Final Proof

by Rodrigues Ottolengui

  An hour later, Mr. Barnes was skilfully dogging a sneaking Mexican22, who walked rapidly through one of the lowest streets on the East Side, until finally he dodged into a blind alley, and before the detective could make sure which of the many doors had allowed him ingress he had disappeared. A moment later a low whistle attracted his attention, and across in a doorway he saw a figure which beckoned to him. He went over and found Mr. Mitchel.

  “Palma is here. I have seen him. You see I was right. This is the place of appointment, and the cutthroat has come here straight. Hush! What was that?”

  There was a shriek, followed by another, and then silence.

  “Let us go up,” said Mr. Barnes. “Do you know which door?”

  “Yes; follow me.”

  Mr. Mitchel started across, but, just as they reached the door, footsteps were heard rapidly descending the stairs. Both men stood aside and waited. A minute later a cloaked figure bounded out, only to be gripped instantly by those in hiding. It was Palma, and he fought like a demon, but the long, powerful arms of Mr. Barnes encircled him, and, with a hug that would have made a bear envious, the scoundrel was soon subdued. Mr. Barnes then manacled him, while Mr. Mitchel ascended the stairs to see about the other man. He lay sprawling on the floor, face downward, stabbed in the heart.

  20 This story first appeared in The Idler in February 1895.

  21 By the late nineteenth century, emeralds were already well connected to lore about South America. For example, an August 1861 article by “E. L. L.” (possibly E. L. L. Blanchard) titled “Precious Stones” in the magazine Temple Bar (377–392, at 381) tells of “marvelous stories” of Aztec emperor Montezuma’s clasp, consisting of an egg-shaped emerald surrounded by smaller emeralds. The article also states that Spanish explorer Hernan Cortez had stolen five emeralds, cut into the shapes of a cup, a rose, a toy, a fish, and a bell, from one of the temples of the region. Though clearly Montezuma had plentiful emeralds, if these tales are true, it is far from certain whether any crown worn by Montezuma actually contained emeralds.

  22 Ottolengui was descended from Sephardic Jews (Jews from the Iberian Peninsula), and his birthplace, Charleston, South Carolina, was until after 1800 the center of North American Jewry (almost exclusively Sephardic). Both his mother’s family (Rodrigues) and his father’s family were of Hispanic origins. It is a little surprising, therefore, to find several slighting references to Mexicans in this and other stories. However, such slights were not only commonplace among educated classes of the late 1890s, they may also reflect class distinctions felt by those of Spanish descent—many “pureblood” Spaniards regarded themselves as distinctly superior to the “mixed” Hispanic races of South America, where Indian ancestry commingled with Spanish.

  V: A Singular Abduction23

  Mr. Barnes was alone in his sanctum when an elderly gentleman of cultured manners was ushered in. The visitor sank into a seat and began his appeal at once.

  “Oh, Mr. Barnes,” said he, “I am in great distress. I hardly dared to hope that assistance was possible until I met my friend, Mr. Leroy Mitchel. You know him?” Mr. Barnes assented with a smile. “Well,” continued the old gentleman, “Mr. Mitchel said that you could surely assist me.”

  “Certainly. I will do all that is in my power,” said the detective.

  “You are very kind. I hope you can aid me. But let me tell you the story. I am Richard Gedney, the broker. Perhaps you have heard the name?” Mr. Barnes nodded. “I thought so. ‘Old Dick,’ they call me on the street, and sometimes ‘Old Nick,’ but that is only their joke. I do not believe they really dislike me, though I have grown rich. I have never cheated any one, nor wronged a friend in my life. But that is immaterial, except that it makes it hard to understand how any one could have done me the great injury of stealing my daughter.”

  “Stealing your daughter?” interrupted the detective. “Abduction?”

  “Abduction I suppose is your technical term. I call it plain stealing. To take a girl of fourteen away from her father’s home is stealing, plain and simple.”

  “When did this occur?”

  “Two days ago. Tuesday morning we missed her, though she may have been taken in the night. She was slightly ill on Monday evening, and her maid sent for our doctor, who ordered her to be put to bed and kept there. Next morning, that is, Tuesday, he called early, as he was going out on his rounds. He was admitted by the butler and went straight up to her room. He came down a few minutes later, rang the door-bell to call a servant, and reported that the child was not in her room. He left word that she must be put back to bed and that he would return in an hour. The butler gave the message to her maid, who became alarmed, as she supposed her mistress to be in bed. A search was begun, but the child had vanished.”

  “How is it, Mr. Gedney, that the doctor did not speak to you personally instead of to the servant?”

  “I cannot too much condemn myself. You see, I am an old whist player, and the temptation to play made me linger so late with some friends on Monday night that I preferred to remain in Newark where I was, and so did not reach home till ten o’clock Tuesday morning. By that time the misfortune had occurred.”

  “Have you made no discoveries as to what has become of her?”

  “None. We have sent to all of our friends in the vain hope that she might have arisen early and gone out, but no one has seen her. She has disappeared as thoroughly as though she had been swallowed by an earthquake. Here, however, is a letter which reached me this morning. I cannot tell whether there is anything in it, or whether it is merely a cruel joke perpetrated by some crank who has heard of my loss.” He handed the letter to the detective, who read as follows:

  “Your daughter is safe if you are sensible. If you want her back all you have to do is to state your figures. Make them high enough, and she’ll be with you. Put a ‘Personal’ in Herald for D. M., and I will answer.”

  “Mr. Gedney,” said Mr. Barnes, “I am afraid this is a serious case. What has been done has been so thoroughly well accomplished that I believe we have no fool to deal with. His is a master hand. We must begin our work at once. I will take this up personally. Come, we must go out.”

  They proceeded first to the Herald uptown office, and Mr. Barnes inserted the following advertisement:

  “D. M. Communicate at once, stating lowest terms. Gedney.”

  “Now we will go to your home, Mr. Gedney,” said Mr. Barnes, and thither they went.

  Seating himself in a comfortable leather chair in the library, Mr. Barnes asked that the butler should be called. The man entered the room, and it was apparent at once that here was a good servant of the English type.

  “Moulton,” began Mr. Barnes, “I am a detective. I am going to find out where your young mistress has been taken.”

  “I hope so, sir,” said the butler.

  “Very well,” said the detective. “Now answer a few questions explicitly, and you may give me great assistance. On Tuesday morning you admitted the doctor. At what time was it?”

  “It was about eight o’clock, sir. We had just taken our seats at breakfast in the servants’ hall, when the bell rang. That is how I know the hour. We are regular about meals in this house. We eat at eight and the master at nine.”

  “What happened when you admitted the doctor?”

  “He asked for Miss Nora, and I told him she was not down yet. He said he supposed he could go up, and I said I supposed so, and he went.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “I went back to my breakfast.”

  “Did you tell the maid that the doctor had called?”

  “Not just then, sir, for she had not come into the breakfast-room.”

  “When did you tell her?”

  “After I saw the doctor the second time. I heard the door-bell again and went up, when, to my surprise, there was the doctor. He said he rang because he did not kno
w how else to call me. Then he said that Miss Nora had left her room, which was against the orders he gave the night before, and that I was to tell the maid to have her back to bed, and he would call again. I went back to the breakfast-room. This time the maid was there, and frightened she was when I gave her the message.”

  “How long was it after you admitted the doctor the first time, when you answered his second ring?”

  “I should think five minutes, sir; though it might have been ten.”

  “And during this five or ten minutes the maid was not in the breakfast-room?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Send her to me.” The butler left the room, and, whilst waiting for the maid, Mr. Barnes addressed Mr. Gedney.

  “Mr. Gedney,” said he, “you have not told me the name of the doctor.”

  “His name is Donaldson. Everybody knows Dr. Donaldson.”

  “Has he served you long?”

  “Ever since I came to live in this neighborhood. About two years, I should say. He has seemed to be very fond of Elinora. Why, he has been here a half-dozen times asking for news of her since her disappearance. He has a curious theory which I can hardly credit. He thinks she may have wandered off in the night, asleep. But then he has not seen this letter from ‘D. M.’ yet.”

  “I would like to speak to him about his somnambulistic idea. Do you think he will drop in to-day?”

  “He may be in at any moment, as he has not called yet this morning. Here is my daughter’s maid.”

  This directed the attention of Mr. Barnes to a young woman who at that moment entered. She was evidently dreadfully alarmed at being summoned to meet a detective, and her eyes showed that she had been weeping.

  “Come, my girl,” said Mr. Barnes, reassuringly, “you need not be frightened. I am not an ogre. I only wish to ask you a few questions. You are willing to help me find your mistress, are you not?”

  “Oh, indeed, indeed yes, sir!”

  “Then begin by telling me how she was on Monday night when you sent for the doctor.”

  The girl composed herself with an effort, evidently satisfied that a detective was just like any ordinary man, and replied:

  “Miss Nora acted rather odd all Monday, and was melancholy like. She would sit and stare out of the window and not answer when she was spoken to. I thought perhaps something had bothered her, and so I left her alone, meaning to speak to her father at dinner time. But he sent a telegram saying he had to go out of town. So when Miss Nora wouldn’t come down to dinner, and wouldn’t answer me, but just kept staring out of the window, I got scared a little, and thought it best to send for Dr. Donaldson.”

  “What did he say when he came?”

  “He talked to her, but she wouldn’t answer him either. He patted her on the head, and said she was sulky. Then he told me perhaps she was angry because her father hadn’t come home, but that she must not be allowed to brood over trifles. He said I must put her to bed, and he gave her some medicine that he said would put her to sleep.”

  “Did you have any trouble to get her to bed?”

  “No, sir, though that was strange. She just stood still and let me do everything. She did not help me or prevent me.”

  “When did you see her after that?”

  “I never saw her after that,” and she began to cry softly.

  “Come, come, don’t cry. Your mistress is all right. I will bring her back. Now tell me why you did not see her again. Is it not your business to attend her in the morning?”

  “Yes, sir, but she only gets up about eight o’clock, and the doctor told me he would call the first thing in the morning, and that I must not disturb her till he came. He said he wanted to wake her himself and see how she acted.”

  “You were not in the breakfast-room at eight o’clock,” said the detective, watching her closely; “where were you?”

  The girl turned crimson, and stammered a few words inaudibly.

  “Come, tell me where you were. You were somewhere, you know. Where were you?”

  “I was in the downstairs hallway,” she said, slowly.

  “Doing what?”

  “I was talking to the policeman,” she replied, more reluctantly.

  “Your beau?” asked Mr. Barnes, significantly.

  “No, sir. He is my husband.” She tossed her head defiantly, now that her secret was divulged.

  “Your husband?” said Mr. Barnes, slightly surprised. “Why, then, did you hesitate to tell me of him?”

  “Because — because,” — she stammered, again much troubled, — “because, maybe, if I hadn’t been talking to him, Miss Nora wouldn’t have been carried off. He might have seen the thief.”

  “Just so,” said Mr. Barnes. “Well, that will do.” The girl retired only too gladly.

  Mr. Barnes asked to be shown the room where the missing girl had slept, and made minute examinations of everything. Up in the room a thought occurred to him, and he once more asked for the maid.

  “Can you tell me,” he asked, “whether your mistress took any of her clothing with her?”

  “Well, sir,” she replied, “I miss the whole suit that she wore on Monday. It looks as though she must have dressed herself.”

  Mr. Barnes made a few notes in his memorandum-book, and then with Mr. Gedney returned to the library. Here they found Dr. Donaldson, who had arrived whilst they were upstairs. Mr. Gedney introduced the doctor, a genial, pleasant man, who shook Mr. Barnes cordially by the hand, saying:

  “I am delighted, Mr. Barnes, that my old friend Gedney has been sensible enough to engage you to unravel this affair rather than call in the police. The police are bunglers anyway, and only make scandal and publicity. You have looked into the matter, eh? What do you think?”

  “That is precisely the question, Doctor, which I wish to ask you. What do you think? Mr. Gedney says you suggest somnambulism.”

  “I only said it might be that. I would not like to be too positive. You know that I called to see the dear girl Monday night. Well, I found her in a strange mood. In fact, thinking it over, I have almost convinced myself that what we took for stubbornness—sulks, I think I called it—was somnambulism. That, in fact, she was asleep when I saw her. That would account for her not replying to questions, and offering no resistance when her maid removed her clothing to put her to bed. Still it is merely a guess. It is possible that she got up in the night and wandered out of the house. I only venture it as a possibility, a chance clue for you to work on.”

  “What do you think of this letter?” asked Mr. Barnes, handing the doctor the anonymous communication from “D. M.”

  The doctor read it over twice, and then said:

  “Looks more like somnambulism than ever. Don’t you see? She dressed herself in the night, and wandered off. Some scoundrel has found her and taken her to his home. Knowing that her father has money, he holds her for ransom.”

  “How do you know, Doctor,” said Mr. Barnes, quietly, “that ‘D. M.’ is a he? The communication is in typewriting, so that nothing can be learned from the chirography.”

  “Of course I don’t know it,” said the doctor, testily. “Still I’ll wager that no woman ever concocted this scheme.”

  “Again, how should her abductor know that her father is rich?”

  “Why, I suppose her name may be on her clothing, and once he discovered her parentage, he would know that. However he found it out, it is plain that he does know, or how could they, or he, or she, if you wish me to be so particular, have written this letter?”

  This was unanswerable, so Mr. Barnes remained silent.

  “What move will you make first?” asked the doctor.

  Mr. Barnes told him of the advertisement which he had inserted, and took his departure, requesting that if Mr. Gedney received any answer he should be notified at once.

  About half-past ten the next morn
ing, Mr. Gedney presented himself to the detective and handed him the following letter:

  “I am glad you are sensible. Saw your advertisement, and I answer at once. I want twenty thousand dollars. That is my price. Now note what I have to say, and let me emphasize the fact that I mean every word. This is my first offer. Any dickering will make me increase my price, and I will never decrease it. To save time, let me tell you something else. I have no partner in this, so there is no one to squeal on me. No one on earth but myself knows where the girl is. Now for future arrangements. You will want to communicate with me. I don’t mean you to have any chance to catch me with decoy letters or anything of that sort. I know already that you have that keen devil Barnes helping you. But he’ll meet his match this time. Here is my plan. You, or your detective, I don’t care which, must go to the public telephone station in the Hoffman House at two o’clock sharp. I will go to another, never mind where, and will ring you up. When you answer, I will simply say, ‘D. M.’ You will recognize the signal and can do the talking. I will not answer except by letter, because I won’t even run the risk of that detective’s hearing my voice, and some time in the future recognizing it. You see, I may need Barnes myself some day and wouldn’t like to be deprived of his valuable services. I enclose a piece of the girl’s cloth dress and a lock of her hair to show that I am dealing square.

  “D. M.”

  “Mr. Gedney,” said Mr. Barnes, “make your mind easy. Your daughter is safe, at all events. I suppose this bit of cloth and the hair satisfy you that the scoundrel really has her?”

  “Yes, I am convinced of that. But how does that make the girl safe?”

  “The fellow wants the money. It is to his interest to be able to restore your daughter. My business shall be to get her without payment of ransom, and to catch the abductor. I’ll meet you at the Hoffman House at two o’clock.”

  As soon as Mr. Gedney had gone, Mr. Barnes wrote the following note: