"Are you sick?" Mona asked, in a tone of sympathy, for the girl's heavy eyes and languid manner appealed very strongly to her kind heart.
"I have a toothache, miss," the girl said, with a heavy sigh. "I never slept a wink last night, it pained me so."
"I am very sorry, and of course you cannot feel much like work to-day, if you had no sleep," Mona said, pityingly.
"Indeed I don't—I can hardly hold my head up; but the work's got to be done all the same," was the weary reply.
"Cannot you get some one to substitute for you while you have your tooth taken out and get a little rest?" Mona kindly inquired.
"No, miss; the girls are all busy—they have their own work to do, and
I shall have to bear it as best I can."
"Then let me help you," Mona said, a sudden thought setting all her pulses bounding.
Perhaps she might come across that dress!
"You, miss!" the girl cried, in unfeigned astonishment. "A young lady like you help to make beds in a hotel where you are a guest!"
Mona laughed.
"I have often made beds, and—I am not regarded as a 'young lady' just now; I am only a kind of waiting-maid to the lady with whom I am traveling," she explained, thinking she might the more easily gain her point if the girl was led to think the difference in their positions was not as great as she had imagined. "Come now," she added, "I am going to help you, for I know you are not able to do all this work yourself," and she immediately began to assist in putting her own chamber to rights.
They went from room to room, Mona chatting pleasantly and trying to take the girl's mind from her pain; but she saw that it was almost more than she could do to keep about her work.
Finally she made her sit down and let her work alone.
"How many rooms are there yet to be cared for?" she asked, as she began to spread up the bed where they were.
"Only four more, miss—just what are left in this hall," said the girl, as her head fell wearily back against the high rocker which Mona had insisted upon her taking.
Mona went on with the work she had volunteered to perform, and when she returned to look at the girl again, she found that she was sleeping heavily.
"Exhausted nature has asserted itself, and I will let her rest," the young girl murmured; "there can be no possible harm in my doing this work for her, although I suppose it would not be thought just the thing for a stranger to have access to all these rooms."
She put everything there as it should be, then she went out, softly closing the door after her, that no one might see the girl sleeping.
She proceeded to do the four remaining apartments without finding what she sought until she came to the very last one.
As she entered it she picked up a card that had been dropped upon the floor, and a joyful thrill ran through her as she read the name, "Mrs. J.M. Walton."
She knew, then, that she had found the room occupied by the woman who had worn the gray dress.
Would she find the garment?
A trunk stood in one corner of the room, and her eyes rested covetously upon this. Then she went to the wardrobe and swung the door open.
Joy! the robe she sought was hanging on a peg within!
With trembling hands she sought for the rent which she had seen the day but one before.
She found it, and with fluctuating color and a rapidly beating heart, she took hold of the knot of the silk, which had been used to mend it, and deliberately pulled it out, when the ragged edges fell apart, revealing a triangular-shaped rent.
Mona drew her purse from her pocket, found the precious piece of cloth that Ray had sent to her, and laid it over the hole in the skirt.
It fitted perfectly into the tear, and she knew that the dress which the beautiful Mrs. Vanderbeck had worn, when she stole the Palmer diamonds, was found.
But the woman!
Mona was puzzled, for surely the woman whom she had seen wearing the dress was much older than the one whom Ray had described to her. She was wrinkled and gray; and then—the name! But stay! All at once light broke in upon her. Walton had been the name of the person who had so cleverly deceived Dr. Wesselhoff. She had been old and wrinkled, and now, without doubt, she had come to St. Louis to dispose of her share of the stolen diamonds, and had worn the other woman's dress, thinking, perhaps, it would be safe to do so, and would not be recognized under such different circumstances.
"But what shall I do?" seemed now to be the burden of her thought. At first she felt impelled to telegraph Ray to come and attend to the matter; then she feared the man and woman would both disappear before he could arrive, and she felt that some immediate action should be taken.
"I believe my best way will be to go directly to a detective, and tell him my story; he will know what ought to be done, and I can leave the matter in his hands," was her final conclusion.
She sped to her own room, secured a needleful of silk, then hastened back to Mrs. Walton's room and sewed the rent in the dress together once more, taking care not to fray the edges, lest the piece she had should not fit when it was examined again.
CHAPTER VIII.
MR. RIDER BECOMES ACTIVE AGAIN.
After hanging the dress again in its place, Mona quickly finished her work in the room, then went back to the girl whom she had left sleeping in one of the adjoining chambers, and awoke her.
She had slept nearly an hour, and, though Mona knew that she needed many hours more of rest, she was sure that she would be the better for what she had secured.
"You are very good, miss," she said, gratefully; "the pain is all gone from my tooth, and I feel ever so much better."
"Your sleep has quieted your nerves; but I advise you to see a dentist and have the tooth attended to," Mona returned; then hastened away to her room, where she dressed herself for the street and went out.
Mrs. Montague had been out for a long time driving with some friends.
Mona inquired of an elderly, respectable policeman, whom she found standing upon a corner, where she should go to find a detective.
He directed her to the headquarters of the force, although he looked surprised at the question coming from such a source, and she repaired thither at once.
As she entered the office, a quiet-looking man, who was the only occupant at that time, arose and came forward, bowing respectfully; but he also appeared astonished to see a young and beautiful girl in such a place.
"I wish to see a detective," said Mona, flushing hotly beneath the man's curious glance.
"The men connected with this office are all out just at this moment, miss. I am a stranger, and only sitting here for a half-hour or so, just to oblige the officer in charge," the man courteously replied.
"I am very sorry," said the young girl, with a sigh, "for I have come upon business which ought to be attended to immediately."
"I am a detective, miss, although I do not belong here. I'm an officer from New York; but if you see fit to tell me your business, perhaps I might advise you," said the officer, kindly, for he saw that she was greatly troubled.
"You are from New York!" Mona exclaimed, eagerly; "then perhaps it will be better for me to tell you, rather than a St. Louis detective; for the robbery happened in New York."
The detective's eyes flashed with sudden interest at this.
"Ah!" was all he said, however, and this very quietly.
"Yes, it was a diamond robbery. A dress worn by one of the persons connected with it was torn; a small piece was entirely cut out of it. I have found the dress; I have fitted the piece into the rent, and now I want the woman who owns it to be arrested and examined," Mona explained, in low, excited tones, but very comprehensively.
"Ah!" said the detective again, in the same quiet tone; "you have reference to the Palmer robbery."
Mona lifted a pair of very astonished eyes to his face.
"Yes," she responded, breathlessly; "but how did you know?"
"Because I am looking after that case. I am in St. Louis upon that very business," replied the man, with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Are you Detective Rider?" questioned the young girl, wonderingly, and trembling with excitement.
Her companion smiled.
"What do you know about Detective Rider?" he inquired. Then, as she flushed and seemed somewhat embarrassed, he continued: "And who are you, if you please?"
"I am—I am acquainted with Raymond Palmer," Mona answered, evasively; "he has told me about the robbery and—"
"Ah! yes. I understand," interposed the quick-witted officer, as he comprehended the situation. "But sit down and tell me the whole story as briefly as possible, and I can then judge what will be best to do."
He moved a chair forward for her, then sat down himself, where he could watch her closely, as she talked, and Mona related all that we already know regarding the two people whom she had seen upon the street-car, together with all that followed in connection with the discovery of the rent in the gray cloth dress, the sending for the fragment that Ray had preserved, and which had fitted so exactly into the tear.
The detective listened with the closest attention, his small, keen eyes alone betraying the intense interest which her recital excited.
When she had concluded, he drew forth a set of tablets and made notes of several items, after which he said:
"Now, Miss —— What shall I call you? Whom shall I ask for at the hotel, if I should wish to see you again upon this business?"
"Miss Richards. I am traveling with a Mrs. Montague, of New York," Mona replied.
"Well, then, Miss Richards, you go back to your hotel, and of course conduct yourself as if you had nothing unusual on your mind; but hold yourself in readiness to produce that important bit of cloth, if I should call upon you to do so within the next few hours. By the way," he added, with sudden thought, "if you have it with you, I might as well take a look at it."
Mona took the paper containing it from her purse and gave it to him.
"You are sure this matches the dress?" he asked, examining it closely.
"We don't want to make any awkward mistakes, you know."
"It is identical. I believe that every thread in this piece can be matched by a corresponding thread in the garment," the fair girl asserted, so positively that he seemed to be entirely satisfied.
He returned the piece to her and then arose in a brisk, business-like way, which told that he was ready for action.
Mona also rose, and, bidding him a quiet good-day, went quickly out of the office, and hastened back to the hotel.
* * * * *
In order to understand more fully some of the incidents related, we shall have to go back a few days.
It was a bright, clear morning when a rather rough-looking, yet not unattractive person, entered a large jewelry establishment located on one of the principal streets of St. Louis.
He might have been thirty-five years of age, for there was a sprinkling of silver among his coarse, intensely black hair, which he wore quite long, and also in his huge mustache and beard. His face was bronzed from exposure; there were crow's feet about his eyes, and two deep wrinkles between his brows, and his general appearance indicated that he had seen a good deal of the rough side of life.
He wore a coarse though substantial suit of clothes, which hung rather loosely upon him; a gray flannel shirt with a turn-over collar, which was fastened at the throat by a flashy necktie, rather carelessly knotted; a red cotton handkerchief was just visible in one of his pockets; there were coarse, clumsy boots on his feet, and he wore a wide-brimmed, slouch hat.
He inquired of the clerk, who came forward to wait upon him, if he could see the "boss of the consarn," as he had a little private business to transact with him.
The clerk smiled slightly at his broad vernacular, as he replied that he would speak to the proprietor, and presently an elderly gentleman appeared from an inner office, and inquired the nature of the man's business.
"I'm a miner," he said. "I'm just home from Australia, where I've been huntin' diamonds for the last ten years. I've made a pretty good haul, and sold most of 'em in London on my way home. I had a few dandy ones cut there, though, to bring back to my gal; but—but—well, to tell the plain truth," he said, with some confusion, "she's gone back on me; she couldn't wait for me, so married another fellar; and now I want to sell the stones. D'ye want to buy?"
There was something rather attractive, as well as amusing, in the man's frankness, and the merchant smiled, as he kindly remarked that he would examine the stones.
The miner thereupon pulled out a small leather bag from one of the pockets of his trousers, unwound the strong thong at its throat, and rattled out upon the counter several loose glittering diamonds of various sizes.
The merchant could hardly repress a cry of astonishment, for they were remarkable for their purity and brilliancy, while there were two among the collection of unusual size.
He examined them critically, and took plenty of time about it, while the miner leaned indifferently against the counter, his hands in his pockets, and gazed absently out of the window.
"What do you value these stones at?" the merchant finally inquired, as he removed the glass from his eye and turned to the man.
"Wall, I don't suppose it would make much difference what my price might be," he drawled; "I know they're about as good ones as anybody would care to see, and you know about what you'd be willin' to give."
"Yes; but I would like to know what value you put upon them before I make an offer," responded Mr. Cohen, shrewdly.
"Wall, before I found out about the gal, I wouldn't a' sold 'em at any price," was the rather gloomy response, "fur I'd promised 'em to her, ye know; but now—so's I get what's reasonable, I don't care much what becomes on 'em. What'll ye give? I'll trust to yer honor in the matter."
The jeweler had been watching the man closely while he was speaking, although he appeared to be thinking deeply of the purchase of the gems.
"I—do not think that I am prepared to set a price on them just at this moment," he at length thoughtfully remarked. "As far as I can judge, they are very fine stones and well cut; still, I am not an expert, although a dealer in such things, and I should like to submit them to one before making you an offer."
"All right," was the hearty and unhesitating reply, "that's fair, and I'm agreeable. Bring on your expert."
"Are you going to be in the city long?" asked the merchant.
"Wall, no; I didn't calkerlate on staying any longer'n I could turn the stones into money," the man said. "My old mother lives up to Brownsville, and I thought of goin' up to make her a little visit—han't seen her fur ten years. Then I'm going back to the mines, since I han't no reason to hang around these parts now," with a bitter emphasis on the last word.
"This is Tuesday," said Mr. Cohen, reflectively; "the expert to whom I wish to subject the stones is out of town, but will be here to-morrow evening; suppose you come in again on Thursday morning."
"All right," responded the miner, as he began to gather up his glittering pebbles, though there was a look of disappointment in his eyes. "I'd ruther have got rid of 'em, fur they're kind o' ticklish things to be carrying about. Wonder if I couldn't leave 'em in your safe till Thursday?"
"Certainly, if you are willing to trust them with me," said Mr. Cohen, looking rather surprised at the man's confidence in him: "still you would have to do so on your own responsibility. I should not be willing to be held accountable for them in case of a robbery."
"Wall, then, perhaps I'd better take them along," the miner returned, as he tied the mouth of his leather pouch, and shoved it into one of his pockets.
Then drawing forth a plug of tobacco from another, he bit off a generous quid, remarking, as he did so:
"I'll be on hand Thursday mornin', I reckon. Good-day."
The merchant politely returned his salutation, and watched him thoughtfully after he shut the door and went swaggering down the street, looking in at every window he passed, in regular country fashion.
A few moments after, the merchant took his hat and also went out.
A few hours later, Mr. Amos Palmer received the following dispatch:
"Send expert and detective at once to examine suspicious stones.
EZRA COHEN."
Ezra Cohen had for years had business relations with Amos Palmer, going to New York several times every twelve months to purchase diamonds and other jewels, for the St. Louis trade.
On his last visit thither Mr. Palmer had mentioned the bold robbery, which had resulted in his losing such valuable diamonds, and had described some of the most costly stones, saying, that possibly they might some time fall into his hands.
Mr. Cohen was not sure, but he was impressed that the two larger stones of the collection which the miner had brought to sell him, on that morning, resembled, in some points, the ones described by Mr. Palmer; and so he thought it worth while to have the matter proved, if possible, although he felt some compunctions regarding his suspicions, because the miner had appeared so frank and ingenuous.
If he had only left the stones with him as he had proposed doing, the matter of testing them could have been attended to during his absence. He hoped that he had not acted too hastily in telegraphing to Mr. Palmer; but he had done as his best judgment had prompted, and could only await the result with patience.
It was with no little nervousness, however, that he awaited Thursday morning, especially after receiving a reply to his message to the effect that "Tom Rider, the detective, and a diamond expert, would arrive on an early train of that day."
They did so, and presented themselves at Ezra Cohen's establishment soon after the store was opened for business that morning.
The merchant was already there, awaiting them, and received the two gentlemen in his private office, where they held a confidential conversation regarding the matter in hand.
The expert was quite confident, after listening to Mr. Cohen's description of the diamonds, that they would prove to be the ones they were seeking, but the detective was not quite so hopeful; he had been disappointed so many times of late that he looked upon the dark side, while he was somewhat skeptical about the supposed miner making his appearance again.
About nine o'clock, however, the man swaggered into the store, an enormous quid of tobacco inside his cheek.
"He has never been in Australia," said Detective Rider, in a low tone, but with sudden energy, as he and his companion watched him approach the counter, where Mr. Cohen was quietly examining a case of watches.
"Wall," he remarked, in his broad, drawling tone, "got yer expert on hand this mornin'? I'd like to close up this 'ere business before I go up to Brownsville."
"Yes, I think I can settle about the diamonds to-day," Mr. Cohen politely remarked. "James," to a clerk, "please ask Mr. Knowlton to step this way."
James disappeared, and presently an elderly gentleman in spectacles issued from the private office.
"Mr. Knowlton," said the merchant, "this is the man who wished to dispose of some diamonds. Will you examine them, and give your opinion of their value?"
The miner darted a quick, searching look at the new-comer; but apparently the man was intent only upon the business in hand.
Drawing forth his leather pouch, the miner untied it and emptied its contents upon the square of black velvet which had been laid upon the show-case to receive them.
Mr. Knowlton examined each stone with careful scrutiny through a powerful glass, never once speaking until he had looked the collection through.
"They are quite valuable," he remarked, as he laid the last one down. "These," indicating the two large ones, "are especially so; you have been very fortunate, sir, to make such a collection, for there is not one poor one in the lot."
The miner gave a slight start at this observation, and the color deepened on his face; but he replied, with his habitual frankness:
"Well, I've had poor ones—plenty on 'em; but these were saved for a special purpose," and he winked knowingly at Mr. Cohen. Then he added, as he shot a sweeping look around the store and out through the window upon the sidewalk: "Jest give us their value in round figgers, and well soon settle this matter."
The expert quietly made a memorandum upon a card and laid it before the jeweler, then immediately withdrew to the private office.
"Well?" demanded Tom Rider, his keen little eyes gleaming with repressed excitement, as Mr. Knowlton shut the door after him.
"The two large stones belong to Amos Palmer, the others I never saw before, and you'd better hook your man as soon as possible, because he is beginning to smell powder," said the gentleman, in a low tone.
"I'm ready for him," muttered the detective, as he grabbed his hat, crushed it upon his head, and vanished out of the back door with a good deal more of elasticity in his step than when he had entered.
Going around to the front entrance he sauntered into the store and up to the counter, where Mr. Cohen was apparently trying to drive a close bargain for the Australian(?) diamonds, but really waiting for some sign from the men closeted in his office.
He paused at the entrance of the new-comer, bowed gravely, and politely inquired:
"What can I do for you, sir?"
"I'm sorry to give you any trouble," the detective returned, in quick, sharp tones, "but it is my duty to arrest this man! You are my prisoner, sir," he concluded, laying his hand on the shoulder of the supposed miner.
A startled oath broke from the man's lips, and he made an agile spring for the door.
But the detective was too quick for him, and deftly placed a pair of twisters about his wrists, with such force as to wring a howl of agony from him.
"None of that, my fine fellow," Mr. Rider said, sternly, as he slyly tried to slip his other hand underneath his coat, and he gave the twisters another forcible turn. "Just you let that revolver alone."
"All right," said the miner, apparently yielding; "but what's the charge? Ye can't expect a fellar to submit very tamely to this kind o' thing without knowing what he's nabbed for."
"I arrest you for robbery. These diamonds are stolen property," was the brief reply of the detective.
"You don't say!" drawled the man, in a tone of sarcastic wonder. "Perhaps ye'll be good enough to prove what ye assert."
The detective could but admire the cool effrontery of the fellow, but he quietly responded:
"It has already been proved—those large diamonds have just been identified."
"Ah!"
The miner said no more, but quietly submitted to have a pair of handcuffs snapped on his wrists.
The diamonds were secured, and the prisoner was marched off to the station-house, while Ezra Cohen gave utterance to a sigh of relief over the fact that he had made no mistake.
CHAPTER IX.
MR. RIDER RECEIVES ANOTHER SET-BACK.
Jake Walton, as the supposed miner gave his name, was thoroughly searched by Detective Rider, after reaching the station-house, but nothing suspicious was found upon him except a revolver. He had considerable money, but nothing to indicate that he had ever been concerned in any robbery, or to confirm the belief that he was other than he pretended to be.
He submitted to being searched with the utmost indifference, but drawlingly remarked during the operation, he "supposed they'd take bail—he wasn't used to bein' shut up, and it would come pretty tough on him."
"Of course the magistrate will accept suitable bail," said Rider, not imagining that the prisoner could find any one to go security for him to the large sum likely to be asked.
The miner requested that a lawyer might be sent to him at once, after which he coolly sat down, drew out a morning paper, and began to read.
Later in the day a legal gentleman presented himself in his cell, and there followed a long consultation between the two, and toward evening the lawyer, after consulting with a police justice, called at the Southern Hotel and inquired for a lady by the name of Mrs. J.M. Walton.
Yes, there was such a person stopping there, the clerk informed him, whereupon the lawyer sent up his card to her with the request that she would grant him a private interview.
The messenger returned in about fifteen minutes, saying the lady would receive him in her private parlor. Upon being conducted thither, he found a handsome elderly woman awaiting him, and immediately explained his business, relating the circumstances of the arrest of Jake Walton, and concluded by telling her that he had been employed as counsel for the young man, who had sent him to her to arrange for bail.
Mrs. Walton appeared to be greatly disturbed by these disagreeable tidings. She said she had come there expecting to meet her son, who had just returned from Australia, and it was very trying to be told that he had been arrested for theft. Then she inquired what amount would be required for security.
The counsel named the sum fixed by the police justice, whereupon Mrs.
Walton appeared to be considerably agitated for a moment.
"I am an entire stranger in the city," she remarked, recovering herself somewhat. "I know no one to whom I could appeal to become bound for so large a sum. What can I do?"
"Have you plenty of means at your disposal, madame?" her companion inquired.
"Yes, I could give bail to almost any reasonable amount, only being a stranger here, I fear it would not be accepted from me," the lady returned, with a look of anxiety.
"No; but I think I can suggest a way out of that difficulty," said the lawyer, with a crafty smile.
"Then do so," said Mrs. Walton, quickly; "I am willing to pay handsomely to secure the release of my son from his uncomfortable position."
"Very well. Then if you can command the sum named you can deposit it in one of the city banks and I will attend to all other formalities for you. Of course, the money will be returned to you after the trial of your son."
"Could such arrangements be made?" Mrs. Walton eagerly inquired.
"Certainly. All that is required is sufficient security to insure the young man's appearance at his trial, and then he will be released."
"Then I can arrange it," the woman said, apparently greatly relieved; and after discussing ways and means a while longer, the lawyer took his leave.
A few hours served to arrange matters satisfactorily to all parties. The sum required was deposited in one of the city banks, and the cashier was empowered to pay it over to the city treasurer, if Jake Walton failed to appear at the time named to answer to the charge of complicity in the Palmer diamond robbery. He was then released, the lawyer was handsomely remunerated for his efficient services, and Mrs. Walton and her son returned to the Southern Hotel.
It was on their way thither that they entered the car in which Mona was also returning to the hotel, and when she made the discovery that the woman had on the very dress which the charming Mrs. Vanderbeck had worn on the day of the Palmer robbery.
We know what followed—how she immediately sent on to Ray for the scrap of cloth, and how, later, she found that it exactly fitted the rent in the dress.
We know, also, how, immediately following this discovery, she sought the headquarters of the detective force, where she opportunely encountered Mr. Rider, and related to him the discoveries which she had made.
Mrs. Walton had not appeared personally in connection with the formalities regarding the release of her son.
Everything had been conducted by the shrewd lawyer, so Detective Rider had not met her at all; but he felt confident, when Mona described her, together with her dress, that she was not the mother of Jake Walton at all, but one of the "gang" who had so successfully robbed different parties during the last two or three years.
The moment the young girl disappeared from the office, after her interview with him, the detective executed a number of antics which would have done credit to a practiced athlete.
"The girl is a cute little body," he muttered, with a chuckle, as he sat down to rest a moment, and plan his course of action, "and it is lucky for me that she happened to be in St. Louis just at this time and stopping at that very hotel. I wonder," he added, with a frown, "that I didn't think that the woman who gave bail, might be one of the gang. By Jove!" with a sudden start, "I believe that money, which she deposited in the bank as security, is only a blind after all, and they both intend to skip! What a wretched blunder it was to accept bail anyway! But I'll cage both birds this time, only what I do must be done quickly. They must have done a smashing big business in diamonds," he went on, musingly; "and there are evidently two women and one man associated. This Mrs. Walton is doubtless the old one who tricked Doctor Wesselhoff, and that red-headed Mrs. Vanderbeck, I am still confident, is none other than the Widow Bently, who did Justin Cutler and Mrs. Vander_heck_ out of their money. I'd just like to get hold of all three! Tom Rider, if you only could, it would be a feather in your cap such as doesn't often wave over the head of an ordinary detective, not to mention the good round sum that would swell your pocket-book! But half a loaf is better than no bread, and so here goes! I'll arrest them both, and shall object to anybody going bail for them."
Highly elated over the prospect before him, the man brushed his neat suit until there wasn't an atom of dust upon it, polished his boots until he could see his own face reflected in them, rearranged his necktie in the last new style, then ran lightly down stairs, and hastened, with quick, elastic tread, toward the Southern Hotel, where he expected to accomplish such great results.
* * * * *
"Where have you been, Ruth?" exclaimed Mrs. Montague, in an irritated tone, as Mona entered that lady's parlor upon her return from the detective's office. "I wish you wouldn't go out without consulting me. I've been waiting here for a long time for you to mend these gloves."
"I am very sorry," Mona returned, flushing, "but after you went out to drive I assisted the chambermaid, who was nearly crazy with the toothache, to put some of the rooms in order; then, as you had not returned, I went out for a little walk."
"Well, I don't mind about the walk, but I didn't bring you with me to do chamber-work in every hotel we stop at," sharply retorted the much annoyed lady. "You can go at the gloves right away," she added; "then I shall want you to help me pack, for we are to leave on the first boat to-morrow morning. And," she concluded, thus explaining to Mona her unusual irritability, "we've got to make the trip alone, after all, for my friend is worse this morning, and so the whole family have given it up."
"I am sorry that you are to be disappointed. I should suppose you would wish to give it up yourself. I am afraid you will not enjoy it at all," Mona replied, wondering why she did not at once return to New York instead of keeping on.
"Of course, I shall not enjoy it," snapped the woman, but bestowing a searching glance upon her companion, "and I would not go on, only Louis was to join us at New Orleans, and it is too late now to change his plans."
Mona's face fell at this unexpected and disagreeable intelligence.
The last thing she desired was Louis Hamblin's companionship, and she would have been only too glad to return at once to New York.
"Could you not telegraph to him?" she suggested.
"No; for I suppose he has already left New York," Mrs. Montague curtly replied.
Mona was quite unhappy over the prospect before her; then it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps Detective Rider would need her as a witness, if he should arrest the Waltons, and in that case she would be compelled to return to New York.
Still she felt very uncomfortable even with this hope to encourage her, and but for the discovery of that morning, she would have regretted having consented to accompany Mrs. Montague upon her trip.
She sat down to mend the gloves, with what composure she could assume, although her nerves were in a very unsettled state, for she was continually looking for a summons from Mr. Rider.
When they were finished she helped about the packing of Mrs. Montague's wardrobe, and then repaired to her chamber, to get her own in readiness to leave; but still no word from the detective, and she thought it very strange.
It might have been an hour after Mona's return to the hotel, when that official sauntered into the office, where he picked up a paper and looked it over for a few minutes. Then he went to the counter, pulled the register before him, and began to glance up and down its pages.
He finally found the names he was searching for, then turning to the clerk, he requested that a boy might take a note from him to Mrs. J.M. Walton's room.
"Mrs. Walton?" repeated the clerk, with some surprise.
"Yes; I have a little matter of business with her," said Mr. Rider, who intended to make his arrest very quietly.
"I am sorry you did not come earlier, then," regretfully responded the clerk, "for Mrs. Walton and her son left the hotel about two hours ago,"
The detective's heart sank with a sudden shock.
Gone! his birds flown when he had them so nearly captured!
"Are you sure?" he sharply demanded, while in spite of his long and severe training, he turned very white, and his under lip twitched nervously.
"Certainly, or I should not have so stated," returned the clerk, with some dignity. "When young Mr. Walton settled his bill, he ordered a carriage to be in waiting at eleven o'clock, and both he and his mother left the house at that time. I regret your disappointment, sir, in missing them."
This was almost more than Mr. Rider could bear; but he could not doubt the man's word, and he feared the thieves had escaped him again. They must have left while Mona was telling him her story at the detective headquarters.
They had been very sharp. Finding themselves in a bad box, they had planned their movements with great cunning. He believed that Mrs. Walton had deposited the amount required for bail in the bank, with the deliberate intention of forfeiting it, rather than have her accomplice brought to trial; doubtless he was too useful to her to run any risk of his being found guilty, and imprisoned for a term of years, and thus put an end to their successful career.
The detective berated himself soundly again for not objecting to the acceptance of bail at all, but it was too late now to remedy the matter. Regrets were useless, and he must bestir himself, strike a fresh trail, if possible, and hope for better results.
He wondered why they had not skipped immediately after Jake Walton's release, but finally concluded that they had remained in the city for a day or two to disarm suspicion.
"Where did they go?" he inquired, as soon as he could command his voice to speak calmly.
"To the Grand Union Station. I believe they were going North, for I heard the young man say something about purchasing tickets, at reduced rates, for Chicago," the clerk replied.
"Had they baggage with them?" Mr. Rider questioned.
"Yes, a trunk and a good-sized grip," said the man.
The detective thought a moment.
Then he called for writing materials, hastily wrote a few lines, which he sealed, and directed to "Miss Richards."
"There is a young lady by that name stopping here, I believe," he remarked, as he laid the envelope before the clerk.
"Yes; she is with a Mrs. Montague."
"That is the lady," said the detective. "Will you see that this letter is given into her own hands, and privately? It is a matter of importance."
"Yes, sir, I will myself attend to the matter," responded the obliging clerk.
Mr. Rider deposited a piece of silver upon the envelope, touched his hat, and walked briskly from the hotel.
He jumped into a carriage that was waiting before the door.
"To the Grand Union Station," he ordered. "Be quick about it, and you shall have double fare."
The man was quick about it, but the train for Chicago had been gone some time.
Mr. Rider had of course expected this, but he at once sought an interview with the ticket agent, and made earnest inquiries regarding those who had purchased tickets for Chicago that morning; but he could learn of no persons answering to the description of the miner and his supposed mother.
If he could have obtained any intelligence regarding them, he had intended to telegraph ahead, and order their arrest when they should arrive at the end of their journey. But of course it would be of no use to put this plan into execution now, as he doubted very much their having gone to Chicago at all.
He was very much disheartened, and retraced his steps to his hotel, with a sickening sense of total defeat.
"Tom Rider," he muttered, fiercely, as he packed his own grip to take the first train back to New York, "you might as well give up the business and take up some trade; you've been hoodwinked by these clever thieves often enough."
But there was a very dogged, resolute expression on his plain face, nevertheless, as he turned it northward, which betrayed that he did not mean to give up his search quite yet.
That afternoon when Mona went down to dinner, the clerk of the hotel waylaid her and quietly slipped an envelope into her hand.
"Thank you," she said, in a low tone, and hastily concealed it in her pocket.
When she was alone again she broke it open and read, with almost as much disappointment as the detective himself had experienced, when he found that his birds had flown, these words:
"Gone! They gave us the slip about eleven o'clock. Save the scrap of cloth—it may be needed later. R."
"Oh, dear!" sighed Mona, regretfully; "and the Palmer robbery is still as much of a mystery as ever."
CHAPTER X.
THE PLOT AGAINST MONA THICKENS.
The next morning Mrs. Montague and her young companion left the Southern Hotel and proceeded directly on board one of the palatial steamers which ply between St. Louis and New Orleans.
Mrs. Montague secured one of the best staterooms for their use, and immediately made herself comfortable for the trip.
The weather was very fine, the season advanced, for the foliage was rapidly developing to perfection, and the sail down the broad tortuous river was delightful.
Mona enjoyed it, in spite of her dread of meeting Louis Hamblin at the end of it, and her anxiety to get back to New York and Ray.
Mrs. Montague had entirely recovered her good nature; indeed, she had never been so kind and gracious toward her seamstress as during this portion of their trip. She appeared to exert herself to make her enjoy it—was more free and companionable, and an observer would have regarded them as relatives and equals.
Mrs. Montague made many acquaintances, as she always did everywhere, and entered most heartily into every plan for amusing and entertaining the party on board the steamer.
The days were mostly spent in delightful intercourse and promenades on deck, where Mona was put forward and made to join in the pleasures; while the evenings were devoted to tableaux, charades, music, and dancing, as the passengers desired.
It seemed almost like a return to her old life before her uncle's death, and could she have obliterated all sadness and painful memories, Mona would have enjoyed it thoroughly.
They had barely touched the levee at New Orleans when they espied Louis Hamblin, dressed with great care and in the height of style, awaiting their arrival.
Mrs. Montague signaled to him from the upper deck; and he, with an answering wave of his hand, sprang aboard, and quickly made his way to her side.
He greeted her with evident pleasure, remarking that it seemed an age since he had seen her, and then he turned to Mona, with outstretched hand and smiling eyes.
"How well you are looking, Miss Richards," he remarked; "your trip has done you a great deal of good."
Mona bowed, but without appearing to notice his extended hand, and then she turned away to gather their wraps and satchels, preparatory to going ashore.
Mr. Hamblin frowned at her coldness, but a peculiar smile curved his lips as he whispered in Mrs. Montague's ear:
"We'll soon bring your proud beauty to better terms."
"Don't be rash, Louis," she returned; "we must be very wary if we would accomplish our purpose. You say you love the girl, and I have consented to let you have your way, but, since she is not inclined to accept your advances, you will have to play your cards very shrewdly if you expect to win."
"All right; I will be circumspection personified, if you will only help me to make that girl my wife," the young man said earnestly. "I do love her with all my heart; and, Aunt Margie, I'll quit sowing wild oats, turn over a new leaf, and be a good man if I succeed in this."
Mrs. Montague regarded him somewhat skeptically, as he made this eager avowal, but it was almost immediately followed by a look of anxiety.
"I hope you will—you certainly owe me that much after all that I have done for you," she returned. "Mind you," she added, "I never would have yielded this point if I had not been driven to it."
"Driven to it! How?" inquired her nephew, regarding her searchingly.
"Driven to it, because I have found out that she is Mona Montague, and I'm afraid that she has an eye to her father's property. I believe she is very keen—doubtless she knows that she has a legal claim upon what he left, and means to assert it, or she never would have so cunningly wormed herself into my family. Of course it will be difficult for her to prove her position, since I have that certificate of marriage; still she may have some other proof that I know nothing about which she is secretly working. Of course I'd rather you would marry her," Mrs. Montague gloomily observed, "and thus make our interests mutual, than run any risk of losing the whole of my money. Still, I did want you to marry Kitty McKenzie: I wanted you to fortify yourself with additional wealth."
"I have suspected that the girl was Mona all along," Louis quietly remarked.
"Oh, have you?" sharply retorted his aunt, as she studied his face with suspicious eyes. "Perhaps you have been plotting to marry her for the sole purpose of getting this fortune wholly under your control."
"Pshaw! Aunt Margie, how foolish you are! Haven't I always worked for your interests? More than that, haven't you always assured me that the fortune would be mine eventually? Why, then, should I plot for it?" the young man replied, in soothing tones, but coloring beneath her glance. "I tell you," he went on, a note of passion in his voice, "I love the girl; I would even be willing to marry her without a dollar in prospect, and then go to work to support her. Now come, do not let us quarrel over imaginary troubles, but unite our forces for our mutual benefit. It will be far safer for you if she becomes my wife, for then you will have nothing to fear, and I shall have won the desire of my heart."
"Well, it will have to be, I suppose," said Mrs. Montague, moodily. "I wonder how I was ever so deceived though, when she looks so like Mona Forester. I can understand now why Ray Palmer was so attentive to her at Hazeldean. Strange it never occurred to me, when I saw him waiting upon her, that she was Mona Montague, and they must have had a quiet laugh by themselves over having so thoroughly hoodwinked us."
"They didn't hoodwink me," Mr. Hamblin affirmed, with a sly smile; "I knew all the time who she was."
"I don't see how you knew it," Mrs. Montague retorted, impatiently.
"I will tell you. I was in Macy's one day when the girl ran across some acquaintances. She bowed and smiled to them, as I suppose she had always been in the habit of doing; but the petted darlings of le bon ton drew themselves up haughtily, stared rudely at her, and passed on, while the poor child flushed, then paled, and looked ready to drop. A moment later, the two proud misses shot by me, one of them remarking with curling lips and a toss of her head, 'Do you suppose that Mona Montague expects that we are going to recognize her now?'"
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Mrs. Montague angrily demanded.
"Because I knew that, if you suspected her identity, you would turn her out of the house forthwith, and then I should have hard work getting into her good graces."
"You are a sly one, Louis."
"One must look out for one's own interests in some respects," he coolly responded.
"Does she know that you suspect her identity?"
"No, not yet; but I mean she soon shall."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Montague, with sudden thought, "maybe you can use this knowledge to aid your suit—only don't let her know that I am in the secret until you are sure of her."
"That has been my intention all along—for I have meant to marry her, by hook or crook," and the young man smiled complacently.
"Look out, Louis; don't overreach yourself," said his companion, bending forward, and looking warningly into his face. "If you make an enemy of me, I warn you, it will be the worse for you."
"My dear aunt, I have no intention of making an enemy of you—you and I have been chums too long for any ill-will to spring up between us now. But," he concluded, looking about him, "we must not remain here talking any longer; most of the passengers have already left the boat I will go for a carriage and we will drive directly to the St. Charles, where I have rooms engaged for you."
Mrs. Montague turned to call Mona, who was standing at some distance from them, watching the men unload the boat.
"Come," she said, "we must go ashore."
Mona followed her from the boat, and into the carriage, utterly ignoring Louis Hamblin's assistance as she entered. She shrank more and more from him, while a feeling of depression and foreboding suddenly changed her from the bright, care-free girl, which she had seemed ever since leaving St. Louis, into a proud, reticent, and suspicious woman.
Upon reaching the St. Charles Hotel, Mrs. Montague informed Mona that dinner would be served shortly, and she would need to be expeditious in making her toilet.
"I should prefer not to go to the dining-room," Mona began, flushing.
"But I wish you to, for we are going to drive afterward to some of the points of interest in the city," Mrs. Montague returned.
"If you will excuse me—"
"Nonsense," retorted her companion, again interrupting her; "don't be a goose, Ruth! I want you with me, and we will not discuss the point any further."
Mona hesitated a moment, then turned away, but with a dignity which warned Mrs. Montague that it might not be well to enforce her commands too rigorously, or she might rebel outright.
Mona went down to the dining-room, but to her great relief received no disagreeable attentions from Mr. Hamblin, who sat on the right, while her seat was on the left of his aunt. He did not address her during the meal, except to ascertain if she was properly waited upon by the servants.
Afterward they went for a drive out on the shell road, which proved to be really delightful, for the city was in its prime, while, rain having fallen early in the day, the streets were not in the least dusty.
Mrs. Montague and Louis monopolized the conversation, thus leaving Mona free to look around about her.
The only thing that occurred to annoy her was on their return to the hotel. Louis, in assisting her to alight, held her hand in a close, lingering clasp for a moment, and, looking admiringly into her eyes, remarked, in a low tone:
"I hope you have enjoyed your drive, Miss—Richards."
What could he mean, Mona asked herself, by that significant pause before and that emphasis on her name?
She forcibly wrenched her hand from his, and deigning him no reply, walked with uplifted head into the hotel, and up to her own room.
The next day she politely, but firmly, declined to go out driving, and remained by herself to write a long letter to Ray; thus she avoided the hated companionship of the man, who became more and more odious to her.
The third evening after their arrival Mrs. Montague went to a concert with some people whose acquaintance she had made while on the steamer, and Mona congratulated herself that she could have a long quiet evening in which to read a book in which she had become deeply interested.
She had not a thought of being interrupted, for she supposed that Louis had accompanied his aunt, and she was sitting contentedly by the table in Mrs. Montague's private parlor, when she heard the door behind her open and close.
She looked up surprised, but the expression was quickly succeeded by one of dismay when she saw Louis Hamblin advancing toward her.
She arose, regarding him with cold displeasure.
He bowed politely as he remarked:
"Do not rise. I simply came to get some letters that Aunt Margie wished me to mail for her."
Mona resumed her seat, greatly relieved at this assurance, and went on with her reading, while the young man took up his aunt's writing-pad, which lay upon the table, as if to search for the letters.
He took out a couple and slipped them into his pocket; then selecting a pen, began himself to write.
Mona felt very uncomfortable, sitting there alone with him, but she kept hoping that he would soon go out again, and so went on with her reading.
Presently, however, he laid down his pen, and, glancing across the table at her, asked:
"What book have you that is so interesting?"
"The Senator's Bride,'" Mona briefly responded.
"Ah! I have never read it. What do you think of it?"
"It is quite entertaining," was the brief, cold reply.
"Pray, do not be so cold and proud—so exceedingly laconic," the young man said, with a smile, which was intended to be persuasive.
Instantly the young girl arose again, stately and frigid as an iceberg.
She attempted to pass him and go to her own room, but he threw out his hand, seized her arm, and stopped her.
"Please do not go!" he urged, in an imploring tone. "I have something which I want very much to say to you."
Mona's blood began to boil, and her eyes flashed dangerously at his presumption in daring to touch her.
She was too proud to struggle with him, and she could not shake off his hold upon her arm.
"Release me, Mr. Hamblin!" she said, in ominously quiet tones.
"Nay, do not treat me so!" he pleaded. "Be kind to me for once, and let me open my heart to you."
Her red lips curled.
"Will you let me pass?" she icily demanded.
He colored hotly at her tone; a flash of anger gleamed in his eyes.
"No. Be seated, Miss Mona Montague; I have something important to say to you," he said, in a tone that struck terror to her heart, while the utterance of her real name so startled and unnerved her that, almost involuntarily, she sank back into her chair, her face as white as her handkerchief, and trembling in every limb.
"Ah! that surprises you, doesn't it?" he remarked, with a smile of triumph; "and now I imagine you will be more tractable."
"What do you mean?" demanded Mona, recovering her composure somewhat, and determined not to commit herself, if she could avoid it.
"What do I mean?" he repeated, with a light laugh. "I mean to have a little private and serious conversation with Miss Mona Montague; and when I have finished, I do not believe that she will treat me quite so cavalierly as she has been doing of late."
"I do not wish to hold any conversation with you, Mr. Hamblin," Mona began, haughtily.
"Perhaps not, but you will, nevertheless," he interposed; "and, let me tell you, to begin with, it will be useless for you to ignore the name by which I have addressed you. I have discovered your identity in spite of your clever efforts to represent some one else—or rather to conceal your personality. I know that you are Mona Montague, the daughter of my aunt's husband and a girl named Mona Forester—"
"Stay!" cried Mona, starting again to her feet, her eyes blazing. "I will not hear my mother spoken of with any disrespect."
"I beg your pardon; I had no intention of wounding you thus," said the young man, regretfully, and flushing. "I simply wished you to understand that I had discovered your identity; and since you have now virtually acknowledged it, by asserting that Mona Forester was your mother, I beg you will be reasonable, and talk the matter over calmly with me, and hear what I have to propose to you."
Mona sank weakly back.
She saw that it would be worse than useless to deny what he had asserted; she had indeed betrayed and acknowledged too much for that.
"Very well. I will listen to what you wish to say, but be kind enough to be brief, for I have no desire to prolong this interview beyond what is absolutely necessary for your purpose," she said, with freezing dignity.
"Well, then," Louis Hamblin began, "I have known who you were ever since you came into Aunt Margie's house as a seamstress."
Then he went on to explain how he learned it, and Mona, remembering the incident but too well, saw that it would be best to quietly accept the fact of his knowledge.
"Does Mrs. Montague also know?" she asked, with breathless eagerness.
"She suspected you at first," he evasively answered, "but you so diplomatically replied to her questions—you were so self-possessed under all circumstances, and especially so when one day you found a picture of your mother, that she was forced to believe your strange resemblance to Mona Forester only a coincidence."