CHAPTER XXIX.
CORNERED AT LAST.
"My son, my son!"
The next instant the old lady was clasped to the breast of August
Bordine.
It was a dramatic scene.
But the drama was not yet complete.
Several men were striding through the garden, the two in advance wearing the uniform of the city police.
"August Bordine, I arrest you for the murder of Victoria Vane."
[Illustration: "I ARREST YOU FOR THE MURDER OF VICTORIA VANE.">[
A hand fell on the impostor's shoulder and a bearded face looked into his.
There came a wild gleam to the eyes of Barkswell as he realized his situation.
He seemed equal to the occasion, however.
"A mistake, officer. Yonder stands August Bordine," and the criminal pointed toward the widow's son.
And then, with a wailing cry, poor Rose reeled and sank fainting to the arms of Mrs. Bordine.
At this moment the officer snapped a pair of handcuffs over the wrists of Barkswell, thus securing him. However, the officers seemed puzzled, and stared at August as if undecided what course to pursue.
At this moment two others appeared on the ground—Hiram Shanks, the queer peddler, and Ransom Vane.
"You have the right man, gentlemen," said Shanks. "These two resemble each other strangely, and it is this resemblance that has baffled detectives, and made trouble for an honest man."
All eyes were fixed on the speaker, who adjusted the black patch on his blind eye, and spoke with the vigor of a man who knew that he was right.
"Yes," put in Ransom Vane, "there has been a great mistake. This man," pointing to Barkswell, "is the outlaw, and by confounding him with Mr. Bordine an innocent man has been deeply wronged."
"It is false—"
"Never mind putting in your lip," sneered the irrepressible peddler.
"There's crimes enough against you, young man, to sink you to perdition.
You are now arrested for the murder of a beautiful, innocent girl—"
"But I never harmed her, I swear it," cried the prisoner, trembling with deep excitement.
"Who did, then?"
"I don't know; but—"
"Is this yours?"
Shanks held up a gleaming dagger.
"No," with a start.
"You have seen the weapon before?"
"Yes."
"You placed it into Bordine's house one night, where it was found by the officers, for the purpose of fixing that awful murder upon an innocent man. Do you deny that?"
The outlaw was pallid and silent.
"It is true, and you dare not deny it. So far so good; but, gentlemen, it is a mistake to suppose that this man, guilty as he is of crimes without number, was the one who murdered Victoria Vane."
At this announcement the interest deepened on all faces, and the countenance of the prisoner brightened.
"The person who murdered Miss Vane, with this dagger, was in turn murdered by Andrew Barkswell, the prisoner here."
"Who was it?"
"Iris, your wife. She was the assassin of Victoria Vane!"
This announcement created a great sensation. Rose had revived, and clinging to the strong arm of August, was listening in amazement to the revelations of Hiram Shanks.
"I suspected it all the time," muttered the prisoner.
"You did? She found Victoria reading a letter from you, and in a fit of insane jealousy she stole upon and drove this dagger into her throat. Last night the poor woman died penitent, and made a full confession before two witnesses."
"If this is true, then we cannot detain the prisoner," said one of the officers.
"Release me at once," demanded Barkswell.
"Not so," cried Shanks. He must be held, for he is guilty of other crimes. The woman who died last night was murdered by poison administered by the hand of her husband, the man you now hold a prisoner. Dr. Wise has the proof that he will produce in good time. Furthermore, this man has another crime to answer for.
"He attempted to murder August Bordine, but failed. He did, however, assassinate his wife's brother, and buried the body in the cellar of an old shanty in the woods upon Bear Creek."
"That is false," uttered Barkswell, yet trembling and paling with fear.
"I have the proof," declared Shanks.
"What proof?"
"My eyesight. I saw you bury your victim!"
The prisoner weakened then. His handcuffs rattled and his whole frame swayed as though he were about to fall to the ground.
"You do not deny your crime, nor the fact that besides poisoning your wife and murdering Perry Jounce, her brother, you assisted the latter, who had long been your tool, to decoy Silas Keene into a room in the rear of Billy Bowleg's saloon, where, some weeks ago, you committed another crime by hurling the detective into a well."
"My soul! This is too much!" gasped the quaking villain.
"Do you deny it?"
No answer from Barkswell, but his head was bowed upon his breast, and a helpless look filled his eyes.
"It would do you no good to deny that you and Perry Jounce murdered
Detective Keene—"
"How did you learn so much?" cried out the doomed man.
"There were witnesses present—"
"Witnesses?"
"There was one."
"One?"
Barkswell raised his head and glared at the speaker in evident amazement.
"Yes, one—myself."
"I deny it."
"I think I can convince you."
With the words, the peddler's hand went to his head, a few passes were made, and the man stood transformed. It was a complete metamorphosis.
On the ground lay red wig and black patch.
An exclamation fell from many lips. Andrew Barkswell uttered a great cry.
"Great heavens! it is Silas Keene, the detective!"
It was true.
August Bordine had suspected this for some time, and was consequently the least astonished of any present.
"Although you cast me into that well, I did not perish," proceeded the detective, after a moment. "The well was not deep, and there was no water in it, so that the fall only stunned me a little. I soon recovered, and managed to climb to the surface on the jagged stones. It is not necessary to detail how I made my way from the building. No one saw me, and once free, I resolved to disguise myself completely, and thus work to better advantage.
"You of course supposed me dead, and so proceeded with more boldness than you would otherwise have done. This suited me. Your resemblance to August Bordine puzzled me for a time. I did not discover the truth until I saw you both together the time that my faithful Tige prevented you from murdering Bordine in the fisherman's shanty. I dogged your steps and found where your wife lived. I mistrusted you meant to destroy her, and at one time tried to frighten you from your wicked purpose. I failed, but succeeded in capturing you at last."
The detective paused.
The criminal said nothing.
He could not; he was completely broken up, and would have sunk to the ground had not one of the stout policemen supported him with his arms.
A low sob fell on the ears of all.
The eyes of the group turned to Rose. She rested on the breast of August and was weeping bitterly.
She, too, was broken up.
When the wicked cause of all the trouble was led away to prison, and none remained in the little garden but the old mother, August, and Rose, the latter disengaged himself from his hands and said, with a quiver in her voice and a moisture in her eye:
"I feel like going away by myself and never looking you in the face again, August."
"Why so, darling?"
"Because I have been such a fool."
He drew her to him, however, and kissed her tears away, while he whispered:
"The clouds have drifted away, darling, and we are destined to be happy yet."
She clung to him closely, and the widow understood and helped them. It was indeed sunshine after the storm.
* * * * *
Andrew Barkswell confessed his guilt in open court, and was sentenced to prison for life. Two years later he died. Thus ended an eventful and wicked career. Of course the reward was paid over in due time, and Silas Keene was the lion of the hour, since he had cornered a double murderer, and cleared up the mystery of Victoria Vane's sad death, who had fallen by the hand of a jealous woman.
And now adieu.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's Five Thousand Dollars Reward, by Frank Pinkerton