"Now then," began Mr. Barnes, "I want to ask you a few questions. Are you prepared to answer them?" "That will depend on what they are. If you don't ask impertinent questions, or ones that I think I ought to get more than double wages for answering, why, I am with you." "In the first place, then, are you willing to say whether you ever knew a woman who called herself Rose Mitchel?" "Well, rather. I lived with her till she broke me." "Do you know where she is now?" "I don't, and I don't care to." "Suppose I were to tell you that she is dead, and that she had left a hundred thousand dollars which is unclaimed?" The man jumped to his feet as though shot, and stood staring at the detective. He gave a long, low whistle, and a keen, tricky gleam came into his eye, which Mr. Barnes noted. At length he spoke: "Are you giving me this straight?" "I am telling you the truth. The woman is dead, and that amount of property is where I can get it for the man who can prove that he is entitled to it." "And who would that be?" He waited eagerly for the reply, and Mr. Barnes saw that he was playing trump cards. "Why, Mr. Mitchel, that is what I am down here for. You see, I thought the party would be willing to pay me a good commission for proving him the heir, and that is why I am hunting him up. I started out with the idea that I might find her husband. He would have a claim." "I see." Saying which, he sat down and seemed lost in thought. The detective deemed it well to wait for him to speak again, which he did. "See here," he exclaimed; "how much do you want for getting this money for me?" "I cannot get it at all unless you are the woman's husband," replied the detective. "Well I am her husband. Didn't I tell you I lived with her till she broke me?" "Yes, but are you legally married to her?" "Why, to be sure. Don't I tell you I am her husband?" "Then, in the name of the law, I arrest you," said Mr. Barnes, suddenly rising and standing over the man. "Arrest me," said the fellow, jumping up, pale with fright. "What for?" "Rose Mitchel has been murdered, and the man who killed her has confessed that he was hired to do it by you." "He is a blasted liar." "I hope so for your sake. But as you admit that you are her husband, you are the man we are looking for. I'll have to take you to New York." "But, I say," said the fellow, now thoroughly alarmed, "there is a big mistake here. I've been lying to you; I'm not the woman's husband, and my name is not Mitchel." "That won't do, my man. I had you pointed out to me by Sefton, the detective here." "But he is the very man that hired me to pass off as Mitchel to you." Mr. Barnes chuckled as he found his ruse successful. He had suspected all along that the New Orleans detective was trying to lead him off on a wrong scent, and now thought he saw a chance to turn the tables upon him and get some valuable information.