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  AN ARTIST IN CRIME

  BY RODRIGUES OTTOLENGUI

  G. P. PUTNAM'S SONSNEW YORK LONDON27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRANDTHE KNICKERBOCKER PRESS1903

  COPYRIGHT, 1892BYG. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

  _Entered at Stationers' Hall, London_BY G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

  The Knickerbocker Press, New Rochelle, N. Y.

  * * * * *

  By RODRIGUES OTTOLENGUI

  +An Artist in Crime.+ 16 oct., $1.00; paper, 50 cts.

  +A Conflict of Evidence.+ 16 oct., $1.00; paper, 50 cts.

  +A Modern Wizard.+ 16 oct., $1.00; paper, 50 cts.

  +The Crime of the Century.+ 16 oct., $1.00; paper, 50 cts.

  +Final Proof, or, the Value of Evidence.+ 16 oct., $1.00; paper, 50 cts.

  G. P. PUTNAM'S SONSNEW YORK & LONDON

  * * * * *

  CONTENTS.

  CHAPTER PAGE I. A GENTLEMAN THINKS HE CAN COMMIT A CRIME AND ESCAPE DETECTION 1

  II. A DARING AND SUCCESSFUL TRAIN ROBBERY 16

  III. MR. BARNES DISCOVERS AN ARTISTIC MURDER 30

  IV. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 46

  V. THE SEVENTH BUTTON 56

  VI. MR. BARNES'S TRAP 75

  VII. MR. RANDOLPH HAS A FIGHT WITH HIS CONSCIENCE 95

  VIII. LUCETTE 115

  IX. THE DIARY OF A DETECTIVE 129

  X. ALI BABA AND THE FORTY THIEVES 138

  XI. MR. BARNES RECEIVES SEVERAL LETTERS 154

  XII. THE HISTORY OF THE RUBY 169

  XIII. MR. BARNES GOES SOUTH 189

  XIV. AN INTERRUPTED WEDDING 208

  XV. MR. MITCHEL EXPLAINS A FEW THINGS 223

  XVI. MR. BARNES DISCOVERS A VALUABLE CLUE 239

  XVII. A NEW YEAR'S DINNER PARTY 255

  XVIII. MR. BARNES'S NARRATIVE 273

  AN ARTIST IN CRIME.

  CHAPTER I.

  A GENTLEMAN THINKS HE CAN COMMIT A CRIME AND ESCAPE DETECTION.

  "Jack Barnes never gets left, you bet."

  "That was a close call, though," replied the Pullman porter who hadgiven Mr. Barnes a helping hand, in his desperate effort to board themidnight express as it rolled out of Boston. "I wouldn't advise you tojump on moving trains often."

  "Thank you for your good advice, and for your assistance. Here's aquarter for you. Show me to my section, I am nearly dead, I am sotired."

  "Upper ten, right this way, sir. It is all ready for you to turn in."

  When Mr. Barnes entered the coach, no one was in sight. If there wereother passengers, they were abed. A few minutes later, he himself waspatting two little bags of feathers, and placing one atop of the otherin a vain attempt to make them serve as one pillow. He had told theporter that he was tired, and this was so true that he should havefallen asleep quickly. Instead, his brain seemed specially active, andsleep impossible.

  Mr. Barnes, Jack Barnes, as he called himself to the porter, was adetective, and counted one of the shrewdest in New York, where hecontrolled a private agency established by himself. He had justcompleted what he considered a most satisfactory piece of work. A largerobbery had been committed in New York, and suspicion of the strongestnature had pointed in the direction of a young man who had immediatelybeen arrested. For ten days the press of the country had been trying andconvicting the suspect, during which time Mr. Barnes had quietly leftthe Metropolis. Twelve hours before we met him, those who read thepapers over their toast had been amazed to learn that the suspect wasinnocent, and that the real criminal had been apprehended by thekeen-witted Jack Barnes. What was better, he had recovered the lostfunds, amounting to thirty thousand dollars.

  He had had a long chase after his man, whom he had shadowed from city tocity and watched day and night, actuated to this course by a slight cluein which he had placed his faith. Now, his man fast in a Boston prison,he was on his way to New York for requisition papers. As he had said, hewas tired, yet despite his need of complete rest his thoughts persistedin rehearsing all the intricate details of the reasoning which had atlast led him to the solution of the mystery. As he lay in his upperberth awake these words reached his ears:

  "If I knew that man Barnes was after me, I should simply surrender."

  This promised to be the beginning of an entertaining conversation, andas he could not sleep, Mr. Barnes prepared to listen. Extensiveexperience as a detective had made him long ago forget the philosophicarguments for and against eavesdropping. The voice which had attractedhim was low, but his ears were keen. He located it as coming from thesection next ahead of his, number eight. A second voice replied:

  "I have no doubt that you would. But I wouldn't. You overestimate theability of the modern detective. I should actually enjoy being houndedby one of them. It would be so much pleasure, and I think so easy, toelude him."

  The last speaker possessed a voice which was musical, and he articulateddistinctly, though he scarcely ventured above a loud whisper. Mr. Barnescautiously raised his head, arranging his pillows so that his ear wouldbe near the partition. Fortunately, the two men next to him had takenthe whole section, and the upper berth had been allowed to remainclosed. Mr. Barnes now found that he could readily follow theconversation, which continued thus:

  "But see how that Barnes tracked this Pettingill day and night until hehad trapped him. Just as the fellow supposed himself safe, he wasarrested. You must admit that was clever work."

  "Oh, yes, clever enough in its way, but there was nothing speciallyartistic about it. Not that the detective was to blame; it was thefault of the criminal. There was no chance for the artistic." Yet Mr.Barnes had used that very adjective to himself in commenting upon hisconduct of this case. The man continued: "The crime itself wasinartistic. Pettingill bungled, Barnes was shrewd enough to detect theflaw, and with his experience and skill in such cases the end wasinevitable."

  "It seems to me either that you have not read the full account of thecase, or else you do not appreciate the work of the detective. Why, allthe clue he had was a button."

  "Ah! Only a button--but such a button! That is where I say that thecriminal was inartistic. He should not have lost that button."

  "It was an accident I suppose, and one against which he could not haveguarded. It was one of the exigencies of his crime."

  "Exactly so; and it is these little accidents, always unforeseen, thoughalways occurring, which hang so many, and jail so many, and give ourdetectives such an easy road to fame. That is the gist of the wholematter. It is an unequal game, this between the criminal and thedetective."

  "I don't catch what you are driving at?"

  "I'll give you a dissertation on crime. Attend! In ordinary business itis brains _versus_ brains. The professional man contends with hisfellows, and if he would win the race towards fortune he must show morebrains. The commercial man competes with other tradesmen all as cleveras himself. So it goes from the lawyer to the locksmith, from thepreacher to the sign painter. It is brains rubbing against brains, andwe get the most polished thought as the result. Thus the science ofhonest living progresses."

  "What has this to do with the criminal cla
ss?"

  "One moment. Let the philosopher teach you in his own way. With thecriminal it is different. He is matched against his superior. Those inhis own class do not contend with him; they are rather his partners, his'pals,' as they term it. His only contention therefore is with thedetective who represents society and the law. No man, I suppose, is acriminal from choice, and it is the criminal's necessity which leads tohis detection."

  "Then all criminals should be caught."

  "All criminals should be caught. That they are not is a strong argumentagainst your detective; for every criminal, we may say is actuated bynecessity, and therein lies the possibility of his defeat. For example:You may claim that the expert burglar lays his plans in advance, andthat the crime being premeditated he should be able to make such carefulpre-arrangements that he could avoid leaving tell-tale marks behind him.This, however, is rarely the case, for this reason: the unexpectedoften, if not always, happens, and for that he has not prepared. In amoment he sees prison ahead of him, and his fear steals away hiscaution, so that, as we have seen, he does leave a clue behind him."

  "But when you say the unexpected happens, you admit the possibility forthat to occur which could not have been premised, and therefore couldnot have been guarded against."

  "That is true as the case stands. But remove the necessity whichactuates our criminal, and make of him simply a scientific man pursuingcrime as an art! In the first place, we get an individual who willprepare for more accidents, and secondly, would know how best to meetemergencies which occur during the commission of his crime. For example:if you will pardon the conceit, were I to attempt a crime I should beable to avoid detection."

  "I should think that from your inexperience as a criminal you would berun to earth--well, about as quickly as this man Pettingill. This washis first crime you know."

  "Would you be willing to make a wager to that effect?" This last remarkfairly startled Mr. Barnes, who instantly understood the meaning, which,however, at first escaped the other listener. He waited eagerly for thereply.

  "I don't grasp the idea. Make a wager about what?"

  "You said that were I to commit a crime I should be captured about asquickly as Pettingill. If you wish, I will wager that I can commit acrime which will be as much talked of as his, and that I will not becaptured, or rather I should say convicted. I would not bet againstarrest; for, as we have seen in this very case, the innocent aresometimes incarcerated. Therefore I stipulate for conviction."

  "Do I understand you to seriously offer to commit a crime merely todecide a wager? You astound me!"

  "No more perhaps than Pettingill has surprised his friends. But don't bealarmed; I shall assume all responsibility. Besides, remember it is notcrime that is scowled upon in this century, but detection. I wager withyou against that. Come, what do you say; shall it be a thousand dollars?I want a little excitement!"

  "Well, you shall have it. At least you shall have the excitement ofpaying the thousand dollars to me; for though I think you are not reallyintending to become a criminal, in either event I may as well profit byyour offer."

  "What do you mean by 'in either event'?"

  "Why, if you do not commit a crime you pay; and if you do, I am surethat you would be caught. Then, however much I should regret yourdisgrace, I warn you that I should cut you dead, and take your money."

  "Then you accept the wager?"

  "I do!"

  "Done. Now for the conditions. I am to have one month in which to planand commit my crime, and one year for avoiding the detectives. That is,if I am free at the end of one year, and can prove to you that Icommitted a crime within the stipulated period, I win the wager. If I amin jail awaiting trial, the bet cannot be settled until the law has hadits way, and I am either proven innocent or guilty. Is thatsatisfactory?"

  "Perfectly. But what class of crime will you commit?"

  "My friend you are inquisitive. The wager is on, and my boasted cautionmust begin. Therefore, I must not tell you anything of the nature of myintended crime!"

  "Why, do you suppose for an instant that I would betray you?"

  "Well, yes, that idea does occur to me. Listen. As I said before, thenecessities of the criminal prove his Nemesis. The necessities involvethe object of the crime. That is always a good starting-point infollowing up a mysterious case. The more unusual the object the better,since it will fit fewer people. Plunder is the commonest and thereforethe least promising to trace from. Revenge is common also, but better,because the special revenge connected with the deed must lead to thespecial individual most likely to execute such revenge. In thisinstance, I mean my own case, the object of the crime is so unique, thatthe detective who discovers it should be able to convict me. A crimecommitted to decide a wager is perhaps new."

  "Its very novelty is your best safeguard."

  "Yet there are two ways by which it may be discovered, and that is twotoo many. Had I undertaken this affair secretly there would really havebeen but a single way for one to learn my secret,--my own confession. Asmen have been weak enough to do this before now, I should even in thatinstance have taken precautions. But with my secret in the possession ofa second party, the position is more complex."

  "I assure you on my honor that I will not betray you. I will agree toforfeit five times the wager in such an event."

  "I prefer that you should be perfectly at liberty in the matter. Iexpect it to be thus: in your own mind at present you do not think thatI shall carry out my purpose. Therefore, your friendship for me isundisturbed. Then you count that, if I do commit a crime, it will besome trivial one that you may bring your conscience to excuse, under thecircumstances. But let us suppose that a really great crime should bereported, and for some reason you should suspect me. You will hurry tomy rooms before I get out of bed, and ask me flatly whether I am guilty.As flatly I should refuse to enlighten you. You would take this as aconfession of guilt. You would perhaps argue that if your surmise werecorrect you would be an accessory before the fact, and to shieldyourself and do your duty you would make a clean breast of it."

  "I am beginning to be offended, Bob. I did not think you would trust meso little!"

  "Don't get angry, old man. Remember that only a few minutes ago youwarned me that you would cut me dead after the crime. We artisticcriminals must be prepared against every contingency."

  "I did not think when I spoke. I did not mean it."

  "Yes, you did, and I am not at all angry. Let it be understood then thatyou will be at liberty to repeat the facts about this wager should yourconscience prick you. It will be best for me to expect and be preparedfor such action. But you have not asked what the second danger ofdiscovery is. Can you guess?"

  "Not unless you mean as you suggested, your own confession."

  "No, though that really makes a third chance. Yet it is so simple. Haveyou noticed that we can hear a man snoring?"

  "No!"

  "Listen a moment! Do you not hear that? It is not exactly a snore, butrather a troubled breathing. Now that man is in the third section fromus. Do you see the point?"

  "I must confess that I would not make a detective."

  "Why, my dear boy, if we can hear that fellow, why may not some one inthe next compartment be listening to our _tete-a-tete_?" Mr. Barnesfairly glowed with admiration for the fellow's careful consideration ofevery point.

  "Oh, I guess not. Everybody is asleep."

  "The common criminal from necessity takes chances like that, withoutcounting on them. I shall not. There is a possibility, however remote,that some one, in Number Ten say, has overheard us. Again he may even bea detective, and worse yet it might be your Mr. Barnes himself."

  "Well, I must say if you prepare against such long odds as that youdeserve to escape detection!"

  "That is just what I will do. But the odds are not so great as youimagine. I read in an afternoon paper that Mr. Barnes had remained inBoston in connection with properly securing his prisoner during theday, but that he would leave for New York to-night.
Of course thenewspaper may have been wrong. Then in saying "to-night" it may havebeen inaccurate; but supposing that the statement were true, then therewere three trains upon which he might have started, one at seveno'clock, one at eleven, and this one. One in three is not long odds."

  "But even if he is on this train, there are ten coaches."

  "Again you are wrong. After his hard work on this Pettingill case hewould be sure to take a sleeper. Now if you recall the fact, I did notdecide to go to New York to-night till the last minute. Then we foundthat we could not get a whole section, and were about to bunk togetherin a lower berth when, several more people applying, they determined toput on another coach. Therefore, unless Mr. Barnes secured his ticketduring the day, he would inevitably have been assigned to this coach."

  "Had you any special reason for suggesting Number Ten?"

  "Yes. I know that Number Six is unoccupied. But just as we started someone came in, and I think took the upper berth of Number Ten."

  "Mr. Barnes began to think that he would have exceedingly difficult workto detect this man in crime, were he really to commit one, in spite ofthe fact that he knew so much in advance. The conversation continued:

  "Thus, you see, there are two ways by which my object may become known,a serious matter if unguarded against. As, however, I recognize thepossibilities in advance, there will be no difficulty whatever, and theknowledge will be of no value to any detective, even though he be yourMr. Barnes."

  "How will you avoid that danger?"

  "My dear boy, do you suppose for an instant that I would reply to that,after pointing out that a detective may be listening? However, I willgive you an idea. I will show you what I meant when I said thatPettingill had blundered. You said that he had lost only a button, andthought it clever in Barnes to trace him from the button. But a buttonmay be a most important thing. If I should lose one of the buttons of myvest, whilst committing a crime, Mr. Barnes would trace me out in muchless than ten days, and for this reason, they are the only ones of thekind in the world."

  "How does that happen? I supposed that buttons were made by thethousand?"

  "Not all buttons. For reasons which I need not tell the possiblylistening detective, a friend travelling abroad had a set madeespecially, and brought them back to me as a present. They are sixhandsomely cut cameos, half the set having the profile head of Juliet,and the others a similar face of Romeo."

  "A romance?"

  "That is immaterial. Suppose that I should plan a robbery in order todecide this wager. As necessity would not urge me either as to time orplace, I should choose my opportunity, let us say when but one personguarded the treasure. That one I should chloroform and also tie. Next, Ishould help myself to the designated plunder. Suppose that as I wereabout to depart a sleeping, uncalculated-for pet dog should jump out andbark furiously? I reach for it and it snaps at me, biting my hand. Igrapple it by the throat and strangle it, but in its death throes itbites my vest, and a button falls to the ground and rolls away. The dogis at last silenced. Your ordinary burglar by this time would be sounnerved that he would hasten off, not even realizing that he had beenbitten, that blood had flowed, or that the button was lost. Mr. Barnesis sent to the house the next day. The lady suspects her coachman, andMr. Barnes consents to his arrest, not because he thinks him guilty, butbecause, as the mistress thinks so, he may be, and then more especially,his arrest will lull the fear of the real culprit. Mr. Barnes wouldobserve blood on the ground, on the dog's mouth, and he would find thebutton. From the button he would find Mr. Thief, with his hand bitten,and there you are."

  "But how should you avoid all that?"

  "In the first place, were I really wise, I should not have tell-talebuttons about me at such a time. But let us suppose that the time hadnot been of my own choosing, then the buttons might have been with me.Assured as I should have been that the only person in the house laychloroformed and tied, I should not have lost my nerve as did the otherindividual. Neither should I have allowed myself to be bitten, though ifthe accident had occurred I should have stopped to wash up the stainfrom the carpet while fresh, and also from the dog's mouth. I shouldhave discovered the loss of the button, searched for and recovered it,untied the victim, and opened the windows, that the odor of chloroformcould pass off during the night. In fact, in the morning the onlyevidence of crime would have been the strangled dog and the absence ofthe pelf."

  "It is easy enough to explain your actions under suppostitiouscircumstances. But I doubt if in Pettingill's shoes you would have beenable to retain your presence of mind, and recover the lost button whichled to his final arrest."

  "It is possible that you are right, for had I been Pettingill I shouldhave been coerced by necessities as he was. Yet I think I should nothave planned such a robbery, choosing my own time as he did, and thenhave taken with me such a button. But from Mr. Barnes's standpoint, as Isaid before, very little of the artistic was needed. The button wasconstructed of a curious old coin. Mr. Barnes went the rounds of thedealers and found the very man who had sold Pettingill the coin. Therest was routine work."

  "Well, you are conceited, but I don't mind making a thousand out of youregotism. Now I am sleepy, however, so good-night."

  "Good-night, old man. Dream of a way to earn an extra thousand, for Ishall win."

  For Mr. Barnes himself sleep was now more impossible than ever. He wasattracted to this new case, for so he counted it, and was determined totrap the individual who wagered against his acumen. It was a long steptowards success to know as much as he had overheard. He would not losesight of his man during the allotted month. He enjoyed the prospect ofallowing him to commit his crime and then quietly taking him in the act.Carefully and noiselessly he dressed himself and slipped out of hisberth. Then he crept into one opposite, so that he could have his eye onnumber eight, and settled down for an all-night vigil.

  "It would not surprise me if that keen devil were to commit his crimethis very night. I hope so, for otherwise I shall have no sleep till hedoes."