Rensselaer Journal, Volume 11, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 August 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 Wisard,” “Final Proof,” Etc. Al —i < CopvKoht, 189 S. bv G. P. Putnam*. Sana AB riahto ratrred.

“I thank you. Ton are right. I did not kill the old man, though I had provocation enough aud perhaps even thought of it on the very night on which he was murdered. He and I had a terrible row earlier In the evenlhg.” “At Apollo hall. Yes; I know about that. How did that end?” “He had found out something about my place down town and came after me to the dance. He asked me where the Essex street house was, aud I refused to tell him. Then he swore that there must be a woman In the case aud flat he would find her and make trouble for her aud me. With that he rushed off, aud 1 weut back up stairs to Lilian. I was talking with her again, trying to smooth matters out, when it occurred to me that he might' come back aud talk with the a.en about in the barroom, Kogers -especially, aud that by bribery he .light find out where my place was. Then, if he went there, he would discover the baby, and heaven only knows what would happen. So 1 hurried up to the house, and when I got there the baby had disappeared.” “Disappeared?” “Yes. Nobody could tell me anything about it.” “Do you think that your father took it away?” “I did at first, but when I got Jiack I found that “the old man had not come back aud that no one had talked

■with him about me. No r really knew anything except Ilogei t and he aid not meet my father at t I No; it is a mystery unless Slipper) 1 im had a hand in it. That is the ae of a crook -who had a room so) chile in the same house.” “But why should Slippery have done this?” “Ah, that’s the mystery! He might have been paid for the job by the old man, but I don’t know. He was none too good for it anyway.” Mora spoke bitterly. “Mr. Mora,” said Mr. Mitchel, “I believe your story and I am satisfied that the only evil that you have done is the great wrong to Lilian. lam glad that this Is so, for you can repair it. Are you ready to marry her immediately?” “If you overheard all of my conversation with Perdita you must have heard me promise to b ve a clergyman here at the hotel, 'i, ought to have been here ere this. II?v. ver, when he arrives I will be read) t. - the ceremony if lam right in si- sing that you have brought Lilian «.o, Boston. You know you said you had come to be present at my wedding. She must be here, then." “She is down stairs. I will bring her to you at once, and also the baby, which you will be glad to know has been recovered.” “You don’t mean it! lam delighted! Lilian loves the little one so much.” “And you?” “Oh, I am hardly acquainted with my little daughter yet!” said Mora, laughing. “But make haste and bring my family to me.” Mr. Mitchel laughed also and left the room. Meanwhile the man who had followed Mora from New York was below, walking up and down the corridor of the hotel. This man was Ma Barnes. He was watching the stairway, ready at a moment’s notice to conceal himself should Mora come down. Time passed slowly, but Mr. Barnes is a very patient man. It was growing dark as the twilight approached. At last his vigil was to come to an end. Mr. Barnes’ ear caught the sound of footfalls on th£ stairway, and at a glance he recognized the trousers of Mr. Mora even before the man came in full view. The detective dropped into a seat near the window, and his face was instantly hidden behind a newspaper. The man who de- : scended the stairway carried a satchel and looked sharply about him, as I though fearing spies. He paid his bill at the desk and hurried out. He seemed to be in great haste. Mr. Barnes followed him, and a few blocks farther on both men entered the railway station. The inan bought a ticket for New York. “Going home again, are you?” muttered Mr. Barnes. “Well, ail the better. It will save the trouble of getting requisition papers.” Bo he, too, bought a ticket for the metropolis and refrained from attempts

Ing an arrest, preferring to shadow the man back to his own state. A train went out at 0:45, and It carried these two men, divided only by the length of a car. Shortly after midnight they reached New York, and the man hastily walked out of the depot and hailed a cab. As he was about to enter Mr. Barnes touched him on the shoulder, exclaiming: , “Stop! You are my prisoner!” “Why, what is the charge?” said the man, stepping back to the pavement and facing round so that the electric light fell full upon his face. “Mr. Mitchel, by all that’s wonderful!” exclaimed the detective. “How did this happen?” “Jump into my cab and drive home with me. I will tell you all about it. Come; In with you!”

CHAPTER XX. PREACHER JIM’S LAST SERMON. Mr. Barnes wished that he were back in Boston, but as that was impossible his curiosity urged him to accept Mr. Mitchel’s invitation, and consequently he entered the cab. “I presume that you are astonished to find me wearing a ault of Matthew Mora’s clothing?” said Mr. Mitchel, openiug the conversation. “I am not surprised that Mora should use that method, for he has done it before,” said Mr. Barnes, “but that you should consent to be his dummy 1 1 confess does seem strauge to me.” “Ah! Now you are allowing your chagrin to cloud your Intellect. You know n e better. lam no man’s dummy. If I disguise myself, It Is to further a purpose of my own.” “Well, let It go that way. I would like to kuow what purpose of your own Is of sufficient Importance to justify your aiding In the escape of a murderer.” “None. But have I done that?” “Unquestionably. Mora had taken passage in a ship sailiug for Europe early this morning. I fear now that it will be too late for me to stop him.” “I sincerely hope so.” “Then you admit that your ruse was to lead me astray and so prevent my arresting this man?” “I admit that much. Yes.” “Do you not know that this is a state prison offense?” “No. What statute specifies that interference which prevents a usually astute detective from making an ass of himself by arresting an inuocent man Is punishable by imprisonment?” “Mr. Mitchel, your words are insulting.” “They are not meant offensively, Mr. Barnes. Sometimes it is as necessary to use strong language to bring a man to his senses as it is to administer drastic drugs to an 111 patient. You have been troubled throughout this case with an affection of your mental eyesight which has contorted all forms Into a single image. Seeking the murderer of old Matthew Mora, you have been able to recognize no one as possibly guilty except the son. You have persistently followed your ancient methods of spying upon the suspected man, and you have converted every act of his into one thread of your fabric of evidence. Let me direct your attention right here to the great fallacy of such a course. If you watch a man, any man, all acts of his not intelligible to yourself become suspicious. If the man happen to be a criminal, this fact is more conspicuously true. If, moreover, he knows that he Is watched, his very efforts to escape from constant espionage only emphasize the probability of your preconceived theory. But you overlook the important feature—that, though a man may be a criminal, he is not necessarily guilty of the special crime for which the detective is seeking him. So it is with young Mora. He has acted criminally, but nevertheless he did not kill bls father.” “All that you say is true in theory, Mr. Mitchel, but be assured it is only theory in this instance. It does not apply to Mora. For once in your life you have blundered. The man did kill his father. I have indubitable evidence of that fact.” “Oh, if you are so certain, of course I must listen to you! It will be the shortest way. Proceed with your evidence. How do you prove your charge?” “Since I last saw you I have discovered several important facts. In the first place, there was a serious quarrel between father and son on that very night at Apollo hall.” “I know that.” lie BS OOBIUiUBO.I

Mr. Barnes followed hi