affected with
spiritualistic tendencies.
After a little time, however, the Doctor looked pretty sharply at Bangs,
and suddenly asked: "Well, who are you, anyhow?"
"Who am I?" returned Bangs smilingly, "well, to be frank, I am Professor
Owen, of the Indiana State University." Bangs never blushed at the libel
on the kind old man bearing that name and title, and continued, "It is
our vacation now, and I am travelling a little in the East investigating
this subject. My brother is an enthusiastic believer in it, but I wished
other testimony."
The Doctor seemed to think that the Professor took to the brandy and
cigars quite too familiarly for an educator, but the explanation
satisfied him, and he asked: "Professor, you want the whole truth, don't
you?"
"Nothing but the truth," responded Bangs.
Doctor Hubbard blew out a long series of rings and expressively followed
it with "Humbug!"
"It can't be possible," persisted Bangs.
"It oughtn't to be possible," urged the Doctor, "for a man of your
probable talent and position to be engaged in investigating what one
visit to any one of us should show to be the most infernal fraud ever
practised upon the public!" said the Doctor heatedly.
Bangs expressed himself as surprised beyond measure.
"Well," continued the Doctor earnestly, "you came to me like a man,
didn't you?"
Bangs assured him that he was quite right.
"And you came fair and square, without any ifs and ands, didn't you?"
"All of that," responded Bangs.
"And," continued the Doctor helping himself to the brandy, then excusing
himself and pushing it towards Bangs, who partook sparingly, "you didn't
want any fortune told, or predictions, or horoscopes, or any other
nonsense?"
"Exactly," said Bangs.
"And you said you'd pay me liberally for information, didn't you?"
"Yes, and I'll be as good as my word," replied the assumed professor.
"Well, then," continued the Doctor in a burst of good feeling, brandy
and honesty, "you see in me an unsuccessful physician, a disciple of
Æsculapius without followers. I graduated with high honors, hung out my
sign, sharpened my tools, moulded my pills, drank a toast to disease,
but waited in vain for patronage. As this became monotonous," continued
the Doctor, taking another pull at the brandy bottle, then wiping the
mouth and passing it to Mr. Bangs, who excused himself, "I glided into a
'specialist.' It required too much money to advertise, and the papers
slashed me villainously besides. _Then_ I became a Spiritualist--it's
the record of every one of us. You can see," and the Doctor waved his
hand towards the cosy appointments in a satisfied way, "I am pretty
comfortable now."
"Yes, quite comfortable," said Bangs, wondering what the Doctor was
driving at.
"So I am an enthusiastic Spiritualist," resumed the happy physician,
"for its profession has provided me with necessities, comforts, and even
luxuries."
"Do you really effect any of the marvellous cures you advertise?"
"Most assuredly," he replied.
"And may I ask how?" interrogated Mr. Bangs.
"In the good old-fashioned way--salts, senna, calomel, and the
blue-pill," said the Doctor, laughing heartily.
"And is not the aid of the spirits essential to your cures?"
"A belief, or _faith_, that such an agency is used, does the whole
thing, Professor."
"And is there no such thing?" persisted Bangs.
"Just as much of it as there is faith in it; no more and no less."
"Then the whole thing's a humbug, as you say?"
"Just as thoroughly as is that woman," said the Doctor stoutly, pointing
to Mrs. Winslow, who at that moment was seen in the street below, being
driven towards the suburbs in a neat phaeton.
Bangs, becoming suddenly interested, though repressing himself,
carelessly asked, "Who is she?"
Here the Doctor executed a grimace which might mean a good deal, or
nothing at all, and said tersely: "She's a bouncer; don't you know her?"
"No."
"Why, that's Mrs. Winslow, old Lyons' soothing syrup; and old Lyon's
one of the children--'teething,'" added the Doctor with a hearty laugh.
"But she's a tigress!"
Mr. Bangs leaned out of the window, took a good look at the tigress, and
then, as if endeavoring to recollect some former occurrence, said: "I
believe I have seen her somewhere before."
"Quite so, quite so; undoubtedly you have."
"And I think in the West, too," replied Mr. Bangs, trying hard to
remember, and handing the doctor a fresh cigar.
"Exactly--Chicago, St. Louis, Cincinnati, Louisville--everywhere, in
fact. One might call her a social floater, and not be far out of the way
either. She used to live at Terre Haute."
"Terre Haute? Why, of course! I knew I had seen her somewhere."
"Yes, she lived a few miles out, up the Wabash river, for years. Her
husband's name was Oxford, or Hosford, or something of the kind."
"Yes?" said Bangs.
"Yes," replied the Doctor; "I didn't know her personally, but I knew
_of_ her there. That's where she first went off the hook--and--and
became one of us."
"Is she a remarkable character?" asked Mr. Bangs.
"A remarkable character? Why, sir, she's a wonderful woman--a perfect
Satan. I wouldn't have her get after me," said the Doctor, shaking his
head protestingly "for ten thousand dollars! Why, sir, that woman has
ruined more men and broken up more families than you could count."
"And is _she_, too, a spiritualist?" asked Mr. Bangs.
"A spiritualist? Why, of course she is; and, what is more, I sometimes
think she really believes in her own mummeries."
"What has become of her family?" asked Bangs.
"Oh, gone to the devil, I presume, just like everybody she has had
anything to do with--just as old Lyon is certain to do, too."
"Then this Oxford or Hosford is not living at Terre Haute now?"
"Couldn't tell you that," replied the Doctor; and then, suddenly
returning to the subject and putting the brandy-bottle into a little
closet with a slam as footsteps were heard coming up the stairs, "can I
be of any further service to you?"
Mr. Bangs thought not, handed the good Doctor a five-dollar bill while
remarking that he would call again, both of which evidences of good
feeling pleased the latter immensely, and took his departure quite well
pleased with the result of his inquiries into the wonderful subject of
modern Spiritualism.
CHAPTER X.
Rochester.-- A Profitable Field for Mrs. Winslow.-- Her
sumptuous Apartments.-- The Detectives at Work.-- Mrs.
Winslow's Cautiousness.-- Child-Training.-- Mysterious
Drives.-- A dapper little Blond Gentleman.-- Two Birds
with one Stone.-- A French Divinity.-- Le Compte.
While Superintendent Bangs is on his hunting expedition in the West, we
will follow the fortunes of Mrs. Winslow in the beautiful city of
Rochester.
There is hardly a city in the country better adapted for either the
pursuit of pleasure or wealth than Rochester. Everything combines to
make it so. It nestles in one of the most beautiful valleys in the
world, like the nest of a busy bird in a luxuriant meadow. There is the
sound of pleasant waters, the roar of a mighty cataract, the din of two
score busy mills, the music of the spindles, the cogs and the reels, the
clash and the clangor of the factories, the thunderings of the forges,
and the footfalls of a hundred thousand happy, contented people who have
wrung competence and even luxury from the hard hand of necessity and
toil.
From the summit of Mount Hope Observatory, an elevation of nearly five
hundred feet above the lake, there is a grand picture whereon the eye
may rest. At your feet, and to the north, lies the busy city with the
noble Genesee winding rapidly through it, lending its half-million
horse-power force to the needs of labor, then plunging a hundred feet
downwards, eddying and rushing onward, plunging and eddying again and
again, until it sobers into a steady current northward towards Ontario
through a deep, dark gorge, looking like an ugly serpent trailing to the
lower inland sea where can be seen the city of Charlotte, formerly
called Port Genesee, the port of Rochester, beyond which, on a clear
day, may be seen countless dreamy sails, and steamers with their
trailing plumes of smoke, and still beyond appears the dim outlines of
the far-off Canadian shore. To the east, as far as can be discerned,
lies a country of the nature of "openings"--beautiful groves of trees,
magnificent farms, with the almost palatial homes of the owners, who
have become rich from the legacies of their ancestors with the added
thrift of scores of fruitful years. Southward for a half hundred miles,
stretches the beautiful valley of the Genesee, dimpled by lesser valleys
and a hundred sparkling brooks, and dotted by field and forest and
numberless groups of half-hidden houses, with outbuildings full to
bursting with the fruitage of the fields; while to the west along the
lake are low ranges of sand-hills, and south of these extending nearly
to Lake Erie is a beautiful prairie country, while with a glass can be
traced the ghostly mist perpetually hovering above Niagara.
If this scene be inspiring to the looker-on, the intrinsic beauty of the
city, its unusual life, its fine public buildings, business houses, and
splendid private residences; its clean macadamized streets and broad,
brick walks, shaded with the trees of half a century's growth as in many
of the famous Southern cities; its numberless little parks or "places,"
owned in common by the proprietors of the handsome residences which
surround them, and filled with rare shrubs, flowers, beautiful fountains
and costly statuary; the vast _parterres_ of flowers in the suburbs,
sending in upon every summer wind an Arabian wealth of exquisite
fragrance; the large summer gardens, where beer and Gambrinus reign
supreme; the enticing promenades, and the splendid drives in every
direction from the city--would give any one not completely at war with
every pleasant thing in life a genuine inspiration of pleasure and a
more than ordinary thrill of enjoyment.
It is little wonder, then, that Mrs. Winslow found Rochester a
profitable field for operating in her peculiar double capacity of a
dashing adventuress and a trance medium. She found there not only men of
vast wealth, but of vast immorality, as is quite common all over the
world, and hundreds of firm believers in spiritualism, which was a
special peculiarity to Rochester. Among the first number there were many
who sought her for her charms of figure and manners, which were
certainly powerfully attractive, and which yielded her an elegant income
without positive public degradation, as no man of wealth and position
feels called upon to make known his own peccadilloes for the sake of
exposing the sharer of them, even though she be a dangerous woman; and
consequently there was only that universal verdict of evil against her
which society quite generally, and also quite correctly, pronounces on
forcibly circumstantial evidence.
Her apartments were elegant, and even sumptuous; and though there was a
quite general understanding of her character among the epicurean
gentlemen of the city, she held them aloof with such freezing dignity
that they seldom presumed upon her acquaintance, and were even possessed
of a certain respect for her unusually rare shrewdness in preserving her
reputation, such as it was; so that her rooms, so far as the public were
able to ascertain, were only frequented by those who believed her to be
able to allay their sufferings, or open the gates of the undiscovered
country to their anxious, yearning eyes.
A large amount of money had been paid her by Lyon to prevent a scandal.
The last sum was known to have been five thousand dollars, and it was
quite probable that if there had been an intimacy so ripe as to have
warranted the payment of this amount, still larger sums had doubtless
been expended in maturing so tender a relation. In any event it was
ascertained by Bristol and Fox that Mrs. Winslow had for some time been
living in elegance, though at the same time carefully, being given to no
particular excesses, and it was a matter for considerable speculation
whether she was now in the possession of much money or not.
Fox affected the quiet, well-bred gentleman, expended sufficient money
among the boarders to make them talkative, and even confidential, and
in this way learned a great deal about the madam's habits and
peculiarities that was afterwards useful, though of no particular moment
at that time; while Bristol, who was a florid, well-kept Canadian
gentleman of about forty-five years of age, of a literary and poetical
turn, and with an easy habit of falling into the manner and brogue of an
Englishman, Scotchman, or Irishman, made himself immensely popular with
the old maids under Washington Hall, who in turn were enamored with his
good physical parts and blarneying tongue, and were at any time ready to
confide to him all they knew, and, in fact, a great deal more; so that,
as he professed to be an ardent Spiritualist, he was enabled to become
well informed concerning the leading persons of that persuasion in the
city, of whom he forwarded a complete list, with something of a history
of each; and while not becoming known to or personally familiar with any
one of them--which would have destroyed his usefulness, he was yet able
to keep track of nearly all that was said or done within the charmed
circle; as after each lecture, or seance, the economically-built and
antiquated maidens would retire to a little snuggery behind the
restaurant, to which they would invite the sympathetic Bristol, who was
old enough to protect them from scandal, and then and there, while
easing their by no means ravishing forms of portions of their garments
preparatory to the night's virtuous repose, over strong toast and weak
tea would rattle on in such a bewildering way about the events of the
evening and the good or bad characteristics of the faithful, that
Bristol figuratively, if not in fact, sat at the feet of a trinity of
oracles.
His reports showed that while Mrs. Winslow was accepted among their
number without question, still there was but little known about her
previous history. I felt satisfied that this was true, and had only
stationed Bristol and Fox at Rochester for the purpose of keeping me
informed of her every movement, knowing well enough that after Bangs had
got a good start he would follow up her trail in the West as
remorselessly as I myself would have done.
Mrs. Winslow seemed to be absolutely without associates, either from a
confirmed habit of suspicion of everybody which she seemed to possess,
or from a resolve to maintain as good a character as possible until the
Winslow-Lyon case should be heard in court, so that her evidence, and
particularly her reputation, might not be impeached or broken down; and
it required the constant attention of both Bristol and Fox to discover
in her anything of even a suspicious character, as the nature of her
mediumistic business--allowing as it did scores of visitors daily access
to her rooms, only one being admitted to the trance-room of her
apartments at a time--gave her a vast advantage over them.
It was evident that she had in a measure persuaded herself that she had
a genuine cause of action against Lyon; or, that if she had not, she had
fully determined to make a big fight under any circumstances, as both
the prestige secured by the presumption of some shadow of a claim which
the mere pressing of it in court would give, and the assistance to her
which even a tithe of the damages she claimed would be, would not only
give her a degree of importance and respectability which would greatly
assist her in future operations, but would also yield her the means for
future comfort, without this terrible continued struggle for gold and
the happiness it is supposed to command.
How vain such a hope! and how strange that, with the bitter reminder of
countless never-realized ambitions before them, the adventurer and the
criminal will go on and on, still clinging to the shadow of a hope that
by _some_ exceptional freak of fortune in their favor they may gain the
peace and quietness they so agonizedly long for, but which is just as
irrevocably decreed to be forever beyond their reach as were the
luscious fruits to escape the touch and taste of the condemned and
tortured Phrygian king.
And right here, were I a preacher--being only a _doer_, however--I would
show the criminal neglect of parents, teachers and preachers in forever
warring for reformation, and never battling against the numberless packs
of little foxes of pride and covetousness of society, which drive weak
natures into a constant struggle to excel in power and display, eating
away at the vines until the life, like the fields, is left barren and
desolate, or is only a vast waste of thorns and noxious weeds. My
records are full of lives wrecked upon the glittering rocks built by
false pride and vanity and the greed for gold which society, and even
the aristocratic systems of modern religion compel. Whatever may be
preached, all this cursed assumption of what is not possessed without
years of honest, sturdy toil, is practised in the pulpit, the pew, the
palace, and the poverty-stricken hovel, permeating every stratum of
business, society and religion, until honorable action is at discount,
dishonesty commands a premium of gain and lachrymose sympathy, and the
whole world is being swiftly driven into a surging channel of fraud,
crime and debauchery that will require generations of something besides
splendid hypocrisy and luxurious cant to restrain and purify.
With this digression, which I cannot well avoid, as it contains the
convictions based upon long years of close observation and peculiar
experience, I will return to the woman whom my operatives found so
difficult to analyze and trace out.
Bangs's visit to Dr. Hubbard showed that she had a habit of driving out.
Bristol and Fox became acquainted with this fact at once and transmitted
it in their reports. It appeared that the carriage and driver were
secured at a livery stable near the opera house, a short distance from
her rooms and Fox's boarding-house. I instructed Fox to ascertain to
what points these trips were made, and if any one ever accompanied her.
Careful inquiries at this stable elicited nothing, as Mrs. Winslow's
custom was valuable, and even her driver proved close-mouthed upon the
subject. Accordingly, after Fox had discovered the general direction
taken by Mrs. Winslow and the usual streets frequented at starting, he
strolled out State Street and from thence into Lake View Avenue, which
is but a continuation of State Street. After he had walked some little
distance he was pleased to find that he had company in the person of a
dapper little blond gentleman who was somewhat in advance of him, but
who, though apparently enjoying the morning air, seemed both
apprehensive of being followed, and desirous of the appearance of some
one for whom he was waiting. His make-up gave him something of a foreign
air, and was the most exquisite imaginable. He was a slender, tender
nymph of the male order of fairies, with a face as delicate as a
woman's, with large, blue, expressive eyes, long, luxuriant hair, and as
neat a little moustache as was ever waxed to keep it from melting away
altogether. If his face and figure were neat enough for a millinery
window, his clothing was a model even for a Poole. His lustrous silk hat
scarcely outshone in richness his faultless dress-coat, which was
buttoned low, exposing a perfect duck vest, a spotless shirt-front and a
low, rolling Byron collar, with a delicate flowing tie; while his
pantaloons, which were of a mellow lavender color, seemed only to
increase the effect of his shapely legs, and by their graceful swell at
the instep only to stop to disclose a foot perfect enough for a model.
His jewelry consisted of a modest solitaire diamond pin, and a large
seal ring which he wore upon the little finger of his left hand.
For some reason Fox felt interested in him, and resolved, though
looking for a quite different person, to watch him closely. So he passed
him without giving him an opportunity of seeing his face, and, taking a
position in the bar-room of a small beer-garden a little way beyond,
where he had a good view of the avenue, waited for developments which
were not long in taking place, as the neat little fellow arrived at the
garden a few minutes after Fox, and shortly after Mrs. Winslow's
carriage was seen coming from the direction of the city. Fox saw that he
was bringing two birds down with one stone, and anxiously watched Mrs.
Winslow and the little fop, feeling satisfied that their meeting at the
garden was pre-arranged, for as soon as her carriage came in sight, he
had noticed a look of satisfaction come over the man's face, and when it
was driven up to the door he stepped out nimbly, smiling and bowing like
a brisk wax figure at a show.
The driver was at once discharged, and after watering the horse,
immediately started towards town on foot, occasionally looking over his
shoulder with a sardonic smile on his face, as if pleased at the loving
meeting at the garden, as that sort of thing probably brought him many
an honest penny; but no sooner had the driver turned his back on the
place than Mrs. Winslow said:
"Come, Le Compte, get me a glass of brandy."
Fox thought that pretty strong for a lady who had been damaged a hundred
thousand dollars by breach of promise of marriage, but held his peace,
and a paper before his face, while her admirer danced into the bar and
procured two glasses of brandy, which he took to the carriage upon a
little tray.
"My dear, you were a little late, eh?" said Le Compte.
"Ah, a French divinity," thought Fox.
"Le Compte," replied Mrs. Winslow, handing him a bill with which to pay
for the refreshment, and paying no attention to the little fellow's
remark, "tell that d----d Dutchman that if he don't get some better
brandy, I'll never pay him another penny!"
Fox also thought this pretty strong for the pure, broken-hearted maiden
Mrs. Winslow's bill of complaint against Lyon showed her to be, and he
accordingly made a note of the same, as her friend returned to the
bar-room and paid for the liquor, while saying to the landlord that the
madam desired him to say that the brandy was perfectly exquisite in
flavor.
Presently Mrs. Winslow called out, "Come, Le Compte, get in here!" when
he ran out with the alacrity of a carriage spaniel, sprang into the
carriage, took the reins, and drove away towards the country, looking
like a pretty daisy in the shade of a gigantic sunflower.
CHAPTER XI.
The Half-way House.-- A Jolly German Landlord.-- Detective
Fox runs down Le Compte.-- A "Positive, Prophetic, Healing
and Trance Medium."-- Harcout the Adviser reappears, and
is anxious lest Mr. Lyon be drawn into some terrible
Confession.-- Mr. Pinkerton decides to know more about Le
Compte.-- And with the harassed Mr. Lyon interviews him.--
Treachery and Blackmail.-- "A much untractable Man."--
Light shines upon Mrs. Winslow.-- Another Man.-- Mr.
Pinkerton mad.
Many other conveyances were passing to and fro, and Fox's first impulse
was to secure a seat in some one of them and follow the couple in the
direction they had taken. But he recollected that it might cause either
Mrs. Winslow, or the little fellow at her side to know him again, which
would prove disastrous, and he was consequently obliged to apply his
pump to the important little Dutchman who owned the half-way house, and
who was busying himself around the cool, pleasant bar-room, making the
place as attractive as possible, and singing lustily in his own
mother-tongue.
"Good morning to you!" said Fox cheerily, stepping to the bar in a way
that indicated his desire to imbibe.
"Good mornings mit yourself," answered the lively proprietor, getting
behind the bar nimbly; "Beer?"
"Yes, thank you," replied Fox, "a schnit, if you please. Won't you
drink with me?"
"Oh, ya, ya; I dank you; I dank you;" and there were as many smiles on
his honest face as bubbles upon his good beer.
The glasses touched, Fox said, "Here's luck!" and the landlord met it
with "Best resbects, mister!"
In good time two more schnits followed, and as the landlord was each
time requested to join with Fox, he was so pleased with his liberality
and apparent good feeling that he beamed all over like a sunny day in
June.
"You have a beautiful place here," said Fox.
"Oh, so, so!" answered the landlord with a quick, deprecatory shrug
which meant that he was very well satisfied with it.
"I was never here before."
"No?--So? I guess mebby I don't ever have seen you. Don't you leef py
Rochester?--no?"
"No, I live in Buffalo, and I just came over to Rochester on a little
business. Having plenty of time, I thought I would stroll out a bit this
morning."
"Ya, I get a good many strollers dot same way. Eferypody goes out by der
Bort."
"The Bort?"
"Ya, ya, der Bort--Bort Charlotte."
"Is this the way to Charlotte?"
"To be certainly. When you come five miles auf, den you stand by der
Bort, sure."
"And so that is where the big woman and the little man were going?"
asked Fox carelessly.
"Sure, sure," said the landlord with a knowing wink; and then taking a
very large pinch of snuff, and laying his forefinger the whole length of
his rosy nose, added with an air of great importance and mystery, "I
tell you, py Jupiter, I don't let somebody got rooms _here_!"
"That's right, old fellow!" said Fox, slapping the honest beer-vender on
the shoulder. "Be unhappy and you will be virtuous!"
"Vell," continued the Teuton, excitedly lapsing into his own vernacular,
"_es macht keinen unterschied_; I don't got mein leefing dot way. I--I
vould pe a bolitician first!"
Fox expressed his admiration for such heroism, and purchased a cigar to
assist the landlord in his efforts to avoid the necessity of either
renting rooms to ladies and gentlemen of Mrs. Winslow's and Le Compte's
standing, or of accepting the more unfortunate emergency of becoming a
"bolitician."
Then they both seated themselves outside the house, underneath the
shaded porch, and chatted away about current events, Fox all the time
directing the conversation in a manner so as to draw out the genial
Teuton on the subject which most interested him, and was successful to
the extent of learning that Le Compte was what the landlord termed a
"luffer," evidently meaning a loafer; that several months before, they
came there together desiring a room, which had been refused; but he had
directed them to the Port, where they had evidently been accommodated,
as they had after that, until this time, regularly went in that
direction, always stopping at his place for a glass of his best brandy;
and that they had also always came there together until within a few
weeks, since when, for some reason, this Le Compte had walked out to the
hotel, where she had overtaken him with her carriage and driver, when
the driver would be sent back to the city, and Le Compte taken in for
the drive to Charlotte, as Fox had seen. He also learned that on their
return, which was generally towards evening, the driver met them at the
same place, when the latter took the reins, and Le Compte, somewhat
soiled from his trip, walked into the city.
Fox concluded that there would be no better time than the present to
learn something further concerning Le Compte, and after enjoying himself
in the vicinity for a short time, came back to the hotel, took a hearty
German dinner, and after another stroll secured a room for a short nap,
as he told the landlord, but really for the purpose of observation.
About six o'clock he saw the driver coming to the hotel from towards
Rochester, and in about a half an hour afterwards noticed the carriage
containing Mrs. Winslow and Le Compte coming down the road from
Charlotte. The couple seemed very gay and lively, and drove up to the
hotel with considerable dash and spirit. They both drank, as in the
morning, while the driver resumed his old place by the side of Mrs.
Winslow; and as they were about to depart, Fox heard the woman say to
Le Compte: "No, not again until Saturday; I'll try to be a little
earlier." Then the carriage went away, Le Compte loitering about for a
few minutes, after which he started off on a brisk walk towards town.
As the evening was drawing on, Fox hurried down to the bar-room, paid
his bill, and bidding his host good-by, trudged on after the little
fellow, keeping him well in sight, though remaining some distance behind
to escape observation, but gradually closing in upon him, until, when
they had arrived within the thickly settled portion of the city, they
were trudging along quite convenient to each other.
The lamps now began to flare out upon the town, and the gay shops were
lighted as Fox followed his man in and out, up and down the streets. Le
Compte first went to a restaurant just beyond the Arcade in Mill street,
where he got his supper, and afterwards promenaded about the streets in
an aimless sort of a way for some little time, after which he returned
to the Arcade and seemingly anxiously inquired for letters at the
post-office. He got several, but was evidently either disappointed at
what he had received, or at not receiving what he had expected. In any
event he cautiously peered into Lyon's closed offices, as if hoping to
find some one there. Disappointed in this also, he went directly to
State Street, near Main, where, after looking about for a moment, he
suddenly disappeared up a stairway leading to the upper stories of a
large brick block. Fox quickly followed, and was able to catch sight of
the little fellow just as he was entering a room at the side of the
hall. He waited until everything was quiet, and then approached the
door. The light from the single jet in the hallway was not sufficient
for the purpose, but with the aid of a lighted match he was able to
trace upon a neat card tacked to the door the inscription:
B. JEROME LE COMPTE,
POSITIVE, PROPHETIC, HEALING AND TRANCE MEDIUM.
Psychrometrist, Clairvoyant, and Mineral Locater.
As Fox had succeeded in "locating" his man, he returned to his
boarding-house, wrote out his report and posted it, and after carelessly
dropping into the restaurant under Washington Hall, where he took a dish
of ice-cream and found means to inform Bristol of the latest
development, he returned and retired for the night well satisfied with
his day's work, and fully resolved to be on hand for Saturday's sport at
Charlotte.
I received Fox's report the next noon, and not a half-hour afterwards
the splendid Harcout came rushing in.
"Pinkerton, Pinkerton," he exclaimed excitedly, "here's something which
we must attend to at once--at once, mind you, or--bless my soul! I'm
afraid I left it at the St. Nicholas. How could I be so careless!"
Harcout grew red in the face and plunged into all his pockets wildly,
utterly regardless of his exquisite make-up, until quite exhausted.
"Why, Harcout, you're excited. Tell me what's the matter, my man," said
I, reassuringly.
"Matter? matter? everything's the matter. Here's something which should
be acted upon at once, and like an ass I've left it at the hotel. I'll
go back and get it immediately."
"Get what?" I asked him.
"Get a letter that I just received from Lyon. He's there all by himself,
and they will draw him into some terrible confession. But I--I must get
the letter," and Harcout grabbed his hat and gloves and started.
"Hold on, Harcout," I called to him, "what is that you have in your
hand?"
"In my hand? Oh, just a private note I got in the same mail."
"Just look at it before you go," I suggested.
Harcout stopped in the door, examined the letter, pulled another from
the inside of the envelope, and blurted out sheepishly: "Ah, bless my
soul!--Pinkerton, this is just what I wanted. Here, quick, read them
both."
I took the letters as Harcout sat down and fanned himself with his
glove, and saw that they were dated from Rochester on the previous day.
The first one was from Lyon, in which he stated that he had received the
enclosed letter in the morning, probably shortly after Fox had strolled
out Lake View Avenue, also expressing a desire that Harcout should
submit it to me for advice as to the best course to be pursued, and have
the reply telegraphed. The enclosed letter was from Le Compte to Lyon,
insisting that he should immediately come to his rooms to receive
information of the greatest importance. I did not let Harcout know that
I had any information concerning Le Compte, but I saw that that portion
of Fox's report which stated that he had followed Le Compte to the
Arcade the previous evening, where the latter had anxiously inquired for
mail, and after that had taken a peep into Lyon's offices, agreed with
Lyon's letter as to the time when Le Compte probably expected an answer
from him.
I was at loss to know what the dapper little fellow was driving
at--whether he and Mrs. Winslow were after further blackmail, or whether
he had secured some confession from her while she was lavishing her
favors and money upon him, which the treacherous little villain was
endeavoring to make bring a good price through Lyon's superstitious
faith in the power of those who claimed supernatural powers and a
profession of Spiritualism.
I at once decided to go to Rochester and interview this new apparition
in the field in company with Lyon, and accordingly told Harcout that I
would do so, and would immediately telegraph to Lyon to that effect;
upon which he trotted away, announcing his determination to also
telegraph, so that Lyon might see that he was "attending closely to our
case," as he termed it.
As soon as he had left, I indicted a dispatch to Lyon, asking him to
make an appointment with Le Compte for an interview on the next
afternoon, when I would be there to accompany him; and after getting my
supper, took the evening train and arrived at Rochester the next noon.
After taking dinner at the Waverley, I immediately proceeded to Lyon's
offices. He seemed worried and anxious to see me, and felt extremely
alarmed about the whole matter, having as yet kept it from his attorney.
I had him send a message for him at once, and in a few minutes we were
all three in consultation. His attorney, a Mr. Balingal, thought we were
doing just right, and, on leaving, privately informed me that in no
event should I allow any person that professed mediumistic powers to
remain with Lyon alone, as he would be certain to do something which
would in some way compromise the case.
A few minutes after Lyon's attorney had left, we took different routes,
arriving at the hallway leading to Le Compte's rooms on State street at
about the same time, ascending the staircase together. A negro, who had
borne a second and a more imperative message to Lyon, was in waiting at
the top, and smilingly showed us along the hall in the direction of
Number 28, which afterwards proved to be Le Compte's seance-room. The
little fellow himself here stepped out of an adjoining room with a very
insinuating smile upon his face, which suddenly changed to a look of
disappointment as he saw that Mr. Lyon had rather solidly-built company.
As Mr. Lyon entered the room, this Monsieur Le Compte undertook to close
the door in my face; but I shoved myself into the room, and told the
mineral locater, etc., that I was a friend of Mr. Lyon's, and insisted
on being one of the party.
Lyon began timidly looking around the gas lighted room--though it was
not after three o'clock--which was filled with the ordinary
paraphernalia for compelling awe and fear: "I understand you have some
business with me. My name is Lyon."
"Yes, yes," he replied, "I have great business with you. But I can only
make you my _one_ confidant, Mr. Lyon."
"Oh, well, well, now," I interrupted, with some assumed bravado, "this
sort of thing better play out before it begins. I am Mr. Lyon's friend,
and whatever you have to say to him will have to be said before me.
Isn't that so, Mr. Lyon?"
Lyon assented feebly, and Le Compte asked: "Will you make me the
pleasure of your friend's name?"
"No matter, no matter," said I quickly, for I knew how weak Lyon was. "I
am here as my friend's friend. He has nothing to say in this matter. You
will have to inform me of your business with Mr. Lyon."
Le Compte suddenly arose from his chair, locked the door and put the key
in his pocket. He then went to the windows, which were slightly raised
on account of the heat, closed them, and lowered the curtains so as to
shut out the light completely. Just as he had completed the work, which
took him but a moment, I said to him sharply: "See here, sir, you will
make this room uncomfortably warm for yourself as well as us, if you are
not careful. Don't send us to perdition before our time, Le Compte."
He made no answer, and looked exceedingly meek; but I saw that he was
determined to endeavor to play upon Lyon's feelings for future profit,
even if the present interview offered none. He immediately seated
himself at a table opposite us, and said to Lyon: "The clairvoyant state
I will go into before anything I can reveal."
"Mr. Le Compte," I interrupted, noticing that Lyon was already weakening
before the scoundrel's assumption, "if you have got anything to say to
Mr. Lyon, go on and say it with your eyes open, like a man. We won't be
humbugged by you or any one else!"
He did go on now, and with his eyes open, and said: "Well, gentlemen, I
know of this lady who troubles Mr. Lyon, and learn of much witnesses for
his help. But the clairvoyant state gave it to me."
"No, no, my young fellow," said I, "we don't pay for that kind of
evidence. If you have any evidence in your possession which will be of
benefit to Mr. Lyon, I am prepared to receive and pay for it; but
clairvoyant evidence isn't worth a cent!"
"Well," he replied, somewhat ruffled, "I can go on the jury and swear
clearly of this!"
I then told him I was satisfied that he did not know the first
principles of law and evidence, and that the probability was that he had
no evidence in his possession at all. I spoke in a very loud tone of
voice, and evidently frightened the little fellow considerably.
"You are much intractable--a much intractable man," he responded. "I
could tell about you greatly to convince you of my power; but it is
impossible in double presence."
"All right," said I. "Mr. Lyon, I don't see as you have anything to do
with this interview, and I want you to go right back to your office and
remain there until I come!"
Lyon got up in a scared kind of way, and started hesitatingly towards
the door, looking appealingly at me; but I paid no attention to it, and
the little Frenchman instantly arose and politely showed him out, saying
in a low voice: "My dear Mr. Lyon, it will be for your great interest to
make appointment without the boor."
"Lyon will do nothing of the kind, you little villain," I said, as I saw
he was shrewdly arranging for future business. "The 'boor,' as you are
pleased to term me, has the whole charge of this business, and you will
transact it with him or nobody."
Le Compte flushed, closed the door without another word, locked it, and
put the key in his pocket.
I turned on him savagely with: "My friend, what do you mean? If you make
a single treacherous motion, you'll never get out of this room alive!"
I was now thoroughly mad, and am sure that the little jackanapes saw it
and felt that I might possibly serve him as he deserved, for he quickly
and tremblingly said, "Oh, if that is the case, I have no objection if
you the key hold; but in clairvoyant state we shall be alone and
locked."
There was a bed in the room, and I suggested that he looked flurried
and had better take a rest upon it while going on with his story; but he
seated himself at the opposite side of the table, and began putting his
hands upon his eyes and drawing them away with an indescribably
graceful, though rapid gesture. This he continued for some little time,
when he brought his hands down upon the table with considerable force.
Then he began the old humbug about my having had trouble with some one,
somewhere in the United States, at some time or other about something;
that there was another man of uncertain size, peculiar complexion,
unusual hair, singular face, and a strange, general appearance; and that
this difficulty was about money, he thought it would amount to from five
hundred to one thousand dollars, and that I would receive this sum
within a few weeks. As I said that this was absolutely true, he was
greatly encouraged, and went on for some time in an equally silly and
foolish manner. I stood it as long as I could, and finally said:
"See here, my friend, you and I must talk business!" upon which he was
wide awake and quite ready to enter into earthly conversation.
"Well, sir, what _could_ you want?"
"I want this nonsense stopped," I replied rising, at which he also
jumped up nimbly.
"Well," he said, "this woman"--evidently referring to Mrs. Winslow,
though no name had been mentioned--"once lived in Iowa with wrong
names!"
"Oh, nonsense!" I replied, "I know that already."
"But," he continued quickly, "I can furnish you the name of another
man--very rich, very rich he is, too--who should be by law more her
husband."
"Well," said I angrily, though now fully believing the little fellow for
the first time, "write this out fully; give me the man's name, business
or occupation; his place of residence, his standing, etc.; how he became
acquainted with this woman and under what circumstances they lived
together, and when and where; and when you give me the information, if I
find it reliable, I will pay liberally for it. If not, I won't pay you a
cent. Now, do we understand each other?"
"I think we do," he answered timidly.
"Le Compte," said I sternly, "there's no use of your practising this
clairvoyant game any longer. You won't get a dollar out of it; not a
dollar. I understand all about it as well as you do. Now, have a care
about yourself, sir, or one of these bright days you'll be coming up
with a sudden turn."
I now started towards the door; but the persistent scamp seemed anxious
to still keep me, on some manner of pretext, and stood holding the key
in a confused, undecided way.
"Open that door, you villain!" I demanded; "open it at once, or you'll
get into trouble."
He started suddenly, put the key in the lock, and then turned to me and
asked: "Won't you give me opportunity to show you I do not swindle. Just
let me make some few little passes over your head. I will sure put you
to sleep quickly!"
"I am not sleepy, nor do I need sleep now, thank you. I had a good nap
about an hour since," I answered, laughing at the little fellow's
annoyance. "Now open that door!"
Le Compte shrugged his handsome shoulders despairingly, unlocked the
door, and as I passed out of the no less than robber's den--though under
the guise of a mediumistic and spiritualistic blackmailing
headquarters--he said: "Well, sir, I will think of this statement a
great deal; but you are a very untractable man; a very untractable
man--what might I call your name?"
"Oh, anything you like, my little man!" I replied pleasantly; "but mind,
we won't have any more of this silly business. It won't pay, and you
will certainly get into trouble from it. You may send the statement to
George H. Bangs, at the post-office, by Monday noon, and if it is what
you represent it to be, and reliable, you will be paid for it; but you
may be very, very certain, Le Compte, that it will prove extremely
unprofitable to you if you attempt any more of this humbuggery upon Mr.
Lyon!"
With this admonition I left Le Compte's, and soon found Lyon in his
office. We arranged that he should pay no further attention to either Le
Compte's or any other person's communications concerning this case, but
should at once turn them over to his attorneys, who should immediately
forward them to me after reading them, as I was satisfied that if Le
Compte had any evidence he would never swear to it when the case was
tried, and only desired to blackmail Lyon on his own account, while
playing the necessary male friend and confidant to Mrs. Winslow, who for
some reason seemed to have a strange and unexplainable liking for the
little Monsieur, although exercising great care that her passion for him
should not become a matter for public knowledge and comment.
CHAPTER XII
The Raven of the Detroit Cottage in another Character.-- Mrs.
Winslow yearns for a retired Montreal Banker.-- Love's
Rivalry.-- A mysterious Note.-- The Response.-- Another
Trip to Port Charlotte by four Hearts that beat as one.--
What Mr. Pinkerton, as one of the party, sees and hears.--
"Jones of Rochester."-- Le Compte and Mrs. Winslow resolve
to fly to Paris, "the magnificent, the beautiful, the
sublime!"-- "My God, are they all that way?"
At last the promised Saturday came, and there were at least three people
in Rochester who looked forward to a pleasant day, and were up betimes
that they might get an early start. Mrs. Winslow, from her sumptuous
apartments, looked out upon the streets and the glorious morning as if
it had come too soon--as it always does to those who have not clean
hearts and clean lives--and, _en déshabillé_, gazed down through her
rich lace curtains upon the early passers stepping off with a brisk
tread to their separate labors, with a look of contempt.
Nature had been wantonly generous with Mrs. Winslow, and as she stood
there in her loose morning robes, the first soft breaths that come with
the sun from the far-off Orient playing hide-and-seek among the
sumptuous hangings of her room, and giving just the least possible
motion to her matchlessly luxuriant black hair, while the mellow and
golden rays of the sun, which was just peeping over the roofs and the
chimneys, shimmered upon her through the curtains, lighting her great
gray eyes with a wondrous lustrousness, heightening the fine color of
her face, and giving to her voluptuous form an added grace--this utterly
lone woman had not in her heart an iota of tenderness for, or sympathy
with, the glories without, and was as dead to every good thing in life
as though carved from marble by some sculptor, as she really had been
carved from stone, or ice, by nature. As she stood there by the window,
regarding the passers with such a wise and ogreish air that Fox, behind
the blinds in his window opposite, could not but couple her in his
thoughts with some splendid beast of prey--if Mother Blake or the
voluble Rev. Bland could have seen her, the years that had passed would
have been swept away, and in the mature woman and the conscienceless
adventuress would have been recognized the raven of the Detroit cottage,
that, as Lilly Nettleton, in a habit that ravens have, glided
noiselessly about the other sumptuous apartments, gathering together
what pleased its fancy--not forgetting the money which was to have been
used in the cursed church interests, and a gold watch, which the raven
wore to this day--and then, kissing its beak to the heavily sleeping
man, for all the world like a raven, had passed out into the storm and
the night.
In a few moments she retired from the window, and after dressing passed
out upon the street, and went to the falls for a short walk and an
appetite, and then went to the Washington Hall restaurant, where she had
quite frequently taken her meals since she had incidentally learned
that Bristol was a retired Montreal banker, as gossip had it now among
the Spiritualists; and it was evident that persons of that grade of
recommendation were of peculiar interest to Mrs. Winslow. For hours of
dalliance, the aristocratic though impecunious popinjay, Le Compte,
would more than answer; but when it came to a matter of serious work,
and when a new source of income was to be sought, Mrs. Winslow, being a
shrewd and able professor of the art of fascination which secured her an
independent and elegant livelihood, in connection with her ability to
compel a large number of people to pay her for guessing at what had
befallen them and what might befall them, she invariably sought
gentlemen on the shady side of life, with judgment and discretion, who
knew a good thing when they saw it, and who were both able and willing
to carry their bank accounts into their aged knight-errantry.
Lyon was not a handsome man, but he had vast wealth. His weazen face,
his grizzly hair, his repulsive, tobacco-stained mouth, were naught
against him. His passion for her had brought her thousands upon
thousands of dollars--would bring her, she hoped, as much more. Here was
Bristol. He was not handsome, he was not a Canadian Adonis, he
incessantly smoked a very ugly pipe fully as old as himself. But he had
some way got the reputation of being "a retired Canadian banker" among
these people, and Mrs. Winslow's heart warmed towards him the way it had
towards a hundred others when she had wanted them to walk into her
parlor as the ancient spider had desired of the fly.
So she had begun weaving a shining web of loving looks, of tender
glances, of dreamy sighs, and of graceful manoeuvres of a general
character about the unsuspecting Bristol, that resulted in pecuniary
profit to the old maids, who, nevertheless, with the quick instinct of
three jealous women of economical build and mature years, had already
begun to hate her as a rival, and pour into Bristol's alert ears sad
tales about the splendid charmer, all of which were properly reported to
me by the "retired Montreal banker," who had suddenly found himself a
prize worthy to be sought for, and fought for, if necessary, by four
determined women, one of whom hungered for his supposed wealth, and
three of whom possessed the more desperate, life-long hunger whose
appeasing is worth a severe struggle.
After her breakfast, which, unfortunately, had not given her an
opportunity for bestowing a graceful nod or a winning smile upon
Bristol, whom the old maids had furnished a superb breakfast in his own
apartment, Mrs. Winslow returned to her rooms and seated herself at her
windows, where she read the morning paper for a little time. She then
disappeared from Fox's sight for a half-hour or so, when, just as he was
about leaving his watch at his window he noticed her descend the stairs,
and, after looking cautiously about for a moment, deposit a card behind
her own sign, which was attached to the frame of the outer doorway
leading to her rooms. As soon as she had retired, and before she could
have returned to her windows, Fox slipped down and out across the
street, and removing the card from its novel depository, saw written
upon it:
"Le Compte:--Will be at the Garden with carriage at ten,
prompt.
"MRS. W."
Fox had no more than time to return the card to its place when he saw
the person to whom it was addressed turn into St. Paul street from East
Main. He accordingly got back to his old post as rapidly as possible,
and watched the young Frenchman saunter along towards the hallway as if
carelessly taking his morning walk. He was irreproachably dressed, as
usual, and was daintily smoking a cigarette with that inimitable grace
with only which a Frenchman or a Spaniard can smoke. After arriving at
the hallway, as if undecided whether he would go farther up the street
or not, he leaned carelessly against the sign, and in a moment had
deftly whipped the card out of its hiding-place. He then started up the
street saunteringly, and when about a half-block distant, read the card,
which seemed to give him much pleasure, as he smilingly wrote something
upon it, and after walking a short distance, turned suddenly and walked
rapidly back, dexterously depositing the card in its strange receptacle,
without scarcely varying his pace or direction, and quickly passed on to
Main street, turning down that thoroughfare.
Fox noticed that Mrs. Winslow had witnessed this incident from her
windows, and at the moment when her form had disappeared, he swiftly
stepped across the street and read the reply, which ran thus:
"Your announcement makes pleasure in your lover's soul, and
your name is saluted by the lips of
"LE COMPTE."
Fox had just time to slip into a tobacconist's for a cigar when Mrs.
Winslow came down stairs, took the card out of its resting-place, and
after going down the street for some slight purchase, returned to her
rooms and prepared for the drive to Charlotte.
At half-past nine Mrs. Winslow's carriage arrived and in a few minutes
after she was leisurely riding down Main street, and from thence out
through State street and Lake View Avenue towards the Port. As I had
nothing to do until Monday's interview with Le Compte, and time hung
heavily upon my hands, I had decided to make one of the party.
I knew the direction Mrs. Winslow would take, and so securing a position
on the corner of Main and State streets, I had but a little time to wait
before I saw the gay madam pass, and also noticed Fox at an opposite
corner evidently making sure of her direction; for, as soon as he saw
her carriage turn down State street, he immediately started for the
depot, from which a train left for Charlotte at ten o'clock, so that he
could be at that place, under any circumstances, some time before the
happy and unsuspecting couple should have arrived.
At about train-time Fox bought a cigar and took a seat in the
smoking-car, while I purchased a cheap edition of one of Dickens's
stories and settled myself down in a ladies' car.
The trip to Charlotte was soon made through a beautiful country where
the farmers were busy stacking their grain, threshing, and, in some
instances, turning the black loam to the sun that it might early mellow
for the next year's seed-time, and in a half-hour we were at Charlotte,
where the beautiful lake is seen at one's feet, with its rippling waves
dotted here and there by a hundred dreamy sails and lazy steamers from
as many waiting ports.
Fox immediately made inquiries of the villagers where he could find the
road leading into Charlotte from Rochester, and started out towards it
from the depot at a brisk walk, while I waited until he had got well
under way, when I took a short stroll among the warehouses and shipping
of the harbor, and then went to the only hotel of any importance the
place contained, where I knew Mrs. Winslow and Le Compte would be likely
to stop, and engaged a room in the front part of the house, where I
resumed my story and waited, like Micawber, for "something to turn up."
I had been engaged at my book but a short time when I saw Fox come up
the street towards the hotel at a rapid pace, flushed and perspiring
freely as from a very long and rapid walk, and but a moment afterwards
also saw the dashing Rochester turnout whirling up to the hotel.
The arrival at the hotel of the couple bore out the truth of the
statement of the little Dutchman, contained in Fox's report of his trip
to the half-way house, as the habitués of the house seemed quite
accustomed to their presence and the employees stepped about nimbly, as
they generally do at hotels as a greeting to good customers, and they
generally do not when persons of common appearance arrive.
As good luck would have it, after a few moments had elapsed, "Mr. and
Mrs. Jones, of Rochester," as Fox saw they had registered, were ushered
into a room adjoining my own, and between which, as is quite common at
hotels, there was a door, which might be opened for the purpose of
throwing the rooms _en suite_, as occasion required.
Although I was prevented from seeing the couple, their voices, which
were both familiar to me, could not be mistaken; and I could not
restrain a smile as I listened to the little Frenchman's voluble and
peculiarly-constructed expressions of endearment, and the coarser, but
none the less tender, responses of the virtuous Mrs. Winslow, whose life
had been shattered, heart smashed to atoms, and good name defamed, by
the tyrant man in the person of the weak but wealthy Lyon, and to think
how much nearer I was to the quarry than Fox himself, who in this
instance was making noble efforts to bring down his game without
"flushing" it.
For the sake of the public whose servant I have been for the last thirty
years, I would blush to put on paper what I know to have occurred in the
adjoining room, and which only served to further convince me of the
depths of infamy to which she had sunk; and I will pass on to those
things only necessary to acquaint the reader with my plan of operation
to bring her into the public notoriety and scorn which she had years
before only too richly deserved.
But a short time had elapsed after Mrs. Winslow and Le Compte had been
given their room when I heard Fox's footsteps coming along the hall. He
passed their room slowly, evidently locating it, and after a few moments
stealthily returned and listened at the door. He then stole away, but
returned again with a bold, firm step, as though conscious of being on
legitimate business, walked right up to the door and gave the knob a
quick turn, as if he had intended to at once walk into the room.
The door did not open, however, and Fox stepped back as if surprised,
saying: "Why, I can't be mistaken; the register surely said Room 30!"
while within there were quick, though smothered exclamations of
surprise, fright, and rage of an unusually profane nature.
Fox immediately returned to the attack as if certain that he was in the
right, and knocked at the door sharply.
There was no response but the quick hustlings about the room, from which
I, as an attentive listener with my ear close to the key-hole, learned
that the inmates were preparing for discovery.
Fox knocked again, this time louder and more persistently than at first.
I now plainly heard Mrs. Winslow ordering Le Compte under the bed among
the dust, bandboxes, and unmentionables, at which he protested with
innumerable "_Sacrés!_" But she was relentless, and finally, seeing that
he would go no other way, took him up like a recalcitrant cur and flung
him under bodily.
Again Fox attacked the door, shook the knob furiously, and knocked loud
enough to raise the dead, following it up with: "Say you?--Jones? Why in
thunder don't you open the door?"
At this Mrs. Winslow plucked up the courage of desperation, and asked in
a loud and injured voice, "Who's there?"
"Why, me, of course; Barker, Jones's partner. I want to see Jones!"
"What Jones do you want?" asked Mrs. Winslow, to get time to think
further what to do.
"Jones, of Rochester, of course," yelled Fox. "Two ship-loads of spoiled
grain's just come in; don't know what to do with 'em."
"Sink 'em!" responded Mrs. Winslow, breathing freer.
"Where's Jones?" persisted Fox, banging away at the door again.
"There's no Jones here, you fool!" answered the woman hotly.
"Yes there is, too," insisted Fox. "Landlord told me so."
"Well," parried the female, raising her voice again, "Jones ain't in the
wheat trade at all; he's a professor of music; and besides that, he
ain't in here, either."
"Oh, beg pardon, ma'am," said Fox apologetically, "It isn't your Jones
I want _this time_, then. Hope I haven't disturbed you, madam," and he
walked away, having clinched the matter quite thoroughly enough for any
twelve honest and true men under the sun.
Mrs. Winslow stuck her head out of the door, launched a threat, coupled
with a well-defined oath, against Fox, who was leisurely strolling along
the hall, to the effect that he ought to be ashamed of himself for
"insulting a defenceless woman in that way, and that if he came there
again she would have him arrested." To which he cheerily responded, "No
offence meant, ma'am; 'fraid the wheat'd spoil, ye see;" and as he went
whistling down the stairs, she slammed the door, locked it, drew the
trembling Le Compte from under the bed, and amid a chime of crockery set
him upon his feet again with a snap to it, and then threw herself into a
rocking-chair and burst into tears, insisting that she was the most
abused woman on the face of earth, and that Le Compte, with his
"_Sacrés!_" and "_Diables!_" hadn't the sense of a moth or the muscle of
an oyster, or he would have followed the brute and given him a sound
beating!
Not desiring to be seen by Fox, I ordered my dinner sent to my room, as
did the unhappy couple in the adjoining apartment, who seemed to be
greatly put out by the intrusion, and who were for an hour after
speculating as to the cause of the interruption, and as to whether it
was accidental or not.
"We mustn't come here any more, Le Compte," said the woman dolefully.
"And for why, my angel precious?" anxiously asked the man.
"Why, do you know," replied Mrs. Winslow with earnestness, "I sometimes
really believe I am being watched!"
"No, that was impossible!" said Le Compte, with a start.
"And sometimes," she continued, paying no attention to him, "it seems as
though I could not stand this terrible keeping up appearances any
longer."
"You should have pleasure in the appearance," responded Le Compte
insinuatingly, "it breaks him down already. He is now like one weak
infant."
"That's so, that's so," she answered quickly, in a tone of vengeful
joyousness. "I'll bring the old devil to my feet yet. I'll crush him out
and ruin his fortune, if it takes me all my life. I'll get the biggest
part of it, too; and then, Le Compte, we'll get out of this cursed
country and enjoy ourselves the rest of our lives."
"Yes, in Paris, the magnificent, the beautiful, the sublime! Then we
will live in one heaven of love. Oh, beautiful, beautiful!" cried the
little Frenchman excitedly.
"There, Le Compte," said his companion, suddenly becoming practical
again, "don't make a fool of yourself! Take this bill and go down and
get a bottle of wine; and mind you, don't keep the change either."
As the train returned at two, and I had but little time to reach it, as
soon as Le Compte had come back with the wine and they had become
sufficiently noisy to admit of it, I quietly left my room, paid my bill,
went to the train, avoiding Fox entirely, and, with him, was soon again
in Rochester, leaving the roystering couple at the little hotel at
Charlotte building their vain dreams and air-castles about crushing out
Lyon--which would have been an easy matter if left to himself--their
beautiful, magnificent, and sublime Paris, and their "one heaven of
love" within it.
As soon as Fox stepped from the train I quietly handed him a slip of
paper directing him to make his report to me at the Waverley House,
where I was stopping under an assumed name, which he assured me he would
do, without a word being spoken or even a look of recognition being
passed.
Although the public may not be aware of it, this is an absolute
necessity in detective service. Though I employ hundreds of persons as
detectives, preventive police, and in clerical duties, at my different
agencies, on no occasion and under no circumstances is there ever on the
street, or in any public place whatever, the slightest token by which
the stranger might know that there had ever been any previous
communication between any of my people.
On the next day, Sunday, Lyon called to see me at the hotel and brought
with him two notes from Le Compte--one having been received late
Saturday afternoon, and the other delivered at his house that
morning--both imperatively insisting that Lyon should come to his rooms
and leave that "untractable man" behind.
I complimented him extensively on his having refrained from visiting the
winsome little villain who seemed determined to get Lyon within his
power. He solemnly pledged his word that he would have nothing whatever
to do with the man, and would bluff him in every advance that he made;
and in order to clinch it, I read him choice extracts from Fox's report
regarding the Charlotte party of the day before, interspersing it with a
few of the still choicer items that had come under my own observation.
"My God!" exclaimed Lyon, as I concluded, "are they _all_ that way?"
"Your experience and mine," I smilingly replied, "would almost point to
the fact that a very decided majority of them are."
CHAPTER XIII.
Mr. Pinkerton again interviews Le Compte.-- And very much
desires to wring his Neck.-- A Bargain and Sale.-- Le
Compte's Story.-- "Little by Little, Patience by
Patience."-- A Toronto Merchant in Mrs. Winslow's Toils.--
Detective Bristol, "the retired Banker," in Clover.--
Tabitha, Amanda, and Hannah individually and collectively
woo him.-- Ancient Maidens full of Soul.-- A Signal.
No jury in the land would render a verdict against a man on the
unsupported evidence of a woman whose character was so vile as we had
already found Mrs. Winslow's to be; and I would have paid no further
attention to the little Frenchman, had I not suspected from his
expensive style of living, and from Mrs. Winslow's injunctions to him
regarding not swindling her in so small a matter as a bottle of wine,
that his necessities and cupidity might cause him to make some tangible
disclosure regarding her, that would give us a clue to other information
against her further than that which Bangs would probably secure in the
West, as I never use detective evidence when it can be avoided, and knew
that a perfect mountain of criminal transactions could be eventually
heaped up against her which could be secured from reliable parties, who
could have no other possible interest in her downfall than a desire to
promote the personal good of society.
Le Compte did not desire to see me again, and had made strenuous efforts
to prevent it and secure a surreptitious interview with Lyon instead.
Failing in this, at the last moment, I had received a very terse note
from him to the effect that he did not desire to transmit any statement
by mail, but would take it as an honor, etc., if I would call at his
place at ten o'clock, Monday morning, which I did, finding the little
fellow in a gorgeous dressing-gown, freshly shaved, and in a neat and
orderly state generally.
"Well, my young friend," said I, "I suppose you have decided to give me
some information this morning."
"Do I get good pay?" he asked in response.
"You will get good pay if you have a good article for sale," I replied.
"Humph!" he responded, with a soft shrug of his delicate shoulders.
"Are you ready to make such a sale?" I asked.
"But where comes my money?" inquired Le Compte, suspiciously.
"It is right here," I answered, slapping my pocket in a hearty way.
"But suppose it shall stay there, then where is Le Compte?" he persisted
with a doleful look which was irresistibly funny.
"It _will_ stay there," I replied, "in case you attempt to play any of
your tricks, my little fellow."
"How shall I then know I am to be paid?"
"You will have to take my word for it."
"But I have not pleasure in your acquaintance; how can I be sure?" he
continued anxiously.
"Le Compte, swindler as you are, you _know_ that I am an honest man.
This quibbling is utterly foolish and simple. I am acting entirely for
Mr. Lyon in this matter, and should you write to him or call upon him a
hundred times, you would get nothing from him but a bluff. Here are your
two notes," I continued, producing them, "one written Saturday, the
other yesterday. The only response you got to them was, silence--and
this interview. I thought we understood each other already."
I saw that he was still undecided about saying whatever he might have to
say, and tenacious of sustaining his professional reputation as a
clairvoyant. I might have easily frightened him into submission by the
slightest reference to the occurrences of the previous day, but knew
that this would have the effect of putting Mrs. Winslow on her guard, as
she was already becoming suspicious and anxious, and preferred getting
at his communication in the ordinary way. After he had sat musing for a
time he suddenly asked:
"How great will be my pay?"
"What do you think the information is worth?" I said.
He looked at me as if fixing a price in his mind that I would stand, and
replied:
"Certain, a thousand dollars."
"That is a good deal of money, Le Compte," I said pleasantly. "I
hardly think you can divulge a thousand dollars' worth. But if you can
give me reliable information of a satisfactory character, I think I
could pay you three hundred dollars.
"Now?" he inquired, suddenly.
"Oh, no, oh, no," I replied as quickly; "no, sir, _not_ until we find
the information you give is reliable."
This dampened the little fellow wonderfully, but he finally said: "Well,
the evidence is certain, but I must offer it to you by clairvoyance,"
and he immediately arose and began darkening the room as on the previous
interview, which act I interrupted by stepping to the window he had just
darkened, and jerking the curtain as high as it would roll, opening the
window, and flinging the blinds open with a slam.
"You little villain!" I shouted, advancing upon him threateningly, "I
will wring your neck if you don't stop this contemptible nonsense!"
while he slunk into the corner, like the mean coward that he was. I
could scarcely keep my hands off the little puppy; but recollecting that
I was there for quite another purpose, I said:
"Le Compte, this is the last time I shall come here, and it is the last
time you will have an opportunity of making a dollar out of any
information you may possess. Now, sir," I said, savagely, starting
towards the door, "you will give it to me, trusting entirely to my honor
to pay you for it, or you will never get a cent for it on earth."
[Illustration: _"You little villain!" I shouted, advancing upon him
threateningly:--_]
The little fellow turned towards me imploringly, with "Please don't go.
My dear sir, you are so greatly abrupt. We have no men like you in La
Belle France."
"Heaven knows, I hope but few _like_ you," I responded. "Now, which is
it, yes, or no? I will give you just thirty seconds in which to answer,"
and I timed him, thoroughly resolved to do as I had said.
Before the expiration of the time mentioned, Le Compte sat down, and
with a despairing shrug of the shoulders, said "Yes."
I immediately returned, sat down in front of him, and said, "Well, Le
Compte, now go ahead with your story like a man."
"What must it be like?" he asked innocently.
"What must it be like?" I repeated, aghast. "Why, you don't intend to
manufacture a story for me against this woman, do you?"
"Oh, no, no, never. But I must know first how bad it must be, when it is
worth three hundred dollars, which you call such great money?"
"Well," said I, all out of patience, "if you know of any occasion when
this woman has been with any man as his wife, or his mistress, and can
give names, dates, and places, and under what circumstances, and this
information on examination proves so reliable that we can get other
witnesses besides yourself--persons of credibility and reputation--to
testify to it, I will pay you three hundred dollars. Isn't that plain
enough?"
"Will you put it to paper?"
"No, sir, you have my word for it, that's all."
Le Compte tapped the floor with his delicate foot a moment, and I saw
the impostor was in real misery. He had a sort of affection for the
woman, which she had more than reciprocated. He could lean on the
strong, daring nature she possessed, and go to her with all his troubles
and disappointments and get help. She had promised him that, as soon as
she had mulcted Lyon of the hundred thousand dollars, he should share it
with her in his own beautiful Paris. All his self-interest laid in and
with the woman; but need for money was pressing, and there were a
million other women as impressible to his charms as she had been. Here
was an opportunity to make a few hundred dollars by betraying her; but
in doing so he still might not get the money, and she might at once
discover from what source the information had come, and he knew enough
about Mrs. Winslow to be sure that she dared any mode of revenge that
best suited her fancy, and he had a wholesome fear of her. I could see
that all these things were flitting through his mind, as plainly as the
reader can see them upon this printed page, and to some extent pitied
his weakness and indecision.
"Or," said I encouragingly, "as you undoubtedly know Mrs. Winslow
intimately, and are very much in her company, if you know of any
occasion when she had, while here in Rochester or in the vicinity, say
Batavia, Syracuse, or Port Charlotte, for instance, gone with some one
of her many favorites, and under an assumed name--Brown, Jones, or
anything of the kind--to a hotel where they had been assigned a room,
and had occupied it together for several hours, and you could put us on
track of persons of reliability who would be willing to come into court
and swear to such facts--I presume there are many persons who could and
would with whom you are acquainted--I would pay you the amount named at
once."
This was cutting pretty close to a tender subject, and before I had half
finished my remarks he started, and looked me in the face in a
suspicious, apprehensive manner, eyeing me closely until I had finished.
But my manner and looks betraying no knowledge on my part of any such
facts hinted at, he relapsed into a puzzled, nonplussed look that was
really ridiculous.
"No, no," he said slowly and cautiously. "I have no such valuable
evidence. That would be much more worth than a thousand dollars--much
more worth. But I can do what you first say, and rest me on the honor of
your word."
"Go on, then," said I.
"Well, we shall go back almost a year. I met first Mrs. Winslow at Port
Charlotte, when she was from Canada returning."
"Did she formerly live in Canada?" I asked.
"No, not for a great time; but has had much travel and friends there. I
first see her at Charlotte. I go there to take a boat. She comes from
the boat there. Lyon meets her, and I think her his wife, he is so much
happy. I like her so much that I do not take the boat. I follow her back
to the city here, and find her beautiful rooms, when I discover she is
not Lyon's wife, but his mistress; but I still have for her admiration,
and one day she comes to me for her future in clairvoyance."
"And then she became your mistress?" I inquired, smiling at his
earnestness.
"No, no, no--never!" he replied quickly, growing red as a rose; "I
became her _friend_!"
Le Compte did not know how near he came to expressing the truth while
endeavoring to avoid it, but continued:
"I became her friend, and we came to each other for advice. She has
great faith--great faith," repeated Le Compte, with much emphasis on the
expression, which seemed to please him, "in my clairvoyance powers. I
give her much comfort. She gives me great confidence of her affairs, and
shows me how rich Lyon makes her. I see her often--very often, at the
Hall and here in my apartments. She gives me much confidence of her
affairs still, and I am informed when she makes Canada some visits. She
goes much to Canada, and I ask her why? She does not tell me, but laughs
in my face, and shows me much money, which she ever brings back. I shake
my finger at her so (illustrating), and say to her: 'You cannot hide
from Le Compte,' which she answers: 'No, I will not. I go for money.
See!'--when she would shake many bills in my face--'I make him come
down, too!'"
"Did she give you the man's name?"
"I _got_ it," continued Le Compte proudly, "with much wine--_and_
clairvoyance!"
"Oh, confound your eternal clairvoyance!" said I. "I want the facts."
"But I got facts _with_ clairvoyance," persisted the imperturbable Le
Compte. "Little by little, patience by patience, at the end I got
confession from her----"
"Which was?"----
"Which was," continued Le Compte, taking his time, "that Mrs. Winslow
had got great power over a Toronto merchant with much wealth and great
family, by name Devereaux."
"How long had she known him?"
"I know not that--five, four, three years, I will think."
"Did you ever see this Devereaux?"
"Oh, no, no--never; but it is all certain that I speak. Here," continued
Le Compte, stepping nimbly to a secretary and producing a photograph,
which he handed to me, "here you will find the face of Devereaux. Many,
many times I have seen the color of his money."
"And does Mrs. Winslow visit Canada for the purpose of meeting this man
still?" I asked.
"Certain," he answered promptly; then, after a little pause, as if
doubtful of the propriety of what he was about to say, but finally
resolving to earn his money, if possible, "and she shall go there once
more in the next week."
I began to think that the little Frenchman had really a good article for
sale, and made full memoranda of all the main points. I asked him some
further questions, the answers to which showed conclusively that Mrs.
Winslow had made a full confidant of him concerning the Canadian
affair, at least; that she had secured a vast amount of money from
Devereaux at the same time that Lyon was breaking her heart; and that,
whether Devereaux was fated to go through the same final experience as
Lyon, or not, that he had undergone and was undergoing the same
preliminary experience.
At the close of the interview I informed Le Compte that his information
was quite satisfactory, and that it only remained for me to prove its
correctness in order to permit the payment of the money, which, however,
should necessarily be on the additional condition that he at once
secured for us information as to the date on which the madam was to make
her profitable little pleasure-trip to Toronto.
This he agreed to do, and I left him; not, however, until he had
anxiously requested to know more about me, and where and when he was to
receive his money. I told him that I was a travelling man; that I had no
permanent residence, was here and there all over the country; but that
the moment we ascertained the truth of his statements, which would be
very soon, he should be compensated.
I communicated to Lyon the facts elicited during this interview, which
completely overwhelmed him with the perfidy of human nature in general,
and woman in particular; but gave him considerable encouragement
concerning the progress of our work; and after directing Bristol,
through the post, to continue playing the _rôle_ of the banker, and to
keep himself in preparation for telegraphic instructions, returned to
New York.
All this time Bristol was in clover. The three old maids, Tabitha,
Amanda, and Hannah, had looked him over and saw that he was a good man
to tie to. Here was a man, they agreed, who had come in among them a
perfect stranger, and yet so possessed was he of a frank, winsome way,
and such a reliable, honorable demeanor had he exhibited towards them,
three lone and defenceless women as they were, that they had
instinctively felt that they could trust him; nay, even more, they were
sure that they could lean upon him, as it were; take him into their
confidence; share their joys with him, rely on him to sympathize with
them in all their sorrows--in fact, make of him a sort of an
affectionate Handy Andy--a good-natured and attractive attaché to their
affections, and a profitable sign-post to their business.
Neither had any man ever before received such signs and tokens of a
deep-seated and ineradicable affection.
Every morning he was awakened from his virtuous slumbers by the
delicious music of a bird training organ, which was wound in turn by the
maidens and set inside his door, where, "in linked sweetness long drawn
out," it galloped over the harmonies with: "Then you'll remember me,"
"Don't be angry with me, Darling," "Who will care for Mother Now?"
"Bonnie Charlie's Noo Awa'," "Annie Laurie," and like tender airs, until
the poor man cursed the Three Graces of Washington Hall restaurant, and
the detective service, threadbare.
After this delicious reminder of languishing love he was served with a
breakfast fit for a king, at which Tabitha, Amanda, and Hannah in turn
presided, and which was always graced by a large bouquet of flowers
whose language and fragrance only breathed of love.
On these occasions the conversation never failed to turn upon Bristol's
merits, the old maids' loneliness, and the superiority of women without
physical beauties, but full of soul, over those more fortunate in flesh
but wanting in spirituality. This was an advertisement for their own
establishment, and a drive at Mrs. Winslow; and Bristol always
acknowledged the force of the argument.
Whenever Mrs. Winslow took a meal at the restaurant, which had now
become a frequent occurrence, just so certain was Bristol's
corresponding meal served in the little snuggery, where, however busy
they might be, one of the ancient ladies kept him good company and
quickened his digestion with sparkling humor and witty jest, such only
as can course through the flowery avenues of an aged spinster's mind,
made fresh and blooming by the wild fancy of the second childhood of
love's young dream; and at night, when the busy day was over and the
vulgar public shut out by the well-bolted front door, the little
snuggery always held the same wise old company, where Bristol, ripe in
age and experience, passed an hour with the ladies over tea and
sweetmeats, or wine and waffles, surrounded by the thrilled and blushing
trio, who, preparatory to retiring, discovered to him as many of their
combined charms as modesty would allow, and in their tender hearts
built plans for the future when they would bodily possess Bristol--at
least one of them, if the laws of society did prevent his making a sort
of blessed trinity of himself for their benefit.
This course of procedure angered Mrs. Winslow. _Her_ heart also yearned
for the retired banker, and when she saw how securely he was being kept
from her grasp by the wily old maids, she immediately began preparing a
plan the execution of which would foil them, and eventually give her the
coveted game all to herself. To this end she walked to and fro past the
restaurant, and finally attracted the attention of Bristol while the old
ladies were busily engaged elsewhere, and motioned to him in so
imperative a way and with such earnestness, that he slipped out of the
place, and at a careful distance followed her in the direction of the
Falls Field Garden, where lovers often met and where there was no danger
of interruption.
CHAPTER XIV.
Mr. Bangs on the Trail in the West.-- Terre Haute and its
Spiritualists.-- Mrs. Deck's Boarding-house.-- The
Nettleton Family broken up.-- Back at the Michigan
Exchange.-- Mother Blake's Recital.-- Through Chicago to
Wisconsin.-- A disheartening Story.-- The practical result
of Spiritualism.
Superintendent Bangs arrived at Terre Haute in good time, and found
himself in one of the greatest centres of Spiritualism in the world.
The very air seemed charged and surcharged with the permeating power.
People watching incoming trains had a listless, far-away look, as though
watching for the dim spirits which were constantly expected from the
other land, but which never came. The clamorous cabmen raised their
sing-song voices as if only expecting, though more than desiring, only
shadowy freight. The regular loiterers had long hair, cadaverous faces,
and large, lustrous eyes, and where females appeared, they were
generally in pinched faces, flowing hair, long pantaloons and short
gowns, as if ready for a grand Amazon-march upon the gullible public.
On the way to the hotel every other stairway held the sign of one or
mo
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