Rensselaer Journal, Volume 10, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 May 1901 — THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY

BY RODRIGUES OTTOLENGUI,

Author of “An Artist In Crime,” “A Conflict of Evidence,” “A Modern Wizard,” “Final Proof,” Etc. Copyri(/ht, 1896, by G. P. Putnam'x Sows. AU right* reserved.

ICONTINUED.] These words aroused her fully, and ■he gazed at him with fear plainly depicted upon her features. “How did you know—did you know that I am married?” she stammered. “So! You admit, that you are Mrs. Morton, then?” “No,” said the girl, regaining her composure. “I admit that I am married since you seem to know that. But my <«Hine is not Morton.” “What is your name, then?” “I am Mrs. Matthew Crane.” 'l ids statement astounded Mr. Mitchel as much as his questioning-had surprised the girl. Two thoughts darted swiftly through his mind—Preacher Jim’s mother was named Margaret Crane; secondly, in his interview with her she had once alluded to her son as ■“JUatthew” CHAPTER XIV. THE TEST OF NATURE. “You tell me that you are thew Crane?” repeated Mr. M4tchel. “Yes, 1 do,” said the gjX. “Do you And npything strange “I find it very strange,” replied Mr. Mitchel, “because it happens that I am acquainted with Matthew Crane, though I did not know that he was married.” " "You know him? You know my husband?” yried the girl, evidently much disturbed. “Yes. I know him very well,” i “Oh! Yoii won’t tell him, will you? IPlease don’t tell him that I told you (about ouf^being—being married!” “Why should I not tell fem? Where is the harm of telling a man that you have met his wife?” Mr. Mitched spoke thus to alarm the girl, if possible, and to make her more apt to betray herself, for he was sure that there was deception. “Oh, no, no!” she cried vehemently.< “You don’t understand! You must not tell him! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I’ve been a fool to talk to you—a fool, a fool!” With these words she burst into tears, woman’s usual resource when she wishes to soften the heart of a man. “Come, come!” said Mr. Mitchel, putting om> arm about her caressingly. “Don’t cry, little woman! I’m not an ogre. I won’t tell if you don’t wish me. Stop crying!” She was Tasily calmed and hastily wiped away her tears with a tiny handkerchief. Whenever I see one of these diminutive appendages to a woman’s toilet the thought occurs to me that they are more fitted for the eye than the nose. They are soft and sheer and do not redden the eyes when used for mopping up tears. ’ Lilian was so anxious to be reassured as to Mr. Mitchel’s promise that she did not notice that she dropped this handkerchief after wiping her eyes nor that Mr. Mitchel stooped and picked it up. He held it mechanically in his hand while she spoke. “Oh! You won’t tell him?” she that’s,a promise! You see, J didn't know you knew him, or I wouldn’t have told you.” She Routed her lips and tossed her head pertly, while her eyes, sparkling through jtoefr moisture, made her look like—a pretty spoiled child. Yet she claimed to pe a wife! “I promise not to repeat what you have told me, but only ,on condition that you tell me more,” said Mr. Mitchel. “Tell you more?” exclaimed Lilian, again alarmed. “Yes. You must tell me why you do not wish me to speak of your marriage to Matthew Crane JL. “Oh, no! I can’t tell you that.”’ “Very well. Then I cannot promise to keep it a secret.” “Well, then,” said Lilian in desperation, “the reason is because”-r-she hung her head and lowered her voice as she completed her sentence, and the hot blood surged to her face, mantling it in a blush which extended to the tips of her earsn-“because we’re not married!” She paused for just a moment. Then, with uplifted eyes, lighted up with a beam of hopefulness that was piteous in its trustfulness, she

added: I “But we are going to be!” “Poor child! Poor stray lamb!” said ; Mr. Mitchel, laying his hand reverently on the girl’s head and gazing into her dark eyes, wherein he saw reflected naught but innocence. “If ever sin was guiltless, it is here in tlie heart of this child,” he thought, then added aloud: “I want to have a talk with you, my giil, a long, long talk. Let us ride on the elevated railroad and have our chat.” “You don’t mean me any harm?” she asked doubtfully. “Harm! No, indeed, my girl! I only wish to be a friend to you. I would not harm a hair of your head. Will you come?” He extended his hand, and she looked at him a full minute hesitatingly. Then, with a sudden impulse, she placed her pretty soft hand in his and exclaimed: “Yes, I’ll risk it. I’ll go with you.” Tliey were soon comfortably seated in a Harlem train, in one of the double seats in the first car, which is usually the least crowded. “Now. then.” began Mr. Mitchel, “tell me all about it.” “All about what?” asked Lilian. “About how you happened to be Mrs. Matthew Crane without being married.” She blushed again and looked out of the window. Mr. Mitchel did not press his question, but was content to let her decide for herself. But he had retained her handkerchief, with which he was toying, twisting it about his fingers, and now he .-noted something which aroused his curiosity. There was a bit of embroidery in the corner, a tiny spray of lily of the valley. Mr. Mitchel glanced from the handkerchief to the girl beside him. Could it be. or was this merely a coincidence? She called herself “The Lily of the Valley.” Therefore it was natural that she should so mark a handkerchief. But, then, was it probable that any other person would do the same and that this other was the mother of the infant? “I don’t know why I should tell you my story,” Tit last she said, turning frankly toward him, “yet something tells me to do it. The fact is I haven’t been very happy lately, and I’ve wanted somebody to talk to about it all, somebody that wouldn’t blame me too nfuch and wouldn't scold, but would just help me. But there wasn't anybody like that. Once on a time I would have gone to mum, but these days she’s mostly full of gin, and you couldn’t look for sympathy in a gin bottle, could you, now?” • As she talked she gradually regained her composure, and there was a merry twinkle in her eyes as she asked the question. “Why, no, of course not,” said Mr. Mitchel quite seriously. “But then, you know, I never take gin. Honor bright!” He talked to her as a schoolboy might have talked to a schoolgirl, his very intonation inviting friendship and confidence, both of which she gave him readily. “Why, I never thought of you that way. I was talking of mum!” she said. “You was in luck to find her sober today, and you’ll be luckier still if she’s able to meet you tomorrow. But this ain’t telling you my story, is it?” “No, it is not.” “Where’ll I begin?” “At the beginning.” “Well, then, once upon a time I was born.” She began with a light laugh, which was instantly checked when Mr. interrupted, asking: • “When and where was that?” “The Lord only knows,” she answered, “and he won’t tell; leastways he’s never let on to me. I’ve tried hard enough to find out, too, but I never could. I think mum knows a little, but she’s close about it. All I could ever get out of her was, ‘Your folks didn’t care enough to keep you, so you needn’t bother your head about them. ” “So you have never known your father or your mother?’ - “No; never a hide nor hair of either one did I see. So we may as well skip that, I reckon, and come down to what I do know about. The first I remember was when I was 6 years old.” “What happened then?” “I went on the stage.” “On the stage at 6 years?” “Yes. I.played Little Eva in ‘Unde Tom’s Cabin.’ There \yas a fellow seen me on the street one day by our house—that is, mum’s house, you know. I lived with her ever since I could remember. Well, he took a fancy to me, and he found mum, and he offered her $lO a week to let me. go with a company he had. You can bet mum jumped at the chance. So the man got me, and we went all over the country. Everybody was good to me, the men and the women. But I’m sorry now I ever started in the stage business, at least so young.” “Why?” “Well, I can’t exactly complain, but then, you see, it made me old while I was still little. You might almost say I never was a child at all, just a baby for a few years and then a woman. Do you understand what I mean?” “Only too well, I fear. Go on.” “WelL p did the Eva business off and

on for four seasons. One of the actors taught me to sing and dance, and when he left the Company he offered mum more money for me, so I went with him a couple of seasons. We used to do a sketch together. He played the part of a blind Irishman, and I was his little girl, and he used to find his way home by hearing me sing, and a lot more like that. Then I got to be 12 years old, and I branched out for myself.” “Branched out for yourself? What do you mean?” “Well, you see, I found out about things, and I caught on that mum was getting sls a week for me when the man I was with got S4O, ’cause, you see, I was a sort of a genius. Honor bright I was. Don’t you believe it?” “Indeed, I do,” said Mr. Mitchel heartily. “Y’ou’d better say so!” she continued, with a grave shake of her head, which once more mfl.de her appear extremely youthful. “If you didn’t, I might shock the people in the car by cutting a pigeon wing for you. Well, I was what they call an instantaneous success. I went about It In a big way, I tell you. I just marched into one of the up town agents, and I got into a talk with him and told him my scheme. I offered him 25 per cent to look out for me, and he made the bargain with me. He got out those beautiful lithographs of me. You’ve seen them?” “Yes. Was it he who called you ‘The Lily of the Valley?’ ” “Nd. That was my own idea. You see, I used to be ‘Little Lilian’ when I played Eva, but now I was going to be a star I wanted my full name. Lilian Vale sounded kind of tame, and first off I thought I’d just put an accent on the ‘e’ and call it Vallee. Then it struck me all of a sudden like, and I wrote it down, ‘Miss Lilian Wale—The Lily of the Valley.’ That way, you see, I got in the Lily and the Vallee, only in a prettier way.” “This wfls when you were 12, you say?” “Yes. My! Don’t that seem ages ago? But it ain’t. I’m only past 16 now. Well, as I said, I made a hit from the jump, and pretty soon I was getting my S3O a week in the Bowery and more when I went on the road. That, wasn’t bad, was it?” “Not at all. But now tell me when von first met vour husband.” “Oli! You want to know most about that? Well, now that I’m started I may as well give, you the whole thing. I met him the second season I was a star. I was singing in the Bowery, one of those places where they let the audience drink in the theater. There was a box that opened on the stage, and one night a young man in that box threw me some flowers. I picked them up, and without thinking I threw him a kiss. That began it.” Alas, how many of life’s tragedies begin with a kiss! “He came behind,” she continued, “and spoke to the, The next night he came again, and he brought me candy, and I let him walk home with me. After that we got to be great friends, and then—then I got to love him, Do you know, I loved him so it made my head ache to think about it, because I always thought I wasn’t good enough for him. That was when he wasn’t with me. But then he’d come again and be nice to me and bring me flowers and candy, and he’d kiss me, and then I’d be happy again,” “Poor child!” muttered Mr. Mitchel. “What did you say?” asked Lilian. “Nothing, nothing!” hastily replied Mr. Mitchel. “Oh! I thought you spoke.” Then she went on: “You see, he was very good to me those days. Then the summer came, and he took me to picnics and excursions, and we had a good time together. He always called me his little sweetheart and told me how much he loved me. One day I asked him something. I didn't mean to, but it just slipped out. My heart was so full of it that it just spilled over, like. He was talking about loving me, and

he kissed me. Then 1 askea him, "Are you going to marry me some day? He looked at me a minute, and then he said, ‘Do you think you love me enough for that?’ I answered that very quick. ‘lt isn’t a question about my love,’ I said. ‘The question is, Do you love me enough? I’d lie down in the dirt and let you walk over inc.’ ‘Well, then,’ said he, ‘you can be happy, for I mean to marry you some day.’ ” She paused here for a moment and then added, with a sad cadence in her voice: “That was when I was 14, and I’ve never been real happy since that day.”

"so! He accepted your love and gave you a promise in return?” asked Mr. Mitchel. “That was all?” “That was all, but he has often repeated the promise, and I still believe he’ll keep his word some day.” “Now, then,” said Mr. Mitchel, speaking softly, want you to tell me when your baby was born!” It was cruel to take her thus by surprise, but Mr. Mitchel thought himself justified, even though he was unwilling to give her pain. She looked up at him, with horror depicted upon her countenance, and was obliged to put her hand over her mouth to suppress the cry that sprang to her lips, “What do you mean?” she gasped, “Just what I said. When was your baby born?” “But—but—l have no baby!” she blurted out desperately. “Oh, but you have!” persisted Mr, Mitchel, Then he saw the girl In a new aspect, A different side of her character was revealed to him. She turned upon him defiantly and exclaimed: “So that’s your game, is it? You think you are smart, don’t you? But you can’t play tricks on me. If you’ve found a baby, you’ll have a hard time trying to prove it’s mine, I tell you I haven’t any.” “Suppose that the Infant of which I am speaking was abandoned by its parents?” “What of it? That happens every day in the year. What does that prove?” “But suppose it was found in a graveyard?” “In a graveyard?” she repeated, and her eyes opened wide in astonishment. “Yes, in a graveyard- A Strange place for a baby, is it not?” “Well, I should say so. How did it get there?” “Let me tell you the story. This baby was found in a graveyard without any clothes on—not any at all, you understand?” r ' “The poor little dear!” she said softly. “It had been craw’ling among the tombstones for several days when it was discovered.” “But how did it get there?” “Ah, that is the question! We know that it was placed there at night by a man. We think that the man was the child’s father.” “Impossible! No man could be such a monster. Somebody stole that baby, I’ll bet, and then didn’t know what to do with it.” “No. In that case he would have left It where lt\would be found. This man wished the cTnld to die. That is why I say it was the father who wished to get rid of the child.” “But why should a father wish to kill his own child?” “Perhaps because he had not married the mother.” She shuddered and remained silent. The words evidently aroused unpleasant thoughts, yet her manner throughout had been such that Mr. Mitchel ■was assured in his own mind that at least she had no guilty knowledge of the abandonment of the infant. And, this being true, it greatly complicated the case, for if she were indecent in that respect how could she have consented so readily to the disappearance of her child? This almost led him to believe that she had spoken the truth and that, after all, he might have been mistaken in connecting her with the case. But just then she noticed that he held a handkerchief in his hand and asked: “Why, isn’t that mine?” “Is it?” asked Mr. Mitchel, handing it to her. “Why, yes,” said she. “See, here is my mark in the corner. I mark all my things with a lily of the valley.” This decided Mr. Mitchel. He would make a supreme test, especially as they were approaching a station where, if they should descend to the street, he would have but a few steps to go in order to carry‘out his plan. “Oh, by the way,” said he, “I would like to get out here. Will you come with me? I will not detain you more than a few moments, and then we will resume our conversation. I wish before we part to explain to you why I thought you were a mother.” She consented to go with him, and together they walked as far as ’ the building wherein are the rooms of the Metropolitan Foundling society. It so happened that as they went in Colonel Payton was just coming out. He stopped to speak to Mr. Mitchel, but kept his’ eyes on Lilian, who modestly with-

drew ana stood aside. “Well, Mitchel,” said the Cblonel, “how do you prosper with your flue notions about justice, eh? Found any one to agree with you yet?’ “I have not been looking for an advocate of my views,” said Mr. MitcheL “I have been ‘slumming,’ colonel.” “Slumming, eh? I hope you haven’t a very sharp nose. But, I say, you did -not pick that up in the slums?” he added as he cast an admiring glance at Lilian. “That is exactly where I found her,” said Mr. Mitchel. “I see you are not too old to notice a pretty face.” “Too old? Well, I should say not, sir! But what you tell me seems marvelous. Found her in the slums, eh? Well, well! What a pretty flower to be growing among weeds!” “True, colonel, but then, you know, the wind may waft the seed from the choicest blossom into the foulest soil, and yet these seeds may take root and grow, and blossoms may come again.” “No doubt. But it’s a very careless gardener who allows good seeds to blow away.” “True. And what shall we say of the gardener who willfully casts his choicest seeds to the winds?” “Such a man would be an ass—or worse.” “Or worse,” agreed Mr. Mitchel. “Well added, colonel—or worse! Much worse in this case.” “In this case? "What do you mean?” “I mean that this is the blossom from a seed cast away by the gardener who is worse than an ass, as you have put it.” “Don’t talk to me in riddles, man,” said the colonel testily. “Speak plainly.” “I will do so. She is a little Bowery singer, the daughter of unknown parents, who cast her adrift when an infant.” “A foundling?” “Probably; feared in the tenements of the east side.” “You don’t say so? Isn’t it awful, the amount of depravity that exists in this world? Isn’t it marvelous that a parent would abandon his own flesh and blood?’ ,“I can find no excuse for such a course,” said Mr, Mitchel, “though there might be some palliation,” “Excuse—palliation! Rubbish! You don’t know what you are saying,” “Listen to me, colonel. Here is a girl, herself abandoned by her parents. Let us suppose a case, one that is far from improbable, She has this heritage—what we may call an atrophied bump of phlloprogenltlveness, She is reared in that maelstrom of vice and crime, the great east side. But to return to our simile. How would you expect this tender flower, this hothouse plant, to thrive in that environment and retain Its’ purity and fragrance? It grows among weeds and becomes tainted with the odor of the rank blossoms about it. Soon a child is born, a child whose father fails to acknowledge it. Suppose that the mother, finding it a burden, should abandon the child. Is the fault entirely hers, or must the responsibility be shared by those from Whom she inherited the lack pf mother ly love?” “Look here, Mr, Mitchel, you must go elsewhere with your psychological or physiological problem, whichever this is. I have no time for speculations of that nature. lam too practical. But I hope this girl’s story is not”— “Oh, I am only giving you a hypothetical case!” hastily interjected Mr. MitcheL “But I say, colonel, you can do me a favor. Will you?” “What is it?” “I wish to take this young woman up stairs and let her see that baby found in the graveyard. I have a fancy that she may be able to identify it.” “Ha! You haven’t forgotten that case, eh? Certainly. I’ll go up with you. I am interested in the matter, We would like to get a clew.” He led the way, and Mr. Mitchel Went over to Lilian, and, taking her arm, they followed. As they passed through the door of the room above Mr. Mitchel handed Lilian a chair and asked her to wait, placing her so that she could not see around the corner of the L shaped apartment and suspect what was about to happen. The matron, being summoned, brought in the infant, wrapped in a shawl, and tenderly placed it in Mr. Mitchel’s arms. He motioned to her and the colonel to remain behind, and, stepping gently, he approached the chair where he had left Lilian. TouchIng her on the arm, he said: “I told you in the car the story of Hn infant that was found in the graveyard. Do you remember?” “Yes,” said she wonderingly, her eyes intent upon the bundle in Mr. Mitchel's arms. He drew down the shawl, exposing the face to view, and said: “This is the- child. Look closely! Have you ever seen it before?” She gazed at it, at first with mere curiosity. Then she bent eagerly forward and looked more intently. Then the little one opened its eyes and looked into her face. Thus the two stared at each other for an instant, and then the baby stretched out its arms and cooed softly: “Mum, mum!” With a loud cry Lilian grasped the child and, straining it to her breast, exclaimed aloud: “My baby! My God, It is my baby!” pTO BE CONTINUED. J

“I want you to tell me when your baby was born!”