She was the picture of despair, as she sat crouching in the depths of her luxurious chair, her figure bowed and trembling, her face hidden in her hands.

There was a silence for a moment after Mr. Amos Palmer left the room; then Mr. Rider, who had been curiously studying his prisoner while the gentleman was speaking, remarked:

"It is the greatest mystery to me, madame, how, with the large fortune which you have had at your disposal, you could have wished to carry on such a dangerous business. What could have been your object? Surely not the need of money, nor yet the desire for jewels, since you have means enough to purchase all you might wish, and you tried to sell those you stole. One would almost suppose that it was a sort of monomania with you."

"No, it was not monomania," Mrs. Montague cried, as she started up with sudden anger and defiance; "it was absolute need."

"Really, now," Mr. Rider remarked, regarding her with a peculiar smile, "I should just like to know, as a matter of curiosity, how much it takes to relieve you from absolute need. I have supposed that you were one of the richest women in New York."

Mrs. Montague flushed a sudden crimson, and darted a quick, half-guilty look at Mr. Corbin. Then she turned again to the detective.

"Did you?--and so did others, I suppose!" she cried, with a short, scornful laugh. "Well, then, let me tell you that until I set my wits at work my income was only about twenty-five hundred dollars a year; and what was that paltry sum to a woman with my tastes?

"I do not care who knows now," she went on, with increasing excitement; "I have been humiliated to the lowest degree, and I shall glory in telling you how a woman has managed to outwit keen business men, sharp detectives, and clever police. In the first place, those crescents were presented to me at the time of my marriage. They are, as you have doubtless observed, wonderful jewels--as nearly flawless as it is possible to find diamonds. When I went to Chicago I was poor, for I had been extravagant that year and overdrawn my income. Money I must have--money I would have; and then it was that I attempted, for the first time, to carry out a scheme which I had planned while I was abroad the previous year. I had ordered a widow's outfit to be made, and padded in a way to entirely change my figure. I also purchased that red wig. While in Paris I learned the art of changing the expression of my face, by the skillful use of pencils and paint, and thus, dressed in my mourning costume with my eyebrows and lashes tinged to match my false hair, no one would ever have recognized me as Mrs. Montague.

"I had also provided myself, while in Paris, with several pairs of crescents, the exact counterparts, in everything save value, of the costly ones in my possession. I need not repeat the story of my success in getting money from Justin Cutler--you already know it; but I was so elated over the fact that I immediately went on to Boston, where I won even a larger sum from Mrs. Vanderheck."

"Yes; but how did you manage to change the jewels in that case, since you were with Mrs. Vanderheck from the time you left the expert until she paid you the money for them?" inquired Mr. Rider, who was deeply interested in this cunningly devised scheme.

"That was easily done," Mrs. Montague returned. "I had the case in my lap, and the duplicate crescents in my pocket. It required very little ingenuity on my part to so engage Mrs. Vanderheck's attention that I could abstract the real stones from the case and replace them with the others. Regarding the Palmer affair," she continued, with a glance of defiance at Ray, "it only required a few lines and touches to my face to apparently add several years to my age and change its expression; and, with my red hair and the change in my figure, my disguise was complete."

"And the name," interposed Ray, regarding her sternly; "you had a purpose in using that."

"Certainly, and the invalid husband also," she retorted, with a short, reckless laugh. "I had a purpose, too, in calling the elder Mr. Palmer's attention to the profusion of diamonds worn by Mrs. Vanderheck upon the evening of Mrs. Merrill's reception. You can understand why, perhaps,"

she added, sarcastically, and turning to the detective.

He merely nodded in reply, but muttered under his breath, with a kind of admiration for her daring:

"Clever--clever, from the word 'go.'"

"With a wig of white hair, a few additional wrinkles, and the sedate dress of a woman of sixty, I pa.s.sed as Mrs. Walton, the mother of a lunatic son. It was not such a very difficult matter after all," she added, glancing vindictively at Ray: "the chief requirement was plenty of a.s.surance, or cheek, as you men would express it. My only fear was that the diamonds would be missed before we were admitted to the doctor's house."

"When did you take that package from my pocket?" Ray demanded, with some curiosity. "Was it when I leaned forward to a.s.sist you about your dress?"

The woman's lips curled.

"And run the risk of being detected before leaving the carriage after all my trouble? No, indeed," she scornfully returned. "My _coup de grace_ was just after ringing Doctor Wesselhoff's bell, while we stood together on the steps; the package was not large, though valuable, and it was but the work of a moment to transfer it from your pocket to mine, while you stood there with your arms full."

Ray regarded her wonderingly. She must have been very dextrous, he thought, and yet he remembered now that she had turned suddenly and brushed rather rudely against him.

"And in St. Louis--" Mr. Rider began.

Mrs. Montague flushed, and a wary gleam came into her eye.

"Yes, of course," she interrupted, hastily; "I was also the Mrs. Walton, of St. Louis. It was very easy to hire an extra room under that name."

"And your agent was--who?" continued Mr. Rider.

"That does not matter," she retorted, sharply. "You have found me out.

I have recklessly explained my own agency in these affairs, but you will not succeed in making me implicate any one else."

"Very well; we will question you no further upon that point now," said the detective; "but it does not take a very wise head to suspect who was your accomplice, and I imagine it will not take a great deal of hunting, either, to find him," and Mr. Rider resolved to make a bee line for the Fall River boat the moment he could get through with his business there.

"And now, gentlemen," he resumed, turning to the lawyers and Ray, "I think we'll close this examination here, and I'll take my prisoner into camp."

A cry of horror burst from Mrs. Montague's blanched lips at this remark.

"You cannot mean it--you will not dare to take me to a vile jail," she exclaimed, in tones of mingled fear and anger.

"Jails were made for thieves, swindlers, and abductors," was the laconic response.

The woman sprang to her feet again, and shot a withering glance at him.

"I go to a common prison? never!" she said, fiercely, and with all the haughtiness of which she was capable.

"The fact of your having figured as a leader in high life, madame, does not exempt you from the penalty of the law, since you have already declared yourself guilty of the crimes I have named," coolly rejoined the detective.

"Oh, I cannot--I cannot," moaned the wretched woman, wringing her hands in abject distress. Then her glance fell upon Mona, who had quietly seated herself a little in the background, after the detective had relieved her of the clothing which she had brought into the room.

"You will not let them send me to prison--you will not let them bring me to trial and sentence me to such degradation," she moaned, imploringly.

Mr. Rider regarded her with amazement and supreme contempt at this servile appeal, for so it seemed to him.

"How can you expect that Miss Richards will succor you after your heartless and wicked treatment of her?" he demanded more sharply than he had yet spoken to her.

"Because, Mr. Rider," Mona gently interposed, "she bears a name she knows I am anxious to save from all taint or reproach; because she was the wife, and I the only child, of Walter Richmond Montague Dinsmore."

The detective gave vent to a long, low whistle of surprise.

"Zounds! can that be possible?" he cried, as he turned his wondering glance upon the lawyers.

"Yes," said Mr. Corbin, "it is the truth, and, of course, it is time that it should be revealed. I have known that Mrs. Richmond Montague and Mrs.

Walter Dinsmore were one and the same person ever since the death of Mr.

Dinsmore. The lady came to me immediately after that event and requested me to ascertain if he had made a will. I inst.i.tuted inquiries and learned that he had tried to do so, but failed to sign it. She then revealed to me that she was the wife of Mr. Dinsmore, but that they had separated only a year after their marriage, although he had allowed her an annual income of twenty-five hundred dollars for separate maintenance. She produced her certificate and other proofs that she was his lawful wife, and authorized me to claim his fortune for her, but stipulated that she was not to appear personally in the matter, as she did not wish to be identified as Mrs. Dinsmore, after having appeared in New York society as Mrs. Montague. She absolutely refused to make her husband's niece--or supposed niece--any allowance, although I felt that it was cruel to deprive the young lady of everything when she had been reared in luxury and expected to be the sole heir, and I tried to persuade her to settle upon her the same amount that she herself had hitherto received from Mr. Dinsmore. All my arguments were without avail, however, and I was obliged to act as she required. You all know the result; Miss Mona was deprived of both fortune and home, and Mrs. Montague, as she still wished to be known, suddenly became, in truth, the rich woman she was supposed to be previously."

"Did you know of this?" Mr. Rider asked, turning to Mr. Graves.

"I knew that a woman claiming to be a Mrs. Dinsmore had secured the fortune which should have been settled upon this young lady; but I did not know that Mrs. Montague was that woman until Miss Dinsmore, as I suppose we must now call her"--with a smile at Mona--"returned from the South. Until then I also believed that she was only the niece of my friend. If I had ever suspected the truth you may be very sure that I should have fought hard to establish the fact."

"I suspected the fact when Miss Mona came to me, bringing her mother's picture, and told me her story," Mr. Corbin here remarked. "I was convinced of it after I had paid a visit to and made some inquiries of Mrs. Montague--"

"Ha!" that woman interposed as she turned angrily upon Mona, "then you did make use of that torn picture after all!"

"I took it to an artist, had it copied, then gave the pieces to Mary to be burned, as you had commanded," Mona quietly replied.

"Oh! how you have fooled me!" Mrs. Montague exclaimed, flushing hotly.

"If I had only acted upon my first impressions, I should have sent you adrift at once--I should not have tolerated your presence a single hour; but you were so demure and innocent that you deceived me completely, and I never found you out until the morning after my high-tea. Then I understood your game, and resolved to so effectually clip your wings that you could never do me any mischief."

Mona started at this last revelation, and light began to break upon her mind.