Chapter X

A MOHICK TELLS OF A VISIT BIG KELLY RECEIVES WHICH HE LITTLE EXPECTED, AND HOW WILLIAM DOW TRANSFORMS A VISITOR INTO A PRISONER.

A month had already passed without the inquest having advanced a step, and the irascible Kelly, much disturbed by public opinion which was against his course, was tempted to doubt even the skill of William Dow, when, one morning as he was talking with the latter, an office boy brought a card on which was a name which gave him a start.

The name was James Gobson, from Buffalo.

“We have been mistaken,” he cried, passing the card to the detective.

The latter read it, and immediately answered with his shrewd smile:

“Oh! that proves nothing; or, at least not much of anything.”

“Let him come in,” said the officer, and in a few seconds the visitor was admitted.

He was a tall man, about forty years old, tolerably good looking, wearing his beard in the American style, without a mustache, and seeming by no means embarrassed.

“Is this card yours?” asked Mr. Kelly, brusquely; for he did not possess those qualities necessary to his situation--coolness and self-control.

“It is mine,” answered the stranger with much assurance. “I read three days ago at St. Louis, where I happened to be on business, that a woman named Ada Ricard had been found drowned. Now the woman from whom I have been divorced bore that name, and I at once took the train to come on here, and here I am, ready to give you my aid, if I can be useful to you in discovering the assassin.”

“What makes you suppose the woman was assassinated?”

“All the accounts in the newspapers so stated. They relate that when she was taken from the river she was completely nude, and that a barrel of tar was fastened to one leg. Her death, therefore, cannot be a suicide.”

“Have you been to see her head at the morgue?”

“No, sir; I thought that my first duty was to come to you.”

“But you, at least, have a photograph of the dead. They are circulated everywhere.”

“I heard of this event on the very morning of my arrival at St. Louis, and none of these likenesses came under my eye.”

“Where had you come from?”

“From a long trip to the Rocky Mountains, where I had gone to visit the mines.”

“I think, then, that the first thing to be done is for you to go to the morgue.”

“I will go there immediately.”

“With me, if you will?”

“I have told you, sir, that I am at your orders.”

Mr. Kelly had rung the bell and said a few words in a low voice to the secretary, who had quickly come at the call.

Almost immediately two agents presented themselves in the office of their chief.

James Gobson did not betray any astonishment at the arrival of this reinforcement. His coolness was that of a man perfectly sure of himself.

“Let us start, sir,” said the chief of police, rising and slipping in his pocket the revolver, which was always within reach on his desk.

William Dow, who had not taken his eyes off of the former husband of Ada Ricard, also arose.

“All ready, sir,” answered the stranger, putting on his hat.

All three went down stairs, followed by the agents, and found in the yard of the central office two carriages harnessed, and the drivers on the boxes.

Kelly, William Dow and James Gobson entered one, and the policemen the other.

The chief of police advised the latter not to lose sight of Gobson for a single instant, and he sent one of his secretaries to Mr. Davis to beg him to immediately repair to the morgue.

In less than a quarter of an hour the party alighted at Bellevue Hospital.

Mr. Kelly pointing out the way to his companions proceeded to the clerk’s office without passing the public gallery, where curious lookers-on were numerous, and he ordered the officer to dismiss the crowd and close the doors. A few moments later, there was no one left in the place where the head of the drowned was exhibited.

“Come,” said the officer to Mr. Gobson, when the clerk informed him that the gallery was empty.

Without the least hesitation James Gobson kept pace with his escort, and, followed by William Dow and the two agents, arrived at the glass window.

At the sight of this wax face of the most admirable execution and truly life-like beauty, the American wore an expression which William Dow, who was watching him attentively, was not ready to interpret, and then Mr. Gobson turned at once to Mr. Kelly and said with the greatest calmness:

“It is really extraordinary, sir; I did not think such a resemblance was possible.”

“Then, you recognize Miss Ada?” asked the chief of police, indignant, in spite of his scepticism, at seeing the almost smiling face this man wore in presence of this cast of the head of her who had been his wife.

“No, not at all, not at all,” answered James Gobson, quickly; “you hardly understand me. Here are the features, and even the expression of her who bore my name; but the unhappy woman of whom this cast has been made was not Miss Ada.”

The tone in which he said this would have made one think that he really regretted that it was not Mrs. Gobson.

“What! not Miss Ada? Take a good look,” resumed Mr. Kelly. “Through her parted lips you can see that a tooth is missing, and that there is a cut on the left ear. Now, the two servants who were successively employed by your wife--”

“Pardon, my former wife.”

“Very well, your former wife; the two servants who were successively employed by her, perfectly recalled these two details so decisive in the certifying of the identity.”

“Did they both recognize Miss Ada?”

“Certainly they did.”

Mr. Kelly did not state the exact truth, since Mary, it will be remembered, had at first denied that her mistress was the drowned woman, and that she afterwards, hesitatingly, admitted her identity that she might not be forced to re-visit the morgue. But the magistrate thought a little fib like that of no consequence.

“Well,” said James Gobson, at the “certainly” of the impetuous officer, “I do not recognize her.”

Annoyed, and hardly knowing what to do, the chief of police looked at William Dow. Ada Ricard’s former husband caught the questioning look, and immediately resumed:

“Please understand, sir, that it is for my interest to hold your opinion.”

“How so?” said Kelly, surprised anew.

“Simply because between this former wife of mine and myself there was an insurance contract which the divorce court could not break, and this contract was made in favor of the survivor. If you absolutely insist that this unhappy victim whose head I see here was Mrs. Gobson I should be very foolish to deny it any longer, for with the certificate of death which you have made out, and of which you will not refuse me a copy, I shall have only to present myself at the Gresham Company to immediately receive twenty thousand dollars.”

While the widower, no matter how he felt, was thus expressing himself with the most perfect coolness and with a smile on his lips, Mr. Davis had entered the gallery and had joined the spectators of this strange scene.

“I think,” said William Dow, speaking to both the chief of police and the coroner, “that the most simple thing to be done is to draw up an official report of the declaration which you have just heard, and deliver to him the certificate which he asks for. The death certificate must be at the morgue.”

The detective, as he made this proposition, gave Mr. Kelly and Davis a look which they understood, for they immediately followed him into the directors’ office, but having first signed to the two policemen to look after James Gobson.

The latter, at the firm, grave voice of this man, whom he had not observed until then, could not conceal a slight shudder.

It seemed as if he had a presentiment of an adversary, for he turned quickly toward the man who had made a proposition so in conformance with his expressed wish, but he had already disappeared. However, after the departure of the magistrates and their companion, he began to walk up and down, with the evident intention of warming himself, the place was so damp and chilly.

Outside was heard the crowd, which, having become quite large, was breaking into noisy complaint at having so long been deprived of the spectacle to which it had a right, and people were entertaining all kinds of suppositions as to the cause of locking the doors of the morgue.

After crossing the clerk’s office, William Dow led Mr. Kelly and Davis into the directors’ private office, who were absent at that moment. When there alone with them, he said:

“This man is Miss Ada’s murderer, I am convinced.”

“It is quite possible,” answered Kelly. “I have a bad opinion of him. What do you think, my dear Mr. Davis?”

“You know,” said the coroner, “that I have always thought Miss Ada’s husband guilty. But the voluntary appearance of the man, and what I have just heard trouble my conscience somewhat. I do not dare to give an opinion.”

“Follow me a moment in what I have to say,” resumed the detective, “and without entering upon any hypothesis, let us reason only on what we have seen and heard.”

The worthy Kelly, who liked nothing as much as to listen to his friend Dow, and who, besides, asked nothing better than to be rid of the whole affair, sank back in an arm-chair and crossed his arms; and the coroner signified that he was ready to listen.

“Here is a person,” resumed the retired doctor, “who pretends that he did not hear of the violent death of this woman whose husband he was, until he reached St. Louis three days ago, and in that city where her photographs are on exhibition everywhere, he did not seek to assure himself, by examining one of them, that it really was his wife. Then, this man who through the same papers in which he read the event certainly was aware of the suspicions of which he was the object, and the reward promised for his arrest, this man arrives here, affects to know nothing of the fact, which, however, so directly affects him, and instead of hastening to the morgue where he knows that the head is exhibited, he does not concern himself an instant about the identity of the victim, but goes straight to the police. Does not this conduct betray in the most evident manner a system adopted in advance, and matured after deep reflection, a system one basis of which is the non-recognition of the drowned woman, which has just been observed?”

“Eh! eh!” murmured Mr. Kelly, with a smile, “that is very well reasoned.”

“Gobson, in your presence, is calm, and a perfect master of himself,” continued William Dow, “and when you ask him how it happens that he has known this event for so short a time he answers you that he comes from the Rocky Mountains, where he has been several months. Now, Mr. Davis knows that a few days before the crime, hardly six weeks ago, James Gobson was met at Jefferson, in Missouri; why then does he tell this lie?”

“It is true,” said the coroner, in his turn; “there is a contradiction about it which is indeed of a nature to arouse suspicion.”

“That is not all. When, just now, after he said that he did not recognize Miss Ada, you insisted on this point, that she was recognized by the two maids, Gobson committed the imprudence of addressing you this question: ‘Both of them, do you say, both of them recognized Miss Ada.’ Why should he have this doubt in regard to both recognitions? One of them, then, astonished him, which one? Mary’s, of course, who, in fact, refused to recognize her former mistress, whose features were, however, fresh in her memory. Does not this coincidence strike you? Do you not see in it the beginning of a proof of an understanding between these two persons?”

“That is indisputable,” said Kelly, radiant.

“That is very possible,” confessed Mr. Davis, more prudently.

“Gobson tells you, it is true, that it would be for his interest to recognize Miss Ada, since her death would give him twenty thousand dollars, but he has this moment a much greater anxiety than gaining that sum--that of escaping accusation, and this kind of disinterestedness is one of the weapons he proposes to use. In the first place the theft of the jewels of his victim is a compensation for abandoning the twenty thousand dollars; moreover, he hopes, no doubt, that this money will not be lost to him, for, in the matter of a contract of life insurance, the forfeiture having a long term, he reserves for himself certainly the chance to maintain his rights, when, either through prescription, the uselessness of the inquest, or by acquittal, for he has foreseen all, he will be safe from pursuit as a criminal, therefore to recognize his wife was more dangerous from every point of view than not to recognize her.”

“Very just, very just,” observed the chief of police; “but why has that fool come to give himself up?”

“My dear Mr. Kelly,” answered Dow, “because he is a bold and skilful man. What is passing between us is a reason for it. Even yesterday Mr. Davis and you did not suspect his culpability, while now, just because he has come to you, you hesitate to believe it. Did he not fear being arrested some day? In order to boldly dispose of the stolen jewels at a later period, in order to get the premium on his insurance policy, should he not first be free from the hands of the law. He plays a shrewd game who comes forward to meet danger. I do not know whether we shall succeed in convicting him, but my reason and conscience tell me that he is the assassin, or at least the accomplice of assassins.”

“Apropos of accomplices,” interrupted Mr. Kelly, “how happens it that, in spite of the reward offered, a reward that I have raised to two thousand dollars, the two men who aided in carrying off Miss Ada have not presented themselves? Knowing, thanks to the declaration of the driver, that they left the carriage before it reached its destination and, consequently, that they are not accomplices of the assassination, I have re-advertised through the papers that they had no pursuit to fear.”

“The silence of these two men,” answered the detective, “may be caused by two very different motives. In the first place it would not be impossible that these aids were accomplices in the crime in the complete acceptation of the word; that is, that they met Miss Ada and her kidnapper after the departure of the carriage, to receive their share of the jewels. It will be readily understood that they cared little for your reward. Then, it may also be, and this idea was suggested to me by certain information which I promise myself to control and to complete, that these two aids, as you very justly call them, might have been unconscious aids only, brought from afar by James Gobson to help him in his enterprise, without knowing his real purpose, then sent away by him to places where it is certain that neither our papers nor even the rumors of our cities will reach.”

“What do you mean?”

“That, if these Indians, so true in their costumes, singing and dancing, were real Indians from the prairies, it would not astonish me. Now you must know that among the Sioux or Comanches the story of the assassination of Miss Ada is unknown.”

“By George, my dear Dow, you are admirable!” cried Kelly in the greatest enthusiasm.

“Then you are going to arrest Gobson?”

“I think I shall, if Mr. Davis is of the same opinion.”

“It is exactly my opinion,” answered the coroner, who having a shrewder mind than that of the chief of police, was no less astonished at the deductions of the detective. “Now I am convinced, and as I have here in my pocket-book the warrant which I have issued against James Gobson, his arrest is the simplest thing in the world. Come, I will take charge of it.”

“Here, my dear William, is a haul for your net for which my worthy Young will never forgive you,” observed Kelly, laughing and opening the door of the clerk’s office. “Hark! there he is.”

The great Young was, indeed, in the next room. Being warned by one of his agents that the crowd was becoming more numerous and noisier than usual around the morgue, the captain of detectives hurried to the spot, and, seeing the doors of the dismal building closed, he went to the clerk’s room to inquire the cause of this riotous crowd.

“Then, let us leave him the pleasure and honor of arresting Gobson,” proposed Dow.

“Very well,” said the coroner, who, perhaps, had no intense longing to accomplish this mission himself, and he rapidly acquainted Young with what had happened and what had been decided upon. Then he gave him the warrant.

The captain, although he still adhered to his belief in the culpability of Saunders, did not make any remark; he turned upon his heels and went to the door which led from the clerk’s office to the public gallery.

“One word, my good Young,” said William Dow, signing him to stop. “Take your precautions; he is a solid customer, and I should not wonder if he were armed.”

This was all that was needed to excite the daring of the terrible detective. He answered with a proud smile, and pushed open the door.

James Gobson, leaning against the heavy railing which protects the glass window, behind which the bodies are exposed, from the rudeness of the crowd, was quietly reading the New York Herald, but he read it with only one eye, for, at the sound of men leaving the clerk’s office, he drew himself up, let his paper fall, and took a few steps backward.

His face was so perfectly calm that one could not have said that he was putting himself on the defensive.

But when he saw this powerful man, whom he did not know, coming toward him, he reached the end of the gallery with one bound, and hearing Young call out to him in his stentorian voice: “It is useless to resist, sir, I have orders to arrest you,” he drew a revolver from his pocket, aimed it at the captain, and answered him in a tone which left no doubt as to his intention:

“Why arrest me? If you come near me I shall kill you. A citizen of this free country cannot be arrested like this.”

“That is what I feared,” murmured the stout Kelly, who, although very brave, did not care to risk his life in such an adventure; so, thinking it wise to parley with him, he took Young by the arm and said in answer to Gobson:

“As an American, your remark does not lack justice; but as the former husband of Ada Ricard it is not common sense, for you are suspected of being her murderer, and there is a writ against you which must be executed.”

“I, the assassin--it is false!” cried James Gobson, and his arm still preserved its horizontal position.

At the same moment a great shouting was heard outside. The crowd had divined what had passed; they wished the murderer to be delivered up to them, and threatened, in spite of the policemen, to invade the morgue.

“You understand,” resumed the chief of police, “if you do not give yourself up with a good grace I shall order the doors to be opened.”

Miss Ada’s former husband turned somewhat pale, for he knew how the people in America set to work to administer justice; however, he replied in a voice none the less steady:

“I am innocent. Anything rather than deliver myself up like a coward.”

But he had hardly uttered these words when a pistol shot was heard, he gave a cry and his shattered revolver fell from his hand.

All this was due to William Dow, who had entered the exhibition-room, and had slipped behind the curtain until he was opposite James Gobson, and a ball skilfully sent had disarmed without wounding him.

Understanding that all resistance had become useless, Gobson immediately surrendered to Captain Young, who sprang forward.

Mr. Kelly ordered the prisoner to be taken to the hospital through the clerk’s room and the inner courts, for it did not seem to him prudent to face the crowd, whose excitement the pistol shot had increased. Then he rushed out of doors that he might himself announce the arrest of Miss Ada Ricard’s murderer.

At this news, a thousand enthusiastic hurrahs arose, and the chief of police felt the gentle satisfaction of having his ears shattered by the shouts of “Three cheers for Kelly! Kelly forever!” shouts that not only flattered his pride, but assured his re-election.

A few moments later, William Dow joined him, and Kelly affectionately pressed his hand, for it really was to his intelligence and skill that he owed this new victory.

As for Captain Young, although but half convinced of the guilt of his prisoner, he conveyed him in a carriage--a quarter of an hour later--to the Tombs, with much advice to the director.